Happy Mother's Day

Dear Mummy,

Wishing you a happy mother's day......Well done old gel'.

(Just don't think you're getting any special treatment today though...)

Love Walter.

To my son on his first birthday

Hi, this is Walter's Mummy here (what? don't get you nappy in a knot...of course I know your Blogger password...if you ever end up having a sister I will know the password to her on-line diary when she's a teenager too!) I'm not here to defend myself from all your World's Worst Mother allegations, or to explain why I won't let you have junk food or run with the good scissors, I'm here to wish you a happy birthday.
To my darling boy,It has been one year since you came into our lives,52 weeks since we saddled you with a name like Walter (a pox on all those people who said "You cant call the poor child that!", I bet they cant imagine you as anything else now and I still think you have the hippest name in the playground), 365 days that I have been your mother. The last year has been the quickest, hardest, most wonderful year of my life. From the blissful 'Gee this is easy' first three months to the agonising 'eating and sleeping is for pussies' next three months, to the last six months of playing, work, childcare and normal life.
I love the way that your face lights up when you see me and you drop what you're doing and crawl over to me demanding to be hugged. I love the way you rest your head on my shoulder and then try to slip in a sneaky 'nibble' on my collarbone. I love the way that you use my legs as a balancing rail when I'm trying to make coffee or do the dishes.
I love the way that you probably love Daddy just that little bit more than you do me (it suits my inner maschocist, having to work for your affection) and the way you follow him around the house when he gets home until he relents and plays with you. I love the way that you never let poor Nellie have a moments rest, that she is just a little dog shaped entertainment package in your eyes.
I get a kick out of seeing you reach those alternative milestones like tearing the first cover off a book (Australian Impressionist painters in the 1890s, I believe...excellent taste, my boy...that'll learn that Arthur Streeton!) or watching you hide your blocks and cars in the tea towel drawer. You seem to have gotten your love of musical instruments (nay, anything that makes noise!) from Daddy and your love of books from me. I love hearing you laugh, from the deep belly laugh of when we tickle that spot between your second and third chins, to your expectant giggles when you're hiding in the lounge room curtains, waiting for someone to find you.
So, my beautiful bear, I wish you a very happy first birthday. I thank you for what you have brought into our lives, and I thank you for being our son.

Now I'm just getting carried away

And now the finalists for World's Worst Nanna....

And World's Worst Daddy...

Runners up

RIP, the competition

Mummy now has far less completion in the World's Worst Mother stakes now that Anna Nicole Smith has bought the farm.

It's just Mummy and Britney slogging it out till the bitter end now! I wonder how long it will take Angelina and Katie to join the fray?

Midwife with the Mostest.

My sincere apologies for my recent absence from The Wonderful World of Walter. My admin staff claim that they have been dealing with the backlog of the festive season and haven't had time (or the inclination may I add...) to process the genius that springs forth from my mind.

Anyhoo!

A couple of weeks ago Mummy and I went to the CMP Xmas picnic and met some lovely woman called Young Oak who maintained she had known me all my life. I didn't think much of it at the time, but then she left me a comment here on the blog, so I asked those parents of mine what the story was.
Young Oak apparently was the lady who looked after Mummy when she was pregnant with me. So all that interutero prodding and poking, all that wiggling of my poor head to see if it was engaged - all her! Mummy says that Young Oak was a veritable angel, who swept down upon our family thanks to a wonderful primary care midwifery program we have here in the land of three wheeler prams. The CMP espouses natural childbirth with minimal intervention and an early discharge program. This naturally appealed to Mummy, who at that time was determined to be the crunchiest hippy mum on the block (amazing how she's given up on that whole idea now!)
The reality of my entrance into the world was a little different..... The week before my ETA it became obvious I was on my way- I mean when Auntie Josie and Uncle Denis both rang to find Mummy washing the windows, they knew something was up. By 1.30 am the next morning Mummy was in very early labour. However after nearly two days of labour, Mummy wasn't getting anywhere and I wasn't any closer to getting the hell out of there. Mummy was exhausted, Daddy was exhausted, Nellie was a nervous wreck, Auntie Josie had visions of Mummy having a C section because I was taking so long and Mum's boss Neralie had the shits because Mummy wasn't answering her calls or emails. Once we did manage to get things going and arrived at the hospital, Mummy demanded to be taken upstairs to the Delivery Suite to get 'the good stuff'.
Once Mummy finally got her narcotics, sorry epidural (you should hear her version of how grateful she was to the anesthesiologist!) she was a much happier camper.
Eventually I made my appearance into this world, cradled by a pair of salad tongs straight into the waiting arms of my beautiful Mummy. The whole experience was, in hindsight pretty traumatic. Mummy was however, proud of herself for asking for intervention when it was needed (after her inital fear that Young Oak would be disappointed with her for not managing to have the waterbirth that they'd planned.) Daddy still says that Mummy vomiting on him during transition was the worst part (too much gas.... Mum got carried away with the nitrous oxide - it reminded her of a particularly debaucherous afternoon on the floor of the bathroom of the flat in Oxford St with Auntie Laurinda.)

Mummy and Daddy still say it was the most amazing experience of their lives, made so much better by the support of a great midwife. Daddy misses his freedom, and Mummy misses her pelvic floor muscles but they wouldn't have it any other way.

So thank you Young Oak, thank you.

The fesitval of Mummy.

We apologise for this break in transmission due to industrial action related to Mummy having something called a birthday.
What are these 'birthdays', where does one get one, can you buy them at Target? I know I've never had a 'birthday' and if my memory serves me correctly, neither has Daddy in my lifetime. All I know is that Mummy got all dressed up and went out on Saturday night and then was no fun what so ever on Sunday. Then yesterday I had to do her a painting at day care and Daddy cooked her a special dinner, full of ingredients he doesn't really like, whilst she sat back with a soothing gin and tonic.
I want to know what all this is about....

I would have liked to include a terribly sexy photo of Mummy, but it would appear that Daddy's porn is corrupting our system...

The Mother of Invention.

In light of my emergent skills of scooting backwards and in circles across the kitchen floor (not the carpet though, too much traction!), Mummy has been working on putting me to work.

Plus

Equals

Carpet and Upholstery attachments are still in the research and development phases.

Mummy wants to know....

Who would play you in the 'Movie of the Week' version of your life?