I’ve had time to think this year. I’ve had a little time to think more about what I want out of life, and, more precisely, what I don’t. At the age of 36 I think I finally know myself well enough to know which battles are worth fighting and which ones I really don’t have time for. So here’s the list of things I’m dumping as we turn the final corner of 2017. 
Heels
Oh, how I love them. Feet jewels. They’re so pretty. And I so can’t wear them.
I’ve been trying since I was a teenager, but every time I wore them to a party or out clubbing they’d end up swinging from my hands while a mate gave me a piggy back, or kicked to the side of the room while I risked my feet on a sticky club carpet. A friend of mine used to say “You know it’s a party when Vicki takes her shoes off”. My lifelong search for the perfect comfortable and beautiful pair of heels is now over. I’m loving my brogues and Converse, and contemplating a pair of DMs like the ones I had when I was 15. I’m short and I don’t wear heels. The end.
Saying yes when I mean no
I’m a terrible people-pleaser. I want the whole world to like me, and in order to achieve this nonsensical goal I’ve always had a habit of saying yes to absolutely everything, then having to let people down at the last minute because I can’t possibly manage it. I even say yes to things I have no interest in doing at all.
No longer.
Having Arthur has changed me in many ways. This is one. When I know something isn’t going to work for us for whatever reason; travel, bedtime, nap time, more than one activity per day and so on, I just say no. I did think it might just be a family thing, but I seem to be doing it in other areas of life too. It’s far better than saying yes and then no and being known as Flaky McFlake Face. I’m also getting better at not giving a protracted, apologetic reason for my refusal. Which brings me nicely to…
Apologising for myself
Apparently this is very common for women. We often write emails at work that beg forgiveness for taking someone’s time, or asking a question about something we couldn’t possibly have known about. I’m terrible for this kind of thing. If someone bumps into me there’s a good chance I’ll say sorry.
I recently got a new job. It’s my dream job, really; freelance, working around Arthur and in an area of my field I’ve been wanting to get into for ages. I really had to talk myself into applying for it. “Oh,” I thought, “That looks great but I’m really not qualified.” 
Why not? My inner Confidence Beast asked. Isn’t your Masters degree as good as anyone else’s? Doesn’t your 16 years of experience count for anything? Haven’t you wanted to get back into work in a way that fits around family? WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?
Reader, I got the job.
Dieting
This is a big one. Perhaps the big one. It’s been brewing for a long while, but having an HG pregnancy has really put my relationship with food and my body into perspective. I had to slowly starve myself over the nine months of my pregnancy and when I told people I had lost a stone in weight whilst pregnant I would get “Well, every dark cloud has a silver lining!” which tells you everything you need to know about what we think of larger-bodied people.
Since then I’ve decided to get off this particular merry-go-round. It’s never worked for me. I can’t be the person who has the ‘will power’ to make my body smaller. All diets have ever done is make me fatter in the long run, and since I stopped earlier this year and started to observe myself and my habits I’ve noticed that my weight has stabilised and my food moralising has stopped. After all, how can a delicious burger actually be bad? If I’m hungry the salad isn’t going to cut it.
For more information about Intuitive Eating and stepping away from diets I highly recommend Christy Harrison’s Food Psych, a brilliant podcast which looks at the flawed diet culture and examines ways to move forward. https://christyharrison.com/foodpsych/
Huge crowds
Have you ever stood on the South Bank on New Year’s Eve?
Don’t.
Gigs, festivals, carnivals, Oxford Street. I hate them all. It’s partially because I’m all of 5 feet 2 inches tall, and partly because the sight of all that forced jollity makes me anxious. YOU MUST HAVE A GREAT TIME. It’s guaranteed to give me the reverse. My last attempt was the Lambeth Country Show (a misnomer if ever I heard one), at which I sat in a horrible hot park with thousands of other people, ate an overpriced pork bap then raced home as fast as I could. Then contracted food poisoning. I’m grateful to the bap for the lesson. Big crowds are not for me.
I’d love to hear your version of this list. What are you happy to leave behind from your younger years?

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River Of Slime

Peter Venkman: Hey, how many of you people out here are a national monument? Raise your hand, please? Oh, hello, Miss!

I find myself thinking about Ghostbusters II a lot these days.


Bear with me.


