And what do you do when you’re on your own with the kids when that inevitable crash happens and although one is sleeping the other is acting out and causing chaos.  What do you do when your eldest is hugging, begging you to tell him what happened, but you just can’t snap out of it because every time you come close to at least starting to pull it together he asks again and upon realising what a failure you are as his mother it all falls apart again.  Then the baby starts crying and the boy starts crying because the baby’s crying and you cry even more because you just can’t pull it together and get up to look after either one of them.

Well then you all carry on until the husband gets home to rescue you all and take care of you.  And you go to sleep, because at least then you don’t have to deal with it all.  But you realise when you wake up that sleep doesn’t make it all better and wonder if anything does.

Then there’s TB’s eyelashes.  Take a cow’s eyelashes, how amazingly long they are, but imagine them thicker and darker.  Those are TB’s lashes.  Eyelashes to covet.  The sort you spend hours with a mascara wand trying to attain.

And hair.  TB’s is soft and smooth, even when it needs washing.  It’s the sort of dark blonde that could never be considered the colour of dirty dishwater, most unlike mine.  Of course it doesn’t just stop with the boys.  The husband has hair to die for too (not that he’d agree with you).  He has curls that you could never recreate artificially and yet he doesn’t appreciate them.

Do any of my boys appreciate just how lucky they are?  No.  And that’s the unfairness of boys.

And Mr A only tends to keep a gap of three hours between the end of his last feed and the start of the next. Add to that, when I say ‘there and ready by 12:45′, I meant there, ready, and Mr A fed so he wouldn’t kick up a fuss in the following hour.

You could say I had my work cut out for me, especially as he tends to feed for the best part of an hour at a time.

And then it occurred to me that a bottle may make that feed a hell of a lot quicker to get down. Dangerous territory, I know. I ran the idea past the mother, because I couldn’t even remember if TB had fed faster with bottles than he did with bitty and just to dampen my excitement (or more likely to ready me for the all too likely disappointment) she pointed out that Mr A may not even take a bottle. Still, it made sense to try, because if it worked, the plan could just be our saviour.

We’d got a couple of bottles that the sister had included in the diaper cake she’d made. They were shoved in the back of a drawer so as not to tempt me to give in and use them. Of course I mean go and buy a box of formula and give in and use them. Because sometimes mummy needs a night off, or a glass of wine or three. In those cases bottles are totally acceptable and in fact required. So I found the bottles, retrieved the microwave steriliser from the top of the kitchen cupboard and set everything up.

Only to encounter my first problem.

The damn thing wouldn’t even fit in our microwave, let alone turn on the table. Good job it was a hand me down and we’d not spent a small fortune on the thing. So out came the saucepan of boiling water and doing things the old fashioned way. The next problem I had with the old fashioned way was actually getting any milk out. Sure, milking the cow by hand was working but it was slow progress. Really slow. And pretty soul destroying too. After over an hour I’d only managed to get 1.5 oz of my two 4oz bottle target. So I gave up and went to bed instead, figuring the car journey the next day would be a good time to try again.

If you were one of the truckers driving along our route on Friday morning I’m sure you got a good eyeful. I tried to cover my boobs up as best I could, but it really wasn’t conducive to pumping. All I can say is, you should’ve had your eyes on the road.

We stopped early on for extra caffeine and figured we’d have to stop once more. Mr A didn’t even stir whilst we were out of the car (don’t worry, we’re not irresponsible parents – we left the brother looking after him) and when we reached our planned next stop he was still sparko so we pushed on, figuring if we really needed to stop we could always pull off the motorway and sit on the side of the road.

We reached our destination just before 12:00. Miracle of miracles. At this point I should pause to tell you that changing a baby on the back seat of an ancient Rav4 whilst his car seat is still sitting next to you is rather cramped and should not be recommended unless absolutely necessary. That said, the back seats offer very good back support whilst breastfeeding. Yes, that’s how much time we had left, that I also managed to feed him before everyone else arrived. All that effort dragging out 6 oz of milk and we didn’t even need it.

Later that evening as we stopped on our way home we decided to try the bottle. I gave Mr A half a feed first so he wouldn’t be too worked up to even try the bottle and sent the husband off in the direction of the kids area to find the motorway service station’s bottle warmer. His parting words: ‘how will I know what temperature?’ Had it really been that long since we’d last done this? Apparently so.

When he returned the contents of the bottle were steaming. No, I’m not joking. There was actually steam coming off of the milk. He’d only gone and heated the thing up in the microwave because he thought the bottle warmer wasn’t working. The only thing I could do was laugh. And assure him I’d get my revenge. At least I’d given him the smaller bottle of the two.

