Okay, I am a girly wuss

Last week I confessed to enjoying my time while little girl is at
school. I think it's true, I do when it's just for a few hours.

Today I'm, yet again, weeping like a bloomin willow because she's
there all day. It's getting embarrassing.

God I hope my girl is tougher than me.

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Not such a good day for the Quins

But a great day for us.

Loving the crowds

Eloise and her Daddy getting into the action

The splashiest...

bubbliest...

smiliest bath

Good enough for two

What a day we have planned.

This morning Isobel and I are doing mum type things - cafe and farmers
Market.

This afternoon I'm being dad and taking little girl to her first live
rugby match.

Cool.

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An aside

I love a good gosip I really do, my people watching often focuses on
those less fortunate than myself and often seeks chinks in those who
seem far more blessed. I'm not writing this because I am proud of it,
but because it does seem to be human nature.

I just want to clear something up. Yes I'm disappointed, and yes I
moan about the circumstances I find myself in, and yes you get to hear
about it because I happen to have a blog, but that doesn't mean PD and
I are fighting.

Surely his continued presence in photos must imply something?

Well, let me make things a little clearer: luckily for Isobel, and
for us, we still seem to enjoy each other very much, we still have fun
together. (Confusing isn't it?) He may have got a few things wrong but
he still does some things right.

Sorry to disappoint.

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Park Life

I'm not sure I would call being a mum the hardest job I've had, I suppose it has it's moments, but this afternoon wasn't one of them

I mean how can I complain when I get to spend my Friday afternoons in the sun, doing my job and teaching my little girl how to have fun

If this is how much fun the playground is now, surely it's only going to get more so (she says blocking out the images of banged heads and grazed knees).

At the end of the day, I think it was a success.

Do you want to know a secret?

I'm kind of enjoying Isobel being at nursery.

She is booked in four full days a week, so far we have only managed
one of those. But I have dropped her off for a few hours as each day
so we both get to play.

I don't need her to go to school so I can go to cafes - she is more
than happy to come with, charm the owner and get me free biscuits, I
sound like a pimp- but I do need her to go to school so I can go to
pilates and get my legs lasered.

Yesterday I dropped Isobel off wearing my pilates kit and was so
obviously judged by the other mums as one of those who hands over her
child simply for her own conveinience.

I guess at the moment I am, but I am also making sure my little girl
will be happy there when I'm not just around the corner.

Which brings me to my other secret: I'm now looking forward to going
back to work, I'm ready, bring it on.

Oh my cheeks are hurting again, I'm smiling, it must be time to pick
up my baby girl.

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Previous adventures in weaning

Here's Isobel enjoying the alfresco Tapas cheese plate the Sunday before last.

Are these adventures really 'misadventures'? I don't know, but I do know this little girl is fantastic company.

Todays picture of La Petite Fille

PD has posted a lovely picture today, all his pictures are lovely - I would say that, they are of my beautiful little girl - but this one actually says a lot.

This was the first time I gave Isobel pots and pans to play with, she is now steady enough to wave her arms in the air excitedly and not topple over, and, if you look out the back door, you can see it's sunny.

While Isobel is playing and PD is tormenting her with the big black thing that takes these pictures, I am making barbecue sauce for the spare ribs we then cooked and ate alfresco.

Yes, the 'we' includes Isobel.

Isobel's first and, probably, our last barbecue of the year.

(She'd already helped me eat a croissant in the cafe earlier in the day - so I'd say weaning is going well.)

Well...

I know I've been a bit remiss of late with my posts. It's not that I haven't got anything to say, believe me I have so many posts in my head I don't know which one to write first, but I've actually been engaged in more traditional persuits - reading.

It's all Jenny's fault, yes Miss B I mean you; she recommended Salman Rushdie's Midnights Children, and I've loved every page.

All I have wanted to do is curl up with my book. One night I went to bed at 8:30 with a bag of maltesers for my dinner, just so I could sit propped up on pillows and read for hours.

So decadent, it's fab.

Baby Genevieve May is here

Hooray!!

Congratulations Mummy and Daddy Quenet.

We can't wait to meet her.

Lots and lots of Love,

PD, Isobel and Me.

xxx

The real thing part 2

I'm not sure if I'm proud of myself for being brave or guilty for being mean. Either way I managed to wait until 4:45 before going to pick up little girl.