I’m an 80s baby, and the Ghostbusters films were truly awesome. My brothers and I loved them. What’s chiming for me at the moment is the storyline of II.

In case you’ve never seen it, the basic idea is that there’s a river of supernatural slime flowing underneath New York City and feeding off all the negative emotions of the population. Everyone’s bad temper, anger, misanthropy and hatred is creating a monster.


I’ve been thinking about it a lot because it feels very much like what we’re living through at the moment. There’s an awful lot of negativity online, in the news and in the streets. In London everything feels uneasy in a way it hasn’t in all 18 years I’ve lived there. It might just be me that’s changed because of having a baby, but I don’t think it’s just that. There’s been a shift.


In the film there turns out to be a pretty brilliant solution. The boys take the “mood slime” (turns out it reacts to positive emotions, too), use their guns to fire it all over the Statue of Liberty, put on some banging tunes and have her walk through the streets of Manhattan with everyone singing and waving. They bring some positive energy back. It strikes me that we could do with something like that, albeit a little less bonkers. Back in the day, when I was teaching, I got to create my very own positive mood slime all the time. I helped my colleagues bring kids and staff together with singing, positivity and love every time we put on a show or a concert. It was our very own Ghostbusters II finale, twice a term. On a larger scale the 2012 Olympics did the most amazing job of bringing everyone together. People from all over the country volunteered and welcomed athletes and visitors,and for three weeks we were the place to be. It was amazing.


Right now there’s a lot of head-shaking. A lot of people ask the question “What kind of world are we bringing our children into?” and I understand the concern. I sometimes find myself sinking into anxiety at the dark place the world seems to be right now. So I’ve started turning off the TV, ignoring the trolls and filling my timelines with positive people. I’m living life on much smaller scale for the time being, and it’s helping. 


Moments with Arthur are constantly amazing. Today he has clapped for the first time, kissed his cousin on the head and held her hand, reached out his arms for his grandparents, uncle and aunt and made “brum brum” noises playing with his toy steering wheel. Not bad.


Wishing you a whole river of positive mood slime.

6 Months

Yesterday marked half a year since Arthur was born. 

We’re past those newborn days. They were amazing and impossible and hilarious. We’ve had to learn how to be parents and get to know our boy. I thought I’d mark the occasion by writing him a letter. 

Dear Artoo (I call you this because R2-D2 has always been my favourite Star Wars character. Like him you’re brave, clever, and indispensable to the adventure)

You’re getting big. So big, in fact, that I’m starting to have to strain the 6-9 month vests and sleepsuits over your bottom. You have a sharp little tooth sticking out of your lower gum, only just through but it’s there. You’ve got a new cry that I think means “I’m bored, change it up” but I can’t quite be sure yet. Your hungry cry and tired cry are VERY clear now. You can sit without me holding you (although you still pitch to one side like a drunken sailor on deck, and once threw yourself backwards and gave your Dad a real fright), and you can roll. A lot. You’re working on the crawling which is more like a face slide with your bum in the air, but it’s coming along, and you chat to us all the time. These are all the obvious things that everyone does; you’ve also got some of your own going on too. 

1. In the bath you reject all toys except the little purple cup I use to rinse your hair. I have no idea why, but it’s your beloved. 

2. Cuddly toys aren’t really what you want when you go to sleep. You like to rub a muslin all over your face and clutch it with your chubby little hands instead. 

3. You always start laughing with what I call your “Roland Rat” laugh (look him up, he was 80s awesome) before the belly laughing. It’s the only way I can describe it. 

4. You adore your Daddy, and spend ages every morning gazing at him, chatting and grabbing his nose and beard.

5. You love books.  LOVE them. You’ve been turning the pages by yourself since you were four months, but now you’re finding it easier to do that without shouting at the book at the same time.

Over the next six months we’ve got some exciting things going on. Your first holiday with me and Daddy, our party with the other November Babies and another little cousin coming your way too. Tomorrow is your very first Eurovision Song Contest! I’m very much hoping you’ll be asleep for it, but still. 

In the future there’ll be babysitters, nursery, family, friends. Right now it’s all about the three of us. Because I can feed you with my boobs I get to keep you to myself, and if I’m honest that’s pretty fantastic. I’m not ready for anyone except Daddy to have you yet. We’re a team, the three of us. I’m clearly Han and Dad is Chewbacca.

