Bad back update

What sucks is:

That I have damaged a disk;

I still need help bathing my own baby - though I did it alone tonight and was more nervous than when she was one day old!

Will be a good week or so before I can even think about resuming 'normal' duties let alone my beloved yoga.

What rocks is:

It's getting better!

I miss Woolies

But I heart Paperchase.

I miss the pick and mix (pink shrimps and cherry bootlaces), the staple stationery, being able to buy emergency baby pjs, a cd or a washing line right there. I have never lived in a town without a Woolworths, until now, ow no-one has one! I know they are different the whole world over but here they were just... Woolies.

Luckily though, I LOVE Paperchase.

And so does Isobel.

But we have moved on from just cards and paper.

First it was her school bag:

Then her big art tin - which seems to be favourite at the moment.

She pushes it around; claps as she hands it over to be opened and then she settles down to some good old fashioned colouring, well drawing, well scribbling I suppose.

This week I bought a little book / lunch bag; very cute lunch pots; lovely travel spoon and fork and finally a pencil case for the pencls I carry around to amuse her when we are out (she is quite the little artist).

So I may not have a Woolies in my town anymore but I pass through Waterloo and it has a Paperchase!

Yay for putting a little colour in our lives.

(Oh and they do cool tea-towels. If tea-towels can be cool?)

Bad Back

What sucks about having a bad back is:

Having to wear sensible shoes to work. How can a girl wiggle in flats?

Not being able to swing little girl by her toes;

Skipping yoga and growing an arse the size of a small country - less of a wiggle more of a wobble;

Feeling older than the edifice outside my office – yes I mean St Pauls;

Having to rely on PD physically as well as financially - and not for kicks.

What rocks about having a bad back:

…

Eliminate the negative

I have been accused by 'anonymous' commentator of being 'smug' and I have even made anonymous want to 'puke'. I guess when you decide to write about your life on the world wide web then you are inviting the whole wide world to write back.

So I'm not complaining, if I don't like the comments I don't have to publish them and if you don't like the blog you don't have to read it (although I know that sometimes you can feel compelled and repulsed by something).

Anyway this isn't my point. My actual point - yes for once maybe I do have one- is that I believe in the power of positive thought, I believe that thoughts have an energy and that with energy like attracts like, so I try to focus on all that is good in my life. I'm not always successful and I often over compensate but I like to be on the sunny side street.

Do you really want to hear how I'm a love f*ckwit who doesn't know when to stop loving; or that I can barely pay my mortgage; that money is so tight that I thought that maybe if I wasn't around Isobel would not have this financial worry; that I worry about managing to keep the bubble with PD intact for as long as possible as he deserves to know his little girl, they love each other so much; would you rather I wrote about how sh*t I feel that because of me they will not grow up together and that I'm struggling to balance the fact that PD and I are split up with the fact that we are a family (and we still fancy each other, maybe that's just one way); I wonder f I will ever (again, yes I had it once) find someone to love who loves me back and who wants to help me raise my daughter; will I have sex again!; I can be insecure; I feel inadequate compared to my NCT pals; do you want to know that right now I'm watching ER with a soggy (not saggy, well maybe a little) bottom because I'm using an ice pack as a cushion to reduce the pain in my back.

You see in many ways life isn't easy but I would rather wax lyrical about the great things in my life.

To be honest I know you'd rather hear the gory details, and perhaps if I could remain anonymous I might tell you. But in the meantime, this my blog and I'll point it which ever way I want.

I want a good life, so that's I try to look for in the one I've got. (I did say try)

Don't you love me baby

Poor Isobel is a bit bit bemused at the moment.

Mummy isn't playing so much, there aren't so many scoop-you-up-and-cuddle-yous going on. And Mummy keeps doing A LOT of deep breathing - all very odd.

But you see, Mummy has put her back out, twice in less than a week, is walking like a duck and saying ouch (or something close) quite a lot. It appears to be actually quite difficult to look after a one year old when sudden forward bending movements are a no-no.

To add insult to injury (literally) I seem to be replacing yoga with food, which does not a yummy-mummy make. So I really am proving to be neither use nor ornament.

