It's for you hoo!

Isobel has taken to using everything as a telephone. In the picture
above it's a remote control but it could be a spoon (often still laden
with ny nemisis - weetabix), or a duck, anything really.

Now I'm surprised she isn't texting because I didn't think I phoned
that many people these days.

On the plus side she always has a smiley chat and 'aho', so she
obviously isn't around for my moany, tearful calls!

A rant

Ok, so it's pretty outside and I wanted to write a pretty post about the snow, you know to go with the picture I posted.

But, I flicked to the BBC to check the weather - I know I've already said it's snowing, but I am English and therefore obviously need to be told again. Instead of the weather, or was it as well as, in my upset I can't remember, I read this article http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/education/7861762.stm, which basically said being a single AND a working mum, not only am I breading a malcontent but that I am ruining society. NICE.

But what I am I to do? I was bought up by a single mum who didn't choose to be single, and yes I do I have a few issues, but I am not a bad person. Mummy did a good job, but I was adamant I didn't want to be a single mum.

Then I got pregnant - should I have had an abortion because didn't have a ring on my finger? When PD decided to leave when Isobel was 12 weeks old, should I have put her up for adoption? Yes, it is hard accepting financial support from someone who rejected me, so I would like to be financially independent, let's face it I have been for the last 17 years, but I have accepted the support and even though I am back at work, I am earning less so I can be flexible for my child so still need money help.

Is this me having it all?

Let it snow ...

The more it snows, tiddly pom,

the colder my toes, tiddly pom

are growing.

In 4 weeks time my little baby is a whole year old.

Bl**dy hell!

I have the answer

Holly started it and then Jo Beaufoix joined in an extremely funny post on Thursday, I hope they don't mind but it really has been on my mind.

The more I think about it, the more I know that erradicating snot would solve the problems of the world.

I mean if we didn't have green gunky stuff flowing from our noses I wouldn't have made the sleeves on my brown convent coat silver, and it would needed washing less often which would have been better for the environment. Also I wouldn't have been made to look at the contents of the tissue after my nose had been blown and who knows what personality flaws I could have avoided then, and, and I wouldn't have had to suffer the humiliation of being teased when I confess my deep dark secret to any beau - I have never picked my nose. Is there a name for bogey phobia?

And, AND, I wouldn't have to inflict the indignity of picking thick crust of my daughter's nose in the morning.

Not to say how many trees would be saved if we didn't have to make so many tissues.

See it's not a selfish desire to rid the world of this, I really am thinking of everyone, when I say lets eradicate snot.

Cruisin' for a bruisin'

Isobel has been 'cruising' for about a month now. I have no idea why it is called cruising; to me cruising implies floating on calm Mediterranean seas on the QE2 or Britannia, dining with the captain, sipping cocktails, basically travelling in first class style. (Yes, I know ships are called the Aurora etc nowadays (yes I am old) but they don't quite have the grace that I associate with cruise ships.)

None of this bears any resemblance to the heart-stopping (mine) lurching (hers) from piece of furniture to piece of furniture that Isobel does.

Ok, so she has got steadier and more confident as time has gone on, the confidence often coming before the steadiness, but I guess that's how we learn. She can now clap her hands ands re-grab what ever inappropriate thing (toilet seat, fireguard...) it was she was using to keep herself standing, she doesn't ALWAYS land on her bottom. And after 2 bit lips in two days she seems to have worked that one out too.

It's just me that struggles to know when to catch and when top let her take an educational tumble, and no I don't mean from a great height, like the bed or anything - I did that already and it still makes me sick to think about it.

Maybe she is more like the modern day cruise ship the Freedom of the Seas.

All I can say is thank heavens for Arnica cream - the bruise on her head from the bed tumble is well and truly gone already, even if my guilt hasn't.



This is Isobel's favourite cruising corner, she can go from fireguard (inappropriate but it is attached to the wall), to mirror cube (yep, inappropriately sharp cornered with tv on top - can't think of mitigation for that), to her truck, to her chair, to her bead-table, the step to wheely-bug cow often proves too much and then we both have to sit down.

Marvelous green medicine please.

I would give anything for a Night Nurse sleep.

To sleep soundly, with my throat soothed, my cough comforted, and my
cold calmed by that lovely wonderful green elixr.

But I can't, because what if I sleep soo soundly and don't hear my
little girl.

Oh the joys of parenthood.

Sent from my iPhone

Hooray for the NCT girls new meeting place

The 16:50 from Waterloo!

Sorry to anyone who doesn't like people chatting on the train.

Sent from my iPhone

Work related randomness

I'd forgotten how difficult it is to walk up escaltors in high heels
and a tight skirt.

I no longer know the best place to get on the train to maximize the
chance of getting a seat, last time I did this I was sporting a rather
large bump that pretty much guaranteed me one. That said I did get a
seat today.

