Hallam loves jigsaw puzzles. He did every single puzzle in the whole house, this morning. And then again, this afternoon. He does them all by himself, comes to find me, tells me he has a surprise for me and then “tada!” he declares, showing me his masterpiece. There is a routine, I ask who helped him, running through a list of potential candidates before – oh my goodness, he cannot contain himself – “I helped me!” he shouts. His birthday was in October, he definitely couldn’t do them then. It’s all so quick.

Esme watches her big brother picking up the – quite small, actually – pieces. She is amazed, occasionally picking up puzzle pieces and putting them in her mouth.

Murray, officially ‘overweight’ (thanks to a neighbour who feeds him every morning at 6am) purrs around, hoping for food.

I was offered a better job last week, in Exeter. We have moved 4 times since Hallam was born. It means going back to work 6 weeks before I was going to go back anyway.

Our house here would rent for more than double our current mortgage repayment, which will go down by 0.8% soon. A letting agency will charge us 8% plus 20% to manage the letting for us. We’ll pay off our mortgage in 33 years. Renting a house in Exeter would cost 1.7 times our current monthly mortgage payment. The train from Worthing to Hove costs £135 a month. In Exeter, I’d walk. The removal company (and hell, no, there is NO WAY I WILL EVEN CONSIDER MOVING WITHOUT PAYING SOMEONE TO MOVE OUR STUFF) will charge £1000ish. I have a 10% discount from a removal company in Exeter.

There are 4 classes of primary school, as far as OFSTED are concerned. There are at least 3 ‘outstanding’ schools in the centre of Exeter, all with catchment areas you need to live in. Some schools are ‘outstanding’ for some sections, but just ‘good’ for others. Would I like Hallam to learn about inclusiveness or maths? Which aspect of your child’s education are you willing to pick up a bit more slack for at home? If we sell our house in 12 months, what are the house prices like in the areas of Exeter we like, that are near the right schools? How much more does it cost for an ‘outstanding’ school? Can we have 4 bedrooms? Are we just having 2 children?

Hallam has 6 cousins in Exeter. 2 sets of grandparents. 8 aunts/uncles.

I can buy 12 more Worthing swims for the price of 10, if I pay for them up front. Is it worth it? Because, subject to satisfactory references, I accepted a a better job last week, in Exeter. We have moved 4 times since Hallam was born. This will be number 5.

It’s tricky thinking of something to say after so long, isn’t it? This is now one of Very Few blog posts so it better be a proper good blog post, and yet, I (almost) can’t handle the pressure of writing anything at all. Gosh, must stop thinking about it and just write it before I change my mind.

So, long time no blog, as per usual. I have been twittering away, but I don’t know if that really counts for posterity…? I have a tendency to wipe tweets every now and then, in any case, so probably not. I am not a New Year’s resolution-person, preferring to constantly set myself unachievable goals, but I do want to blog more regularly this year. Plus, now that the initial Jesus-Christ-we-have-two-children thing has worn off, I kind of have the time to do it (until I go back to work.) HELLO. Can you tell I’ve forgotten how one writes in a blog? Because I am pretty sure that the first rule of blog club is not to talk about blog club.

One thing I have been doing instead of blogging is reading books. Books are a really good idea. Way better than smart phones, not quite as good as babies. Some books I’ve enjoyed lately (and one by Julian Barnes):

Sarah Moss – Night Wakings. Good because of the babies and the night wakings, both of which I can relate to. Lots of it I could relate to, in fact, which isn’t necessarily a good thing in a book, but in this one it was. Made me want to live on a remote island, even though it doesn’t go all that well.

Carol Birch – Jamrach’s Menagerie. Hey, I know that the Booker Prize is overrated, and the cover of this book is a bit shit, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. I couldn’t bear the bit where they were on the boat, when the stuff happens. Made me want to travel to remote islands, even though it doesn’t go all that well.

