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!

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!

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.

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.

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.

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

• 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  

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??