Mistletoe and wine

We had a lovely, lovely Christmas. I lost my camera battery so I'm afraid pictures are thin on the ground (or rubbish), but it was a lovely, lovely Christmas anyway - oh yes, I've already said that.

In light of my recent frame of mind, we spent Christmas Eve with PD not Christmas day; I know myself well enough to know that I would, in my heart, believe that if I made Christmas perfect then everything else would be perfect too – I didn’t need the pressure and we all know it doesn’t really work that way anyway.

We had candles, homemade crackers, roast duck, cheese and enormous presents. Most of all though , we had fun, it really did ROCK. Thank you PD. x

Christmas day, as father Christmas was filling his last stocking, Isobel and I trundled off to catch the ferry to the Island. I actually like catching this ferry, everyone dressed in their party clothes and full of Christmas spirit. What made that journey extra special was that I had MY little girl with me, I kept checking in my mirror to make sure she was still there - yes, you'd think I would have got my head round the fact that I have a beautiful little girl by now!

It was a lovely Christmas, Isobel played with her cousins, made friends with the dogs and was loved to death by her Grandparents. We didn't do much or go far, but that was what I wanted a hassle free Christmas with all the trimmings. And you know what, that was what we got. So, a BIG thank you to my mummy for that. x

I know I didn't see all my family but I think we just needed to be, and to be loved.

And now we are heading into 2009. A year that will hold surprises for SO many people - I don't think I have ever known a time when so many people's lives were in flux - let's hope it's all good, let it be serendipitous in fact. I'll be letting 2008 go with a whimper rather than a bang, but I am certain of something:

I love my little girl, and she loves me ,and we will be having even more fun together in 2009. I hope you do too.

Oh, and good luck, be careful out there. x

I wish it could be Christmas everyday

Well, in our house it still feels like christmas.

What did father Christmas bring you?

Party fun and games

I'm really glad to say I am really enjoying my little girl.

For the last 10 days she has been practicing her party games. It took
a while to figure it out, but Isobel's latest performance number is...

Head, shoulders, knees and toes.

You've got Christmas mail

Isobel has been busy making you a card.

The message inside reads:

Merry christmas everybody,

Wishing you a very, very, very, very, .... (you get the picture) HAPPY new year.

Lots of Love,

Us

xxx

Playing

There can be nothing more delightful than watching children play, well when they aren't fighting that is , mind you, even that can have it's charm. Isobel is too young to fight so watching her play really truly is a delight.

I mean it was fabulous last Sunday when PD and I taught her to catch and roll a ball, or when she rushes over to destroy whatever it is you have put back together or dared to try and put away, but that is us playing WITH her. What I find absolutely fascinating is watching the games she plays on her own; for someone so little, who has no real language, she really knows how to play.

I'm not sure who she has been watching, but Isobel appears to have learnt to 'smoke'. This is the integral part of a game she plays in the mirrors of the chest of drawers. Maybe, like her father she thinks it makes her look cool to smoke. (No, before you chastise him for bad parenting, he doesn't smoke in front of or indeed when he is around his daughter; in fact I don't think she has really seen anyone smoke - so yes I think this is just a coincidence. Blimey this side bar is nearly as long as the post, I don't really know why felt the need to explain myself!)

Another favourite is posting, and I'm not just talking about the little wooden post box I bought her; Isobel posts everything anywhere. We have a dead cow on the floor which is often covered by Isobel's playmat, somehow she manages to even hide things under the middle of the cow!

The darkness and emptiness of the hallway provides an echo I believe she enjoys. Can't imagine where she gets liking the sound of her own voice from.

The most intriguing though, is the game Isobel plays in the cushions on the settee; she can play this for tens of minutes (a very long time for a 9 month old). She hides in there, she stretches, she hugs the cushion and smiles and smiles and smiles.

As someone with an overactive imagination, a sometimes WAY too overactive imagination, I like to think she gets this playfulness from me.

Baby it's cold outside

Happy pills?

It has to be said that it's been a bloomin tough week. It wouldn't be
far from the truth to say I reached a point where it couldn't feel any
worse. All I wanted to do was cry and runaway with my baby, run to
somewhere where nobody would ever find us.

Yes, I did stuff, I did stuff because I knew I had too, I did stuff
because I hoped it would make me feel better. It did a little for a
little while.