It will pass.

Poor PD did his best to relieve the pressure yesterday, but was thwarted a little by the rail system. I was hoping to have help this evening but that's gone slightly awry too.

I thought I was pretty independent, but I guess the universe is teaching me to be more so!

One small step for man

Isobel took her first solo step today - hooray!

But only I saw it, so you'll just have to take my word for it.

Typical Brit

Yes, I'm talking about me.

All this lovely sunshine and blue skies has already got me reaching for flip-flops and sundresses.

The other morning I ventured out in flip-flops, just nipping to yoga - and, you guessed it, it was a little nippy around the toes. Hey-ho, I've settled for replacing boots and tights for leggings and pumps under my tea-dresses. Yes, I am still cold.

All this lovely weather has had us out in the garden more. Isobel has finally got her garden legs, or is that fingers? Anyway she is no longer scared of the grass and quite happily escapes the kitchen to the garden whenever the backdoor is opened. (A bit like a dog now I come to think about it, I'm sure there will be a tme when she poos on the lawn too.)

I can see a summer of mudpies ahead - at least they suit the british summer weather.

One for you and...

As a mother its quite funny the things you find yourself trying to be unselfish about, for you know if you fail you'll feel guilty instead.

For example, in the winter I felt terrible if I had my gloves on and Isobel was refusing to wear hers; if she had cold hands then obviously I should too - as if that made anyone feel better!

This morning it was eggs. I desperately (!) wanted smoked salmon and scrambled eggs for breakfast, and I knew Isobel would love some scramble too, but we only had one egg.

I um-ed and ah-ed, I knew Isobel would be happy with rice crispies but could I still enjoy my egg? I thought maybe we'll buy more eggs and have it for tea, but then if I'm going to yoga I won't have tea....
.
In the end, I scrambled the one egg and we shared it, it was a large egg.

Me, me and more me

With Mother's Day around the corner there is a lot of chatter about how much 'me' time a mum actually gets.

Apparently according to www.mamababybliss.com

- 76.6% of mums feel that they neglect themselves in favour of putting their families first
- 60% of mums spend less than 30 minutes on themselves per day
- 25% of mums have a mere 15 minutes or less to themselves per day
- 67.5% of mums said they only treated themselves to a pampering session - like a massage, beauty treatment or long soak in the tub - ‘a few times a year’ or ‘never’
- 93.6% of the mums said that they wish they had more time to pamper themselves

Actually I cannot complain about me time - I get lots of it. Right now I'm sitting on the settee, watching Mistresses, eating chocolate and writing this.

I haven't had a haircut since October, a lie-in for over a year, a manicure since I don't know when.

It still counts a s a treat to put on heels and a pencil skirt and go to work, so that's about me too.

And then, because my work is erratic Isobel has nursery, and on my non-working nursery days I can go to yoga. Mind you it takes me the first half-hour to stop thinking about the shopping, the next thirty minutes convincing myself that this is just for me and my head, not just me trying to be thinner and prettier, the last half-hour thinking phew I've nearly done it. But, while I'm sweating, and contorting myself, there are moments when all I think about is what I'm doing, and that's cool.

The mean-reds have had me looking forward to my bed, burying myself in novels. How decadent is bed before eight with tea and toast for supper. (It may be sad, but I prefer to think of it as decadence.)

Because, when Isobel goes to bed of an evening there is just me. Me, me and more me. See lots of 'Me' time.

It's all about me.

Hero in a half shell

I went to the doctors the other day to get my new prescription of anti-completely-crazy pills, and, hooray! I'm now only half as crazy as before and he has therefore reduced my dose, by yes you guessed it - a half!

On a serious note, well serious-ish, I really have battled with the idea of taking pills at all, wanting to just pull my socks up and get on with it. So, it's quite nice to know my socks are coming up, albeit with my mummy, PD, friends and yoga as suspenders (nice mental image don't you think?).

Thanks everyone for bearing with me, I'm getting there, promise. xx

Oh, and guess what, I filed the prescription at the chemist, was so shocked that my maternity exemption card had run out and I had to pay nearly £8 for some little white sanity, that I forgot to go back and pick it up.

