I like driving in my car, it's not quite a Jaguar

I love that we are at the cardboard box phase, imagination here we come!

(Oh, this is Sunday part one)

An interesting thought

I've just read this and thought it worth sharing:

'the real problem is that it is so close we can't see it, just as the
eye doesn't see it's own lashes.'

I have just spent a few moments of my life testing it, and it's true
they can't.

Oh, the quote is about happiness.

Sent from my iPhone

Far better to celebrate a birthday

Last night I went out in London town for the first time since Isobel was born - no I can't believe it either.

I even wore these beautiful high, high heels. (My feet have never been so pleased to see my converse as they were this morning - I guess I'm out of practise)

Me and my shoes went to the gorgeous, gorgeous Buddha Bar under the guise of continuing to celebrate my birthday with the people who couldn't make it before. (Yes, I do LOVE birthdays, and October is a good one for them: mine, my mummy's and well, you'll see.)

I had a great time, but when midnight came and I had to go, I just wanted to go clubbing. But the thought of my 6:30 am wake up call drove me homeward on that last train.

I do I have a confession though, it really was a ruse; the real birthday boy couldn't organise his own party, so we toasted him anyway. I'd much rather celebrate James' birthday than remember his leaving.

Another secret I'll share with you is that white sambucca is indeed marvellous medicine - no hangover!

Isobel's first piece of art

I've just had this canvas made for Isobel. I hope she loves it as much
as I do.

A fine line

As far as I can tell there is a very fine line between 'good' and 'bad' parenting, and even that is subjective.

For example is it good that I don't leave my child unattended while I go to the loo, or bad that I let her play with my toes while I have to sit down for a moment or two?

Isobel's mobile still hangs over my bed, am I improving her hand eye co-ordination or just giving myself an excuse to lounge around in bed, in my nightie for an extra 15 minutes?



When I put a grumpy little Isobel to bed early am I doing what's best for her or just giving up the struggle to find something to entertain her?

By wanting to work part-time am I really financially compromising Isobel's standard of living, or improving her life by giving her more of me?

Hey ho, to be honest I don't know why I'm asking, I'm not planning on changing anything!

Just to set your mind at rest...

I know my last couple of posts have been a bit arb to say the least (some would argue this whole blog is arb, but it's mine, so I won't), the posts have just been to assure you we are still here.

I've been suffering from a to-write-or-not-to-write dilemma. It's not that I don't enjoy this blog, I really do; it's just that I'm not sure WHAT to write about and what NOT to write about.

Anyway, I guess that's my issue not yours.

So, we haven't fallen into the abyss, nor absconded to some nirvana and left you all behind.

Mind you we have had a Nirvana cover moment: Isobel has been to Little Dippers, and seeing her swim under water with her eyes open has to be one of the greatest things I've seen. (No, we don't have pictures, a few pervy people mean that the school, where the class was held, forbids photography.)

Where did my baby go?

Who knew...

broccoli could be this much fun...

Last weeks poorly little girl

It's kind of sweet when your daughter just wants to live on your lap.

Everyone needs a mummy cuddle, when they are poorly sick.

Tagged

Rebecca made me it.

1. How long have you been a Mum? Seven Months, two weeks and three days - but I sometimes struggle to remember a me when I wasn't.

2. How many children call you Mummy? One

3. Girl? Boy? or both?: An angel of a baby girl.

4. Did you know what you were having? Yes, the pregnancy itself was enough of a surprise for us! I didn't think I minded ether way, but I was very excited when i found out she was a girl.

5. How old were you when you became a Mum? 35

6. How long were you in labor? Less than a working day: waters broke at 9am, contractions started at 10am, baby born after 3 short pushes at 5pm. Sounds easier than it was, but it wasn't as hard as I thought. Yes, it hurt; yes I asked for drugs; no I didn't quite get them.

7. What's your favorite thing about being a Mum? Being loved unconditionally even when your hair is wrapped in a towel. And, knowing that I have bought a beautiful person into the world.

8. What's your least favorite thing? Not really sure. Being a single one perhaps?

9. Do you want more kids? I think it's unlikely now, I'm not sure if actually do either. I have loved every little stage of Isobel's life so far, but could I give another as much love and attention?

10. Do you plan on having more soon? Nope

11. How many times have you been pee'd on? Not that often actually - yet.

12. Barfed on? A month ago I would have said once, Isobel didn't really even sick up a little bit, but for some reason this permanent cold we have now has caused projectile vomiting (think lots of washing) I think the record is three times in a day or 6 times in a week. Ah ha! I think I have found my least favourite thing - being sicked on.

