Milestones.

I have decided this will be a Cute Attack kind of blog, with a little of the serious stuff of what's going on with us (and by "us" I mean me and Roman) and a hell of a lot of cute. Yep. I said HELL. It's okay to say in Scotland.

A while ago I spent ages writing up a blog about what happened in October and hoped it would be ready long before now. Well, that hasn't happened. I need to re-work it because it's loaded with pictures (unseen) and I'm scared it will crash people's computers - so until I work out how jumps work don't know when that will be I can say that that blog is lost in the drafts until then.

So, on with November and what's been happening with us...

Well, last week I was getting out of bed (where I had been living for the past two weeks due to being struck down with a cold and then the recovery of the cold) and as I was steadying myself against the wall I bashed my hand off the wall. I hit my knuckles and on further inspection saw that my mole (hate the thing) that is on my right hand also took a hit.

Of course, as it always does, it started to bleed heavily. I freaked out because years ago someone told me if you cut or have a bleeding mole then you'll cause yourself cancer. I don't know if that's true (I'm willing to bet it isn't) and I'm too scared to Google if it's true (in case it is...but it sounds like crap to me!).

Here it is...The Disfigurement. I think I have Mole Dysmorphia...but seriously, this thing has been the bane of my right hand for a long, long time! Oh yeah and the photo is out of  focus because it's hard for me to use my left hand to take photos...wish my Dad had passed on his left handedness to me at times like these! ;)

So after much humming and hawing, off to the doctors I went. He took my hand (ooh err, first time I've wanted to be called a lady - you all know I hate it being assumed I'm a "lady" and yes I am a woman, but a lady I am not!) and had a look at it. "Oh yes, I see what you mean now," he said. "If we cut it off, it will leave a small scar. I'll refer you to the minor surgery department for that."

Say what? Minor surgery? 

All of you who know me, know I've never had any kind of surgery - apart from in 2009 when I had another sort of minor surgery colonscopy.And anyone whose anyone (especially my big sister and she knows why!) will know I HATE this mole on my hand. I've waited my whole life for a doctor to say those words to me before. And today, within 5 seconds of explaining my issue, it was a lovely referral. I'm aware this will probably mean I'll get it hacked off. In twenty years time. When I have 50 children. The NHS are notorious for their waiting lists and I'm hoping this cancer thing isn't true as I'm freaking out if I wait any longer, the cancer will get more aggressive...

And this is not a joke. These are the things I actually think. I'm actually quite crazy if you think about it.

I was also informed today for the millionth time that ME/CFS (I call it CFS when I see a doctor because they can't handle the abbreviation of two letters) doesn't have a cure. "It comes and goes." I can't complain, though, the doctor was the best I've seen in a long while and is, oddly enough, doing more tests for me. I know said tests will come back clear - as they always seem too - but I'm going along with it for now so that he can satisfy whatever curiosity it is he has over my health. I just hope these "tests" aren't that treadmill running thingy...because I will pass out before I get on the treadmill. Seriously.

My brother visited today and I hadn't seen him since September. He had this weird facial fuzz going on and when pressed for my opinion...well I said he should shave. Seriously Fraser, I know it's winter, but I don't want kids mistaking you for a red bearded Santa. Just teasing, of course. It was great to have him around and he took Roman out for ages and ages today - yay, the vacuuming got done.

When Roman got back I didn't want to put him down - there's a weird thing when you have a kid. Before I became a parent I was very much a person who was good around kids and loved the company of children. BUT I had this feeling at the bottom of my mind...they get boring and a little bit annoying after a while. I was scared being a parent would equal boredom with the children but I can hand on heart say that I am not fed up of Roman - in fact, every day I feel like it's a new adventure. It's got challenges, but I never think "I'm a celebrity, get me out of here!" (maybe that will change, maybe it won't) and I never wish him away.

We walked around together and he held onto the furniture...I just can't believe what I'm seeing. I know in a few months time this novelty will wear off and it will be a given...but walking is such a miracle we take for granted and it's such a blessing to not feel the frustration at not being able to move around and be free. I always feel quite grumpy when older people say to me "Well, hen, at least you have your health!" and I feel like punching them in the face. Several times. But do you know something? It's true...well, not really...but I can walk. I can move my legs and get around if I need too AND if I want too. I look at Roman and he's absolutely overjoyed at the fact he can hold himself up and not bothered about running five steps ahead to walking on his own, holding onto a table or a sofa is enough for him.