I often ponder just how unlikely you are, my brave little droid. When me and your Dad went to the clinic I got the date wrong. I was so upset, thinking I’d blown it by taking my last injection at the wrong time, but they ended up managing to collect 13 eggs the next day. I’ll always wonder if you were the 13th egg, the one that might never have been if I hadn’t got the day wrong. Did you hear me when I told you to grab on? Of course not… but you did anyway. You wanted to be born, or at least that’s how I’ve always seen it. If your Dad and I had gone for IVF sooner, if we’d had kids without help, if scientists hadn’t invented IVF in the first place, if your grandparents had never met, if me and Daddy never met; it’s just the most unlikely cosmic chain of events really. 

Yet here you are. 

Thanks for picking us. 

Love Mum xxx

Rocking Motherhood?

About three weeks ago I was tagged by the lovely Ellie of @howtogrowaperson (find her lovely blog here). The idea was for mum bloggers to write about ten things they’re doing to rock motherhood.

I must confess, I’m a little stumped. Most days I’m 100% faking it.  However, over on our amazing Facebook group we have a lovely tradition we call WWRT? (What Went Right Today?) so I’ve decided to take that as my inspiration.

  1. Arthur seems to be thriving. He’s getting bigger, smiling, giggling and interacting all the time. What could be better than that?
  2. I’m still managing to get up, showered and dressed every day, and put on my all-important make-up. There are a lot of things I’ m not doing, including working on my idea for a novel or on this blog, but let’s gloss over that. I’m looking after a baby, and Rome wasn’t built in a day.
  3. I’m using my bullet journal again, which is making me feel way more organised.
  4. I’m participating in WWRT every single day and saving my posts to a google doc with a picture for every day. I realised it was ridiculous that I was worrying that I wasn’t keeping a record of Arthur’s first year, because I was already doing it and I could easily save it and look back over it using the magic of google docs. Now we can both look back over it in years to come. Google ain’t going anywhere.
  5. I’m finally managing to use the sling for proper trips rather than just round the house. That’s a massive step forward for me as it’s taken me a really long time to feel even slightly like my old self after pregnancy and my c-section.
  6. On a similar note, I’m now doing yoga every day. It’s making a huge difference to my physical and mental health.
  7. After a brief (one night) flirtation with the idea of combi-feeding (because I thought formula was the magic ticket for an unbroken night’s sleep), I’ve accepted that Artoo just wakes up in the night. He’s back to boob only. This too shall pass.
  8. We’re reading more books together. Arthur loves to hold his board books, turn the pages and gnaw on them. We don’t always finish a story, but that’s not the point at the moment!
  9. I’m taking loads of photos of Artoo and his Dad napping together. They do it a lot in the early mornings when I’m yoga-ing or showering, and it’s gorgeous. I have pictures of them sleeping together from our first day home from hospital, and it’s my little tradition now. I’m looking forward to making a collage for the wall or a picture book.
  10. Most days we make it out of the house. Winning.

Wonderprods For New Parents

I’ve been promising a pregnant friend of mine I would write this post for quite some time now! There is so much baby stuff out there now. Some of it’s good, some bad, and a lot is overpriced. I’ll happily share what’s worked for us in the first (nearly) five months, but it’s worth bearing in mind that babies are all different! Little so-and-sos. Some of these products are cheap and some expensive, but I’ll tell you if I think you could save your money and not bother. I’m not sponsored by any of these people. Chance would be a fine thing.

Before I start, the best thing you can possibly do as a new mum is to get on Mumsnet and find the baby group for your month. More often than not someone sets up a Facebook group. Mine is my lifeline. These women are my friends, confidantes and more than made up for not being able to do NCT as we meet up monthly, sometimes more. There are women on there from all over the world and it is BRILLIANT. I’m sure there’s something similar for Dads, but I haven’t investigated.

These are in no particular order!

  1. Sleepyhead https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sleepyhead-Deluxe-Months-Pristine-White/dp/B00ACK676E/ref=sr_1_1?s=baby&ie=UTF8&qid=1491469023&sr=1-1&keywords=sleepyhead

This was a Godsend in the first three months. It’s pretty spendy for what it is, and I think there are cheaper things out there that do the same job, but just so you know about it. Arthur, like all babies, was teeny tiny when he was born. Even the small side sleeper cot we had at the time seemed huge to him. He didn’t really take to swaddling as he’s always loved being able to wave his arms around, so this was the expensive solution to the problem. It made him feel nice and cosy and cocooned, and improved his sleep almost immediately.

