I am in the midst of planning Baby Boy's first birthday party and for ideas my first port of call was Pinterest, naturally... There were pictures of every sort of first birthday party imaginable - vintage themed, where the wild things are, the lorax, the very hungry caterpillar, moustache bashes, and on it goes. There were ideas for food and games and decorations and cakes. It was amazing and inspiring and overwhelming and just plain stressful...

What happened to the Woman's Weekly train cake, a few sausage rolls and frankfurters and some pass-the-parcel? Now, a party (according to Pinterest) needs to be more than that. A party isn't a party if it doesn't have a candy buffet and personalised backdrop and gourmet food and drinks; and above all, a party isn't a party if it isn't worth photographing and 'pinning'.

Despite all the stress this need to 'keep up with the Joneses' is causing in me, I will go above and beyond to put on an amazing birthday party for Baby Boy, but I'm going to try and keep it in perspective; Baby Boy's childhood will not be ruined if his cake sinks or the house isn't perfectly decorated. What is important is that he feels loved and supported and special on his birthday and every day after.

xx. Mummy Arnold.

I got a phone call today that no mother with a child in daycare, or at school or indeed anywhere, ever wants to receive. "Mummy Arnold, I am afraid to tell you this, but Baby Boy has eaten another child's poop. I don't know how it happened. The other child is in the process of toilet training and somehow Baby Boy got over there and poop ended up in his mouth. We have called the doctor and the worst that can happen is a bit of diarrhoea, but I am terribly sorry."

Geez, Baby Boy, aren't we feeding you enough?

It sounds like a shocking state of affairs, but I have to say I am not angry and I am not really that surprised. Don't get me wrong, I'm not thrilled at the idea that my son is eating other children's poop whilst in (very expensive) care and I will not be in any hurry to get kisses from him when I get home tonight, but I can see how this could have happened and I don't blame the daycare centre.

I would bet $1,000,000 that the whole situation went down a little bit like this:
Baby Boy was off playing with something on one side of the room, while the other child was doing their business in the potty. Baby Boy looked over and thought: "ooooh, something new and different and exciting, I've got to get me some of that" and off he crawled. And that kid is fast - the other day I was washing my face in the shower and Baby Boy was playing in the bathroom. I heard him crawl out of the room and in the time it took me to wash the soap of my face and wrap a towel around me he had crawled through the house, down three stairs and halfway across the garden. He would have (not so gently) pushed the other child aside to see what was going in and, as all children of his age do, had a bit of a taste.

Baby Boy, you are lucky I love you; however, please do not do that again!

xx. Mummy Arnold.

Pardon the pun...

As I sit here now, ten months on and contemplating baby number two, my mind drifted back to those first few months with Baby Boy and my decision to breast feed. Feeds-ville seems to be a land where most new mothers spend quite a bit of time, particularly at the crossroad of Breast and Bottle streets. I have to admit that I did not decide to breastfeed because I wanted that bonding with Baby Boy (I was going to bond with him either way) and I did not choose to breastfeed because I had this romanticised image in my mind - I did it purely and simply because, based on my research I reached the conclusion that it was the best food for my baby.

Despite this, there were times there when I was in tears at the thought of having to feed Baby Boy again. I would sit an wish that he would stay asleep just a little while longer because I couldn't bear the thought of feeding him. At those times all I could think was: "Am I the only terrible mother to feel this way? Am I doing it wrong? If it's the right thing to do why does it hurt so much, the lactation consultant said it wouldn't hurt? Is formula really that bad? Labour was easier than this!"

Let me tell you now. That lactation consultant was a lying cow. Breastfeeding hurts. It hurt me and it hurt everyone I have spoken to. The weight did not fall off me. And Baby Boy still catches colds. But I am stubborn and I persevered anyway. I don't really know why because even now I don't enjoy breastfeeding and I don't feel particularly attached to it - I guess that's why I started expressing relatively early on.

When I was sitting at home with Baby Boy sucking like a Dyson on my red raw nipples, I wish someone had said to me: "It's normal. Breastfeeding hurts and it's not easy, but you are doing the best you can and the best you can is an amazing job!" Breastfeeding has gotten easier for me; it doesn't hurt anymore (except on the very odd occassion) and Baby Boy has gotten a lot faster at the whole thing, but I can see why people choose to bottle feed and I have to say: no judgment here.

But to those mothers who do choose to push through and keep breast feeding: Congratulations! You got this girl! You can do it!!!

xx. Mummy Arnold.

Daddy Arnold and I have been tossing around the idea of starting to try for baby Arnold #2 sometime soon, but I am just not sure. Aside from having to buy a new pram, our plans have always been that we would try for another one when Baby Boy was about 2, but why wait, why not have them close together? But if I wait, then maybe Baby Boy will be more self-sufficent and things will be easier (forehead slap - I thought we discussed this!) Oh, the internal dialogue is killing me.

How long did you wait between #1 and #2, or how long do you plan to wait?

xx. Mummy Arnold.

From the moment our sweet little babies are conceived our world is lived from one milestone to the next. It will all be easier once I make it to the second trimester; I can't wait until the third trimester, it will all nearly be over; oh, the first three weeks with a newborn are the hardest. And on it goes.

I have found myself guilty of offering up that same advice to a new mum recently - hang in there, everything gets better once your baby hits three months and they start feeding more efficiently. As true as this sentiment is, do things actually get easier or do the problems just change? Yes, Baby Boy no longer takes an hour to feed and he no longer wants to feed every three hours day and night, but now that he is crawling I never have a minute to myself and I am constantly on the look out for my little escape artist.

On the one hand, things have gotten easier since Baby Boy has started moving and can get the things he wants for himself; however, looking back at videos of him squealing with joy jumping happily away in his jolly jumper for half an hour while I washed the dishes or folded the clothes, that seems like a much easier option.

Parenting is hard and as a parent I don't think I will ever get to the "easy" part. But with every day and every smile I get from Baby Boy, my confidence grows, as do my parenting skills. So for now, rather than waiting for the current challenge to end and the next challenge to arrive I am just going to enjoy my Baby Boy and our adventures together because before I know it, he will be one, seven, twelve ... and no longer my baby boy any more.

xx. Mummy Arnold

What better way to introduce ourselves on a motherhood blog, than to share birth stories. After reading mine, please feel free to call me a cow!

Just after midnight on 7 July 2012 (after a moment of marital bliss with Daddy Arnold) I started to feel a little ill, nothing major but I just didn't feel right. After about 15 minutes of this I got up to go to the bathroom and there it was, my bloody show. It was at about that time that I experienced my first contraction. The rational part of my brain told me to go back to sleep, but I was just too excited (Daddy Arnold on the other hand, had no such issues sleeping).

After perhaps the longest bath ever - two hours from memory - I decided that I actually was in labour and gave my midwife a heads up. It was only a 20 minute drive to the Family Birthing Centre, so I was in no rush. I lay on the couch with a heat pack on my back until about 5.30am. At that point I decided that I couldn't go on in this pain indefinitely and it was time for some pain relief, so I woke up Daddy Arnold, toddled out to the car between contractions and off we set. At 6am I walked through the door of the King Edward Memorial Hospital Family Birth Centre and into my private room. I asked (or rather Daddy Arnold asked on my behalf) for some gas, as that was the only pain relief I was planning to have) and was told rather sympathetically "I think it's too late for that, you're just going to have to push".

So with no pain relief whatsoever and after only 6.5 hours in labour, at 6.42am on 7 July 2012, I welcomed the most precious baby into the world - my sweet little Baby Boy.

xx. Mummy Arnold.

PS. Tell us your birth stories below...