When she was first born i kept a baby book, listing her first words and funny little ways, this is also something I've let fall by the wayside, and now it seems their are too many to keep up with but I think for her sake I should try and note down a few, my memory is more goldfish that elephant already.....the funniest ones will be the easiest to remember, such as her premature hypochondriac tendencies (she likes to show anyone who will look her 1cm x 1cm patch of baby eczema on her arm) her declaration that everyone, including herself is funny, she initially pronounced it with an A but luckily that corrected its self quite quickly, a frequent one is her self professed healing powers (any body who has a cut or a graze gets kissed and declared "all better") and her finely tuned school yard insults (everybody no matter how fragrant, stinks or is pooey accompanied by the obligatory waft of the hand, something we started to encourage her cooperation during nappy changing but now regret) something's she does will only apply seasonally, such as gaining an affection for the egg shaped baby Jesus in our wooden nativity, so much so she left teeth marks, but my current favourite is the roll call, each time she learns a new name, a family member, friend or even a neighbour, they get added to the roll, and each night our house turns into an episode of the waltons as she wishes out loud night night to as many of them as her tired little brain will allow.....funny but not so much when she does it at 3am!!!
Monday, 7 January 2013
John boy Walton
I've been shocked into writing this blog, a new year will do that to you, its like a sharp slap in the face as you enter January and you realise what you've let slip, and although my expanding waist line is high up there on the list of things that needs addressing (damn those after eight mints) my blog being abandoned for so long was the thing that made me feel most ashamed, i had let slip the diary of my daughters 2nd year, bizarrely it's been the last 6 months that I've really found my stride with this motherhood malarkey, it took me a year, but now that my little Mucker can walk and talk things have become a darn sight easier, don't get me wrong we still have our moments, we had 2 solid weeks of cough induced vomiting in December which was trying, and we are yet to enjoy the holy grail that is sleeping from 7am till 7pm but now that she can communicate using her daily expanding vocabulary, walk to her chosen destination (inside the house, I'm not that cruel) and generally let me know what's bothering her its all started to feel much more of a breeze, not to mention much more like living in a comedy sketch, I promise not to bore you with cute anecdotes, I save them up for her grandparents, but I have to say that this kid is funny, now, she is the only toddler I have ever lived with so I have no comparison, i can only guess that they're all funny at this age, but what shocks me is that it's taken me 30 years to learn among other things, how some people tick, what have I been doing for the past 28 and a half years if my 18 month old daughter has already learnt the art of favouritism, playing people off against one another and how to wrap both of my parents around her little finger already? This little girl is a pint size diva, a whirlwind with no inhibitions and absoloutly no fear, I said when she was born I was going to try and avoid passing my irrational fear of everything (spiders/the dark/big dogs/roller coasters) onto her, and it seems up to now we have succeeded, she has also inherited her daddy's love of music, she doesn't like to dance alone though, it's all or nothing, when there's just a couple of us it's quite liberating, dancing around the living room shaking our polka dot maracas and beating on the plastic drum. but guests are not exempt, no body wants to say no to a baby, especially a bossy toddler who holds your little finger chanting dance, dance, dance.....
Thursday, 19 July 2012
How long is too long?
It's been so long since my last blog I actually felt a bit of a fraud writing one, since my last confession we've clocked up several milestones, my beautiful little monster has celebrated her first birthday (we had a little tea party with a squidgy chocolate cake made by nana and played pass the parcel to jazz versions of humpty dumpty whilst tearing off dozens of layers of newspaper methodically wrapped by grandad, which was possibly the cutest thing I've ever seen) Her nanas bought her a pink trike, which comes complete with a little phone attached, there is no mistaking the start of her Liverpool accent when you hear her shout hiiiiiiiieeeeeeeer into the receiver!
We also ventured on our first family holiday abroad, which excess baggage aside went without a hitch, just remind me never to go on a flight longer than 4hrs until she is a little older, her overtired screams whilst boarding the plane home made us feel like the family from hell, they only lasted until the plane took off, when I swear the other passengers breathed a collective sigh of relief, but while my long limbed child slept very comfortably stretched across her own seat plus half of ours, and I can sleep on a washing line, plus had commandeered all of the remaining scarves and blankets plus Tilly's travel pillow, her daddy attempted to get some shut eye, shivering from the aircon and to my amusement attempting to use a minature ooopsydaisy doll as a pillow, only for his little princess would he make such sacrifices!
In the past couple of months I've seen my little baba morph into a little girl before my eyes, her inquisitive nature both fascinates and makes me howl with laughter, her new favourite words are what's a? (what's that?) and who's a? (who is that?) and nothing and no one is safe from the finger (she points at everyone, which I know is bad manners but isn't it a little early to introduce social etiquette?) Her total lack of inhibition is hysterical, quick finger up the nose at a party, why not? Quick scratch while at the dinner table? don't mind if I do. Place a little fat hand on the thigh of a fellow airplane passenger? Lift one bum cheek in public to allow bottom burps to escape noisily? Lie spread eagled under a holiday makers breakfast table? Peer down nanas sweaters and woooooooooo with approval, all perfectly acceptable in Tillys world.
At 13 months old she hasn't plucked up the courage to let go of my finger when walking, and walking is all she wants to do, I now walk permanently hunched over and very very slowly, any weight loss from chasing her crawling at the speed of light has come to an abrupt end, we take long strolls together around the kitchen, down the garden and to and from the living room, I relish every minute as I know it won't be long before I have to force her to hold mummys hand!
We also ventured on our first family holiday abroad, which excess baggage aside went without a hitch, just remind me never to go on a flight longer than 4hrs until she is a little older, her overtired screams whilst boarding the plane home made us feel like the family from hell, they only lasted until the plane took off, when I swear the other passengers breathed a collective sigh of relief, but while my long limbed child slept very comfortably stretched across her own seat plus half of ours, and I can sleep on a washing line, plus had commandeered all of the remaining scarves and blankets plus Tilly's travel pillow, her daddy attempted to get some shut eye, shivering from the aircon and to my amusement attempting to use a minature ooopsydaisy doll as a pillow, only for his little princess would he make such sacrifices!
In the past couple of months I've seen my little baba morph into a little girl before my eyes, her inquisitive nature both fascinates and makes me howl with laughter, her new favourite words are what's a? (what's that?) and who's a? (who is that?) and nothing and no one is safe from the finger (she points at everyone, which I know is bad manners but isn't it a little early to introduce social etiquette?) Her total lack of inhibition is hysterical, quick finger up the nose at a party, why not? Quick scratch while at the dinner table? don't mind if I do. Place a little fat hand on the thigh of a fellow airplane passenger? Lift one bum cheek in public to allow bottom burps to escape noisily? Lie spread eagled under a holiday makers breakfast table? Peer down nanas sweaters and woooooooooo with approval, all perfectly acceptable in Tillys world.
At 13 months old she hasn't plucked up the courage to let go of my finger when walking, and walking is all she wants to do, I now walk permanently hunched over and very very slowly, any weight loss from chasing her crawling at the speed of light has come to an abrupt end, we take long strolls together around the kitchen, down the garden and to and from the living room, I relish every minute as I know it won't be long before I have to force her to hold mummys hand!
Tuesday, 13 March 2012
And she's off......
The madness has begun. My little monster is mobile, she has upped her game from being a human rolling pin to crawling across the room at torpedo speed, stopping only to drag, pull and chew things in her path. The poor mite will be sick to death of hearing her name, it's all I ever hear myself say, Tilly Tilly as she heads precariously towards the tiled fireplace, tills, Tilly monster, don't pull that, Tilly tillllllly please don't eat mummy's grazia, gnaw on daddy's shoes or bite the door stop. That's another thing, she likes to taste test everything,and I mean everything, shoes, table legs, cables and she has a particular penchant for lint, the child has a hawk eye, she can spot a fleck of unidentified matter at ten paces, I wonder if perhaps I watched too much CSI while I was pregnant, she is a human microscope, better still she can pick up these bits despite them being invisible to the naked eye and guide them into her mouth.
We have made the usual vain attempts at Tilly proofing the house, plug socket covers, sponge clips on interior doors to stop them closing on little fingers (which every single time i leave the house forget are there and find myself getting frustrated when I can't get the damn door to shut) The stair gate has to be my favourite new piece of kit, it narrows the possible square footage she can cover, and to be fair the new found independence is good for her, she was showing signs of being a little clingy and tearful if I was out of sight which I now realise was more likely to have been boredom and a touch of jealousy at my ability to drift from room to room with ease. another plus point to her being so active is that she tires herself out and is more than happy, you could even say grateful to be put down for her naps, off she goes to the land of nod still wearing her baby knee pads (bought by a friend purely for our own entertainment) no doubt dreaming about what how many DVDs she can pull out in one go, what tight space she can get wedged in and cry to be rescued and her new favourite what lightweight, unsteady item of furniture can she use to drag her self into the standing position while her legs do a darn good Elvis impression......my little bear gryls is keeping me
We have made the usual vain attempts at Tilly proofing the house, plug socket covers, sponge clips on interior doors to stop them closing on little fingers (which every single time i leave the house forget are there and find myself getting frustrated when I can't get the damn door to shut) The stair gate has to be my favourite new piece of kit, it narrows the possible square footage she can cover, and to be fair the new found independence is good for her, she was showing signs of being a little clingy and tearful if I was out of sight which I now realise was more likely to have been boredom and a touch of jealousy at my ability to drift from room to room with ease. another plus point to her being so active is that she tires herself out and is more than happy, you could even say grateful to be put down for her naps, off she goes to the land of nod still wearing her baby knee pads (bought by a friend purely for our own entertainment) no doubt dreaming about what how many DVDs she can pull out in one go, what tight space she can get wedged in and cry to be rescued and her new favourite what lightweight, unsteady item of furniture can she use to drag her self into the standing position while her legs do a darn good Elvis impression......my little bear gryls is keeping me
Friday, 2 March 2012
Desperate measures
8 months, 8 months old and my baby girl has gone from being a baby to being a little Girl, an animated, interactive miniature person with a mouth full of teeth and an iron will. I can't believe the new baby stage passes so quickly. She is clapping hands, lip smacking in an attempt to blow kisses, along with the obligatory hair pulling and perhaps more original, teeth grinding.