13. Is your child named after anyone? No in fact she is deliberately NOT named after anyone!

14. How did you come up with their name? By not talking to anyone about it so it couldn't be their dead dog's or middle name. A long list whittled down, and, in the end, by letting PD choose (he didn't get much say over anything else).

15. When your child gets in trouble, who is the bad guy? Bit young for getting into trouble - as I said an angel SO FAR. But I know it will be me, because there is only me.

16. What is the longest you have been away from your children? Eight hours and I ran to get her at the end of it.

17. Bedtime routine? Roll around naked on the bath mat (Isobel, not me), bath, bottle, cuddles, rolling around on Isobel's bed and stories - big Slinky Malinky and Hairy Maclary fan - I read the story to Isobel and then Isobel reads it to me; then into her cot, saying good night to the light on the way if PD is around, lights out; Isobel chats to her friends and falls asleep.

18. Are your toes painted? ALWAYS, even nine months pregnant, and always red. 1950s siren red - something about me is vampy!

19. Last movie you saw in the theatre? Gosh, so long ago I can't remember, might have been, the somewhat disappointing, Golden Compass. I kept meaning to go to baby scream screening but the sun would shine and it seemed a waste.

20. One thing you will not give up just because you're a mum? Living. Oh, my MINI!

21. One thing you did give up now that you're a mum: Lie-ins. Well, unless my pseudo lie-in on a Sunday counts: I stay in pjs and go back to bed when Isobel goes down for her morning sleep - it doesn't really count, does it? No,not at all.

22. Best Mum perk: Finding out exactly how much you can love someone. All the way to the moon and back doesn't even begin to describe it.

23. Snack, you sneak bites from your child? You cannot beat roast chicken dinner all mashed up so you don't have to battle to get a little bit of everything on your fork.

24. When the kid is napping, you are: meditating (on a good day), crying(on a bad one).

25. Where is your child(ren) now? Sleeping upside down in her cot, with Granddad teddy's foot in her hand.

26. Favorite place to buy maternity clothes? Topshop, but French Connection do lots of empire lines so I got away with wearing their size 12 all the way through.

27. If I could do it over… it's hard to say what I'd change. Maybe doubt myself a little less, fret about PD a lot less and therefore enjoy it EVEN more.

28. Did it turn out the way you expected? With Isobel yes; as I expected yes; as I hoped, no. But, hey ho, I never for a second doubted how much I would love her and I never, even for a minute, was unhappy about having her.

The mummies I know who blog have been tagged, so perhaps I'll tag you mummies I don't know.

Feeling a little playful

Most girls, especially single girls, will confess to having a toy in
their bedroom. A little something requiring batteries perhaps?

These days the toys in my bedroom require BIG batteries and do,
indeed, make my bed a playful place.

Just not that kind of playful...

It's not a black eye. Honest.

It is great being told you are doing a good job as a mum, it means a
lot that people think enough to say so.

But nothing silences (at least temporarily) the doubting Thomas in
your head like being told so by a pro.

Isobel has an eye infection which I've been treating with salty boiled
water. As good as antibiotic eye drops apparently. A good job done
according to Dr B.

Isobel and I have joined the library. Little girl has even taken out
her first library book.

I'm thinking this will be the perfect rainy Tuesday activity.

Don't you just love it

PD bought it for me for my birthday.

As I said before, he may get many things wrong, but, he also gets somethings very right.

Thank you for being you, PD, and for being a great shopper. xx

I thought, well you know

I thought Isobel had forgotten; I thought she didn't care.

No present, no flowers and not even a card.

I mean, I know presence is presents but....

And then, today when I picked her up from nursery she had made me this.

Happy birthday to me continued...

It has to be said that as birthdays go this hasn't been my favourite,
but it wasn't without a high point.

Little can beat drinking champagne out of a paper cup while pushing a
smiling little girl on a swing. Especially if that little girl is your
own!

Thank you Grace, and thank you Isobel. xx

Happy birthday to me

I have decided to start my birthday again, right here and right now.

Hippie chick me?

I have lost my composure of late. Contentment? - I'm surprised I even remember that such a word exists let alone how to spell it.

I guess it's all pretty natural when your whole life feels either up in the air or smashing loudly around your feet.

In an attempt to regain some kind of perspective, and to be the chilled out mum I want to be, I'm trying to get back into my meditation, but blimey it's tough. 'Chattering mind', my mind doesn't chatter it shouts noisily like the crowd at an international rugby match; I really wish couldn't hear myself think.

As I seem unable to meditate on my own - I literally fall off the damn stool when trying to - I have bought a guided meditation CD and just spent a blissful half an hour listening to it.