I love these jeans he has on. They're cosy and cute. I have good taste, what can I say? (Except I bought them as a bundle from eBay! Ha!).

And as if today wasn't filled with perfection enough in the form of vegetable crisps (chips) and humus, it SNOWED down my street! :).

Here's some "awwww" for your eyes:

First Tastes...

I think baby food looks like baby poop. I won't go into any more detail than that because it is pretty self explanatory right there.

However, Roman does not think it tastes like poop - or else I really hope he doesn't or we have one weird little man on our hands. He had his first tastes this week (Mum Confession: I slipped him the tiniest of tiny tastes of mango a few weeks ago. If he develops Crohns or Ulcerative Colitis then I guess I will blame it on this incident).

Carrot and potato.

I had a bit of a freak-out because Bryan (whoseneverlookedafterababyeverbeforeinhislife) didn't cook the carrots properly. They were mushy, but not mushy enough. I would say that I am pretty much a diva, but when it comes to my baby...I am a Godzilla Diva.

I don't get diva about a lot of things, but when I do...you better shut up, do what I ask or leave the room. I don't know where my diva outbursts were learnt - certainly not at home, definitely not at church and most certainly not at school. I think time and time again I got pretty sick of being nice to people so much and one day I think I spontaneously combusted and haven't looked back since. And I am glad. Because when I throw a hissy fit, things get done. Positive and useful things.

In my childhood home arguing was the order of the day. We were like a mini law society, each fighting our own corner and I absolutely thrived on that atmosphere - sounds like Social Services should have been called, but it wasn't that sort of arguing.

With Bryan I argue and he rolls his eyes (behind my back of course...imagine if he did it to my face, he'd have his head metaphorically ripped off his shoulders in no time). Sometimes, just sometimes he says something back and wins - it's rare but does happen - or there might be times where I even think he has a point to what he says. I can categorically state right now that this phenomenon has never happened with any man I have been involved romantically with - in my eyes the only smart thing they have done with their life is to date me. Don't I sound just catty? I say these things with a pinch of sarcasm and a huge dose of humour, naturally...but perhaps there's a smidgen of reality as well.

So, back to the carrots. I asked Bryan to cook them until they were like mush - very, very mushy mush. I know what I'm talking about because I've seen how mushy little people with no teeth need their food. So he cooked them and served them up. They were chunky. They were not mushy mush. I think I flew off into a rage - Bryan can tell you the exact details if you need to know - and this rage was all because of carrots. What the heck? I am out of control at times and I know. Bryan knows it. I think even Roman knows it.

Like a good husband does, he said nothing. Then he took the baby and slinked off to Tesco...I was still ranting as he left - I don't know who I was talking too, I was just mad as hell. While I was at home in floods of tears - eh, hello, again what the hell? The Good Husband (like the Good Samaritan, but better) picked up a few jars of baby food.

Also, it wasn't "mum's choice" and not because I didn't personally go along and select a couple jars of baby poop...sorry, I mean baby food jars from the shelves of our local Tesco. Mum's choice was to feed baby exclusively on breast milk for the first six months of his life - this is so unreasonable for so many reasons in our circumstances and I will just say we have a hungry man on our hands and leave the judgements for every one else to make because I am not listening.

Mum's choice was to buy fresh vegetables and cook them up and serve to baby. I know these baby food jars claim to have no preservatives etc. in them but I find it a little gross that mushed up veg has been sitting on a shelf for so long. Either way, the Boy loved his first solids (I try to pretend that doesn't remind me of poop) and he couldn't get enough of the stuff - literally. I didn't want to push his digestive system too much too soon so we only offered him a few spoonfuls at every feed.

I think I was so emotionally charged about feeding him his solids because it means a break in breastfeeding - it comes very welcomed, but it does mark another bitter-sweet milestone and is a reminder that he won't stay tiny for long. I was literally a mess that we'd "screwed up" his first feed. I wanted it to be perfect. I know that is a ridiculous expectation, but I can't help this need to make everything I do just perfect, especially when it comes to Baby Boy.

He of course didn't notice anything going on other than his nappy needed changed and his tummy was empty, so why can't I be more like him in my attitude towards life? Relaxed. Secure. Confident that maybe this time and a few other times after it that things really will be okay. Because it was and all it needed was a dose of Bryan and a jar of baby food to make things just fine.