2. Ewan https://www.amazon.co.uk/ewan-the-dream-sheep%C2%AE-grey/dp/B011CCMOTE/ref=sr_1_1?s=baby&ie=UTF8&qid=1491469196&sr=1-1&keywords=ewan

If anyone asks you what you’d like as a present, say this. In the first few weeks of a baby’s life they are pretty confused about where they are and what the hell is going on. This little sheep is a bit of a hero as he emits a glow similar to that baby would have seen in the womb, and he makes comforting noises. However…

3. FREE THING ALERT: White noise app

We have the app ‘Baby Sleep Sounds’ on our phones, and an old phone for when we need ours. Basically white noise works way better than lullabies and helps baby stay sound asleep when you’re still crashing around. Use liberally for naps and bedtime. The great thing about this is it’s completely free as long as you have a smart phone, and when Ewan no longer works (around month 3 for us) you can use this to great effect as you can get it much LOUDER, which is what baby needs at this point. Don’t ask me why, it just seems to work.

4. Side Sleeper Cot

My son is enormous and grew out of his by the start of his fourth month, but this was amazing in the beginning. There are a few versions out there, but it means baby feels the security of being next to you, and you’ll feel good about not having to get out of bed eleventy million times in the night. Be careful of your back when twisting and lifting though.

5. Red Kite Travel Cot

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Red-Kite-Sleeptight-Travel-Black/dp/B001CMB2KC/ref=sr_1_3?s=baby&ie=UTF8&qid=1491469564&sr=1-3&keywords=travel+cot

So this is what we’re using now so that Arthur can stay in our room until six months. This is brilliant, lightweight and approved by Mumsnet Grandmas. I first used one when staying at my parents and realised how much Arthur loved it, preferred it, in fact, to the side sleeper by this time. I figured for £35 plus a decent mattress it was worth it since we’d use it for travel all the time. Arthur LOVES it and starfishes out like a good’un. He also loves lying in it to play as it doubles as a play pen, and he rolls around cooing and playing with his feet. Also good for putting him in for nudey time before his bath. Babies LOVE being naked when they get a bit bigger.

6. The Haakaa (for breastfeeders)

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Haakaa-Silicon-Breast-Pump/dp/B01KMSQC8S/ref=sr_1_1?s=baby&ie=UTF8&qid=1491469806&sr=1-1&keywords=haakaa

WARNING: Do NOT waste your money on bottles and breast pumps before baby arrives if you’re planning to breastfeed. If you’re feeling anxious, get a self-sterilising MAM bottle (only one please, you won’t need any more at first). Take it from me; if you manage to successfully breastfeed it’ll be a massive waste of money, and if you don’t you can always get stuff when baby arrives. Important to know that NOT ALL BABIES WILL TAKE ALL TEATS. Seriously. I could have saved myself a lot of money if I’d know this. And if anyone wants some unused Tommee Tippees, give me a shout.

The Haakaa is pure witchcraft. As a breastfeeder, I wanted Arthur to be able to take a bottle if I needed to, you know, leave the house without him. We had an electric pump and a manual, but neither of them yielded much. The Haakaa is so easy. You just pop it on to one breast whilst you feed on the other and you get LOADS. And it’s really cheap. I love it and the £50 pump languishes in a drawer.

7. Massive Muslins

There are a few companies that make good ones, but my Mum picked mine up from TK Maxx. They’re made by an Australian company called Little Green. You can, however, find them on Amazon if you look for ‘mega’ or ‘giant’ muslins. Honestly, I hate using smaller ones. These double up as a bib and a nursing cover at the same time, and as a blanket in the summer. Arthur also loves to play with them and use them as a teething toy or snuggle blanket. In terms of feeding, I’m no longer bothered about getting a boob out in public, but I have a tendency to spray (ahem) if a distracted baby lets go. This stops my milk from hitting my dining companion in the eye. Top tip: Never get muslins that are completely white in colour. Trust me. They have a shelf life of five minutes.