When we got home and it was time for Mr A’s next feed, we tried the same thing again although this time I took charge of heating the bottle. Mr A took to the bottle like a duck to water, without even batting an eyelid. The husband got to feed him for the first time and there’s nothing like snapping a pic of a proud daddy in the midst of the action.

We’ll definitely be doing bottles again, but next time I’m using a proper pump. No more milking this cow by hand.

As Mr A had woken up an hour ahead of schedule I was a tad worried he’d kick up a fuss wanting feeding mid-assembly. I needn’t have worried; he slept, pulled faces and opened his eyes with a look that said he was seriously unimpressed. Unfortunately, that’s the best shot I managed to get of the whole thing, the iMonster not having a zoom on it made getting decent shots of TB from three rows back rather difficult. Now you would’ve thought, the husband being like he is, that we’d have an array of cameras with us. Except he forgot. That may be why we don’t have too many photos of late.

We were treated to a picture show of the class, mug shots of each child with their Victorian room. TB’s was clearly taken in that dodgy growing out phase of his mohican. It also featured that signature grin that says I really don’t want to smile or pose for this photo but you’re making me so you sure as hell won’t get a decent picture out of it. I thought it was quite cute. There was also another one of a tower he and some friends had built out of Jenga pieces which he was quite proud of, and another of him painting a mosaic of a tree – I don’t think I’ve seen him concentrating so hard on something learning-related in a long time.

Of course, as these things go, once the kids actually came into the hall it became quite painful. Their rendition of little bunny foo foo featured a fairy who was unimpressed with the bunny’s attitude. I don’t know about you, but when I was young and singing about said bunny at school it was nothing about attitude and all about the fairy not wanting to see his evil acts. I guess it’s what we should have come to expect from TB’s teacher by now though.

I had a sinking feeling as the first piece of work was displayed and each child read their part out loud, that we’d be stuck in that hall for hours as each individual piece (and they’d all brought in rather large piles of paper) was shown, child by child. We were lucky though, the following show (and absolutely no tell from the kids) was done in sync and over fairly quickly.

Then for TB’s 2010 acting debut: a mouse in that turnip story. You know the one, where the farmer grows a turnip and it’s too huge to pull out of the ground. Yeah, it’s a good job my boy’s not too interested in such stories cos I can barely remember any of the ones I was told as a child. Nursery rhymes either. Still, I could tell him a mean story about vampires or zombies that he’d appreciate much more instead. And at least I know he’s being educated properly in such things whilst at school.

After a final song it was at last over. The teacher had the kids gather their work as the parents left the hall. TB though just couldn’t keep quiet. ‘Mum’, he shouted over the noise of scraping chairs. ‘Can I see my baby brother?’ Yup, he’s definitely a very proud big brother. On the four occasions that Mr A has ventured on to school premises since his birth, his big brother has insisted on showing him off to his teacher, as many friends as he can find at any given moment, and all their parents. It doesn’t matter if you’ve seen Mr A before, you can guarantee TB will want to show him to you again. After all, what fun is a baby brother if not to show him off to the world.

So I bounced and wiggled, read a few blog posts, downloaded a contraction monitor for my phone. Then I decided that if we were going to have people round, it might be a good idea to tidy up a little. So I did. The contractions got closer together, then further apart (just to confuse me). Then they got even closer together. I still couldn’t decide if I should call the midwife because although, at their closest, the contractions were less than five minutes apart, at their furthest they were definitely more than five minutes.

Figuring I should probably call either way, I woke the husband up and let him panic. Yeah, that was exactly what I’d hoped to avoid by having a home birth in the first place. Still, once he’d collected himself I put him to use filling the birth pool and gathering together a few bits whilst I made the call. Short and sweet. All I had to do was wait for the midwife who’d be coming over to call back. She did and I let her know what was happening. I was still standing; all was good.

Of course at that point the pain that had been manageable for much worse very quickly. And so did the noise. Because it seemed productive to moan quite a bit, especially when my body was telling me to push but my mind was figuring it probably wasn’t the best idea until I was told to do so. And that woke the boy up. He came in, took one look at me and said ‘mum, is the baby coming?’ I sent him downstairs suggesting that daddy could put the TV on for him and carried on trying not to make too much noise. Of course you can guess that I probably wasn’t too successful.

The boys took the baby through to the bedroom whilst my second degree tear (ouch!) got stitched up and I grabbed a shower then I got to meet our new boy. By that point the boy had decided the Xbox was much more interesting and I got to sit down with the baby and a cup of tea. Perfect! Best of all, hearing a shout from the boy downstairs: ‘I’m going to play with my baby brother!’ He ran upstairs to see us, but decided again that the game might be a better option.