Patrick DeWitt – The Sisters Brothers. Even though the Booker Prize is overrated, this is really ever so good, read it. You can borrow mine, if you like. I read it in a cottage in Cornwall with no central heating or telly or internet (in about an hour, then), and I think it was the first time I’ve cried over a horse in a book. Doesn’t go terribly well for the Sisters Brothers.

Julian Barnes – Sense of an Ending. Hey, Julian Barnes, your book is boring. You can’t just write a book about how memories are different to reality and, I don’t know, whatever other boring stuff you wrote about in this book. Plus, yes, it does have a nice cover. BUT IT’S STILL REALLY BORING.

Robin Black – If I Loved You, I Would Tell You This. I loved these short stories, and then I told Robin Black I loved them on Twitter and she said THANKS. So, you know? That makes me like them even more.

David Vann – Legend of a Suicide. Another remote island where things don’t go terribly well. I read Caribou Island first, which I liked but did not love. This one is a lot better. I am still a bit freaked out by it, and I even want to read it again. Which I never, ever, ever do.

Rebecca Asher – Shattered: Modern Motherhood & The Illusion of Equality. Heh. This is a good one to read if your husband is a stay at home parent.

So, that’s us all caught up. Apart from, of course, MY BABIES LOOK AT THEM.

Oh, it’s been so long since I did this that they made me make a gallery. I don’t know what’s going on there. Apart from I know that one photo shows H & E looking super cute together, one shows Hallam in a high vis vest thing that they gave him at PRESCHOOL yesterday, and one shows what happens when your baby girl has crazy hair and you have access to a hairdrier.

But the laundry basket is full again – there have been no more sunny days to dry it, and daily it mounts. Our winter coats hang ready in the hall.

Today we sat outside a cafe in Chichester. Shivering a little whilst drinking hot chocolate and feeding the baby. A smart lady in her sixties with a Jaeger bag and a newspaper sat at the next table.

“Oh, I love babies! You’ve picked the worst place to sit for a quiet drink, I can’t stop looking at her! She’s so beautiful!” She said.

And we made polite conversation – “yes! We love babies too!”, “absolutely, yes, we could watch her all day and she is better than television”, “yes, it is so wonderful to see a hands on dad” – until it was time to leave. She folded up her paper and came over to our table to say goodbye.

“I’ll stop bothering you now, but could I just touch her hand before I go?” She asked.

“Sure, you can hold her if you like…” Said Bill. (And I glared so much at this but I suppose what’s the harm really?)

So the smart lady did hold my precious Esme. The lady was smiling so much, that I had to stop glaring at Bill and smile too.

“Thank you so much, that has really made my day. Really, it has.” She said.

“It’s such a shame really, I do think babies really are so lovely and all my life never really having contact with them. I mean, friends….” She said. And I’m sitting here now, still wondering where that sentence trails off to – why didn’t she have any babies of her own? What is she doing stopping for lunch at Carluccio’s on her own? What’s in the Jaeger bag?

“Goodbye and thank you thank you thank you.” She said, before heading off towards the cathedral.

And I know how very lucky I am already, but… Crikey.

“There’s a pigeon in the hall room!” She cries.

Her teacher (I don’t know, ‘learning facilitator’, ‘classroom manager’, ‘directress’?) is showing Bill and I around. This is about the most grown up I have felt, ever.

“I hear there’s a pigeon in the hall room, I’ll go and see him in a bit – ” she says, before adding, “how do you think that pigeon’s feeling, flying around in there?”

And that’s pretty much what the Montessori preschool is like. Snicker.

However, it also seems to be full of the types of activities that Hallam enjoys (1 bowl of water, 1 empty bowl, 1 pipette = my boy gloriously busy for a not insignificant amount of time) and we like the look of (wooden leaf puzzles.) Basically, the Montessori preschool has all the stuff I thought we’d have at home, before we actually had a toddler and showered him with plastic and batteries. I snicker, but I’m also pretty convinced and I think we’ve found the right place for him to spend six hours a week apart from us.

