They grow up so fast. Enjoy them while they’re young. You won’t feel it.

That’s what EVERYONE says. Threateningly! Usually when you are grumpy over a late night, spit up on a clean outfit or a melt down over a yogi. (This is toddler speak for a yoghurt in my house).

I know they are right. So I am keeping journals. My friend gifted me a cutely titled dinky blue and yellow affair entitled The Happiness Project when Gigi was born. I bought a matching when Betsy was born. They should have the same I think. I imagined the comparisons in the future if I hadn’t made two and am aiming to avoid at least one.

I need to write a line or two everyday for five years. It is a bit of a commitment. At first it felt like a bit of a sentence! Yet I am in year two for Gigi and it has been surprisingly  speedy.

Am I good at it?  No.

Sonetimes a week elapses before I write. I find it ridiculously hard to recall what we have done with the girls in that time, consulting phone calendars and shaking my head furiously in rusty attempts to dig out the dirt. I have a good memory. Or so I am told. Or so I thought. In fact the truth is that my short term memory has morphed into more of a ‘forgettery’ as baby brain ( a very real condition, doubters beware) dilutes the power of my brain. I feel like Superman near a Kryptonite  Yankee Candle special edition. Weakened by deadly, sweet smelling vapours. Therefore ‘people’ are right. Being  Mammy to smallies is very temporary. It goes so fast. We forget. I don’t know how to feel about that.

My strict, possibly overly rigid and scarily ‘locked in’  choice of memory books for my girls may be in fact the perfect choice. They help me remember the teeny details. I look at an entry for Gigi from last October.  ‘You ate pears’, it declares, scrawled in what looks like ladybird tracks. I mean wow! Who knows the first date they ate pears? My little sausages will!!

Here are the ‘firsts’ from this weekend alone. I must write them in. Later. After tea. Or a bath.

Gigi gave me a warning for the first time yesterday evening. She was clearly copying a discipline technique used in crèche.  Just remember. She gave the warning to me. Not the other way around!

We were in teatime debates over a controversial snack (yogi number three). She was overtired and emotional. She screeched. A plaintively misunderstood cry of ‘Noooo!  No MAMMY!’assaulted my ears. Then she wiggled her finger authoritively. She began, ‘One. TWO. THREE…’. I realised what was happening. I wanted to laugh. Instead I joined in for my warning. We were both shouting ‘hurray!’by ten. I got away with it.

A funny moment earlier that day took me by comedic surprise. I am not a ‘burp out a word’ person. I find it faintly nauseating and not very funny. Just as the never ending supply of parent wonder dictates however, I am most heartily entertained if my own child does it. Gigi ran into the sitting room, after her dinner, to tell me she was going for a walk with her Nana. ‘Bye BYE’ she burped out, wind emphasis on the last ‘bye’ and I laughed out loud. The bewildered expression on her face was hilarious as she tried to figure out what had just happened!

Just discovered Bitmoji. A whole lot more of that will be coming your way!

Betsy had her first solid food this weekend. Having read ‘French Children Don’t Throw Food’ I was all inspired to make her first tastes exciting. I had followed the ‘Your Baby Week by Week Guide’ for Gigi very successfully so I hoped a healthy combination would be great.

Old habits die hard however and before I get food adventurous with my baby’s palate I am having her on a week of plain baby rice first. She was so excited to sit in a high chair. Have a spoon of her own to bash on the tray top. To have little mouthfuls of bland old milky rice! Did she blow ricey raspberries? Yes!

Gigi also had her first trip as a passenger on a bicycle with her Daddy in a local tourist attraction walking and cycling area, Boora Lakelands. As she was belted in, she looked vaguely bewildered. As her Dada pedalled them off, she began to laugh in a raucous excitement bordering on mild hysteria, much to the bemusement of the other visitors.

I am in bed. Lights are out. I am typing on my phone. Have I filled in my books? No. Sometime later in the week I will be shaking my head trying to recall this weekend’s more important details and am sure to make do writing some inane (maybe only vaguely true) statement such as ‘You wore blue shorts’. Thereby omitting the day that you, Gigi, peeled with laughter at your first trip on a big bike as a passenger or you, Betsy first tasted actual food.

Will I ever learn??