Our house isn't messy... A baby lives here

Walk into our home and it is obvious that it is no longer a home just for two. A baby themed tornado has ripped through our house, it is no longer neat and orderly, chaos moved in about eight months ago.

I won't completely blame the baby, he can't possibly put away the piles of washing stacked against the steps leading into the dining room, he just creates 80% of it. The clothes horse hasn't been put back to its usual spot in weeks. It stays loaded with a rotating assortment of clothes, slowly making their way to the next stage of their post wash life, the folded piles on the steps. They will get put away within the next day or so, either when I get a spare five minutes or get sick of rummaging through them for a clean bib, whichever comes first, most likely the latter. 

Our dining table, a beautiful long timber slab which we bought as a statement piece, can hardly be seen under all the 'pram ready' objects on it. The nappy bag, fully packed ready to go, blankets, jumpers and toys all waiting to be picked up on our way out the door. 

Make your way past the dining room and you will find yourself in the kitchen, a room which I used to consider as my own, has now been converted into an obstacle course. Tupperware containers filled with pasta and plastic utensils, items of distraction, line the floor randomly as I now have a little helper whenever I decide to cook something.

There is a trail of blocks from the kitchen to the lounge, hidden perfectly for unsuspecting parents to discover their evil and pointy edges with their feet. Then, once you reach the lounge you see it, the toysplosion, soft toys are sprawled all over the carpet looking like a vicious crime scene. Books that I have stacked, restacked and stacked again are spread over my son's play mat. And everything that usually lives on the couch is now on the floor as they needed to be investigated by my son. Somewhere amongst all this will be my son, moving from toy to toy with short breaks of furniture climbing. 

He is a happy, inquisitive little boy and the state of our lounge room shows it. Every night after I put him to bed in his ironically tidy room I pick up the toys and stack the books. I straighten his play mat and the room looks tidy for the first time since 7am, ready for another day of adventurous demolition tomorrow. 

Our house is clean, don't get me wrong, there is a definite difference between dirty and baby themed chaos. If you came to visit us I would probably pick up all the toys or at least have his bookshelf stacked, but as I become a more experienced mother I am becoming less phased by the little messes and more concerned with the big ones.

I used to worry what people would think if they came over and my house was out of order, now I know it's all a normal part of having an extremely busy and active baby. I know the worst is yet to come, I know with boys, mess turns to dirt and toys turn to balls that break things. I know it will be years before I tidy my home at the start of the day and it stays like that all day, that's ok by me, our old clean and tidy home was boring anyway.

Sleeping Beauty

There is something so beautiful about a sleeping baby.

Maybe the beauty comes from the faces they pull, the little smiles, the concerned little grimaces. Or maybe the beauty comes from being able to really see your baby. Perfect, still and calm. Sometimes the chances that you get to inspect your baby are few and far between. Their flawless, perfectly soft skin, their never ending eyelashes, the rise and fall of their tiny chest, all so precious and all so engaging to watch. 

   

As a parent I know that the true beauty comes from the triumph of getting your baby to sleep. Sometimes it feels like it will never come, a real marathon effort. 

Your standards and expectations of sleep change the moment you have a baby. Functioning on minimal hours is the newfound norm and the seldom night of sleeping through is a glorious gift sent from above.

As an adult it is hard to imagine that you were ever so opposed to going to sleep. Fighting the overwhelming fatigue with every last bit of crazy, grumpy energy that you have. As any parent knows there is a window between tired and overtired. When you get to the 'over tired' stage a new child breaks out, we get a grumpy little man with a slight hysteria about him. Life is a whole lot easier if you can get through the window before we get to this stage.

The method of getting a child to sleep is a delicate art form. 

Our method, delicate in its own way, is a tedious and sometimes frustrating process. It is an exhausting cycle, that can go on for what feels like hours, feed, sleep, cot, wake, cry, rock, feed, sleep, cot, wake, cry, rock, repeat. 
We know our method will probably get us into trouble, when he is too heavy to rock or I am not breastfeeding anymore. I am sure all the sleeping experts out there would tell us that the method we are using is detrimental.We have read all about self soothing and settling techniques, we know about them, we have tried them, Leo got so worked up he was physically sick, it was awful, hence we are not self settlers. We are rockers. Our way works for us and if there is one thing I have learnt as a parent it is that you need to do what works for you, not what a book or someone else tells you to do. 

                             

When we became parents we had expectations of how sleepless our nights would be and on the whole we have been pleasantly surprised. We have been extremely lucky and we are well aware of that. We have our tired days but we know that it will not last forever, one day I'll be nagging my teenage son to get out of bed, annoyed that he is making us late for the sake of his sleep in. So for now I cherish every afternoon nap that I get, my little bear clinging to my chest.