Like I said, only half loopy.

Sunday, lovely sunday

Maybe it's because we are so dysfunctional that I love our highly-functioning-family-Sundays so much. (It really is my favourite day of the week - does that make me delusional?)

The sun was shining, so I skipped yoga and we all went to have breakfast in the park. Yes, all of us: A mummy, a daddy, two cameras, a trike and a baby little girl. Then we sought sanctuary from the rugby crowds and played in the garden (Isobel), lit a barbecue (PD), drank wine (me) - a very even distribution of labour if you ask me.

Yes, that is corn-on-the-cob and a pair of flintstonesque ribs. Believe you me the high chair came off worse.

A list

Here is a list of all the ways I was probably a bad mum today:

I fed my baby smoked salmon;

I left the stairgate open and she climbed up the first stair before I
caught her;

The bottom kitchen drawer was emptied yet again, and it contains all
sorts of odds and sods;

Isobel rode her trike into town, I didn't even think about getting her
helmet until I wrote the last post. Does she really need one for a
trike?

Then I fed her vegetable samosa and there was bacon in her butternut
squash risotto;

And we don't have a non-slip mat in the bath.

Remind me never to write a list like this again, it makes me feel bad and
we had such a lovely day.

Sent from my iPhone

Hells Angels hit Twickenham

It may not quite be a Harley but it is little girl's first bike.

Yes, it's pink not red like I planned, but she chose it, I put it
together ( who needs a dad when you have an electric screwdriver), and
it's a hit!

Our first expedition into Twick, was terrifying, for me not for
Isobel. I kept fretting that she would get bored and try and get off
as we crossed the road. Or a bump in the pavement would send her
over... What will I be like when she really rides a bike? Perhaps she
should have a helmet on?

She didn't fall or try to get off. She giggled all the way to
Alberto's; she laughed all the way around waitrose and then we rode
over to the swings.

I'll tell you something, tearing up the town with a one year old is
exhausting.

We were both glad to get home and tuck into our vege samosas.

Sent from my iPhone

Ladies who breakfast

This morning I'm feeling ever so slightly jaded.

Last night PD and I went to the beautiful Richmond Theatre to see Richard E. Grant in God of Carnage. Excellent play and I'm loving these dialogue driven plays that only have one act so can allow you plenty of time to disect them over red wine and steak in the pub afterwards. Especially when the cast are there too. Well, all except Dick (as I have passed him in the street a few times and we are practically neighbours - we live in the same borough - I feel I can call him Dick).

Anyway, a great cast, and a very funny switching characters play.

Wine and whisky a slightly cabbaged me make, so I decided to perk myself up with scrambled eggs and smoked salmon; obviously my mini-me had the same.

She LOVED it. I thought she loved it for it's forkability (the plastic spoon is SO yesterday in our house it is instantly dismissed), but as the video I took to demonstrate this point ACTUALLY shows, she just loved it.

Who's a pretty boy then?

I hadn't realised how much like having a budgie raising a child could be. I spend ALOT of time saying 'who's a clever girl then'.

Actually I don't, I say 'clever girl' but it has a similar feel. Ok, it doesn't really but it crossed my mind and seemed like a reasonable, if somewhat tenuous, idea for a blog post.

Back to the post.

I do congratulate Isobel on her feats, a little 'clever girl' and an occasional clap goes a long way as encouragement. But, it has now got a little hazardous, Isobel now applauds herself.

For example: Every time she gets of the sofa backwards (about 20 times a day) she pauses as her feet touch the floor to await her congratulations, then she claps herself to remind you of how clever she is. No danger there though.

When Isobel claps because she has managed to fill her mouth from a fork it can be more than a little messy if said fork isn't quite empty.

Isobel can now stand on her own, unsupported for a few seconds. This always ends though when she claps herself for being so clever.

And there in lies the hazard. Or is it a simple case of pride comes before a fall...

A different perspective

But one I am sure I'm going to see a lot of.

Isobel loves her new shoes, as we motor along she kicks her feet, she
stops when we stop, and starts again we do.

Maybe it's her not me powering the buggy?!