I had a really unproductive day, I lazed in a way I haven't done for ages - after I dropped her off I went back to bed. My god it felt decadent. The day was odd, but not as bad as I thought it would be - does that make me a terrible mother?

That said, I did have to sit on my hands until I thought I would pop. I had such a big smile on my face at the thought of going to get her, my cheeks hurt. I shut the front door behind me and literally ran to nursery - yes I was a sight to behold - I just couldn't help it.

There she was happily eating her dinner; between the spoons of cheesy veg I got big smiles and she kept touching my hand.

It was nearly worth her going to nursery so I could miss her, well maybe not nearly, but the joy I felt seeing her again did help.

Oh, she had a great time: 3 naps and although the middle one wasn't as long as it should have been she didn't seem too grumpy. But, she did go to bed 15 minutes early which doesn't bode well for when I pick her up at 6pm.

The real thing

Today is supposed to be Isobel's first full day at school. She has a new school bag and everything. As i'm standing outside the gate crying and posting this, i don't think she'll be there all day, is this why it seems to be mainly dads doing the drop off - it's too hard for mummies?

(Real time) Where we are on this glorious saturday morning

Enjoying breakfast in a little italian cafe before heading to the farmers market - nice.

A minutes silence please

Normal blogging is interrupted today to pay 'omage to a dear old friend who is no longer with us.

His loss will be felt in this Findon household and indeed he will never be replaced.

Yes, today we morn the passing of Minky Monkey Moo.

He tragically took a tumble from the pushchair and by the time the emergency services had located him, he had tragically been run over and suffered internal injuries that were not immediately apparent as we sped across the car park to retrieve him.

He was our constant companion on outings, he wasn't completely plastic and he took up little space, and, most importantly of all, Isobel loved him; the nappy bag will be empty without him.

Do you bury all the kids toys that get broken - or am I being over sentimental?

A little catch up post

Anne, thank you for the boats - bathtime is now a less horizontal affair!

Thanks for the other pressies too, but at one point I thought the string bag the boats came in was going to be favourite.

In cahoots

Now I'm not saying Grandma is the tooth fairy; I mean, I've never seen them in the same room together, but I wouldn't blaspheme that way.

It's just that every time Grandma is near I get a whiff, well a glimpse of new teeth!

Grandma came to visit yesterday afternoon - yes, all the way from the Isle of Wight, very cool - and I'm sure I can feel one of Isobel's top teeth coming through.


If Grandma is the tooth fairy it will save me a fortune in 20ps. Or will the going rate be a pound by then!

Speaking of teeth, Jen we are with you on the wisdom teeth; I lost mine years ago and I've haven't been very wise ever since. x

White picket fence

The universe has conspired, over the last few weeks, to demonstrate how much of a single parent I am; to let me know that not only is my bestest scenario not happening, my second bestest isn't quite working as planned.

But, I am still an old romantic and I still want the white picket fence. I still hope to bring my little girl up in a stable, loving, traditional family. I'm not afraid to do it alone, I'd just rather not.

And I guess to do that I will, one day, have to start dating again. A prospect that I approach with a great deal of trepidation and a complete lack of understanding as to how you go about it with a nought year old.

Anyway in the spirit of 'Loving like you've never been hurt' I do believe I will meet and fall in love with someone who loves not only me, but also loves my little girl nearly as much as I do.

And, of course, we will live happily ever after.

Now, I know that being a single mum does not show testament to my ability to pick boys, but I have few regrets: lovely guy just not for me; great guy very, very much for me but alas picked for some 'higher purpose'; great guy, potential to be very right but..

I could go on.

But at no point in this process have I ever thought they warranted a police check, mind you I didn't have a little girl then. (There is a new police scheme whereby you can get a report on anyone who is to be in close contact with your child, which the BBC points out is ideal for single mums to check out their new boyfriend.)

Where does this fit in the dating process? Is there a box on Internet dating sites that says 'has passed police check'? Surely if I think I need a police check I shouldn't be dating them? Or should I just be doing it anyway to safeguard my child?

If I thought dating was a minefield before, I now think I am bound to loose a limb.

You're FIRED!

In true Alan Sugar style I have had to fire my babysitter, and he's already been sacked as emergency contact.

It's not that his work was substandard nor that he was particularly unreliable, in fact neither of these could be further from the truth.