She is now finally in her own room, This selfish new mum wanted her near me while she slept, my excuse was seeing to her when she woke was quicker and easier if she was in the same room, but alas I realised it was time. There were tears the first night (mine) and again the second nights (hers) I even relented and put my wriggling, coo-ing gro bag wearing early riser in our bed, which resulted in me sleeping horizontally on the end like an old dog, such is my fear of suffocating her. Do all babies take up so much room? Do they not understand the art of spooning to conserve space? Tilly doesn't, she prefers the star fish position, ensuring maximum mattress coverage for her and minimum parental comfort, this co - sleeping is not for me , unless we forsake all other bedroom furniture and replace it with a room sided mattress and several duvets.
It's amazing what you will do to encourage them to sleep, last week after a particularly eventful day which resulted in Tilly wanting virtually no sleep and thus buzzing with tiredness we were driving home and bam off she went into the land of nod, a peaceful nap which I had no intention of disturbing, on arrival on our driveway I left the engine running, radio on and sat there, unsure of how long she would sleep for I made myself comfortable, seat reclined, iPad out. This may sound crackers but moving her inside would have definitely have woken her, it was only when the boyfriend brought me a cup of tea out and i considered the possibility of catching up on some zzzz's myself, I knew I was on rocky ground. But this wasn't the point i realised I had descended in parental psychosis, this came earlier. On a recent day trip we (baby, boyfriend and I) were sat in traffic, baby has the patience of her father which in metric terms converts to absolutely none and on this particular occasion she was being very vocal about it, screaming at the top of her lungs to be exact, so her dad and I decided to divert her attantion by launching into a competitive animal noise sparring match, back and forth we went baaaaaaaaaa, hissssssss, rooooooooooooaaaaaah, chirp chirp, chirp chirp. The point being no one animal could be repeated (I have to give him credit his mooooooooooooooo was pretty impressive, very life like) clearly we were amusing her selves more than we were amusing Tilly as it took a few minutes to even notice that Tilly had completely stopped crying and was gazing out of the window, probably pretending she didnt know us.
I am now facing the challenge of returning to work. Getting ready for a trip to the shops takes planning for me, getting ready for work with Tilly in tow is going to take military precision. I have takes steps to prepare myself, a very kind friend accepted my request for a written run down of her morning itinerary, she has 2 children and a full time Job, so i was very grateful, she has better things to do. I almost broke into a sweat when I read it, mornings are never going to be the same again. I found myself feeling sorry for Victoria Beckham last week when the media were giving her a hard time about looking tired, she is a working mother with a young baby after all, and apparently she doesn't have a nanny, which is refreshing to hear. But what she must have is someone to watch baby Harper while she gets dressed and has hair, nails and make-up done before she faces the day, plus she doesn't have to clean her own house, and it's unlikely she cooks her own food...and that is worth a dozen nannies!
She is now finally in her own room, This selfish new mum wanted her near me while she slept, my excuse was seeing to her when she woke was quicker and easier if she was in the same room, but alas I realised it was time. There were tears the first night (mine) and again the second nights (hers) I even relented and put my wriggling, coo-ing gro bag wearing early riser in our bed, which resulted in me sleeping horizontally on the end like an old dog, such is my fear of suffocating her. Do all babies take up so much room? Do they not understand the art of spooning to conserve space? Tilly doesn't, she prefers the star fish position, ensuring maximum mattress coverage for her and minimum parental comfort, this co - sleeping is not for me , unless we forsake all other bedroom furniture and replace it with a room sided mattress and several duvets.
It's amazing what you will do to encourage them to sleep, last week after a particularly eventful day which resulted in Tilly wanting virtually no sleep and thus buzzing with tiredness we were driving home and bam off she went into the land of nod, a peaceful nap which I had no intention of disturbing, on arrival on our driveway I left the engine running, radio on and sat there, unsure of how long she would sleep for I made myself comfortable, seat reclined, iPad out. This may sound crackers but moving her inside would have definitely have woken her, it was only when the boyfriend brought me a cup of tea out and i considered the possibility of catching up on some zzzz's myself, I knew I was on rocky ground. But this wasn't the point i realised I had descended in parental psychosis, this came earlier. On a recent day trip we (baby, boyfriend and I) were sat in traffic, baby has the patience of her father which in metric terms converts to absolutely none and on this particular occasion she was being very vocal about it, screaming at the top of her lungs to be exact, so her dad and I decided to divert her attantion by launching into a competitive animal noise sparring match, back and forth we went baaaaaaaaaa, hissssssss, rooooooooooooaaaaaah, chirp chirp, chirp chirp. The point being no one animal could be repeated (I have to give him credit his mooooooooooooooo was pretty impressive, very life like) clearly we were amusing her selves more than we were amusing Tilly as it took a few minutes to even notice that Tilly had completely stopped crying and was gazing out of the window, probably pretending she didnt know us.
I am now facing the challenge of returning to work. Getting ready for a trip to the shops takes planning for me, getting ready for work with Tilly in tow is going to take military precision. I have takes steps to prepare myself, a very kind friend accepted my request for a written run down of her morning itinerary, she has 2 children and a full time Job, so i was very grateful, she has better things to do. I almost broke into a sweat when I read it, mornings are never going to be the same again. I found myself feeling sorry for Victoria Beckham last week when the media were giving her a hard time about looking tired, she is a working mother with a young baby after all, and apparently she doesn't have a nanny, which is refreshing to hear. But what she must have is someone to watch baby Harper while she gets dressed and has hair, nails and make-up done before she faces the day, plus she doesn't have to clean her own house, and it's unlikely she cooks her own food...and that is worth a dozen nannies!
Monday, 13 February 2012
Verucca Salt
I read recently about "little emperor syndrome" where parents cross the line from loving and attentive to over indulging their offspring causing the child to become the ruler of the parent or the l' enfant roi - the child king. When Tilly is in her car seat, stroking the seatbelt pulled across her and gazing out of the window I often think how regal she looks, more so because when we go out as a family I am relegated to the back seat like a naughty kid (am thinking of getting myself a Nintendo DS to complete my look) while she rides shot-gun with daddy, for 2 reasons, she cries when she is in the back (she dislikes being in the car sear at the best of times, but the back seat causes her to wail like a wounded animal and we cant have that can we.....) and the other being her daddy prefers it that way, he likes his little princess where he can see and chat to her, can you hear alarm bells ringing or is it the sound of me building a rod for my own back? Am i a car journey away from having to walk two steps behind my master ?
Some of the examples given were allowing your child to dither over their choice of sweets in a shop whilst a queue forms behind you or rearranging your plans so your little cherub can go to a school friends birthday party, can such things really encourage narcissism as the article suggested? I regularly dither over my choice of meal in a restaurant, is this a deep rooted way of making people wait for my almighty decision ? Or simply my inability to be decisive when food is involved?? And as for waiting in line for a few more moments while a 5 year old decides if he wants a milky bar or a fudge (milky bar, every time) the issue seems to be with the adult and their lack of patience, no?
But then I remembered the words of my recent blog where I said I would arrange for Tilly to "listen to Nessun dorma whilst bathing in ass'milk If it made her happy " oh dear, I may rue the day I thought that way, is my style of parenting going to result in me raising a little Verruca Salt?
No home made dinners for you tonight little one, Bread & gruel only, can't have you getting above your station.....
Some of the examples given were allowing your child to dither over their choice of sweets in a shop whilst a queue forms behind you or rearranging your plans so your little cherub can go to a school friends birthday party, can such things really encourage narcissism as the article suggested? I regularly dither over my choice of meal in a restaurant, is this a deep rooted way of making people wait for my almighty decision ? Or simply my inability to be decisive when food is involved?? And as for waiting in line for a few more moments while a 5 year old decides if he wants a milky bar or a fudge (milky bar, every time) the issue seems to be with the adult and their lack of patience, no?
But then I remembered the words of my recent blog where I said I would arrange for Tilly to "listen to Nessun dorma whilst bathing in ass'milk If it made her happy " oh dear, I may rue the day I thought that way, is my style of parenting going to result in me raising a little Verruca Salt?
No home made dinners for you tonight little one, Bread & gruel only, can't have you getting above your station.....
Wednesday, 8 February 2012
Fruitless
My failed attempt at breast feeding left my inner earth mother feeling a little bruised, when the time came to wean my little darling, I felt i could achieve redemption by feeding her only home cooked mush, no jar, sachets or pre packed purées would pass her lips.
