Postcards from Peanut – Edinburgh Airport

BlueBeretMum is on holiday in the lovely city of Krakow, Poland and Peanut has decided to keep the blog going and write a few postcards to keep you up to date on our latest adventures.

Since he must have inherited his mum’s love of badly rhymed verse….well, you know what to expect.  Here is your first postcard from Peanut.  Enjoy!

Hey, you rude man at the front of our queue

Get off my mum’s toe, she’s human too!

Beware of her temper or she will stab you

With her Jimmy Choo (off eBay,

A cheap copy. None of your business so boo hoo).


Post Comment Love

Mummy’s Gone

Tonight is the night. I am actually going out for the first time in nine months, two weeks and three days.  By going out I mean:

  • no Peanut
  • no schlepping around a supply of nappies and a gigantic changing bag
  • wearing very insensible shoes
  •  wearing an outfit without having to ask myself first: “How easy is it going to be to   get my boob out and shove it into Peanut’s mouth?”

As I am standing at the door saying goodbyes BlueBeretDad is giving Peanut a bath.  Actually, judging by the amount of foam and water over the Big Man it is the other way round.

“So, are you sure you are ok? Remember to put on the big nappy for the night. Big nappy.  The other ones leak.”

“I know” says BlueBeretDad.

“And try to keep him awake for another 15 minutes or he will be up at five.  Do you think you can manage?”


“Bye bye bye bye”  Peanut does the two-handed version of the royal wave and I lock the door behind me.

As I walk towards the restaurant to meet my book club chums I wonder whether this time we are actually going to discuss the book.  Hope not as I haven’t read mine – Peanut ate my book is my excuse tonight.  A few visions of Peanut accidentally drowning in the bath and BlueBeretDad accidentally climbing into the toilet (or was it the other way round?) later I wave at my fellow book – clubbers.  In my pocket the mobile starts vibrating to the familiar Psycho tune.


“Hi it’s me. Is the milk supposed to be 28 degrees?” my Other Half says.

“What? I don’t know.”


“What?” I say.

“The milk. Too hot. How do I know it is not too hot before he drinks it?”

“Two ways – one is to drink a bit of it. Or give it to Peanut and see what happens – don’t recommend it. “ I say.


“Whaaaaaahaaaaaaaaaaaawhawhahwahwah” Patrick expresses his view on the problem.

“Nevermind.  Do you want me to come back?”

“No.  Have fun.  Bye”

The last one to arrive I sink my butt onto the comfy chair and let out a heavy sigh.  But before I manage to say “I need a drink” the mobile starts jumping around the table “Yeah, I know, that psychotic Psycho ringtone.  Now that I have a child I will change it.”

BlueBeretDad on the line:

“His sleeping bag is not in his cot.”

“Right.  Did you check in our bed?”

“No” the floor creaks and I realise that I can tell exactly where he is.

“Found it.  Ok.  Have fun.”

“Bye” He is gone.

Five margaritas later I stumble back home.  Had a great time with the girls and no, we never got round to discussing the book.  As I slowly climb the stairs to our flat I start thinking about things that I used to do and never really appreciated until Peanut came along:

  1. Painting my nails – now it is a military operation planned six months in advance.  Very risky no matter how well I map out the strategy.  Have already ended up with Peanut’s fingerprints on my otherwise “immaculate” nail varnish a few times.  Well, 16 years to go…
  2. General de-fuzzing  – could previously take hours contemplating every millimetre of my calves and making sure every hair follicle was annihilated.  Now it is a supersonic job – roughly five seconds per leg done while Peanut alternates between trying to force the shower door open while I keep on blocking it with my free elbow  and /or knee and trying to stick his hand, head and the rest of his tiny body into the toilet bowl.  More often than not my “used to be so smooth” legs are covered in fuzzy islands.  I’m so glad I live in Scotland as chances of me getting out with bare legs in the next 10 years are 0.1%.
  3. Having a hot drink/soup/anything even close to lukewarm.
  4. Writing emails undisturbed by Peanut banging furiously on my keyboard and therewith   activating stuff on my laptop I had no idea existed.
  5. Reading a book/newspaper without anyone trying to eat half of it.
  6. Having a shower on my own.
  7. Being in the toilet on my own without a mini human being finding whatever business is going on there so hilarious he has to take a closer look.
  8. Having an uninterrupted conversation with another adult.
  9. Sleep.  Sleep.  Sleep.
  10. Wearing black cloths without a risk of them being covered in snot, spit and stains (mainly food) within two seconds of me putting them on.  I am the ultimate yummy mummy, ask the Edinburgh seagulls.
  11. Did I mention sleep?  Sleep in any position possible.  Anywhere.  Just sleep.