It was like watching myself drive into on-coming traffic, knowing it
was wrong but not being able to take my foot of the accelerator.

So, I'm taking the pills. Each time I get back up I seem to sink a
little lower so what choice did I have. What I don't understand is how
something that is meant to make you feel better can make make you feel
so awful. I've been debilitated by nausea, am left lethargic, eating
and drinking only because I know I have to, not because I have any
desire too.

So while PD moves on with his life, I'm left numb, wondering how to
teach my daughter to believe in love and happily ever after when I'm
struggling to myself.

I do, of course I do, what other reason would there be to go on.

This is what Christmas looks like in our house

Can you guide my sleigh tonight

I'm not sure if we gave them to each other during an eskimo kissing
game but Isobel and I are sporting matching bright red spots on the
end of our noses.

Perhaps it's a recessive Rudolph gene.

Simply having a wonderful Christmas time

Festive wouldn't describe my mood today, or in fact for the days preceeding it, god I can be a miserable cow. I've spent most of the week on the verge of tears.

I had planned a festive day I was not going to use being tired after only three hours sleep as an excuse to hide under my quilt.

So, I have christmas shopped, skated on ice that wasn't thin for a change, mulled over some wine and watched my daughter meet Father Christmas for the first time - none to shabby for a chick labouring under a cloud, as I said I am determined to beat this.

I did manage to have some fun and I'll hopefully sleep well tonight.

Isobel and her Keycarer, Liz

Quite a dishy Father Christmas I must say. What was a bit sad though was that even though he is a Dad himself he wasn't sure if he should allow the chldren to sit on his knee - sign of the times I guess.

Look what I made

No not the baby, silly. Although obviously I did make that too.

The skirt is an original creation cut from an old pair of boot cut
jeans.

Christmas hostest

So I really enjoy entertaining, and I have some lovely friends who only know each other because of me, but as they've been gathering around me three or four times a year I guess we all know each other well enough to have a good time. We have stories about toyboys, juvenile delinquents, photography - you name it we'll chat about it. Although I'm not sure we had drunk quite enough for Boppit.

That's exactly what we did on Sunday. (I nearly cancelled sooo many times, but I'm glad I didn't.) PD took a lovely picture of Isobel in her first cracker hat - I think she wears it better than most.

J and H always bring such gorgeous presents I think they will be high on Isobel's favourites list! Isobel takes after her Mum (and her Dad) in her love of hats - yes this really isn't a hat, it's a pail pall, but maybe she'll start a new trend!

One hour and forty six minutes

Until bedtime; I think both Isobel and I are looking forward to it.

It's not been without it's giggles and little pleasures, but it has
been a long long day.

And I feel terrible for admitting it.

Sent from my iPhone

Please, please, please, please, please, please, pl....

Do not let this cold mean the return of the sickyness.

I uttered this prayer to whoever is the god, goddess, guardian angel, powerful force or just plain anyone as I rocked a snotty, snuffly, coughing baby back to sleep at 5:30 this morning.

I lie prostrate on the wooden floor so that all of me, except the digit required to type this, is TOUCHING WOOD, as I say: it's been nearly two weeks since we last saw an up-chuck of exorcist proportions.

As I used a pick-axe of a little fingernail to remove the crust that had formed across my beautiful girls nose, I sighed and remembered that this was how it all started.

Oh well, I know the playmat fits in the washing machine, and that having removable white cotton sofa covers that also fit in the machine was far more practical than people realise. I know I CAN do eight loads of washing in a day, but I hope and I pray that I won't have to.

Stepford mummy - the missing picture

Stepford mummy

For two days now I seem to have dressed Isobel and myself in similar
outfits.

I'm guessing that's because if I have a colour in my head it's still
there when I pick out little girls clothes.

When I wear purple PD says it's because I'm sexually frustrated. What
does burgundy mean? Yesterday I had burgundy and cream dress with
black tights, Isobel wore burgundy top under a black herringbone
pinafore; today we are both in jeans with grey and burgundy/purple tops.

I can assure you it's not done on purpose!

Christmas bauble

T'is the season to be jolly indeed

I have been a little too slow to get of the mark for Christmas this year, kind of letting the trials and tribulations of un-festive life hamper seasons greetings. You see I LOVE Christmas, but a week ago I would have quite liked it to arrive say around April.

But, I've got with the programme, and am now ready to be all HO ho ho...