So i set to work furiously peeling, chopping, steaming, pureeing and freezing dozens of cubes of mushed fruit & vegetables in several variations, pea, mint & potato, sweet potato & broccoli, apple & raspberry, roasted plum. One dessert recipe suggested fresh cherries, I love cherries so was keen to see if my little offspring had inherited my tastebuds, so there I am washing, de-stoning, chopping and stewing them ready for the food processor, managing to get tiny splashes of deep purple juice all over the white walls in my cherry fuelled frenzy, this whole process was laborious, cherry skin is surprisingly tough and my risk assessment of the possibility of Tilly choking on the skin was at least a 6 on a scale of 1 - 10 (frighteningly high don't you agree?) so I ploughed on until all that remained was a smooth pulp. There I am pleased as punch with my culinary masterpiece when the boyfriend joined me for the final stage, pouring into freezer pots, he had foreseen something I hadnt and couldn't resist the spectacle. After half an hour (ok, 20 mins) of graft I had managed to make just 3/4 of a cube of cherry dessert, not even enough for a full serving, not even scraping the remnants from the blender with a spatula could make up the difference, boyfriend was amused, i was demoralised and washed up in a huff, i could have coped with this minor set back had it not come on the same day as I attempted home made oatcakes, which instead of gnawing contentedly on, Tilly bashed full force on the table as if to demonstrate just how inedible they were.....
These hiccups havent put me off creating culinary baby food masterpieces, quite the opposite, I enjoy leafing through Tillys recipe books more so than my own these days, and delight in seeing her experience new tastes, but I have to admit defeat in one area, desserts. The purist in me gave way to the much stronger element to my personality...laziness. I have committed what seems to be a cardinal sin in the world of Annabel Carmel, feeding my precious little monster petit filous, which opened the flood gates and led to rice pudding and finally last week I caved and bought a weeks worth of desserts in a jar (organic, I'm not an animal!) i am interspersing them with fresh fruit, but the damage is done, I am no longer worthy of the title Betty Crocker, I feel guilty, but not enough to go back, mains are still of the home made variety which eases the pangs, and confessing to you makes me feel lighter of heart, but i worry, am I one step away from feeding her takeaways and fizzy pop?
So i set to work furiously peeling, chopping, steaming, pureeing and freezing dozens of cubes of mushed fruit & vegetables in several variations, pea, mint & potato, sweet potato & broccoli, apple & raspberry, roasted plum. One dessert recipe suggested fresh cherries, I love cherries so was keen to see if my little offspring had inherited my tastebuds, so there I am washing, de-stoning, chopping and stewing them ready for the food processor, managing to get tiny splashes of deep purple juice all over the white walls in my cherry fuelled frenzy, this whole process was laborious, cherry skin is surprisingly tough and my risk assessment of the possibility of Tilly choking on the skin was at least a 6 on a scale of 1 - 10 (frighteningly high don't you agree?) so I ploughed on until all that remained was a smooth pulp. There I am pleased as punch with my culinary masterpiece when the boyfriend joined me for the final stage, pouring into freezer pots, he had foreseen something I hadnt and couldn't resist the spectacle. After half an hour (ok, 20 mins) of graft I had managed to make just 3/4 of a cube of cherry dessert, not even enough for a full serving, not even scraping the remnants from the blender with a spatula could make up the difference, boyfriend was amused, i was demoralised and washed up in a huff, i could have coped with this minor set back had it not come on the same day as I attempted home made oatcakes, which instead of gnawing contentedly on, Tilly bashed full force on the table as if to demonstrate just how inedible they were.....
These hiccups havent put me off creating culinary baby food masterpieces, quite the opposite, I enjoy leafing through Tillys recipe books more so than my own these days, and delight in seeing her experience new tastes, but I have to admit defeat in one area, desserts. The purist in me gave way to the much stronger element to my personality...laziness. I have committed what seems to be a cardinal sin in the world of Annabel Carmel, feeding my precious little monster petit filous, which opened the flood gates and led to rice pudding and finally last week I caved and bought a weeks worth of desserts in a jar (organic, I'm not an animal!) i am interspersing them with fresh fruit, but the damage is done, I am no longer worthy of the title Betty Crocker, I feel guilty, but not enough to go back, mains are still of the home made variety which eases the pangs, and confessing to you makes me feel lighter of heart, but i worry, am I one step away from feeding her takeaways and fizzy pop?
Monday, 23 January 2012
Show me the Mercury
Hot, cold, warm, cool, chilly or toasty , I am not fussy, it's all about the numbers for me, I am unabashadly obsessed with the temperature, the source of this daily complusion i have put down to the introduction of a thermometer to our bedroom.
With the arrival of our little baba came a little baba monitor, complete with digital temperature gauge, from the moment I switched it on, it became what they call my idee fixe, a fascination with the digits before me, knowing the exact room conditions to the nearest degrees celsius is my new party trick, I also like to announce it when I get into my car, which luckily also has a Temperature sensor, it's the last thing I check before I go to sleep and the first thing I check if my baby wakes up.
As all mums will know babies are particular little creatures, they need to be not too hot, not too cold to be comfortable and sleep well, not to mention the safety aspect, so I am happy if the double figures show me anywhere between 17 and 20 at bedtime, anything below that and I am deeply troubled, I fear my little girl maybe nesh like her mummy, her sleeping patterns of late have been akin to that of a new born, frequent waking, random yelping and general restlessness, it has been a trying time, i was under the impression at the ripe old age of 7 months she would be achieving the holy grail they call "sleeping through" so along with testing the hunger theory, cold had to be a contributing factor. As anyone who had experienced baby induced sleep deprivation will sympathise with, you would do anything to try and coax/encourage your little one to sleep for a solid 8 hrs, if Tilly wanted to listen to Nessus dorma whilst bathing in ass' milk I would arrange it in a jiffy, if it helped her sleep from 7pm - 7am!
My fear now is that my protege may already picked up my interest for all things measured by mercury, my distaste for luke warm tea is mirrored by her turning her button nose up at milk any cooler than room temperature, and likewise her puree, to be fair I wouldn't eat cold vegetable mush, so warming it is the least I can do, it's like master chef in our kitchen each mealtime, her taking a mouthful of food, me waiting pensively for the verdict.....usually indicated by a wrinkled nose or a gurn, both of which I ignore and continue to feed her regardless, but you can't blame the kid for trying!
With the arrival of our little baba came a little baba monitor, complete with digital temperature gauge, from the moment I switched it on, it became what they call my idee fixe, a fascination with the digits before me, knowing the exact room conditions to the nearest degrees celsius is my new party trick, I also like to announce it when I get into my car, which luckily also has a Temperature sensor, it's the last thing I check before I go to sleep and the first thing I check if my baby wakes up.
As all mums will know babies are particular little creatures, they need to be not too hot, not too cold to be comfortable and sleep well, not to mention the safety aspect, so I am happy if the double figures show me anywhere between 17 and 20 at bedtime, anything below that and I am deeply troubled, I fear my little girl maybe nesh like her mummy, her sleeping patterns of late have been akin to that of a new born, frequent waking, random yelping and general restlessness, it has been a trying time, i was under the impression at the ripe old age of 7 months she would be achieving the holy grail they call "sleeping through" so along with testing the hunger theory, cold had to be a contributing factor. As anyone who had experienced baby induced sleep deprivation will sympathise with, you would do anything to try and coax/encourage your little one to sleep for a solid 8 hrs, if Tilly wanted to listen to Nessus dorma whilst bathing in ass' milk I would arrange it in a jiffy, if it helped her sleep from 7pm - 7am!
My fear now is that my protege may already picked up my interest for all things measured by mercury, my distaste for luke warm tea is mirrored by her turning her button nose up at milk any cooler than room temperature, and likewise her puree, to be fair I wouldn't eat cold vegetable mush, so warming it is the least I can do, it's like master chef in our kitchen each mealtime, her taking a mouthful of food, me waiting pensively for the verdict.....usually indicated by a wrinkled nose or a gurn, both of which I ignore and continue to feed her regardless, but you can't blame the kid for trying!
Friday, 13 January 2012
Unlucky for some
I innocently opened my diary earlier this week, (a paper diary may I point out, despite being the proud owner of a shiny new iPad to organise my life on, I am a nerd and prefer to keep an old fashioned diary up to date with holidays and high days) and there it was staring menacingly back at me....Friday the 13th, an unpleasant date and the first of 3 in 2012.
I am not the only person to think so, the number of horror films dedicated to this heinous date indicates to me it's a common theme. The number 13 isnt popular at all, I almost feel sorry for it, if the number 13 were a creature it would be a scowling, unsociable, snaggle toothed runt with poor hygiene, no wonder it inflicts Ill feeling wherever possible! Fear of the number 13 even has its own name, triskaidekaphobia, a perfectly valid phobia it transpires, based on the number of hotels without a 13th floor, or streets without a No. 13, I certainly wouldnt want to get on a plane and be sat in aisle 13, seat 13, luckily lots of airlines ignore the existence of poor old number 13 too.
The day it's self doesnt bother or effect me so much, it's more the build up, I would put it in the Same high risk category as April fools day and mischief night, neither of which I would wish for as a birthday ( I have a particular dislike for mischief night since my teenage self and friends were set upon by pubescent boys with "fart gas" on the bus home, my new Benetton coat never quite recovered, nor it seems, did I)
So this coming friday the 13th i won't be locking my self in, Although you can safely say i have no plans for air travel, anything unfavourable that does happen to me I will categorically be blaming on the date, be it a broken nail, a ladder in my tights or even burning my toast..damn you Friday 13th...until next time!
I am not the only person to think so, the number of horror films dedicated to this heinous date indicates to me it's a common theme. The number 13 isnt popular at all, I almost feel sorry for it, if the number 13 were a creature it would be a scowling, unsociable, snaggle toothed runt with poor hygiene, no wonder it inflicts Ill feeling wherever possible! Fear of the number 13 even has its own name, triskaidekaphobia, a perfectly valid phobia it transpires, based on the number of hotels without a 13th floor, or streets without a No. 13, I certainly wouldnt want to get on a plane and be sat in aisle 13, seat 13, luckily lots of airlines ignore the existence of poor old number 13 too.
