I am not talking about the usual sex/death/meaning of life suspects. Although of course I dread those, it is the following two questions I fear the most:

“Mummy, why are there so many baby photos of miss A and not me?”
“Why don’t you have a record of all of my milestones?”

And of course if they are particularly savvy:
“Why didn’t you blog about me?”

Ugh.

You used to be able to explain away the lack of photos pre the digital age with the whole limited film excuse and if pressed the truthful albeit pissweak lack of time.

(And when it comes to not having a three day old professional pic of E, the lack of a photographer at the hospital on the day).

So what is it then?

When it comes to the milestones business, I have a baby book with miss A’s milestones carfeully recorded therein. Miss E’s milestones were detailed in my blog.

And when it comes to miss I…well let’s just say that we only found out that she had started rolling front to back when miss A casually told us that she’d been doing it for a few days. She often plays with her sister on the gymini mat as I undertake dog knows what other chores I am forever dealing with right now (probably the never ending freaking washing).  Even now I can only hazily tell you that that was about two or three weeks ago.

Yes there is a lack of time factor.  Looking after three kidlets is surprisingly time consuming and resource intensive, especially during periods of illness like Immyjim’s resolving bout of bronchiolitis last week (see I just proved my point, reasonably serious illness and two hospital visits and no detailed blog post!).

Yes it is because I am seriously knackered, said illnesses, frequent night feeding and miss E’s inability to sleep through ever are taking their toll (and you think you have it hard first time around- HA!!)

However…sometimes I wonder if part of the reason is that the whole babyhood gig is not novel anymore, and that you take it a little more for granted.  And that freaks me big time.  The ungratefulness of it all, the future regret at not being able to confidently tell each daughter exactly when she crawled, uttered her first words, nor what her favourite foods or storybooks were.

You know what though?  I’m not sure it’s really that either.  By releasing myself from the pressure of having to record each milestone I have been able to experience the joy of sometimes being fully present in the moment, able to savour the individuality of my girls and simply go with the flow of their emergence as the unique little people that they are.

When I am not being a grumpy tired naggy mc nag nag chore whore that is (curse you, evil bitch, I won’t let you win!).

I am blessed with three beautiful, intelligent and mostly healthy kidlets.  So if you don’t hear from me as often I hope it’s because I am too busy appreciating that fact.  And not just when one is at school, one is at daycare and the other is asleep.

In other words I actually have a chance to blog.

There is so much to catch upon, so much to tell you but as I am currently caught up in a wee bit of anxious state, fuelled of course by broken sleep, the joys of silent reflux and my own wierd fear/loathing of the settling newborns to sleep groundhog day gig I think it’s best to let some pictures do the talking.

First up…my biggest girl, the gorgeous miss A. Five years old, a new bike, a pool party and starting school.  Nothing to it!

Then the ever cheeky miss E.  Enjoying swimming classes at last…but now refusing to participate at Physie even though she is excited and terribly cute.  A cheeky little ham for the camera and scarily grown up now.

Two big sisters who dote on their littlest sister.

Speaking of the little’un….she is growing so quickly in so many ways.  Here she is in a gown that was mine as a bub.

Silent reflux with difficulties settling both day and night   (it is not nice to hear your baby vomit in their sleep) and the dreaded catnapping are not making life as enjoyable as it could be. However we’ve pulled out the big guns of co sleeping, baby wearing and the swing /hammock/car capsule as well to boob as both food supply and dummy.  In addition to mr hissychick’s strangely appealing unkempt father of three beard, the dirty hippy approach is what is getting us through for now.

But enough of that.  Here are some more beautiful pics of my gorgeous last bub, little double chinned chunky thighed boombah that she is:

I can’t believe that it has taken me half a week to get this post finalised, and Immyjim has changed even more in the interim but there you go.  One day I will capture her crinkly smile for you all so that you don’t notice the fact that my prose has gone the way of my sleep, energy levels and sanity!  So much to capture, so little time.

I hear someone waking, so the other photos will have to wait.

Until next post folks….be that tomorrow or in three months time…

Risk of Down Syndrome using combined ultrasound and blood test results is 1:7602.
Trisonomy 13 and 18 is 1:13365.

Quite simply it doesn’t get any better than this:

So lovely to share the sneaky peak of our little one with A, E and my Mum- even if the boisterous behaviour of my two biggest ‘uns was enough to visibly pale the complexion of the first time mother to be in the waiting room.  All that aside…it’s time to start sharing our news with the world outside of the computer (yes there is such a place).

And how exactly did I answer A’s tricky question of the century- “Mummy how did the baby get in your tummy when I wasn’t looking?”  That can definitely wait!