(Oh, the spiel, it works: I leave a little worried that after 2 years in a Montessori, Hallam will be so very advanced in every way that he will be Totally Bored when he reaches primary school. I have calmed down a bit since then.)

As well as occasional pigeon visitors, they also have giant land snails. I don’t know how they are feeling.

So, I convinced (physically forced?) Hallam to give swimming a try. Aside from the character building merits of swimming lessons, I had just successfully detached Esme from my breast for the first time in, ohhh, a week? – and wasn’t about to cut the excursion short.

After the initial freaking out, he was much more confident. His arm bands were cast aside in favour of a back float, he had a go at swimming on his back, and he clambered onto a giant float before jumping off into the water. The only great gulps of pool water* were when he was too busy telling me to “look!!” at him swimming by himself that he forgot to hold his head up. He even occasionally followed the teacher’s instructions.

* Crikey, he must have imbibed a fair amount of pool water, judging by the wee he did when we got back home.

It’s quite rewarding watching one’s child overcome fears and (yuck) grow as a person — who knew?!

“I don’t think he’s going to calm down,” said the swimming teacher. “Maybe it would be better if he got out and next week you could get in with him?”

So, the first week we sat on the edge and watched. Gradually his upset inhalations of air calmed down and he could breathe uninterrupted. When we left the swimming pool, I was all set to come home and whine on my blog “oh my god!!! SWIMMING LESSONS ARE UNBEARABLE FOR MY BABY. WHAT WILL HAPPEN WHEN HE STARTS SCHOOL??!!!!” Feeling truly overwhelmed by basically the whole of parenthood, we went to the fish & chip shop. After a few cod goujons, I remembered that my son is still only two years old and has never done anything like this before, so… Hardly surprising that he doesn’t want to leap into a swimming pool with a strange lady, and there is still plenty of time for him still to learn how to do things without us. Phew.

The second week I did get in with him, and it was better. He’s still anxious, he doesn’t want to jump from the side of the pool into the teacher’s arms, but he will at least get in the water with me and sort of participate. Small steps, the next one tomorrow.

Such an ordinary thing to do, go to swimming lessons. But, surprise! Hallam gets older and parenthood continues to be full of things that sound like nothing but are huge. Esme smiles and laughs – and I sit here in awe. Starting school? Unfathomably big deal. And that’s how it goes now – I exist in a perpetual state of amazement at the ordinary things we are doing. Even before they were born, I can’t quite believe the millions of things that happened, how easily they could have not happened.

Why, just this weekend I “looked after my children by myself”, which sounds like nothing but was quite something at 5 o clock when: trying to console a screaming Esme, with Hallam also crying because he wants me to put frozen peas in his dumper truck, and of course I can’t find the bloody frozen peas. All the time, trying to entertain our childless guests “it’s not always like this!”

Waitrose deli man proceeded to slice the ham, which came away looking kind of dry and not great. He packaged it, and warned me that my meat might have a bit of bone in it. YUM. Ham with bit of bone in, my favourite. Perfect for my toddler’s lunch. Still, I am rubbish with confrontation. I took the rubbish ham and put it in my basket, “thank you very much.”

And then I realised that I had a £4 package of sliced ham with bone in! £4! 100 grams! So I did what any normal human being would do: I deposited the deli package somewhere near the bread and picked up some ham from the shelf.

Onwards I went through Waitrose without event. Nothing more to report until I got in the queue to pay and the deli man approached me,

“Oh! There you are! Your ham, where is it? I forgot to reduce it!” He said. He had been walking around the store looking for me.

And that’s when I had to confess that I had abandoned the ham over near the bread somewhere, very sorry etc. And that’s the most embarrassed I have been in Waitrose, ever, actually.

I know, I know, that sort of thing probably happens all the time in lesser supermarkets… But not Waitrose, not Prince Charles’ own ham. How will I ever buy anything from the deli man again?

(I went to Morrisons after this, where I belong, and purchased Nutella and red wine. Perfect.)

