On the 26th February Mabel will be 11 months old. This is crazy bananas. What is even crazier is the rate at which she has progressed since she was 9/10 months. I thought I would share some of the unexpected (and simply unconsidered) lessons I have learnt these past few weeks for your Monday amusement.

139 toys will never be enough.

Mabel still prefers the Sky remote. Or my iPhone. Or the contents of my make-up bag.

Babies are bruisers.

There is nothing delicate about Mabel. I didn’t realise such a small person could be so strong. She likes to use me as a general climbing frame, this involves having my hair pulled, my knees kicked and various areas of my epidermis squeezed until they turn blue. Up until last week I had a black eye from where she head butted me in the cheek bone. She does not appear to injure herself during any of these incidents, my baby is made of steel. Her nana nicknames her “The Wrecking Ball”.

Your breakfast/lunch/dinner is never your own.

No matter when I eat or what I eat Mabel always appears to want it for herself. A fond memory was the debacle with the jam on toast (yes I know – what divvy stick hands their baby jam on toast…) Tesco’s finest Strawberry conserve ended up smeared across my face, in Mabel’s hair, across the kitchen floor and somehow on the tassels of my ankle boots which I discovered some hours later. I did not actually consume any of the jam on toast. None.

In fact nothing is ever yours ever again.

Specifically magazines. Or clean washing (which you are trying to put away) or the Sky remote. Or your iPhone. Or your make-up bag.

Child-Proofing your home is actually impossible.

Unless you live in a house that is essentially a soft play wipe-clean abode with no walls.

Babies crawl at the speed of light.

You cannot leave them for a second. A SECOND. And how do they all of a sudden learn to open cupboards and doors? HOW?!

Babies like pets and will probably try and terrorise them.

Poor Fathead*. Mabel loves him. She loves him so much if he’s in the room she squeals delightedly and crawls after him (at the speed of light). He mostly looks afraid. VERY afraid. Recently she pulled herself up on the edge of the sofa where he was sleeping and grabbed herself a handful of fur. Her affections are subsequently unrequited.

You will find strange things in strange places

On Friday I went on a (rare) girls night out. I felt reasonably glamorous until I found a selection of Ella’s Kitchen Puffits* in my clutch bag. As far as I’m aware Mabel has never had anything to do with my clutch bag.

James: “Did you have a good night?”
Me: “Yes…although I found crushed up puffits in my Balenciaga, I think they might be permanently ingrained in the zip….”

Please do share your discoveries in the comments box below. Happy Monday folks 🙂

*Fathead is my husband’s cat.
*Puffits are essentially small round watsits that have the ability to migrate to and thus ruin your favourite accessories.