The day it's self doesnt bother or effect me so much, it's more the build up, I would put it in the Same high risk category as April fools day and mischief night, neither of which I would wish for as a birthday ( I have a particular dislike for mischief night since my teenage self and friends were set upon by pubescent boys with "fart gas" on the bus home, my new Benetton coat never quite recovered, nor it seems, did I)
So this coming friday the 13th i won't be locking my self in, Although you can safely say i have no plans for air travel, anything unfavourable that does happen to me I will categorically be blaming on the date, be it a broken nail, a ladder in my tights or even burning my toast..damn you Friday 13th...until next time!
Friday, 6 January 2012
Dangerous liaisons in sequins
My Christmas wardrobe this year involved very few sequins....(unless you count the ones on my mother Christmas hat...I decided if I was going to wear a silly hat to greet my Christmas guests, It was to be a shimmering red velvet one covered in ruby sequins trimmed in white fur, topped off with a white fur Pom Pom, I dont do Christmas hats by halves, a word of warning to those thinking of donning one next year, periods of prolonged wear leaves freshly washed hair looking like Rab C Nesbitts thatch, greasy and dishevelled, perhaps reindeer antlers are a better option, I bought the boyfriend a set but he didn't quite get into the spirit as I'd hoped, donning then only for a picture, then carelessly discarding them in the magazine rack, damn waste of £1.99!!!)
As i was saying, sequins were all but off the menu for me this festive season, partly because i my christmas nights out were fewer and more far between than the years BT (before tilly) and largely because embellishments of any description are not baba friendly, especially babas who have grown their first peggie (bottom left Incisor, much to my disappointment I was hoping for a top snaggle tooth, so I could call her nanny mcphee, but I've had to settle for jack russell) as she likes to chew on and bite anything that doesn't belong to her, particularly necklaces and buttons, so I have had to make yet more ammendments to my attire, chunky necklaces only, with nothing sharp or detachable, and after the guilt of seeing the imprint of the neckline of my dress pressed into Tillys cheek (I assure you this was a very temporary scarring) I no longer wear anything that could even possibly scratch, mark, maime, or choke, In short I have extended my risk assessment to my wardrobe, rendering even more garments for after 7pm wear only, I have actually considered purchasing overalls, much like mechanics wear ( i would of course have my initials embroidered on) as they are so baby friendly, having a few all in one colour would cut down on my washing too, bonus point!)
Christmas day itself saw me cooking for 11 people (2 of whom were babies, but 9 doesn't have the same wow / sympathy factor does it?) so I chose a very practical and comfortable outfit, a navy waffle cotton tunic top worn over black skinny trousers ( some may call them leggings but i wouldn't want you to confuse me with a member of little mix, and there was no thinning of the denier on the rear thigh and bottom area, so they were technically a trouser, but I can't bring myself to use the name treggings) although it didn't really matter what I wore, as the boyfriend bought me a pinny to complete my transformation into his very own Nigella ( a far more prudish nigella without the generous bosom)
The nights out I did have we're a pleasure to dress up for, I made use of the (rough/dangerous to babies) sequinned biker jacket gathering dust in my wardrobe, donned heels past the height I deem safe to carry Tilly in (Victoria Beckham is surely the only woman able to carry a baby in 5" heels? Does she have a flunky with goalkeepers skills on hand for any mishaps?) and skinny jeans that i refuse to kneel to change a nappy in for fear of knee pad abrasion, off I went into the night.
Now January is upon us, it's time to remove the comedy padded stomach, ahem, dust off my workout gear, and revel in wearing 100 denier tights for as long as possible, before spring has sprung and it's time for bare limbs to make an appearance..Happy New Year and wish me luck!
As i was saying, sequins were all but off the menu for me this festive season, partly because i my christmas nights out were fewer and more far between than the years BT (before tilly) and largely because embellishments of any description are not baba friendly, especially babas who have grown their first peggie (bottom left Incisor, much to my disappointment I was hoping for a top snaggle tooth, so I could call her nanny mcphee, but I've had to settle for jack russell) as she likes to chew on and bite anything that doesn't belong to her, particularly necklaces and buttons, so I have had to make yet more ammendments to my attire, chunky necklaces only, with nothing sharp or detachable, and after the guilt of seeing the imprint of the neckline of my dress pressed into Tillys cheek (I assure you this was a very temporary scarring) I no longer wear anything that could even possibly scratch, mark, maime, or choke, In short I have extended my risk assessment to my wardrobe, rendering even more garments for after 7pm wear only, I have actually considered purchasing overalls, much like mechanics wear ( i would of course have my initials embroidered on) as they are so baby friendly, having a few all in one colour would cut down on my washing too, bonus point!)
Christmas day itself saw me cooking for 11 people (2 of whom were babies, but 9 doesn't have the same wow / sympathy factor does it?) so I chose a very practical and comfortable outfit, a navy waffle cotton tunic top worn over black skinny trousers ( some may call them leggings but i wouldn't want you to confuse me with a member of little mix, and there was no thinning of the denier on the rear thigh and bottom area, so they were technically a trouser, but I can't bring myself to use the name treggings) although it didn't really matter what I wore, as the boyfriend bought me a pinny to complete my transformation into his very own Nigella ( a far more prudish nigella without the generous bosom)
The nights out I did have we're a pleasure to dress up for, I made use of the (rough/dangerous to babies) sequinned biker jacket gathering dust in my wardrobe, donned heels past the height I deem safe to carry Tilly in (Victoria Beckham is surely the only woman able to carry a baby in 5" heels? Does she have a flunky with goalkeepers skills on hand for any mishaps?) and skinny jeans that i refuse to kneel to change a nappy in for fear of knee pad abrasion, off I went into the night.
Now January is upon us, it's time to remove the comedy padded stomach, ahem, dust off my workout gear, and revel in wearing 100 denier tights for as long as possible, before spring has sprung and it's time for bare limbs to make an appearance..Happy New Year and wish me luck!
Saturday, 17 December 2011
Just when i thought i had cracked it
Just when I think you’ve cracked this baby malarkey, High fiving the art of Burping, check. Nappy changing in awkward spaces, including the back of the car, check, check. Mastering the car seat, shopping with baby in tow and bathing baby in more than an inch of water. Check check check. Along comes another hurdle to stop you in you in your tracks and wipe that smug look clean off your face. For me, this mountain / molehill was weaning. We were getting along swimmingly Tilly and I, going about our day, 8hrs sleep, a bottle here, a bottle there, a trip to nanas, a stroll in the pram, bliss. Then came the 4am wake up calls, waaaaaa waaaaa waaaaaa, (roughly translated as “fix me a bottle pronto bed head before I wake up the neighbourhood”) To say this was a shock after a few weeks of naively believing my little one “slept through” was an understatement to say the least, in recent weeks I had been woken only by my own freakish need to check she is still breathing, approximately 2 / 3 times a night. No one warned me that hunger could interrupt her sleeping patterns so feverishly. But it didn’t stop at 4am, nope, she began to randomly yelp out at 1am and 2am too, no feed needed this time, just a matter of re-inserting the dummy, for anyone who has padded around the area surrounding baba`s cot in the thick of night furiously looking for one of the fallen dummies will know it’s no laughing matter, nor is sucking on the dummy before giving it back only to be greeted with a mouth full of fluff and whatever else, cleaning dummies in hot water is a much safer and humane option all round.
Following my weaning course, and being the swot I am, listening to the health authorities guide lines, I was waiting patiently for exactly 6 months to pass before I started whipping up purees and getting on the weaning bus, but waking several times in the wee hours eventually ground me down, and after self diagnosing tilly with chronic hunger, I reached for the baby rice at 5 months and 1 week. So sue me.
To my delight, she lapped it up, I chose a baby rice alternative, I am riddled with allergies so to be on the safe side, I chose a wheat free option, and it went down a storm, so much so that I made the silly mistake of allowing her 2 spoon full’s on her first attempt, which led to a full hour (it felt like an day) of intense crying, I had stuffed the poor baby to bursting point, I called my mum in a blind panic, and wailed pathetically down the phone that I thought I had poisoned her, swiftly and calmly mother arrived, gave baba some warm water and a rub and hey presto, the crying stopped, and Tilly was fine too.
Next stop, after 2 weeks of porridge, Puree. I am not a huge vegetable fan, I like what I call the “exotic” veg family (peppers/mange tout/butternut squash) but your bog standard “roast dinner veg” (carrots/parsnip/broccoli), you can keep. But having pledged that my daughter would know nothing of my dislikes (boyfriend calls it fussiness) I set about making her mini meals, steaming/pureeing and freezing into ice cube looking trays various root vegetables and some pear.
Day 1 of “vegetable gate” and my hard work was rewarded, I excitedly plonked baba in her Bumbo seat, attached bib and went straight in, armed with my bendy spoon and Little Miss Sunshine bowl, I did as the books said and remembered to encourage her, sounding slightly demented, I coooed and ahhhhed as she opened her mouth like a new born bird, waiting to be fed its worms. Only this new born bird wanted to hold the worm itself, and then dip its fingers in the bowl, get a nice handful of sweet potato and then immediately grab mummy’s hair, this wasn’t going to be a civilised affair.