I am working right by the steps of St Pauls, a glorious London
location but as god doesn't get many text messages the mobile
reception is rubbish.

This is the client at which I met PD so it's all a little nostalgic;
without those sunny lunches on the steps and in the yard of the
cathedral we wouldn't have Isobel.

I was once hit on by a senior member of staff here and am now
surrounded by good looking, well dressed French men who smell of
cologne and ashtrays. And very thin French women who have never eaten
a skinny muffin let alone a chocolate gateux.

All day it has been odd to think i have a daughter, but now I am on my
way home and I have a knot of excitement in my tummy.

Sent from my iPhone

Today was my first day as a working Mum. In fact it was pretty much my first working day for a year!

And I can’t believe had to face every working Mums worst dilemma on my first day – my child was not well and I STILL took her to nursery.

She has a nasty cold and although had no temperature (obviously she had a temperature, but you know what I mean) this morning, it had been the afternoons when she had been sickest. And, this morning was the first morning ever she hadn’t wanted to stay at nursery. Heavy hearted I commuted, but was slightly, only slightly, appeased by the knowledge that PD was working from home.

I checked at 10:30 and she was snotty but fine. (Stacking bricks, my little genius - possibly using the snot to cement them together, who knows.)

By 3pm she had a fever and was being given Calpol, PD was dispatched to pick her up. After he wrestled with the pushchair (he’s never had to put it up before!) he took her home.

At this point I had no pc and was being of no discernable use in the office , so I just couldn’t stay.

My first day and I left even early than the early I had agreed!

Not a great start it has to be said. I guess this is why I have taken a 40% pay cut.

It has to be said

Isobel isn't having a good day. She's got a cold and an infected eye,
she's been sick AND fallen off the bed.

As mornings go by eight o'clock this one pretty much was PANTS.

So, I took little girl to Alberto's cafe to see if croissant would
tempt her to eat.

As you can see she was soon cheered, and I got a good cup of coffee.

Negligence

My little girl has just fallen off the bed, and it's all my fault.

My 'go down backwards' training obviously hasn't worked yet, instead I
turned my back and...

*THUD*

*silence*

*WAIL*

God, I was glad to hear the wail. Not so glad to see a bruise the size
of a small country on her forehead.

Sh*t I'm a cr*p mum. Overwhelmed by guilt, but trying to tell myself
these things happen. It's not time to call social services yet.

Sent from my iPhone

A brief hiatus

For the last couple weeks I have been living the life of Riley. Well, that is if you ignore a few things, such as the fact that my mortgage payment bounced; as did my payment to the tax man; bouncing payments have cost me £100 in bank fees; at one point I only had the pound in my purse to my name and my card was refused in Waitrose; I had a panic attack that meant I missed a 'speedawareness' course so now have to pay £60 and have 3 more points on my licence; my daughter spent the day I was due to have an interview being sick so I missed it.

If you ignore these things I've had a great time.

My mornings have consisted of playing with Isobel, dropping her at nursery, going to Waitrose, posting the items I have sold on eBay that day (I am slowly selling off my worldly possessions) and making it in time for the 10 am yoga class. In fact I have been to yoga 6 times in the last seven days.

My afternoons have been spent playing with Isobel, occasionally drinking champagne, more often tea and brownies with friends.

My Sundays are lovely, for the last two weeks PD has looked after Isobel so I can go to yoga, they go shopping and then PD has cooked an early 4pm dinner so we can all eat together. Nice. Very, VERY, nice.

So, how is the yoga going? Well, two sessions of Bikram Yoga did more for my head than a month of anti-depressants. In the 16 days since I started I have been 11 times - I love it. Am I more bendy? Maybe a little but I think I might just be more brave! My tummy is still doughy, but I can see evidence of muscles there somewhere. We have to 'lock' out our joints, I must say the only thing of mine I can guarantee is 'locked out' is my nipples, they spend the whole class, rather embarrassingly, pointing towards the mirror; hey, it pays to advertise. Have I mastered anything? Yes, I have mastered rolling up my yoga mat really really tight.

Why is this post called 'A brief hiatus'? Because I am going to work on Monday, yep I will soon be a working Mum, albeit part-time. An old client, an old colleague is employing me three days a week with flexible hours, it's a contract so we'll see how long it lasts, but it's what I said I wanted.

Best get my suits out the loft and practice wearing heels.

Last time I was in a carnival...

I was dressed as a petrol pump and kept falling behind because the box that formed my costume was so long I could only shuffle.

(Another note to self: one cannot seek revenge for the embarrassment inflicted by own parents by embarrassing own child, can I?)

This time I'm in The Times alphamummy carnival along with some fantastic blogs. Check it out they really are incredibly good and some are pant-wettingly funny.

(Yet another note to self: Must do more pelvic floor exercises.)