We may have been slightly cruel in our next move, but the mother in law had been fairly annoying for the past three weeks with her constant calls to find out if anything was happening. We were expecting her later that morning as she was picking up the boy to take him to his cousin’s birthday party. So we didn’t bother to call and tell her that the baby had arrived. When she pulled up outside I was on the sofa with the baby in his basket in front of me. The blinds were open so she could see in. I sent the husband out to greet her and he told her to keep quiet because of the baby. She does have a tendency to scream when she gets excited. Of course she didn’t believe him. She walked straight through the door, said hello to me and looked right past her new grandson. Then the work began to stop her screaming.

It was definitely a tiring morning. The mother in law and the step father in law had bought the boy’s cousin along with them and she is just hard work. Having just turned one, she’s in to absolutely everything. Now we may have managed to tidy up earlier that morning, but being the house of two Lego addicts, there are still too many small pieces around here. And boy was she in to them. Unfortunately I was in no state to go chasing after her, the step father in law was firmly rooted to the sofa and the mother in law was far too taken with her new grandson to pay her granddaughter any attention. Where was the husband? He’d been sent down to the supermarket to get a roast chicken and french bread, because clearly ham sandwiches just weren’t good enough. I was shattered by the time they left, having filled the kitchen sink with washing up and left more mess than there was before they arrived. Nothing new there then.

The sister came over later on that afternoon. For once it was a peaceful visit; she didn’t do anything to provoke the husband into hyperactivity and he didn’t attempt to wind her up. Usually they act like pre-teen brothers and sisters fighting away.

Once she’d gone I managed to start the laundry we’d accumulated that morning and do the washing up. I convinced the husband that it might be a good idea to try a little more tidying. It would’ve been nice if he’d offered to do the washing up but instead he figured that taking pictures would be a good idea. I guess you can never really take him away from that camera!

It was pizza for dinner and the latest night I’d had in weeks. Despite everything, I didn’t really feel that tired. Really it would’ve made sense to head to bed early but then common sense has never been my strong point. Still, it didn’t seem to matter too much; the baby was still not feeding that much so I managed to get a half decent night’s sleep and definitely one better than I’d had for months seeing as I didn’t have to keep getting up to use the bathroom.

Sunday the parents and grandparents came over for lunch, bringing all the food with them and even doing the washing up! The sister in law and brother in law brought the boy back and after the whole long weekend, were kind enough to only stay around long enough to take a few photos.

It was good to end the weekend with my three boys together for the first time.

Monday saw the husband doing the most inconvenient work I’ve seen him do in weeks. Considering that it could’ve been put off until later with a little thought, I was not amused. Day three, not tending to be one of the better days of a person’s first week post-pregnancy, I was not happy by the time I’d done the supermarket on my own because he was still working even after us having been to get the boy from school. I slept (a wonderful way of avoiding things) and ranted but woke up the next morning feeling much better.

We’ve done a few firsts: first shopping trip; first trip down to my parents. We’re getting on well. Mr A is, for the most part, incredibly easy going. The only catch being his feeding times. No, I’m not talking about sleepless nights (which don’t seem to be so sleepless after all) but daytimes. They just don’t seem to be able to work around the school run. We’re working on that one this week, figuring out some sort of schedule. Our first attempt this morning was miserable – I managed to drag myself out of bed for the first feed of the morning but someone just wouldn’t wake up. We’ve looked at the timings and we’re going to try again tomorrow morning. We’ll get there in the end. Lucky that the husband works from home so that even if it takes a while, we’re still covered.

I’m hoping that this week I can get back on the computer a bit more. I started off last week with it on in the background but in the end it’s just been turned off. I’ve definitely missed spending my day on twitter, but even as easy-going as Mr A is, he still takes a lot of time. It’ll all come together in the end though. And we’re all a lot better placed than last time around.

Unfortunately the stuff is my downfall and quite possibly responsible for my gaining around 2 stone only moments after having dropped down to below my pre-pregnancy weight after the boy was born.

And it’s started again. Tuesday night, for the second time in a week, I made up another batch. We were restrained, between the two of us we only ate a quarter of what I’d made, but still, we could both do with not eating it at all.

Now because I want to fatten you all up on this delicious treat (because there’s no way I’ll be getting thinner by eating it), I’ll share my secret recipe. Mix two cans of condensed milk (or one super sized can) with two tablespoons of butter and three tablespoons of chocolate powder. Simple eh! Of course there’s debate about whether butter or margarine works better and whether you should use sweetened drinking chocolate powder that already contains sugar and powdered milk or plain cocoa powder. Butter tastes better (and tends to not to leave a greasy residue if you accidentally use too much) and the best chocolate I’ve found so far is Sainsbury’s basics drinking chocolate.