8. https://www.amazon.co.uk/Cuddles-Collection-Twinkle-Nursing-Pillow/dp/B0173WU0PM/ref=sr_1_4?s=baby&ie=UTF8&qid=1491470600&sr=1-4&keywords=nursing+pillow

These are just great, and so cheap. They’re fab for something to prop everyone up when feeding, and great for sticking the baby on to keep them safe for a minute or two whilst you leave the room (you will be able to eventually, I promise). When baby is first starting to sit up these are great for support too. Arthur’s in his next to me on the sofa right now, kicking me in the ribs.

9. EXPENSIVE THING ALERT

http://www.pramworld.co.uk/brand/uppababy/uppababy-baby-prams-from-birth

Prams/buggies/travel solutions are very personal, and you really must go to a retailer and try them all out. Promise me you will. We had a very good piece of advice and went to Winstanley’s Pramworld in Orrell, Lancs and we landed on this one. The Cruz is light enough for city living, more manoeuvrable than any of the others we tried, and works for me (5’2) and husband (6’4). It’s amazing, and I can even get it up the ridiculous steps at the front of our house with no issues. The basket at the bottom is massive, too. Whatever you go for, I completely recommend Pramworld as they deliver nationwide and have a great website, and do bulk deals including car seats and carry cots. Be careful with second hand prams, and all advice is not to get a second hand car seat.

10. GAME CHANGER

https://www.amazon.co.uk/d/Baby-Products/Ergobaby-baby-carrier-collection-bundle/B01JG0FF18/ref=sr_1_2_a_it?ie=UTF8&qid=1491471170&sr=8-2&keywords=ergo+360

I had very few expectations of birth and motherhood. I’m an older mum (36) and have watched friends and relatives go through the stress of making a ‘birth plan’ and wanting to breastfeed and ending up with emergency c-sections and formula feeding. Babies do not work to your plan. Ever. YOU have to be flexible, and be prepared that all of your dearest hopes might come crashing down around your ears.

Although my birth plan was ‘get the kid out’ and thus my EMCS didn’t really bother me the way I know it does some people, I was really committed to the idea of baby wearing. I wanted to be the mum who could throw her baby effortlessly into a sling, grab a light backpack and off we’d go to explore the city.

Yeah. When someone has cut open your core muscles with a scalpel, and you weren’t able to do any exercise for nine months because of HG, lugging a baby around in a sling is almost impossible. But oh, how I tried! I have been given no less than three different slings as well as being bought one, but nothing has actually worked until I stumbled upon a bag of jumble outside someone’s house with the Ergobaby 360 sitting on top. I know, right?

It’s BRILLIANT. The Ergo style carrier is best for babies as it supports their hips properly rather than leaving them to dangle, and it supports you properly too. I have an ergo original with a newborn insert which my best friend gave me and I loved this too, but the great thing about the 360 is that you can turn baby around to face outwards which they LOVE when they’re old enough. I carry Arthur happily now, making sure I take rest days when I need to. He’s a heavy lump.

 

Whew. That is one LONG post. Sorry everyone. Hope it was useful! Next time; gifts for new babies and their parents.

 

 

 

 

One Month, No Sugar



Time for a January review. It’s been a crazy busy month, and the first one where I’ve got a bit more into baby groups and getting out and about after my c-section. I’ve made loads of Mum friends, which has been lovely. It also feels like it was a really, really long month; but then when was January ever short?
My challenge for this month, if you can remember all the way back to when the decorations were still hanging limply from the drooping tree, was to give up sugar. Not in that mad way some real hardcore people do, cutting out everything except steamed fish and veg because ‘even fruit has sugar’. No, I just cut out all the fun stuff. The stuff I was glorying in after my very sicky pregnancy, when I could barely hold down an ice-pop. We’d been relying on sugar far too heavily for most of November and all of December, back in the days before little Artoo had any kind of sleeping pattern at all; and we were existing on chocolate, caffeine and carbs. I figured cutting out one of the three major food groups would probably be a good idea. 
Turns out, surprisingly, that it wasn’t too hard at all!* I’ve always been the kind of person who, when hungry, prefers something savoury over sweet. The sweet stuff for me has always been merely because it tastes nice and gives that instant lovely rush.
The good news is that giving up sugar has meant that I’ve lost a few pounds, my skin is clearer and my energy levels much more steady. I mean, they’re steady at a fairly low ebb thanks to Artoo, but still, steady all the same. Husband was dragooned into the challenge by his sister and mum, and it turns out he found it easier than expected too. 
This month: yoga every day. Stay tuned. 
* I must confess to one transgression. When waiting for a bus with another pram-pushing friend (you can’t fit more than one pram on a London bus, so if someone’s already one with one and there’s two of you trying to get on you’re stuffed), she ran to get us a coffee. Forgetting my challenge, said friend also bought a Cadbury Creme Egg for each of us. In the name of market research, because I’d heard they changed the recipe, I ate it. It was delicious. 