Welcome dear sweet girl and congratulations to your parents on your safe arrival. It is especially lovely to see that you have made my BIL a father at last, a dream I suspect has remained well hidden in his heart until now.

Now I must get off the ‘puter and frantically organise the transfer of credit card points to my frequent flyers card. The hissychick clan will do what it can to meet you as soon as is possible little one.

Newborn baby smell….ohhhh……..

Well done.  The rest of the world thanks you.

Now let us never speak of the last eight years of lunacy again.

I’ll be back once I’ve finished sulking (and catching up on your various blogs of course).

You know what she said?

“That’s not my choice Mummy, they’re YOUR choices. I want MY choice…where’s MY choice… (I started to do the 123 count)…stop counting Mummy…arrrrrggghhh you are so NAUGHTY!!” before stomping to said chair and then having a discussion with herself about being so mad and that she could get up if she wanted to because it wasn’t fair.

Three years and eight months.
Karma folks, karma.

You can dress yourself from head to toe, patiently threading the straps of your shoes through the buckles in a demonstration of your exceptionally fine motor skills. The same cannot be said of your fashion sense, which could be described as unique but is oh so endearing and a source of many beautiful snapshots, like the one I have included at the end of this post. You are starting to draw pictures that are identifiable and promote aspects your world, both real and imagined. And you are starting to colour in your artistic creations too. Perhaps we should take advantage of these new skills and get you to repaint the living area. Although I’ll pick the colour scheme thank you very much.

You have sure and steady motor skills, with your latest skill mastered being the hop, courtesy of physie. During class you listen and try to follow direction, so well l that many parents think you are older than you are. Wish I could say the same at home when it comes to eating vegies, not picking up your sister and going to bed!

Speaking of food you still love it, and have only just recently tried a fussy patch on for size, one in which you are outwitted by your own logic. “I’m hungry”. “Well here’s a choice of fruit”. “No I don’t want fruit”. “Well then you can’t be too hungry”. “But I need a treat”. “You don’t need a sometimes food, you want it. Too much food, especially treats isn’t good for us remember?”. “OK Mummy…” At which point you will sigh and slink away until next time.

All that food has to fuel your brain, as you are still a whizz with numbers (we still play the read the speed sign game) and courtesy of your In the Night Garden fixation you are back to enjoying books again. You’re on the way to reading, knowing what is meant to happen on each page of your favourite stories, and I am quickly and frequently corrected if I don’t read the correct words, or worse, try to skip ahead in an attempt to keep the bedtime routine progressing towards sleep time :“But Mummy, I don’t want to close my eyes because then I can’t see what’s going on”. “umm that’s the point darling, you need to rest so that you can grow and be happy” “But why? ” “Just go to sleep now, we’ll talk about it in the morning”.

You love your little sister, (s)mothering her and often trying your hardest to prevent her from hurting herself in her latest death defying adventure (“E noooo, you can’t climb up on the telly/dishwasher/my cupboard!”). You are first to greet E in the morning, and quick to offer suggestions as to how to soothe her tears (“Maybe she’d like come booby juice Mummy!”).

At times you are a little too exuberant, and this is how many of E’s bumps and scrapes occur. You are also very much aware that picking on your sister will set Mummy off, and will use this to your advantage when you want my attention. However on the whole I don’t think E could ask for a more loving and protective big sister. I know I certainly couldn’t ask for a more emotionally aware and beautifully spirited eldest child.

You now like to give mummy proper kisses, rather than cheek to cheek air ones daarrrling, something you have shied away from until now for some reason that I am sure is very valid to you. It is delightful to have a big sloppy kiss planted on my lips before you confidently go to join your friends at daycare, where you are finally, finally thriving in the much more stimulating ‘big’ kids room, a place where you have older peers who accept and enjoy your advanced speaking and play skills, and more importantly, accept that you are a little quieter and slower to warm to social situations. It’s lovely to watch your confidence grow, and as it does, to see you slowly emerge from your cocoon into the social butterfly that you really are when you are comfortable. My girl is growing up.

But you’re still my baby. I love snuggling up with you in bed at night and giving you your “If I close my eyes Mummy you will give me one last snuggle?” cuddle.

And when I watch you sleeping I see the baby that was, the one who was so desperately wanted and wholeheartedly cherished. I see the beautiful girl that you are now, body and soul. I also see glimpses of the future, the strong, bright and determined woman you will become. And I will always be here for you, your devoted Mummy.

I love you to the stars and beyond.

In the meantime here’s something* to amuse yourselves with:

Take the Quiz here!

And to think I don’t look a thing like Miss Bennett. Mr hissychick, however, bears an uncanny resemblance to Colin Firth’s Mr Darcy. Funny that.

*Thanks to Averil for the idea.