Weaning Lesson 1. Keep bowl far away from little fingers, and while you are there move everything else away from her grasp, do not be deceived by these miniature people, their strength is surprising, and I swear tilly can extend her arms like inspector gadget, I have looked away for a second and turned back to an (unlit!!!) candle being lifted towards her mouth and a pot plant being pulled towards her by its defenceless leaves, nothing is safe.
Lesson 2. Go in armed. I have both wet and dry wipes on hand. Wet to wipe the slop from her cheeks, hands, ears and wherever else. Dry, to protect myself from the spray. Like most of us Tilly is prone to the odd sneeze, but she is yet to learn the art of the stifle, if her dad has his way this will never be the case, he likes to sneeze loud and long and clear aaaaaaaattttchhhhooooooo, Tilly seems to take after him, which is fine, except when she is mid mouthful of butternut squash and the aaaaaaatttchhoooooo is fired in my direction, when I am sitting only inches away from her face, I’ve been caught out once, my face peppered with orange 3D dots of food and saliva, if she wasn’t my baby it would be gross. Oh how we laughed, but there won’t be a next time, I have my tissue umbrella at the ready.
Friday, 2 December 2011
Dressing in the Dark
Having a baby means you make a fair few sacrifices, i become aware of new ones regularly, My latest is the luxury of switching on the bedroom light for fear of waking baba (who is still in her cot in our bedroom, for a couple of reasons. 1 being she is waking occasionally in the night so its convenient to have her near me, the 2nd being i like her being there, i like to hear her breathing and those funny little noises she makes in her sleep, you can judge me / call me neurotic later) tis true getting into bed in the dark is a small price to pay, but stumped toes are now a regular occurrence, and finding pyjamas that match is virtually impossible.
It was after waking up wearing a fairly amusing concoction of bed attire one morning, after wearily pulling on some pjs in the dark the night before, that i began to think how liberating it actually felt to wear clothes without them having being contrived into an outfit before hand. I believe it takes a lot of confidence to have a devil may care attitude towards dressing, clothes are often be used as a coat of armour, to shield you from judgement. Now of course there is a time and a place for outfits to be neat and tidy, work wear and weddings for example, but wouldn't it be nice to reach into your wardrobe and wear on the first thing that you lay your hands on?
To test my theory on a day i wasn't intending to leave the house, I allowed my 2yr old niece to choose my outfit, now what i will say is that a large majority of my winter wardrobe is either grey or black so there was very little chance of me winding up wearing anything too wild, but regardless, wearing what i was told, free from the shackles of style felt pretty good, it didn't matter that i wound up wearing head to toe grey, my niece repeatedly told me it was pink, so i agreed.
My point is that my inhibitions prevent me from wearing certain things, in my teens and early 20s i was totally the opposite, i wore clothes to attract attention, which i suppose is a right of passage, i was stretching my fashion legs, finding my feet. Now i am hurtling towards 30 however, i am less likely to take risks, although i admire the celebrities that dare to veer off kilter when it comes to the Red Carpet, Tilda Swinton and Helena Bonham Carter are prime examples, yet as much as i admire the carefree nonchalance eccentric both celebrities and young girls dress, this party season i think i will stick with getting dressed with the light switched on.
It was after waking up wearing a fairly amusing concoction of bed attire one morning, after wearily pulling on some pjs in the dark the night before, that i began to think how liberating it actually felt to wear clothes without them having being contrived into an outfit before hand. I believe it takes a lot of confidence to have a devil may care attitude towards dressing, clothes are often be used as a coat of armour, to shield you from judgement. Now of course there is a time and a place for outfits to be neat and tidy, work wear and weddings for example, but wouldn't it be nice to reach into your wardrobe and wear on the first thing that you lay your hands on?
To test my theory on a day i wasn't intending to leave the house, I allowed my 2yr old niece to choose my outfit, now what i will say is that a large majority of my winter wardrobe is either grey or black so there was very little chance of me winding up wearing anything too wild, but regardless, wearing what i was told, free from the shackles of style felt pretty good, it didn't matter that i wound up wearing head to toe grey, my niece repeatedly told me it was pink, so i agreed.
My point is that my inhibitions prevent me from wearing certain things, in my teens and early 20s i was totally the opposite, i wore clothes to attract attention, which i suppose is a right of passage, i was stretching my fashion legs, finding my feet. Now i am hurtling towards 30 however, i am less likely to take risks, although i admire the celebrities that dare to veer off kilter when it comes to the Red Carpet, Tilda Swinton and Helena Bonham Carter are prime examples, yet as much as i admire the carefree nonchalance eccentric both celebrities and young girls dress, this party season i think i will stick with getting dressed with the light switched on.
Sunday, 20 November 2011
I`ll be the Judge of that!
I have no talent for singing / dancing or acting, yet i sit in judgement watching various TV shows, passing comment, with absolutely zero sense of irony, on the contestants performances. Despite not being able to sing a note i find it perfectly acceptable to criticise harmonies that weren't to my liking, critique dance moves that i found to be lacklustre and occasionally spout my completely fictitious expert opinion on peoples acting skills, all to the amusement of boyfriend, who half listens to my rants with the minimum amount of interest.
Its not that i have an inflated opinion of myself, its TV culture. Talent shows, programmes about property, home building and entrepreneurship, cookery competitions and home comparison shows all encourage our inner judge, and has made each of us Cheif Arbiter of all subjects. I defy anyone who has sat and watched an episode of Dragons Den/The Apprentice to honestly say they haven't given their opinion on the equity accepted, the quality of the pitch and the tactics used ?
The list of subjects on which you can be the couch bound adjudicator on is endless, not to mention the list of "expert presenters" popping up everywhere, my particular bugbear is (predictably) self styled fashion virtuosos, now i am not expecting to see proof of a doctorate, but a few credentials wouldn't go amiss, in my opinion belting everything and sticking people in control knickers does not make you the authority, but this coming from me, who picks holes in the vocal performances of professionals , regardless of being tone deaf, is a bit rich.
Child rearing is an area i notice there is very little focus on in the world of TV experts, is this because none of them feel they are getting it right, or perhaps because the tread on this subject would always be on thin ice?? There is a huge divide when it comes to whose opinion should be taken as Gospel when it comes to babies. There are the obvious camps in the form of the Gina Ford Devotees, Disciples of the Baby Whisperer and of course the Contented little babies, i veered off kilter on the recommendation of a convert and opted to go with Tizzy Hall`s Save our Sleep, but its very much personal choice, despite being a "sofa-expert" in all other fields (singing/dancing/acting/entrepreneurship/building/cookery) motherhood was entirely new to me and i made valiant attempts to follow a routine, but Tilly doesn't seem to be quite up to speed, i think perhaps she may be skipping pages of the book???
Joking aside, i think its important to hone your craft and earn your stripes before proclaiming to be an expert, so whilst i keep my baby books close at hand for comfort and confirmation, yet again it was the experts i call the mummy council i turned to when honest and understanding advice about Tilly`s latest cough & cold was what what i needed, this group consists of my mum, sister, sister in laws and friends who are all able to sit behind the judges desk when it comes to babies, having been there and bought the T-shirt,. The membership fee to the mummy council is free, meetings are at random and wine drinking during Q & A sessions is optional. Its a yes from me, one million percent.
Its not that i have an inflated opinion of myself, its TV culture. Talent shows, programmes about property, home building and entrepreneurship, cookery competitions and home comparison shows all encourage our inner judge, and has made each of us Cheif Arbiter of all subjects. I defy anyone who has sat and watched an episode of Dragons Den/The Apprentice to honestly say they haven't given their opinion on the equity accepted, the quality of the pitch and the tactics used ?
The list of subjects on which you can be the couch bound adjudicator on is endless, not to mention the list of "expert presenters" popping up everywhere, my particular bugbear is (predictably) self styled fashion virtuosos, now i am not expecting to see proof of a doctorate, but a few credentials wouldn't go amiss, in my opinion belting everything and sticking people in control knickers does not make you the authority, but this coming from me, who picks holes in the vocal performances of professionals , regardless of being tone deaf, is a bit rich.
Child rearing is an area i notice there is very little focus on in the world of TV experts, is this because none of them feel they are getting it right, or perhaps because the tread on this subject would always be on thin ice?? There is a huge divide when it comes to whose opinion should be taken as Gospel when it comes to babies. There are the obvious camps in the form of the Gina Ford Devotees, Disciples of the Baby Whisperer and of course the Contented little babies, i veered off kilter on the recommendation of a convert and opted to go with Tizzy Hall`s Save our Sleep, but its very much personal choice, despite being a "sofa-expert" in all other fields (singing/dancing/acting/entrepreneurship/building/cookery) motherhood was entirely new to me and i made valiant attempts to follow a routine, but Tilly doesn't seem to be quite up to speed, i think perhaps she may be skipping pages of the book???
Joking aside, i think its important to hone your craft and earn your stripes before proclaiming to be an expert, so whilst i keep my baby books close at hand for comfort and confirmation, yet again it was the experts i call the mummy council i turned to when honest and understanding advice about Tilly`s latest cough & cold was what what i needed, this group consists of my mum, sister, sister in laws and friends who are all able to sit behind the judges desk when it comes to babies, having been there and bought the T-shirt,. The membership fee to the mummy council is free, meetings are at random and wine drinking during Q & A sessions is optional. Its a yes from me, one million percent.