The Magic of Make-up

I decided to name this blog muminmakeup even though my devotion to make-up’s healing properties is something I’ve never really talked about before. I have always been one of those women who cannot leave the house without mascara. Not a permanently high-maintenence, full-face-of-slap kind of a girl, but someone for whom a little bit goes a long way. 
The love affair began at school, as I looked with envy at the girls who wore make-up and flouted the rules. I’ve always had translucent, Tilda Swinton-style eyelashes. Unlike the great Ms Swinton, however, I refused to embrace them. I was desperate for gorgeous, long thick Bambi lashes. I can remember sneaking into my parents’ en suite to raid Mum’s make-up bag. I’d bypass the frosted 90s lipsticks and go straight for the brown mascara (which, as far as I know, Mum switched long ago to black). I loved the definition it gave to my eyes, the hint of glamour and the grown-up world to come. 
The problem was, you see, that I was a Good Girl. My school didn’t allow any make-up, not even a hint, let alone the full orange faces so many of the girls in my year sported. I had watched them all being called out at the end of assembly and shamed for their Jezebel-like behaviour, and vowed that would never be me. So I contented myself with the entirely useless trio of clear mascara (I mean, why), light dusting of powder on my spotty face (like throwing a cup of water on a raging inferno) and Boots vanilla flavoured lip balm (smelled amazing, did nothing).
All of this meant that when I finally reached the heady land of Sixth Form I was ready to develop my relationship with cosmetics. The perfect Shirley Manson-from-Garbage kohl-ed eye. The Rose-from-Titanic nude lip. The flawless skin out of a bottle I had always craved. I could wax lyrical about each part of the puzzle, every product and why it makes everything feel better. Make-up is one of the loves of my life, but I had genuinely never realised how much I relied on it until I became pregnant. 
I had the worst pregnancy. The absolute worst. Suffering from Hyperemesis Gravidarum (yes, like Kate Middleton only for the whole nine months), I could barely lift my head off the pillow most days. For six months I was in and out of hospital. Fluids, needles, vomiting until there was nothing but blood. It was truly awful, and I lost myself. It wasn’t until my parents took over and moved me back up North to be cared for that I could see any kind of light at the end of the tunnel. That was when I began to wear make-up again. 
It was like finding myself. I could look in the mirror at a woman I recognised as me again. I applied it lovingly, every day, in a sort of ritual. Foundation, eyeliner, mascara, bright lips. Make-up gave me a boost when I needed it most. I’m sure that towards the end of pregnancy most women are buying beautiful baby clothes and dreaming about their child. I still couldn’t get past the end of each day, so buying a gorgeous new Clinique matte lipstick was enough for me. 
Fast-forward to a week after the birth. I had done the staying in pajamas all day thing maybe once or twice, but it wasn’t for me. I started to approach parenthood like a job. Up at 7.30 for a shower whilst my husband and baby still slumbered. Outfit on, make-up on. It’s another ritual, albeit an incredibly fast one, a race against my son who’ll be waking up for a feed any moment. I can do the whole thing in seven minutes, start to finish. It’s amazing; there really should be a medal for it.
Strangely, no matter how bad the night, or how little sleep, a shower, proper outfit even if just leggings and a tee, skincare and make-up routine makes me feel polished. Makes me normal. Makes me me. What’s more, somehow I feel more able to cope with a baby. Make-up is my armour, my war-paint, my shield. And here’s the really strange part: It makes me feel like a better mother, even though I know that’s nonsense. It works for me the way fashion, caffeine or running works for others. 
I know there are people who think that a reliance on make-up has more to do with men than women. A symbol of the patriarchy, of how women feel they have to look to meet society’s beauty standards. This has been discussed elsewhere and shot down by far better writers and beauty officionados than I. It may well be that way for some; but for me it has nothing to do with it. 
It just makes me happy, and who doesn’t need that? 