I must interrupt myself here to say: I started writing this post three days ago, and already she is different, princess impermanent. The meal time screaming is much better, there are now even more(!) rolls of thigh fat, she has broken her personal best for sleeping at night (6 hours) and just half an hour ago she made a new noise – somewhere between a laugh and a yawn and a cry.

I am enjoying it, savouring it, second time around. I am not getting hung up about crying or overwhelmed by how much I am depended upon right now. It’s alright with me if she wants to be carried around all day (check) or sleep in our bed (check). I’ve not bothered trying to give her a bottle of expressed milk  – I know how short this time is, how lucky I am not to have to leave her, so I don’t mind that I can’t really right now.

Whilst first time around, I genuinely worried that I would never be in a position to have another baby because it was all So Stressful – my concern now is more, how can I stop myself having tens of babies when they are just so perfect? Is there a car big enough?

This is not news, but, let me state the obvious: second babies are easier (apart from: working out how to have TWO SMALL CHILDREN AT THE SAME TIME.) Along with the knowledge that I have successfully navigated this road once before, I have a greater sense of perspective. And what a difference it makes, as I sit down to feed Esme, to see Hallam wandering about wearing nothing but pants and a building hat. He parades his grown-up-ness, a marvellous reminder of how soon Esme’s baby days will be over. I will blink and she’ll be running off to play in kennels at B&Q.

Lucky doesn’t really cover it, but, I’m sitting here with two children happy and sleeping, and lucky is just the start. Wow.

But the day wore on, and the contractions continued, becoming stronger and more regular although I could walk and talk through them. Strong enough to cancel our cinema plans but still, not strong enough that I really believed in it.

So I walked through my contractions, long meanders through the bowls park and along the sea front in the July rain. I listened to Belle & Sebastian and Stornoway. Looking at nursing bras in Marks & Spencer. Sitting in the train at the library with Hallam. I spoke to the midwife on the phone, who called it ‘latent’. Existing as potential. I waited, willing things to progress, fearing days and days of this. Not due until the weekend, I hadn’t really been expecting any more than a day early.

At 6pm I called the midwife again, “I’d quite like you to come out soonish,” I said, anxious to know if anything was really happening. She was sitting down to eat, so I said I didn’t feel anything was imminent, and I would talk to her in an hour. At 7pm I asked her to set out from her home half an hour away. Bill read Hallam a bedtime story, I found a ladybird on a chair in the living room, which I took upstairs to show them. At 7.15, we said good night.

That did it. For months I’d been willing myself to go into labour at night, hoping to have a baby whilst Hallam slept soundly. And, as soon as he was in bed, I was properly in labour. Bill set up the mattress and plastic sheeting. just in time for my waters to break at 7.30. With no midwife here, I fought the urge to push, and at 7.40 I told Bill that I would HAVE TO PUSH SOON PLEASE CALL AN AMBULANCE. And so he did.

As the emergency services person started talking Bill through the process (“can you see the head?”) I resisted the urge to push. There’s nothing like being faced with the prospect of your husband delivering your baby to help fight that urge.

The paramedics and midwife all arrived at the same time. Car and ambulance parked in the middle of our narrow road, they rushed into the living room. “I have to push now!” I said, as the midwife got into position to examine me.

And then I could push. The paramedics (at their first ever birth) gave me some gas and air for the final contraction and she was here. 7.52, 12 minutes after Bill called 999. A girl! So much for “oh it’s definitely another boy.”

I wish it ended here, with us all tucked up in bed with our new baby. A couple of hours after, my blood pressure was really high (“I’m not surprised!” says everyone) and we transferred to hospital.

We were in for 2 nights in the end which I was hugely fed up about, but actually wasn’t all that bad. I gave birth at home, we had our own tea and toast and cosy lighting (even though I didn’t have time to light the candles.) At the hospital, I had my own room and it is just around the corner from our house, so Bill and Hallam could pop in and out throughout the day. In short, I had the best kind of hospital transfer I could have done.

(Next time, home birth AND tucked up in bed afterwards, thank you very much….)