(The reason behind this post is that I'm trying to get used to the
idea of selling our lovely flower power pram.)

Now we are one

It seems traditional to blog stats at a time like this.

Isobel weighs: less than her NCT pals, well according to the trusted
method of 'I'll lift your baby, you lift mine'; I haven't had her
weighed for months.

Isobel's height: well she still fits 6-9 month trousers, but the
dresses are a little short.

Isobel has a Buddha tummy, I rub it and it always makes me feel better
even if it doesn't bring me luck.

Favourite food: roast chicken dinner, especially when made by her daddy.

Vocabulary: definately says no and goodbye. Mummy thinks she says:
home, dadda, look and hello.

One thing I am sure of is her shoe size: 3f.

We have her first shoes to prove it.

A balanced diet

I may choose not to feed my daughter this way, but surely cheesecake
constitutes a balanced diet.

Aside from the 'cheese' and 'cake' protestations, I think it is. There
is the fruit on top, one of your five a day; the cheese,
protein of course; biscuit is quite definately is carbs.

Wash it down with fizzy grapejuice and that's an extra fruit and veg
portion.

Grown up balanced, if not baby balanced.

Sent from my iPhone

I'd been looking forward to the opportunity to go to a cafe on my own.
To losing myself in my book while the world bustles by.

I used to do it a lot when Isobel was at nursery, but I haven't done
it this year. This year i've filling my time with yoga, oh and work!

But not this morning, this morning here I am in Nero's and actually
I'm missing my little girl.

Silly isn't it!

Sent from my iPhone

While I was away

No I didn't catch anything.

But I did get some lovely support and although I am still a little wary, I'm being kept awake at night by posts that are desperate to be written, so I have decided to free them from the confines of my head, even though I know they will always sound better in there than on 'paper'.

(I may back post some mind, there's a video so please flick back)

Thank you for your encouragement, I guess it's safe to say 'on your own heads be it'.

Anyway, while I was away there was a carnival over here: http://www.thamesvalleymums.com/2009/03/3-march-best-of-the-mummy-bloggers.html

Worth a visit if you want a giggle or six.

Gone fishing

Somethings have been said about this blog that I am finding hard to
reconcile.

So, unfortunately I have to sort that out in my head before I can
write about the important things that have happened such as isobel's
birthday and her first shoes.

But the joy has kind of gone out of blogging.

Sorry.

Sent from my iPhone

Presents and presence

(I started this post Sunday night)


Wow, I am still in shock. But I need to say some thank yous and post some pics.

Let me start with another then and now:

It's safe to say peeps came from far and wide for Isobel's birthday: My family came up from the Isle of Wight, so I guess that's pretty far; and then Jo and Houzla came from North London,; Clare and Vin from Reading; Linda and Sue from Eastish London and peeps from places in between, so I guess that's pretty wide.

Now, while presence is presents, Isobel got cool presents too. Books, puppets and puppets in books; pushchairs, phones and puzzles; bubbles and bath toys; clothes and hats; and a teepee from Mummy and Daddy. Thank you, thank you for all that. xx

I think I got the bestest present though. No, not just my little girl, or the opportunity to celebrate with family and friends, although those are pretty cool. PD made me a book, a hardback book of photos from his blog, a beautifully inscribed book, made with a whole lotta love. Thank you PD and thank you for the quote:

'Mother is the name for god in the lips and hearts of little children.' xxxx

Isobel wore her first party dress

Blew out her first candle (with help)

And ate her first chocolate cake (with less help)


Pretty cool young Nicholas, resplendent in one of the Indian headdresses I had made, followed the happy birthday song with a 'hip hip hooray'!

But I think this was Isobel's favourite bit

One

Today was little girl’s first birthday, and I am kind of lost for words.

I could go on, and on, and on about how wonderful she is, and how glad I am that she is in my world, but that just doesn’t feel like enough.

I am a whole year more in love with her, a whole year more in awe of her and just a whole year more grateful to have her.

When I find the words, I’ll let you know.

Sent from my iPhone

What a difference a year makes

This was then ...


and this is now


Again, this was then


and this now

... a whole year on.