He just lives too damn far away!

If he wants to get the train home, I have to leave the bar only two hours after I arrived; just as the gin is diluting the blood in my alcohol stream, I'm heading home. And leaving a bar at 10 o'clock SUCKS.

(I'm not kidding anyone, I have no intention of staying out until 3am - I mean I'd love to, but when you know you have to be up at 6:30 the appeal dwindles somewhat.)

So, it's time to recruit new staff. I'm thinking the girl next door is a great candidate.

The one thing I can't provide

PD adores Isobel and Isobel LOVES her Daddy just as much; this is a FACT.


When Isobel sees him she gives him her biggest smile, if the smile was any bigger her face would split. She hugs him so tightly, she is so pleased to see him.

Last night whenever he left the room for more than a minute she cried, he hasn't got the hang of talking to her to let her know he's coming back.

She spent the evening throwing herself from one of us to the other. She certainly is happiest when she has a parent on each cheek; they are magnificent cheeks, they definitely deserve a parent each.

It makes me smile, but it also makes me sad because I the one thing I've failed to give her is a parent for each cheek.

Todays prize for the most neurotic mother goes to...

I know the suspense is killing you...

can't get the damn envelope open...

Oh yes, *drum roll*

...it's ME!

(Forgive the drama, I should be out in a new fancy-schmancy wine bar so, I have to have live a little somehow.)

Isobel has been to the doctors twice today. Yes, you heard me, not once but twice.

The poor little lamb is poorly sick; her cold just hasn't gone away. It's okay, I'm not THAT neurotic, I didn't take because of a cold. I took her because in the last 10 days she has been sick 6 times.

Last night she was sick after I put her to bed. She was taking a long time to settle so I went up to check on her and the poor little thing had been so ill she was practically paddling in it. (It's not easy to change the bed, wash the baby and make a new bottle single handedly - yes , I'd like an award for that too, please.)

Anyway, it was, as I'd guessed, the nastiness from her cold was going down her throat and making her gag and then, well you get the picture.

She had a slight rash on her back at this visit, put down as a bit of heat rash, nothing to worry about - genuinely I wasn't worried.

But, then after her lunchtime nap she woke up very unhappy and the rash had spread EVERYWHERE. I didn't think it was meningitis or anything, I know the signs for that rash, but she was hot and very unhappy.

It was a viral rash - yes a heat rash bought on by the temperature Isobel now has. All positive signs her body is doing what it needs to.

But my wriggly worm hasn't been very wriggly, in fact she has spent the afternoon just hanging out on her mother.

So, I guess that makes me, nearly, neurotic.

Okay, okay I hold my hands up: two doctors trips in one day makes me very neurotic.

Is tiredness a defence?

Tricky business

The baby shower was lovely, but it was odd being amongst PD's friends, many of whom didn't even know I existed, much less that we had had a child together.

It was lovely to hear my daughter so lauded and praised for being the wonderful child that she is; but difficult hearing PD take the credit for it.

Don't get me wrong, I don't doubt his love for our little girl, he adores her and he will be a great dad but... it would just be nice to hear him say 'she is a cool kid, her mum's doing a great job'.

I guess being an unconventional family is going to be harder than we thought.

Holding Pattern, good luck Quenets

The stork is back in town, well he's in his holding pattern, deciding when the best time to deliver little Baby May Quenet to Erica-May and JP. It is indeed very exciting.

Today was their baby shower, a lovely event full of babes and toddlers of every age from 4 weeks to toddlerdom, quite appropriate really.

My advice to the parents to be? Take all advice (yes, even this I suppose) with a pinch of salt. Remember all parents are individuals, as are their babes, so trust that you, as the perfect parents for your perfect baby, will be the ones who know best. I'm not saying don't listen; do listen, just take away what sounds right to you and perhaps file the rest away under the banner of 'hmm that's interesting', best develop a facial expression that says that to the profferer so they don't feel put out.

Are you armed with that expression - good I feel better now.

Remember that 'This too shall pass'. Make sure you treasure those (many) marvelous magical moments and look forward when it's all a little tricky.

Grab hold of each others hands, grip them tightly and get ready for the ride of your life. x

Just Practising

They call them settling in visits; they say it is to help them get to know Isobel and Isobel to know them and the other children. Me? I think it's so parents can practise abandoning I mean, entrusting into someone else's care, their precious, most treasured little bundle of joy.