Once you have everything mixed in a large bowl, chuck in in the microwave for two minutes then give it a stir. Do that twice more to get the heat up and then go for one minute at a time and keep on stirring. By this point you’ll see why you need to use a large bowl because the mixture grows really quickly as it’s heated. They say it’s ready once the mixture doesn’t stick to the sides of the bowl anymore, but that all depends on how you’re going to eat it.

The right way is to let the mixture cool and then roll it into small balls (margarine/butter on your hands stops it sticking so much) and then to cover in chocolate sprinkles. Of course if you’re just going to sit at home and eat it in front of the tv, then leave it in the bowl and pour the sprinkles on top. Just make sure you have a strong spoon.

Now go and make some and fatten yourselves up. You’re all looking a little thin after Christmas.

All is still well, although my blood pressure has jumped (luckily it’s been very low all along so it’s still at an acceptable level) and Lumpy’s started to engage.  Not that it’s made a difference in the past two days; he’s still not here.  I’ve been booked in for another visit in just under two weeks, to be accompanied by a sweep.  I’m really hoping it doesn’t get to that stage.

Yesterday it was back to the hospital though, this time for the shrink.  As usual, a hideously long wait.  I’m sure it would be more efficient to go to the unit where the doctor works than for us both to make it to the hospital, but clearly nobody’s ever suggested that one.  Despite the fact that I don’t feel the current meds are working too well, the doctor thinks it’s best not to increase the dosage or change them at this point.  He’s convinced that once Lumpy’s out my mood will lift anyway.  Remembering last time around, I’m not entirely convinced, but there’s little I can do for the moment.  Still, he’s promised a home visit two to three weeks after Lumpy’s arrival so with any luck, if he’s wrong, something can be sorted before too much damage is done.

And we’re still waiting.  It’s frustrating, more so, I think, because the boy was born so early that I never really had the chance to wait.  I don’t know how to do waiting and I’m not the most patient of people at the best of times.  The husband would like to point out that it’s my fault we’re still waiting, that Lumpy has inherited my stubbornness.  However, the mother in law has made it quite well known that even in the midst of a c-section, the husband didn’t want to be evicted from his first home.  Clearly this makes it his fault and I’m more than happy to blame him.  After all, it couldn’t be down to me, could it?

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That’s where Tomy’s Battle Deck system comes into play. We got the boy the Battle Deck Mega Raceway for Christmas as it seemed like a great starter kit and he has not been disappointed.

To read on visit Mummy Reviews.

After the nightmare that was the school holidays, things have settled down now.  I’m probably being a bit cruel by describing the boy’s two weeks at home a nightmare, but by Monday the boy was overly tired, hyped up and generally being a pain in the butt.  I understand the problem; there’s so many new toys around to play with that the old favourites get ignored and then suddenly you realise you’ve played with the new stuff so much that it’s boring too and then you have nothing to do.  Still, I think we were both glad when he went back to school this week.

What the boy’s absence has given me is a chance to settle into a bit of a routine.  We’re still up at the same time in the morning, but instead of rushing around getting myself ready as well as him, I can eat my breakfast at the same time and then concentrate on convincing him to get ready.  He’s the king of procrastination I tell you.

Once the boy’s ready I attempt to motivate myself to shower and dress (it is very tempting to stay in my PJs all day long, but if I figure if I start that now, I’ll never get out of the habit) whilst the husband does the morning school run.  I guess I could attempt to move myself a little quicker and do the run but I’m not quite convinced that I could waddle up there fast enough to get the boy to school on time.

Then I sit myself down to the serious task of blog reading and twittering.  Because that’s very important.  And there goes my morning.  And sometimes some of my afternoon.  At some point in the day I may attempt to do some chores, but as I’m sure you’ll remember, I’m not exactly the domestic type so it doesn’t happen too often.  I mean, why break a habit of a lifetime?

And then the school run.  Of course the moment the boy makes it out of school, that’s when the chaos starts.  We’ve had a few hairy moments when he realises I’m not quite as easygoing as the husband but he’s already starting to accept that after school it’s mummy’s rules.  For the past week his favourite phrase has been “I’m still hungry”.  He’s driving me up the wall.  He’ll happily demolish all the food we have in the house the moment he gets through the door and then still want a bigger portion of dinner than I’m having.  All before 6pm.  It’s a good job I’m eating less otherwise his food consumption would bankrupt us!

The best part of all though, is that because we’re eating that much earlier, we seem to manage to get the boy to bed earlier.  The other night he actually asked to go to bed at 7 o’clock.  It’s a miracle!

I could quite get used to this new life but I know it won’t last long.  Really it’s just the calm before the storm.