Things on this list that I was extremely bothered about in my pre-Peanut life: all of the above.

Before I wobble, fall over and fall asleep on the floor in the hallway I hear BlueBeretDad’s big snore followed by a mini snore coming from the nursery.

Things on this list that I am extremely bothered about now that Peanut is here: none.

Gentle Walk into that Good Night…

One of those typical evenings in our house….


As my Other Half and I sink comfortably into the couch and congratulate ourselves on our comatose son – Peanut a familiar sound reaches us. I swear I can hear something.  It is a stir and some whimpering.  Pretty certain there was a stir. And a tiny tiny whimper

22:51:51 seconds

Second check. I can hear nothing. Nothing is good or is it? Nothing could mean the Baby was kidnapped. Or has been attacked by Mr Duck.  If looks could kill my Other Half would be annihilated in that very second.

“I told you not to leave Mr Duck in the cot. Mr Duck could be to our Baby what the Asteroid was to Siberia last week”.

We don’t dare to move a muscle, our ears directed towards the nursery. Still nothing. Nothing is good. Nothing could mean the Baby is asleep or could it…

22:53:03 seconds

Time for the Operation Check if Peanut is OK and Avoid the Bloody Creaking Floors.

Still nothing and I decide that maybe this is not good news. My Other Half is hypnotised by a bunch of men chasing a ball on our flatscreen TV.  I realise I am on my own and I am on a mission to check how Peanut is doing.  I tiptoe into the hallway. It is dark and cold, the vast plain of the beige carpet ahead of me.

The first creak is loud, I swear and focus – breathe in and out, in and out and get into the zone. Inspired by the Swan Lake I take a few quick steps and manage a pirouette before I stop on the door leading to the nursery. Now, there is one thing you should know about our flat. It is modern and lovely and warm and cosy and not Peanut – Proof ..yet …but… the floors creak and that wakes Peanut up.  That means my daily precious 180 minutes drooling in front of TV are gone and that makes me upset.  Over the last few months my Other Half and I have devised ways of Beating the Big Creak. Here are some of our top strategies:

a)      The Swan Lake tip toe, pirouette and stop on the door – high risk of bruised face and shattered teeth, the Creak Factor 4 out of 10

b)      Stomp stamp stomp bang the door stomp stamp stomp – it is quick but the Creak Factor is 8 out of 10 plus all the additional noise

c)       Slow motion steps – one giant step for me one giant step for the baby – takes ages but the Creak  Factor is only 2 out of 10. I recommend it for the advert breaks.

d)      And the crawl  – slowly slowly very slowly I creep and crawl and it takes an eternity to get there and back but the Creaking Factor is only 1 out of 10

22:54:06 seconds

As I crawl towards the cot I hear the noise – a bit of snoring and gurgling accompanied by a loud fart and more snoring. Having assessed the situation I decide not to compromise Peanut’s safety and remove Mr Duck out of the Sleepy Zone. Pits, pack, crack, get out. Time for the last check – “Is His Face OK” test and I reach for my tool – the mobile phone screen. The world stops moving. Holding in my breath (thanks to my Power Yoga teacher I can hold it in for a very long time) I hover the screen above Peanut’s face.  Yap, seems fine until the picture of my Other Half pops up on it to the theme tune from Psycho

“What?”  Why has nobody invented soundless whispers yet? Why is he calling me from next door? Oh, yeah, the floors.

“Is he ok?”

I hang up and leave.

22:54:10 seconds