In my case it is needed. We have been three times now and on Thursday I actually managed to make it out all the way out of the nursery door before I started crying. I think that is an achievement and is possibly a testament to the 'settling-in' period.

Look I know Isobel has a great time there, last time they took pictures to prove it to me; the time before that they rang to reassure me that it wasn't Isobel that I heard crying. Isobel is a sociable little girl and you can't get much more sociable than nursery; if I didn't have to work I'd probably send her for a few hours just for that very reason.

It's not that I think she won't be well cared for, of course she will, not as well as by me of course, but well all the same.

I could tell you that I am concerned that they won't have time for all the little things that make Isobel, Isobel; but, I am sure she is resilient enough to maintain her personality - oh god, I hope so.

Actually I am just gutted that someone else will spend more time with my most favouritest person than I will.

(That's if I actually manage to find a job, if not, nursery will become a luxury along with the roof over our heads)

Anyway, here Isobel is practising the school run in her new Maclaren; she enjoyed looking forwards once she realised she could look backwards at her mummy if she wanted to.

Someone to bless me whenever I sneeze

On my god, how can something so little, sooo beautiful, produce so much mucus.

Yes, my beautiful little angel is one of those snot-stained children we try hard to avoid; well, she would be if I wasn't so well armed with baby wipes.

Anyone who knows me will know what a trauma this is for me, I don't do nasal products; sorry, I just don't.

But I do for Isobel, I even pick her nose, a well aimed little finger nail to remove stray noo-noos - nothing vaguely digit like has EVER been near my own nose.

Seriously though, the poor little might has a cold. At 10 o'clock last night I had to go and administer Medised to a poor confused little girl who was busy trying to breathe by wiping her nose on her sheets as she has yet to learn how to silver-sleeve it .

I raised the head of her matress, but that only works if your child stays the right way up in the cot - mine doesn't. So, I've annoited her with Olbas Oil and I am armed with wipes and continue to wage a war against the rising tide of snot.

Get well soon presents

I'm not sure we've got this around the right way: I'm poorly so I bought Isobel presents.

I think it must have been guilt for not being much fun at the mo, but we were in Early Learning Centre and I bought Isobel the ugliest, brightest, most plasticest toy, there.

Needless to say she loves it.


I actually think I have spent all day over-compensating, and she LOVED the doctor, so she has probably had a great day!

I also bought a couple of cool wooden toys, but she hasn't unpacked them yet, posts yet to come me thinks. (Whenever I take back online purchases to Mothercare, I always end up spending more!)

Three Little (soggy) Birds

Every morning, having made a cup of tea and a bottle of milk, I pick a somewhat excited Isobel up out of her cot. She always wakes up playing and, if the excitement on her face when I go in is anything to go by, she seems to miss me when she sleeps; I guess I'd smile too if all had to worry about for the day is playing!

Then, we go into my room and open the blind. The excitement of this (she doesn't get out much) causes much leg kicking and squealing.

Once the blind is open Isobel wraps her self in the flimsy curtain and says hello to the world and we look down to the doorstep to see if we can see three little birds.

This morning there was no 'risin sun', and there weren't even three rain sodden birds.

So, we passed the mirror to say good morning Isobel, went back to bed to cuddle and play and drank our milk and our tea.

It's okay we know 'every little thing gonna be alright'.

Half a pint, half a year

My little girl, Daddy's little half-pint, you are six months old today; a whole half a year.

And I cannot begin to describe how wonderful you are. At this point in time I cannot imagine enjoying you more: you play, you play with me, you learn, and, with each day that goes by, you are developing more and more into a little person, your own little person.

As much as I'd love to keep you just as you are today, I know I can't so I find myself looking forward to the things we will soon be able to do together, things like splashing in puddles in our wellies. (Yes, it's been raining again.)

You can sit up on your own (with me as a backstop for when you get over excited, which is often), but before you sit anywhere you have to stand: you stand in the pushchair, the iChair and, especially, you stand in the bath, just because you can.

As a family we are having a tough month, many tears have been shed and we are continuing to find our feet before we can sit down and relax as a proper family, but right now, right at this very point in time, my tears are simply the love I have for you spilling out.

So, happy six month birthday. Here's to a million more half years yet to come.