5 Quirks of Being a Tall Mother

I’m pretty tall, as it goes.

Once, when working at my Saturday job on a UK Pharmacy counter as a hapless 16 year old, an elderly lady looked up at me, over 6 feet tall in my totally-unsuitable-for-standing-all-day high heels and asked ‘is it cold up there?’. Happy memories…

Anyway, one might think that height has no bearing on parenthood but I have found the following:

1. Maternity clothing is nigh on impossible to find

There’s a picture of me at 8 months pregnant on a beach here in Abu Dhabi. It is a lovely picture in many ways. When looking at this photograph, in addition to thinking I look like a ship in full sail, I can’t help wishing the dress I was wearing was a little longer. Pregnant ladies bemoan the hardships involved in finding clothing that doesn’t look frumpy and doesn’t cost a month’s salary for one outfit. Add extra height into the mix and it becomes a recipe for awkwardly exposed wrists, knees and ankles, waistlines partying around the chest area and trousers at half mast. Finding ‘tall’ maternity clothing is like searching for rockinghorse food.

If I had a whiff of entrepreneurialism about me, I’d start my own clothing line for this very niche market. But for the moment, I’ll just giggle nostalgically at my pregnancy photographs.

2. Big feet

Having ‘canoe-shoes’ -as my family like to refer to me- is part and parcel of being blessed with extra inches in the height department. There’s an old wives tale (or maybe there’s medical fact behind it, I don’t know)… that big feet means an easy labour as the hips and birth canal would be in proportion to the size of the feet. I can categorically, one thousand percent confirm that my gigantic feet (and hips for that matter) did not make that process any easier….

3. It’s a long way down

When, a few hours into my labour, the Midwife brought me a birthing ball the size of a beach ball I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The chances of me squatting to the height of that ball were slim to none. Unfortunately due to the unforeseen way Little O’s arrival into the world commenced, my extra large birthing ball did not accompany me to the hospital.

It didn’t stop at labour. Being a parent involves a lot of bending to the floor action. I estimate I pick up Little O from the floor at least a zillion times each day. When you’re a bit Giraffe-like, it’s a longer way down. My poor, poor back.

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4. Baby Equipment is Made for Short(er) People

Baby changing tables – check

Strollers – check

Push-along ride on toys – check

Just a few examples of items made to torture the spines of tall parents and turn us into the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

5. Tall baby

Having tall parents generally means a fairly tall baby. Little O is obviously (as we all believe about our own children) the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen. She is tall and gets through clothing sizes every few weeks. She grew out of her Jumperoo quickly, even on the highest setting. She stands taller than all of her baby friends. We are super lucky as there’s more of her to love!

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I’m going to add a sixth point: actually it doesnt really matter….

Yes, sometimes being tall makes things a bit more tricky. But, when I outstretch my arms to say I love you this much, on the basis that arm span mirrors height, that’s a whole lot of love to go around. When Little O gets to the playground stage of ‘my dad is bigger than your dad’ she’ll be able to say that about mummy, too. I can happily reach toys from the top shelves stacked floor-to-ceiling in all the best toy stores. When carrying Little O on my shoulders she’ll have a fabulous birds’ eye view of her surroundings.

Tall or small, Hunchback or not, the beauty of parenting is that whatever our shapes and sizes, our little ones will always think we rock!

 

Mummuddlingthrough
Friday Frolics
Stopping at two
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First Words

The title of this post implies it might be a brag about Little O finding her vocabulary at 14 months old and maybe even quoting a few lines from Shakespeare. But no.

The ‘first words’ I’m referring to are the opening lines of each day, the first words spoken between parents in households all over the world, including mine.

Have you ever thought about your first words each morning?

Niceties such as ‘hello’ and ‘good morning’ aside, I’ve recently been observing our half-awake conversations in the Mum’s Hideout household and discovered the dawn of a new day could be welcomed by Mr O and I in any one of the following ways:

After an uncharacteristically quiet night (i.e. less than 3 wakings from Little O): ‘what on earth is going on?’

‘I heard mooing noises in the middle of the night’ (turns out it was coming from the activity table)

‘Do you remember what it was like to sleep a full night?’

‘I had a weird dream about Iggle Piggle’

‘I wish it was the weekend’ (most weekdays)

‘I’ve got a piece of Lego embedded in my foot’

‘Tea? Yes please’

‘I can’t see anything out of the window’ (fog)

‘I can’t see anything out of the window’ (sand storm)

‘I was going to go running but…’ (insert any one of a thousand reasons)

‘Why is the cereal box in the fridge?’

Cold cereal....

Cold cereal….

 

‘I think she’s filled her nappy’.

My personal favourite: ‘why is there a giraffe down the toilet?’

I’m pretty sure we can’t be the only ones to indulge in such random and sometimes surreal morning chatter.

I’m going to make a conscious effort from now on to make my first words more positive, life-affirming and constructive. If I get more than 6 hours of sleep, that is. Until then, I’ll continue to stumble on with my hair sticking out at 90 degrees and be thankful my husband is as random as I am.

How do you start your day?

Friday Frolics
A Cornish Mum

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