Friday, 4 November 2011
Very Superstitious
I was bitterly disappointed with Halloween this year, having stocked up on treatsize sweeties for my prospective Trick or Treaters i was left waist high in Maltesers when only one paltry gaggle of witches & ghouls made the pilgrimage to my door. I love opening the door and being given a hairdryer chorus of "Trick orrrrrrrrr treeeeeeeeat" In the past there have been the odd silences on opening the door, i deal with this by grinning at them, clutching my bowl of prizes like a goon until they buckle, cruel? perhaps, but its tradition, you've got to work for your rewards!
I also like my Trick or Treaters to have made an effort, civilian clothes topped off with a scream mask doesn't cut the mustard for me, i am not suggesting parents hire their offspring costumes for the occasion, merely put their back into it, a cape can easily be fashioned from a bin bag, i also prefer a painted face as opposed to a mask , preferably green and eyeliner warts are a must have.
I am very excited for future Halloweens with Tilly, i intend to bake traditional family Halloween recipes such as bats wing (Roughly chopped Mars bar) Vampire Blood (Ribena) and intestines (Strawberry laces) and play duck apple, although in our house we were partial to what i believe is known as snap apple, hanging an apple from a length of string and attempting to eat it with your arms tied behind your back, this is a competitive sport may i add, there needs to be more than one player, or its just eating an apple, hanging from a string, with your arms behind your back.
I shared my dismal T or T story and have now been filled in on the modern etiquette of Trick or Treating, apparently its necessary to leave your gurning carved pumpkin either in the porch/path or window. A visible pumpkin denotes you are a Halloween believer, which to me seems a shame, kids don't know what they are missing, being chased by miserable Halloween haters was the scariest part of the night! Ive also been made aware of an excellent new game, Musical Monsters, the rules are that of Musical Statues, but the players must be dressed in scary costumes, amazing!
For someone scared of their own shadow, who hates scary movies i am a huge fan of Halloween, its fills a festive gap between the summer nights and Christmas, I am also a big fan of fancy dress, and the two go hand in hand perfectly, i also enjoy how inevitably the odd news paper or daytime television programme feature a white witch, one particular season nut job and her Black Cat got me thinking about Superstitions, and how i have managed to rack up more than your average person. Mine however don't involve Black Cats or ladders, they are more of a hybrid of superstition and old wives tales. they include the obvious one, Friday 13th, and then the list spans out of control, these are my top 5
I also like my Trick or Treaters to have made an effort, civilian clothes topped off with a scream mask doesn't cut the mustard for me, i am not suggesting parents hire their offspring costumes for the occasion, merely put their back into it, a cape can easily be fashioned from a bin bag, i also prefer a painted face as opposed to a mask , preferably green and eyeliner warts are a must have.
I am very excited for future Halloweens with Tilly, i intend to bake traditional family Halloween recipes such as bats wing (Roughly chopped Mars bar) Vampire Blood (Ribena) and intestines (Strawberry laces) and play duck apple, although in our house we were partial to what i believe is known as snap apple, hanging an apple from a length of string and attempting to eat it with your arms tied behind your back, this is a competitive sport may i add, there needs to be more than one player, or its just eating an apple, hanging from a string, with your arms behind your back.
I shared my dismal T or T story and have now been filled in on the modern etiquette of Trick or Treating, apparently its necessary to leave your gurning carved pumpkin either in the porch/path or window. A visible pumpkin denotes you are a Halloween believer, which to me seems a shame, kids don't know what they are missing, being chased by miserable Halloween haters was the scariest part of the night! Ive also been made aware of an excellent new game, Musical Monsters, the rules are that of Musical Statues, but the players must be dressed in scary costumes, amazing!
For someone scared of their own shadow, who hates scary movies i am a huge fan of Halloween, its fills a festive gap between the summer nights and Christmas, I am also a big fan of fancy dress, and the two go hand in hand perfectly, i also enjoy how inevitably the odd news paper or daytime television programme feature a white witch, one particular season nut job and her Black Cat got me thinking about Superstitions, and how i have managed to rack up more than your average person. Mine however don't involve Black Cats or ladders, they are more of a hybrid of superstition and old wives tales. they include the obvious one, Friday 13th, and then the list spans out of control, these are my top 5
- Never put new shoes on the table, as family quarrels will surely follow
- Don't cross on the stairs, or you will never marry
- If you spill salt, throw some over your left shoulder, to hit evil spirits in the face
- Never put an umbrella up indoors
- Smash a mirror and receive 7 years bad luck
I am yet to pick up on what seems to be a common favourite, Saluting Magpies, but i cant be far off
Saturday, 29 October 2011
Sentimental old fool
I`ve realised lately that sentiment and hoarding go hand in hand. The reason for me holding on to the things i do are due to sentiment, before i began gallivanting in the name of fashion i used to keep concert stubs, festival wrist bands and souvenirs from nights out, nothing sordid, may i add, just props i would pick up in clubs; tiaras, wands, photo key rings...that sort of junk, but since learning the art of travelling with a capsule wardrobe i automatically began to streamline all the other parts of my life, as i wasn`t living in one place i stopped acquiring "stuff" as i didn't feel like i had anywhere to store it. I did however continue to buy clothes, shoes, handbags and accessories, and although in comparison to some people, i am ruthless when it comes to a clear out, there are somethings i just cant bear to part with, sometimes its because the item cost me so much, the memory of paying for it still stings, sometimes its because it holds memories of fun times had wearing it, I have really old "going out" bags that have earned names, like Jagger and Horsehead, when something has a name you cant just fling it out, they are like pets to me, very old, tired looking pets with the odd drink stain on them.
My retrospective state of mind was triggered by a pair of shoes i wore to a recent party, a beautiful pair of red wine velvet platforms with a block heel, i bought them years ago and they are like new, i should wear them more i thought, what a waste...when i began to walk in them, i remembered why i dont wear them, i looked down to find my pinky toe on each foot hanging perilously out like small chipolatas, but at the end of the night, regardless of the discomfort and despite the unattractive toe situation, still i put them back in my wardrobe, shoes that are useless but beautiful, only women can appreciate this.
My friends are breeding at an astonishing rate, the domino effect is raging, literally, so everything from my maternity clothes to Tilly`s new born baby bits are already having their second wind. I felt compelled to hold back some bits, her first dress, ok, makes that plural, dresses, her first shoes, that sort of thing, but am not sure where i should stop. I recall being asked if i had kept her belly button stump (i didn't) i felt terrible, was i cold hearted? should i keep every last thing she ever wears/touches/vomits on? I think common sense must prevail, i cant bear the thought of waste (i am a keen recycler, becoming a mum has turned me ever so swampy-esque, i will be growing tomatoes next) my mum often berates herself for the things she didn't keep, i have always maintained the opinion you cant keep everything, it just isn't feasible, particularly as i am 1 of 6 children, had we of kept all our old clothes and toys there would have been no room in the house for us to live in it. Among our hospital bracelets, christening robes, first party dresses and other nik naks, one thing my mum has kept, which always makes me smile was the top i wore when i first went to a "club" a rather fetching pink off the shoulder gypsy top with a single haberdashery rose gracing the neckline...i wonder if that will ever get a its second wind??
My retrospective state of mind was triggered by a pair of shoes i wore to a recent party, a beautiful pair of red wine velvet platforms with a block heel, i bought them years ago and they are like new, i should wear them more i thought, what a waste...when i began to walk in them, i remembered why i dont wear them, i looked down to find my pinky toe on each foot hanging perilously out like small chipolatas, but at the end of the night, regardless of the discomfort and despite the unattractive toe situation, still i put them back in my wardrobe, shoes that are useless but beautiful, only women can appreciate this.
My friends are breeding at an astonishing rate, the domino effect is raging, literally, so everything from my maternity clothes to Tilly`s new born baby bits are already having their second wind. I felt compelled to hold back some bits, her first dress, ok, makes that plural, dresses, her first shoes, that sort of thing, but am not sure where i should stop. I recall being asked if i had kept her belly button stump (i didn't) i felt terrible, was i cold hearted? should i keep every last thing she ever wears/touches/vomits on? I think common sense must prevail, i cant bear the thought of waste (i am a keen recycler, becoming a mum has turned me ever so swampy-esque, i will be growing tomatoes next) my mum often berates herself for the things she didn't keep, i have always maintained the opinion you cant keep everything, it just isn't feasible, particularly as i am 1 of 6 children, had we of kept all our old clothes and toys there would have been no room in the house for us to live in it. Among our hospital bracelets, christening robes, first party dresses and other nik naks, one thing my mum has kept, which always makes me smile was the top i wore when i first went to a "club" a rather fetching pink off the shoulder gypsy top with a single haberdashery rose gracing the neckline...i wonder if that will ever get a its second wind??
Tuesday, 25 October 2011
Bear with a sore head
I am not one to moan, a`hem, but the past 2 weeks i have been in the wars a little bit. First of all i opted for a tooth extraction rather than wait for the underlying abscess to rear its ugly head and, cause me toothache, but the process of removing my unusually large back molar wasn`t straight forward, it resisted the dentists tools until the bitter end, we have been together a long time my molar and i, and it wasn't leaving the warm confines of my mouth without a fight, so for the past few days i have been cupping my face like a wounded bear, and accessorising my swollen jaw with the occasional yelps, which inevitably become more frequent when people are in ear shot. As if this wasn't enough my exczema has flared up on my writing hand, and to discourage my scratching the pharmacist suggested a wear cotton gloves, so i bought the only option available, a packet of white cotton gloves, but as the rash is only on one hand, it was only necessary for me to wear one glove, so for the past few days i have been sporting one white cotton glove and much to the boyfriends amusement have forgotten on several occasions to remove it in public, paying a car park attendant and signing for a parcel both while wearing a single cotton glove, like my very own silent tribute act.