I chose to do the Metta Bhavana, the development of loving kindness. Here's kind of how it goes, it focuses on giving loving kindness to 4 people: yourself, a good friend, someone you are indifferent to and someone you have difficulty with.

Basically:

May I be well;
May I be happy;
May I be free from struggle.

May you be well;
May you be happy;
May you be free from struggle.

May everyone be well;
May everyone be happy;
May everyone be free from struggle.

So, I wish you all WELL!

(If I start to smell funny and refuse to wear leather shoes (oh no, not the shoes), please wake me from my blissful state.)

Little and littler

We had a lovely lunch today because we were visited by the Von Quenets.

We gave them champagne, roast pork (with extra crackling, of course) and tarte tartin; they gave us the joy of holding their darling little Gen, Genevieve.

Both PD and I agreed - surely Isobel was never, ever that small. Was she?

(Actually, she was a little smaller but that just seems impossible now)

You give me fever

After only a slightly grumpy start to the day, at around midday, a crying Isobel spiked a temperature of 39.1 or over 100 in other money.

F*CK.

I gave her Calpol - she threw it up. I gave her another 2.5ml and stripped her down to her nappy. Put her in her cot for a nap.

30 minutes later she STILL hadn't got to sleep and her temperature had RISEN to 39.5.

Double F*CK.

I thought, okay, Nurofen. But that little bit of self-doubt crept in. Is this the kind of temperature that warrants a visit to the walk in clinic at the West Mid Hospital? Should I give Nurofen so close to Calpol? I've done all the right things, I think?

So, I rang NHS Direct, just for reassurance.

After telling me that her temperature may go up to 40, and she may convulse but this doesn't mean brain damage, I was told I was doing the right things.

WTF!! All I heard was CONVULSION and BRAIN DAMAGE.

Anyway, testament to the magic of Mummy's lap (and maybe the power of Calpol and Nurofen) by 4pm her temperature was back down to 36.6.

She has had a double portion of cauliflower cheese and a third of a banana, splashed in the bath, and is now in bed.

Me? I'm cream crackered and relying on the restorative powers of Strictly and a glass of wine.

Whole lot of love

Today is just an ordinary day. A day in which I am doing ordinary things.

But three years ago this wasn't an ordinary day, it was quite simply the most devastating day of my life: the day I lost the boy I loved, the boy who loved me, the day I lost him and our future together.

But, at this time when I've been left feeling particularly unlovable, I'm choosing not to be sad but to remember that love, to wrap myself in it like a big comforting blanket and cry comforting tears, the tears of fondness. Tears that remind me I was once loved and may be loved again.

I am also trying to regain the gift of perspective that that day taught me. It was a gift that may not have been tied in bow but was bestowed so beautifully that it shouldn't be allowed to be sullied by others. The perspective that life is to be lived and to be loved.

So, from here on in it's time to focus on loving and being happy. If you spend your life looking for either you will never find it, but just by being you can allow it.

This picture was taken on 3rd of September; yes three years and one month ago.

Incentives

Some people go to the gym to feel and be fitter.

Some go to be able to drink wine and eat cake while still having a
body worthy of the ministrations of a toyboy.

Others because they are giving away free copies of Grazia magazine.

Sent from my iPhone

So, where was I

Oh yes, being a Mum.

When Isobel isn't with me, when she is at school nursery it's still odd to think I'm a mummy; when Isobel is with me it's difficult to think she ever wasn't. One day I'll get used to it.

It's quite funny, Isobel is such a little person now that it is hard to remember her being a tiny baby who simply feeds, sleeps and looks pretty - not neccessarily in that order.

Now she is a little girl who figures things out and bangs things together, doesn't need to crawl because she has rolling down to a fine art; and can hold herself up with one hand.

In the mean time Isobel's new love of pillows (the picture I haven't managed to take - she sees the camera and poses!) has taught me what being a mum is about: kisses and approval. She rolls on the pillow, clearly giving it love and then she rolls back to check I'm still there and to collect a kiss.

As I've said before, being a Mum isn't really that tough.

I haven't forgotten

That my daughter is seven months old today.

I haven't forgotton that I've been a full-time mum for seven months
although it feels longer.

I just haven't found the words to describe the things I wanted to
describe and I haven't managed to get the pictures either.

So, I guess I'll be turning in this particular piece of home work late.

Sent from my iPhone

Note to self

I must stop making baby meals.

At this rate Isobel will still be eating purée when she is 17.

Sent from my iPhone

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.

Sent from my iPhone

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.

Sent from my iPhone

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.

Sent from my iPhone

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.

Sent from my iPhone

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.