I bough a tall table from the junk shop so that the tree is out of Isobel's reach; put fairy lights up where there have never been fairy lights before just so Isobel can be twinkled at over breakfast - actually she banged her head just before tea time on Saturday, so I threw up lights in an effort to cheer her up, it worked and I'm too lazy to move them; I have even made an Isobel bauble, but more of that in a mo.

So Friday we went to Jasper's house for a Christmas party; I spent Friday morning adorning things with marabou feathers and dismantling and reassembling wings to make Isobel into a Christmas Fairy. Needless to say we were the only ones in a costume - Isobel you looked gorgeous, but I promise not to make the same mistake when you have street cred to dent. I must say I think you enjoyed being a fairy and I'll be sure to ask Father Christmas for a tambourine for you.

It seems like ages since we've seen all the girls and babas, with many going back to work (that's the girls not the babes) our bi-weekly catch ups tend to be by email or text. All the babies have different talents: Eloise has been walking behind a brick truck for weeks but likes to keep her tights clean so doesn't crawl; Jasper does an amazing sit, like watching a video rewind, and he's teaching the others to clap; Laurence waves, a handy trick for sitting in the truck that Eloise is pushing; La La Larry has always been a wriggly but I think the funniest thing is head shaking! (I won't bore you again, well not his post, with Isobel's myriad of talents, but I think on this occasion it was the fake giggle that most impressed the judges (it's like Woody Woodpecker at a good comedy night and requires no obvious prompting).

Oh and Leela fulfilled my Christmas wish and took a couple of lovely pictures of Isobel and me, it's just a shame I'd been drinking mulled wine:

(yes, that's Eloise steaming past, with Em struggling to keep up)

Ok, this is a long post, I'll fill you in on our lovely Sunday later.

A fairy for the top of the tree

T'is the season to be jolly! x

Jealousy

Now I know that jealousy is an ugly emotion, but I must confess to
feeling it a little right now.

On the rare occassions that I log onto facebook I am greeted by
billions of lovely mother and baby snaps. This is what I'm jealous of,
I'm jealous that in these lovely families mummy is loved and adored
too, that mummy is as proudly displayed as baby, and is just as worthy
of capturing in time.

You see I can count on one hand the pictures of me with Isobel and
they are afterthoughts, not particularly nice.
Oh well, Isobel will hopefully be clever enough to figure out that in
most of her photos I may not be seen but I am the one holding her or
making her laugh.

(and no, I cannot take pictures of myself, it just feels wrong.)

Sent from my iPhone

BTW

We saw the paediatrician, it wasn't a complete waste of time,; being vindicated by a professional is never REALLY a waste of time, is it? Anyway, Isobel is fine, the vomiting is tailing off but at her stomach lining is probably sensitive as a result of it. I have to keep doing what I'm doing - giving her gentle food when she is sick, and bring her back in six weeks if I think I need to. Good news is she is gaining weight!

I've not taken the drugs provided by the Doctor, I had long resisted but thought perhaps, maybe, I needed them. Not that I think there is anything wrong with anti-depressants but they weren't going to change my circumstances were they?!

But, it seems my body is taking care of itself. It was hormonal but not POST-natal, and now, as of Friday, it is sorted. I'm still dealing with that, but this and my lovely day off on Thursday seem to have done enough to lift my mood.

Long may it all last.

A rose by any other name

My beautiful little girl is 9 months old today. She has four teeth and more names than most.

On the Isle of Wight she is 'IS-obel-not-tinkerabell' or 'Issy G'; Granny in SA refers to her as 'Missypoo'. At the height of her regurgitation a Godfather referred to her as 'Chundercat' - less said about that the better I think.

Nursery call her 'Miss Isobel' or 'Musical genius' apparently.

To her darling Daddy she has been all sorts from 'Chunky-Chip'; 'Half-pint'; 'Munchkin' to 'Little Mischief'.

Me, I'm probably guiltiest of all for calling her names: at 5 am she is 'PLEEEEASE-go-to-sleep-Isobel'; on a grumpy day she may be 'Weeny' which is short for 'weeny-whiny'; 'Babalicious' long for baba; 'Ickle-pickle', not to be confused with Igglepiggle.

Or quite simply 'My-beautiful-Angel-Baby-who-I-love-more-than-anything-in-the-whole-wide world'.