You will be pleased to hear I soldiered on through, and was brought sharply down to earth when i took my little baba to the hospital herself, after being breach for so long the paediatrician wanted to scan her hips to check for displacement (or clicky hips as its known) seeing her tiny little body wriggling while Grandad held her legs still and the radiographer rolled her onto her side broke my heart, not even Eskimo kisses from her mummy could stop her visible distress, speaking of Hospitals...............
This week the Imagine Appeal Clothes Throw is finally upon us, this incredible charity raises money for Alder Hey Childrens Hospital, an incredible place which treats 250,000 little patients every year...this year they are holding fashion shows and auctioning Celebrity/Designer donated items from Joan Collins,DVF, Helmut Lang to name a few, i supported this charity before Tilly came along, but it feels even closer to my heart now...
http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Alder-Hey-Clothes-Throw/210073519024769
You will be pleased to hear I soldiered on through, and was brought sharply down to earth when i took my little baba to the hospital herself, after being breach for so long the paediatrician wanted to scan her hips to check for displacement (or clicky hips as its known) seeing her tiny little body wriggling while Grandad held her legs still and the radiographer rolled her onto her side broke my heart, not even Eskimo kisses from her mummy could stop her visible distress, speaking of Hospitals...............
This week the Imagine Appeal Clothes Throw is finally upon us, this incredible charity raises money for Alder Hey Childrens Hospital, an incredible place which treats 250,000 little patients every year...this year they are holding fashion shows and auctioning Celebrity/Designer donated items from Joan Collins,DVF, Helmut Lang to name a few, i supported this charity before Tilly came along, but it feels even closer to my heart now...
http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Alder-Hey-Clothes-Throw/210073519024769
Sunday, 16 October 2011
Hierarchy madness
I may have been watching a little too much Downton Abbey, but i am growing rather fond of the idea / concept of "dressing for dinner" I think this may be due to the fact my day to day wardrobe is more casual than i have ever known. In the years BB (before baby) my mid week wardrobe was work wear and evening wear also known as my "going out clothes" the colour scheme was predominantly black and my weekend wardrobe was an amalgamation of both.
Now i am on Maternity leave i have been forced to reassess my day to day ensemble, i now want to look a little less "stiff" when i am out and about, black skinny jeans have been a Winter staple of mine for a few years now, but they aren't very casual or cozy looking are they? my recent trip to a play group indicated that blue jeans are the wash of choice for the majority of mums, you may wonder why i feel the need to observe other mums "day wear" but having spent so long working in fashion, seeing women wearing leather leggings and 5" heels at 9am has become the norm` for me, the fash pack rarely bother with practicality and comfort, a colleague told me she gets very funny looks at the playground from the other mums when she rocks up in the latest trend...i wonder what they will make of Fetish this season?
I get great pleasure from sorting out my wardrobe at the change of seasons, it is cathartic for me, recently, with baby safely deposited at Chez Grandparents i headed into the loft to retrieve my Winter warmers. Having spent time perusing the glossy magazines, poring over the new Autumn Winter collections i couldn't help feeling slightly disappointed with what i found, i almost expect to find the things Ive been lusting after just loitering there, but alas there were no plum suede boots nor a fur trimmed parka, ho hum...its a good job i have spotted just the ticket!
As my day to day routine for now doesn't involve going to work, i find myself keeping certain clothes for when i actually step out of the door, i have always had a "wardrobe tier" system of sorts but i seem to have taken it to another level. In the past i have insisted i don't keep things for best, as inevitably you don't get enough wear out of things to justify buying them, i have always stood by the price per wear motto (where by you divide the total cost of the item by the number of times you have worn it...ie Item cost £250 : Number of times worn : 10 : Cost per wear £25) at the moment i am struggling to make this work for a large majority of my wardrobe so i have created an unintentional hierarchy. Most of us have Evening wear / Day wear / work wear, but when recently editing my pyjamas / hanging around the house clothes (known in our house as slummies) i realised i was separating them something like this
Now i am on Maternity leave i have been forced to reassess my day to day ensemble, i now want to look a little less "stiff" when i am out and about, black skinny jeans have been a Winter staple of mine for a few years now, but they aren't very casual or cozy looking are they? my recent trip to a play group indicated that blue jeans are the wash of choice for the majority of mums, you may wonder why i feel the need to observe other mums "day wear" but having spent so long working in fashion, seeing women wearing leather leggings and 5" heels at 9am has become the norm` for me, the fash pack rarely bother with practicality and comfort, a colleague told me she gets very funny looks at the playground from the other mums when she rocks up in the latest trend...i wonder what they will make of Fetish this season?
I get great pleasure from sorting out my wardrobe at the change of seasons, it is cathartic for me, recently, with baby safely deposited at Chez Grandparents i headed into the loft to retrieve my Winter warmers. Having spent time perusing the glossy magazines, poring over the new Autumn Winter collections i couldn't help feeling slightly disappointed with what i found, i almost expect to find the things Ive been lusting after just loitering there, but alas there were no plum suede boots nor a fur trimmed parka, ho hum...its a good job i have spotted just the ticket!
As my day to day routine for now doesn't involve going to work, i find myself keeping certain clothes for when i actually step out of the door, i have always had a "wardrobe tier" system of sorts but i seem to have taken it to another level. In the past i have insisted i don't keep things for best, as inevitably you don't get enough wear out of things to justify buying them, i have always stood by the price per wear motto (where by you divide the total cost of the item by the number of times you have worn it...ie Item cost £250 : Number of times worn : 10 : Cost per wear £25) at the moment i am struggling to make this work for a large majority of my wardrobe so i have created an unintentional hierarchy. Most of us have Evening wear / Day wear / work wear, but when recently editing my pyjamas / hanging around the house clothes (known in our house as slummies) i realised i was separating them something like this
- Nice Pyjamas
- Things i would answer the door in
- Only suitable for cleaning up in
You may think this is an indication i have too much time on my hands, which may be a fair observation, but its really more of a case of needing to have things organised, on a daily basis i find myself wearing a little splash of vomit somewhere, like a baby badge of honour, so having my wardrobe organised enough to be able to reach for a replacement top/dress at a moments notice makes things a little easier, i am not quite there yet, and on occasion i find my outfit still a dash too formal for a trip to the supermarket, on occasion i look like I've just come from work...but slowly slowly catchee monkey, and i think perhaps i will opt for some Aubergine skinny cords, my version of blue jeans.
Tuesday, 4 October 2011
Time please ladies & gents
For the record i am 29 years old, there are times when i feel 100 but the majority of the time i still think i am 21, in my head i still look 21 too, although driving past Liverpool University last week and seeing a gaggle of "freshers" reminded me i am not, i would look like a member of the Goonies in the get ups these girls were rocking, they were all head scarves tied over grey / blonde hair, peter pan collars over cropped t shirts and denim cut offs, (watch an episode of X Factor and you`ll see this demonstrated perfectly)
Another reason for my reflective mood probably has something to do with receiving a letter to inform me that my driving licence picture needs renewing, i am rather perturbed as i quite like my picture, it looks nothing like me, i am blonde, tanned (i was partial to a sunbed or 6 back then) and my pose is one of pure unadulterated vanity, i genuinely don't want to change it...i knew i should have pickled my face back then.
Having a baby has the bonus effect of making you feel very grown up, the sense of responsibility is a shock, and the fact your life will never be the same again, Before having our little baba, Boyfriend and I both agreed that we didnt want to retire from having a social life, i felt too young to hang up my dancing shoes, the boyfriend said something along the lines of "there is life in the old dog yet".
I was so excited about our new addition but i knew then i wanted her to be just that, an addition to our lives, this may sound unbelievably selfish but my siblings and friends all seem to have a great balance of work/family/social life, combining the latter is easier now the majority of our group have children, we also have the added bonus of having very accommodating (read: willing to babysit) parents, so have had the luxury of being able to go out as a couple.
Although i wasn't so quick to catch on to the other elements of my life that would have to be changed or at least amended slightly, when baba was 10 weeks old we took her to a friends wedding down south, we were blissfully ignorant to how difficult it was going to be taking such a young baby to a 2 day event, my mum repeatedly offering to babysit Tilly for the weekend should have been a slap-in-the-face clue. I was so concentrated on our wedding attire i didn't give a moments thought to my little ones feeds/naps fitting in with the wedding schedule, with no "routine" in place and in hindsight this short sighted of me. So off we went, the car yet again packed up like a sardine can, We arrived at the ceremony on time, so far so good...then no sooner had the beautiful bride entered the Church did Tilly decide she wanted her bottle, and the noise she made indicated she did not want it in 20 minutes, she wanted it right now, this moment, chop chop, sharpish, Boyfriend and i were like a SWAT team and the bottle was made, shaken and inserted into her mini cake hole within seconds, panic over.
My next challenge was to negotiate the remainder of the day in vertiginous heels whilst holding baba, add champagne to this scenario and i have to confess, for the first party in my heel wearing career i changed into flats, sparkly flats, but non the less i admitted defeat and accepted this was the only option...my life has now officially changed beyond recognition! We lasted until midnight, baba fast asleep in her pram and us taking it in turns to do what can only be described as the parent equivalent of dad dancing, on the dance floor, pushing the pram to the beat of the music......ssssshhhhh i promised boyfriend it was our little secret.....
