Well those 12 months whizzed by pretty quickly didn’t they? Cheeky little blighters. While 2015 passed me by in a haze of Peppa Pig, dirty nappies and countless renditions of ‘wheels on the bus’, there were a some notable highlights for the memory box.
2015 was the year I went freelance. I am so fortunate to have been able to take the bits of my old job that I actually enjoyed doing (there were one or two) and set up a business from it, working it around playgroup, playdates and general Bear life. I did my usual – what if I make a mess of it? What if it doesn’t work? Turns out, as usual, I should stop asking ‘what if?’; I’ve met some wonderful new people and companies and I have done some actual, proper, real life freelance work. I feel all grown up.
2015 was another adventure for this blog. According to the clever people at WordPress, Chatterbox Mummy has had more than 4,600 views over the last year, with visitors from 83 countries (83!!!) reading my waffle. Most of them were from the UK, but apparently the US isn’t far behind. So here I am in the UK, and people in America quite like my stuff, too – how cool is that? I feel like One Direction…only a lot older, way less cool and with a voice that’s only really appreciated by the hearing impaired.
2015 was the year of the tantrum. We have never been back to Smyths since That Day. We have a lifetime ban from a lovely pub en route to Somerset, and aren’t allowed within a 10 mile radius of Blackpool. Man alive those strops were something else, and proof of two things; Bear is a determined and strong-minded little lady, and she is a mini-me in more ways than one. I can look back on those days quite smugly now. Not because we found the perfect remedy to her regular impressions of a flailing salmon, and not because she doesn’t still have meltdowns these days. But because we are now completely indifferent to them, and we fuel our immunity by joining in with her kicking and screaming on the floor. It’s actually quite therapeutic – try it, you might like it (just not in Debenhams – it tends to attract a few looks).
2015 was a year of more firsts for Bear. She started walking, quickly becoming our very own resident ninja. How a 2 year old can go from a cuddly pile on the sofa to standing on top of the coffee table in 0.4 seconds remains a mystery to me. She started talking, and (unsurprisingly) hasn’t stopped. Can’t think who she takes after.
In one of those moments that comes complete with a choral soundtrack of Hallelujah, she STARTED EATING! In fact, on Christmas day when she ate turkey with all the trimmings – including the dreaded sprout – I could have sung that Hallelujah song myself. I didn’t, because there were people in the vicinity with ears, and it was Christmas (a time for being kind). Plus every mouthful was dipped in ketchup, so it was hardly an Annabel Karmel moment, was it?
The biggest ‘first’ for us was Bear starting playgroup 3 mornings a week. We spent half a term trying to man-up to the tears and upset at drop-off (and that was just me), but I think we’ve finally got there. Her own little mummy-free social life has been both the hardest and best decision we’ve made so far, and seeing our Bear as a star* in the Christmas concert may have made my eyes water a little lot.
*By ‘star’, I mean we bought the costume. She didn’t want to wear it (#standard).
I’m not going to waste your time or mine by writing out my New Year’s resolutions, on account of them looking remarkably similar to the same as last year’s. And when it comes to stopping swearing and losing a stone, I think we can all guess how they’ll pan out.
For Christmas, Santa bought me 3 bottles of gin – what a legend, eh? I am about to embark on a taste-a-thon, for research purposes only (obviously), so I’ll say Happy New Year now. I hope 2016 brings you health, happiness and new adventures. Thank you for humouring me and reading my ramblings, and for being a constant reminder that I’m not the only one making up this parenting lark as she goes along.