The boy will be three tomorrow, and as has already been pointed out, that can’t possibly be true. Only yesterday (it seems), he was a red-faced scrap of hunger and frustration, utterly helpless and only wanting to snuggle somewhere warm and safe. As indeed were Pete and I.

All three of us seem more confident in our roles these days. That’s not to say it’s easy; we still have pretty major Sleep Issues, and Bernard is certainly stuck in a phase of NO. He knows what he wants. He is pretty damn persistent in getting it. I am so proud that he takes after me. I have noticed that (apart from the whole sleep thing), when we get into a difficult phase, we all change. We are quite adaptable, and we work hard to find the best way through these rough patches. This is probably another way of saying we cave in to his every whim, just as adoring parents should.

But it’s not all rough patches and NO. It’s being woken up at 6am by a rendition of “one, two, threefourfive, once I caught a fishalive.” It’s recognising the kisses that granny drew on his birthday card. It’s telling the man in the Indian restaurant that he prefers curry to chips, and neglecting to eat the chips when he was served them anyway. It’s asking what he’s going to do today, and then trying to rearrange the order of events for no reason. It’s choosing “kontrow” underpants in M&S. It’s alerting me to the fact that a nearby baby is crying, and wants some mama-milk to “feel him better.” It’s warm little animal cuddles when my big boy remembers that he’s a baby too.

When to celebrate a third birthday? Officially, it falls on Tuesday. Presents before going to the childminder? Seems a bit harsh. Presents when Pete gets home an hour before bedtime? Even more so.

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This is sort of a companion piece to Pete’s post, published quite a bit later. I find that even when I have time, I can’t focus my mind on writing blog posts these days.

Finishing my Breastfeeding Counselling course I am now a qualified BFC. It rocks! and leads to…

Teaching antenatal classes Which I really love doing, and have signed up for far too many. From mid-August until the end of the year, I have a minimum of one per week. I have resolved not to over-commit myself in 2010.

Doing other NCT stuff Currently I’m the Vice Chair of the local branch, and the Newsletter Ed, and seem to have various other ad hoc roles, all of which I am going to drop at the AGM in November (see above for why). Except the newsletter, because I really enjoy doing that.

Trying to be a Domestic Goddess Not that I’ve gone so far as to clean the fridge or the bath lately, but I’ve made several pies, with varying degrees of success. I am highly suspicious of Nigella Lawson’s recipes, although her blueberry muffins worked a treat.

Knitting I can’t believe I haven’t spent more of my life knitting. It is so relaxing, and if you do enough of it, you become reasonably competent. I am not afraid to knit in the round anymore, which means awesome hat patterns are now accessible to me. I knit while watching telly, which doesn’t make me feel any less of a couch potato.

Chilling with the boy Fridays are our day together, and we have a pretty standard routine of pottering about in the morning, going to Waitrose for lunch, up to the Childrens Centre for the breastfeeding support group, and a long walk home. Soon I will make tea for us, as Pete is out with the Dads tonight. Bernard has not been at his most angelic today, but still has blinding flashes of cute.

I have finished my breastfeeding counselling training. My final portfolio is with the assessors, and they have nearly finished, so I will have a Licence to Practise in the next couple of weeks. I am nearly there. I am nearly a BFC.

Once I get my L2P, I will be allocated a supervisor, and have someone to talk to about all the things that bother me, that are too big and personal to raise in my tutorial group (which will anyway no longer be there as a source of support for me).

Perhaps I will also have the confidence to deal face-on with situations that make me uncomfortable at the breastfeeding drop-in I help to run on a Friday. Like Health Visitors advocating cry-it-out for an 8 month old baby, despite the fact that research shows that stress and distress in infants have an actual physical effect on brain development. Surely to goodness, healthcare professionals should keep up to date with evidence-based information? Don’t they have a basic obligation to do no harm?

Or the untrained peer supporter from Another Organisation who, in two hours, barely paused for breath. She has a lot of information about breastfeeding, but no listening skills. She is 20 years old, enthusiastic, committed to breastfeeding, and absolutely destroyed the calm and accepting group dynamic with her personal recommendations and advice.

Or, on a lighter note, the moment on Thursday evening during my talk with the mums-to-be, when one of them asked me how long I had breastfed my baby for.

We are in the supermarket. Bernard rides in the trolley, grabbing things. Morrisons is particularly bad for having lots of small diecast cars in every aisle. I am going about my business; Bernard is going about his.

My want to PAY for sumfing, mama. ["my" = I]

What are you going to pay for?

My want to BUY sumfing.

Have you got any money?

My found some money at my home. ["found" = got]

Really? How much money have you got at home?

My found one PIECE of money. My pay for sopping.