Thanks to Ohsocherished.co.uk for the image, No Dad Dancing sign available at
http://www.ohsocherished.co.uk/product/3925/453/no_dad_dancing_sign
Wednesday, 28 September 2011
The time has come
Naive, deranged, hopeful, big headed, all of these words are applicable to my belief that i would (more or less) snap back into shape post baby. I avidly followed the weight gain of celebrities who were pregnant at the same time as me (Abbey Clancy, Victoria Beckham, Pink, Mariah Carey, Selma Blair, Jessica Alba to name a few) and compared my own bump/bum/bingo wing growth, at times i felt i was driving myself crazy, but it didn't stop me scrolling through endless pictures of them whilst munching my way through a slice of Battenburg or 4, the poor boyfriend had to sit through my running commentary, which generally focused on how their lifestyles were different to mine, how they probably had personal trainers/chefs/stylists to help them maintain their figure despite their burgeoning bump, i now know i was in denial that the extra carbohydrates i was consuming were the sole reason for my higher than average weight gain.
For the past 3 months the biggest frustration i have had is still not being able to fit into any of my old clothes, particularly since the weather turned colder, i am itching to wear my J Brand skinnies, while now i can get them up over my thighs and bottom, but the button looks like its had a terrible argument with the button hole and they cannot bear to be in the same vicinity as one another, no amount of lying down to zip them up is going to work, its time for me to take action, sooner rather than later, as soon enough the "Ive just had a baby" excuse is going to wear extremely thin (excuse the pun) plus the afore mentioned celebrities have all had their babies and the majority are back strutting the red carpet wearing sample size frocks, which to me just signifies that quick weight loss is possible, if not easy, but also reminds me that there is light at the end of the tunnel, no need to reach for the velour trackpants just yet....
Some may say i am being too harsh on my self, but the fact of the matter is i am a secret snacker, i actually manage to convince myself that chomping on treat size Twirls isn't naughty, Devouring Cornetto Ice Creams whilst walking the promenade is customary and that Jaffa Cakes are 1 of my 5 a day.. its time to take action...
.... i don`t wish to discuss exact stones & pounds as each woman's weight gain is relative to her pre pregnancy size, nor will i be uploading gross "before " pictures, no one wants to see that, not even me, so i have joined Fat Camp, or Boot camp to give it its official title, 3 times a week approximately 12 of us, including 2 of my friends (for me having friends to go with is essential, they provide encouragement and humour) congregate in a park and are put through our paces by a mild mannered instructor, who seems a little bemused by my pathetic approach to such tough exercise, its early days but am loving the challenge, after 4 sessions am yet to see any noticeable changes to my figure or weight, (i have decided not to follow the detox they recommended, i may live to regret this but i know i wouldn't stick to it, and then be forced to lie) but i feel very positive, full of energy and am getting used to having aching muscles 99% of the time....watch this space!!
Some may say i am being too harsh on my self, but the fact of the matter is i am a secret snacker, i actually manage to convince myself that chomping on treat size Twirls isn't naughty, Devouring Cornetto Ice Creams whilst walking the promenade is customary and that Jaffa Cakes are 1 of my 5 a day.. its time to take action...
.... i don`t wish to discuss exact stones & pounds as each woman's weight gain is relative to her pre pregnancy size, nor will i be uploading gross "before " pictures, no one wants to see that, not even me, so i have joined Fat Camp, or Boot camp to give it its official title, 3 times a week approximately 12 of us, including 2 of my friends (for me having friends to go with is essential, they provide encouragement and humour) congregate in a park and are put through our paces by a mild mannered instructor, who seems a little bemused by my pathetic approach to such tough exercise, its early days but am loving the challenge, after 4 sessions am yet to see any noticeable changes to my figure or weight, (i have decided not to follow the detox they recommended, i may live to regret this but i know i wouldn't stick to it, and then be forced to lie) but i feel very positive, full of energy and am getting used to having aching muscles 99% of the time....watch this space!!
Wednesday, 21 September 2011
Greetings
You hear so many conflicting opinions on exactly when a baby should be weaned that i decided to attend a weaning class to hear for myself both the medical and practical reasons for waiting till baby is 6 months old, so i could make an informed decision.
The class covered all the stages from baby weaning to advice on feeding young children, including food allergies, childhood obesity and food related behavior, it even covered Dental Health. We were told horror stories of under 5s having teeth extracted due to high sugar diets, of a 10year old who will live with dentures for life, and of young children developing heart problems from being overweight. Perhaps scare tactics are necessary in some cases but i found it all a little too much, i felt tearful that these precious little beings were subjected to what can only be described as negligence, as adults we can make our own decision of what to eat and when, we are provided with the nutritional contents of each and every product we eat, children don`t have this luxury and its the parents responsibility to ensure they give their child a balanced diet, to ensure their optimum health now and in the future...i will step off my soap box now....
One of the most interesting parts of the session for me was the discussion about eating behaviors and the long term effects these can have, i have already read about the perils of confusing hunger with comfort and running the risk of your child becoming a comfort eater, they also discussed the merits of eating with your child, preferably at a table, without the TV on, as in the same way as an adult, your child is unable to determine when they are full if they are distracted by their favourite programme, and can either over eat, or under eat and then need more food later on...generally something sweet.
Coming from a family that ate at the dining table every night (except on a Saturday when we had our dinner on a tray whilst watched Blind Date / Generation game) I have always favoured eating at a table rather than in front of the TV, i enjoy conversing about the day (whilst keeping my elbows firmly off the table, not talking with my mouth full and while definitely not sitting on my feet..table manners were strict in our house, my dad thoroughly enjoyed keeping a watchful eye on his brood during meal times) I have decided i wish to continue this tradition, i plan to adopt the Ma` Boswell (Bread) style of saying Grace...i may even invest in a pottery hen.
The class covered all the stages from baby weaning to advice on feeding young children, including food allergies, childhood obesity and food related behavior, it even covered Dental Health. We were told horror stories of under 5s having teeth extracted due to high sugar diets, of a 10year old who will live with dentures for life, and of young children developing heart problems from being overweight. Perhaps scare tactics are necessary in some cases but i found it all a little too much, i felt tearful that these precious little beings were subjected to what can only be described as negligence, as adults we can make our own decision of what to eat and when, we are provided with the nutritional contents of each and every product we eat, children don`t have this luxury and its the parents responsibility to ensure they give their child a balanced diet, to ensure their optimum health now and in the future...i will step off my soap box now....
One of the most interesting parts of the session for me was the discussion about eating behaviors and the long term effects these can have, i have already read about the perils of confusing hunger with comfort and running the risk of your child becoming a comfort eater, they also discussed the merits of eating with your child, preferably at a table, without the TV on, as in the same way as an adult, your child is unable to determine when they are full if they are distracted by their favourite programme, and can either over eat, or under eat and then need more food later on...generally something sweet.
Coming from a family that ate at the dining table every night (except on a Saturday when we had our dinner on a tray whilst watched Blind Date / Generation game) I have always favoured eating at a table rather than in front of the TV, i enjoy conversing about the day (whilst keeping my elbows firmly off the table, not talking with my mouth full and while definitely not sitting on my feet..table manners were strict in our house, my dad thoroughly enjoyed keeping a watchful eye on his brood during meal times) I have decided i wish to continue this tradition, i plan to adopt the Ma` Boswell (Bread) style of saying Grace...i may even invest in a pottery hen.
Thursday, 15 September 2011
Tears for Fears
"They" ( "they" being the invisible experts that i often refer to when i am not sure of the source of my fact/statistic) say that we are born with just 2 natural fears, a fear of loud noises and the fear of falling, all other fears are learnt as we grow up. I recently read about a study which proves parents are the cause of their children's fears, that fears are passed down through our behaviour, which technically means my daughter will inherit my long list of irrational fears including the dark, spiders, flies, clowns, kitten heels and my own shadow, to name but a few, along with her dads fear of all things gory, he cant bear watching operations on television that feature incisions of any description (i on the other hand relish watching things like embarrassing illnesses, the lumpier and bumpier and more painful looking the patients complaint the better for me) the problem i have is i don't want her to be a scaredy cat like me, i wish i could manage my fears better so they wouldn't be so glaringly obvious to her, i have already had to deal with attempting to waft a wasp away from her while being terrified myself (its not just the fear of being stung, i don't like they have fur and i could possibly swallow them, irrational? i know) The theory of "hereditary" fears must entirely dependant on the individual as i don't recall my own parents ever being frightened of the things i run away from, in fact my mum used to calmly remove spiders from my room, encourage wasps out of the windows and even walk into dark rooms at night without putting the light on...ooooh the thought of such madness makes me shudder!
Luckily one of the only things i am not frightened of is needles (don't get me wrong if i was being chased by somebody wielding a dirty needle i wouldn't be cool, calm and collected, but as a rule getting a needle doesn't bother me) so when it came to Tilly getting her 12 week immunisations i wasn't scared, just upset that she had to go through the discomfort, i was cuddling her throughout, she must have been wondering why i sat back and let the mean lady push the sharp object in her thigh!
I have decided to make a conscious effort to become less fearful to ensure my little one never has to witness me being a wuss, first up i will brush my teeth in the dark...baby steps to a new me.
Luckily one of the only things i am not frightened of is needles (don't get me wrong if i was being chased by somebody wielding a dirty needle i wouldn't be cool, calm and collected, but as a rule getting a needle doesn't bother me) so when it came to Tilly getting her 12 week immunisations i wasn't scared, just upset that she had to go through the discomfort, i was cuddling her throughout, she must have been wondering why i sat back and let the mean lady push the sharp object in her thigh!
I have decided to make a conscious effort to become less fearful to ensure my little one never has to witness me being a wuss, first up i will brush my teeth in the dark...baby steps to a new me.
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