*Please note: a version of this post will be appearing on http://www.themumclub.Com. Check them out, they’re great!

Sleep Deprivation and Retail Therapy

Artoo has a cold. Poor little mite’s eyes are streaming, he has a cough and has been delighting in wiping his snotty nose all over my clothes. I thought this was a development that came later, but apparently kids learn early. Sleep last night was broken broken broken; he wanted to sleep on me and nowhere else, thanks. 

After a delightful trip to the doctor this morning during which poor A screamed the place down whilst the bewildered man examined him (apparently having your ears looked at is excruciatingly painful), I needed a fix. 

I’m NOT a clothes shopper. I find it depresses me in the extreme. Everything I like is too expensive, or it doesn’t fit, and right now post-birth when I’m as big as I’ve ever been I couldn’t be less up for trying on clothes, particularly with a baby in tow. 

When it comes to appearance shopping, I am all about beauty products and accessories. If I’m not buying books and music, this is what I spend most on. Which is why I found myself trudging bleary-eyed to my local Sainsbury’s. Actually, the original plan was to get presents for the children of all my uni friends who I’ll be seeing at our Christmas celebration next weekend, but that died a death. “I’ll just get myself a little treat”, I thought. “It’ll cost the same as a coffee and sandwich, but last much longer.”

In the end I walked away with a new wrap which looks like it’ll be useful for breastfeeding, and a whole load of Dirty Works products which I haven’t tried before but have been recommended by beauty guru Sali Hughes. Well, the brand has, anyway. 

I’ll let you know if they’re wonder prods or not, but it’s certainly worth saying they didn’t break the bank. Not even my bank. £38 for all that seems a bargain to me. Now, I’m off to do a face mask and hope that King Arthur stays asleep.

A New Chapter

It’s 7.03am on 31st December 2016. Though really it’s so dark it could be the middle of the night. I’ve just spend an hour cuddling my seven-week-old son, as he’s been restless since his last feed at 5. I check his breathing religiously, every time I wake, which is often, even when he slumbers peacefully. I’m overwhelmed by responsibility to this tiny, beautiful person who relies on me for everything, rewarding me with the occasional wonky, drunken, joyful smile. For 35 years I have been responsible for no-one but myself, unless you count pets and my husband. I had a freedom I never knew or acknowledged; the freedom of walking through life able to go wherever I wanted, do whatever I liked, spend money like water and drink cocktails at 5pm, or even 5am. It was a beautiful life, a glorious life, with adventures and family and friendship. It was never “less than” just because I didn’t have a child. Still, the thought that I nearly missed out on this part, on the milk, the stories, the night feeds, the magic of Christmas with my own child, makes me catch my breath. I nearly didn’t have it, so nearly.

At seven weeks after his birth, life is beginning to get something of a rhythm for us. The early days of feeding constantly, of a newborn with no concept of night and day, of constant visits from relatives and friends are coming to a close. The three of us have developed our own world where the tiniest things are important and hold the universe together. We enjoy our days, with trips to see friends, walks in the cold when we’re all wrapped up, endless box sets on Netflix and Amazon with warm cuddles and eating one-handed.

When I was a kid, my Dad would get home around six, just before tea was ready. I’d be in the kitchen with Mum, chatting to her about the day and whatever drama had befallen me and my friends at school. I can still smell the cooking and see the steam on the kitchen windows, feel the warm hug of it. When my Dad’s key turned in the lock our heads would turn to him, and he’d come in bringing the cold, the smell of chewing gum and some treasure or other he’d picked up. He’d tell us a tale from his day whilst rummaging in the bread bin and thickly buttering a crust, talking between bites and handing the bread to me to share while Mum got cross we were spoiling our tea, shouting for my brothers to come down to eat. It was a feeling of complete wholeness, of family, of being surrounded by love. It’s security, belonging. It’s the feeling I get now when I hear my husband’s key in the lock and know we’re giving that to someone else. It’s a feeling we pass on to our children, if we’re lucky enough to have them.