Feeling hot, hot, hot or My drug of choice

(Pick which ever title you prefer, this post has been waiting two weeks to be written and may now be past it's prime, so I can't decide.)

I think I'm replacing sex with yoga. The Wednesday before last (nearly two weeks ago if you like) I discovered yoga, Bikram yoga to be precise, Hot yoga. Yep, in a room heated to 100 degrees you get sweaty and bendy - see it's a lot like sex really.

The first time I went, I spent more time being hot and sweaty than doing yoga, but apparently that's what you are meant to do. So, a bit like first time sex really, lying there not exactly sure what goes where but getting warm in the process.

But, I loved it. And I have been nine back nine times so it must be doing something right. It's done my head far more good than any pills I've popped.

Loving the yoga, loving the people* and loving the fact that I have time to do it. I'm aiming for six times this week - at last I'm getting some action!

Mind you I'll be glad when my pilsbury dough tummy begins to disappear, you see for heats sake I let it all hang out, but having to spend and hour and a half (unlike sex there is no such thing as a quickie) looking at it is tough, especially when at a size 12 I am often the biggest in the class!

* I used to do Pilates, and yes I loved that too, but the classes were always a bit cliquey, it was only my teacher I really got to know. At yoga everyone, well most people, are so chilled friendly and nurturing, it's a completely different vibe - see I'm a hippy at heart.)

Seaside in a cup

(and a particularly unflattering picture of me. Just focus on the
cutie in the spotty dress!)

Another use for Weetabix

I practically had to sandblast Isobel's face this morning to remove
the evidence of her self feeding.

I have discovered a new form of micro-dermabrasion. Hmm, I wonder how
much I can charge.

There's that box again

Isobel has now discovered she can walk pushing the box, although she does have a little trouble steering.

A pampers box, a great toy and cheap at half the price.

With all this walking, do I have to get her shoes yet?

Inflation

It must be inflation, that's the only way I can account for it.

Last week Erica-May, Jenny-May, Isobel and I, ok so maybe it was Erica and I, but the point still stands: last week we drank one bottle of champagne and this week nearly two.

As I said it must be inflation.

My, I love Thursdays!

(Yes. I know, it's a tough life.)

P.s. I forgot how much three month old babies change from week-to-week. Little (G)Jenny-May is changing so fast it's amazing.

Unidentified frozen objects

This really is a note to self:

I must, MUST, start labelling the pots of food I put in the freezer.

This evening Isobel nearly ended up with rice pudding on her jacket potato instead of cauliflower cheese.

Coffee cup seaside

As you have no doubt noticed, Isobel and I spend ALOT of time in cafes.

(It's been bloomin cold of late so what else can we do - don't answer that, I know there is lots to do.)

To help keep little girl amused I nearly always ask for two empty paper cups. Isobel bangs them together, puts them inside each other, throws them on the floor (whoever decided that was a development stage must have been trying to justify the hours spent picking things up, actually it's seconds before I stop, but hey I'm obviously not that tolerant a mummy),wears them on her head, toot-toots into them, basically is generally amused by them.

But, by far and away, her favourite thing is if you put them over her ears so she can hear the sea; this activity is accompanied by a huge smile and a very rare moment of stillness. And yes it looks quite cute too.

Why am I telling you this? Well, today we bequeathed our cups to the little boy on the table next door and he was so enraptured by it I thought you might like to try it.

Our morning

Stef, you asked about our morning, well here it is:

Isobel wakes up sometime between five and six am - I try and ignore her until six (I never thought I would say six is a reasonable time to get up, but compared to five...)

We then have a snuggle and a bottle in my bed. When the bottle is done and I have had enough of been climbed on and having my hair pulled, I put Isobel back in her cot to play. I then lie in my bed with my eyes shut listening to her and pretending that this counts as a lie-in.

By seven Isobel is normally bored of being in her cot and I give up pretending so we go to the bathroom where Isobel empties all the panty liners, tampons etc out of the drawers while I have my shower.

We brush our teeth, Isobel balancing on my hip looking in the mirror. She gets most annoyed if I attempt to brush my teeth with her.

Then she plays on my bedroom floor while I dress. Then downstairs for breakfast by eight.

While Isobel pulls her toast to pieces I empty the dishwasher and make a cup of tea. Then I help Isobel with her weetabix or rice crispies. Rice crispies can take a while if Isobel is in a buddhist frame of mind and is eating them one-by-one. Once I have sandblasted the weetabix from her face and while she finishes destroying her toast, I hang up the washing.

Nap at eight thirty, often both of us!, up again somewhere between nine thirty and ten and out the door to the coffee shop for my caffeine and breakfast hit.

Isobel's first babycino

I was trying to break the ten am bottle, so I didn't take it to the
cafe. But isobel kept frantically signing for milk - so what could I do?

I guess all girls like a 'coffee' with their croissant.

Randomness

I have been nicknamed the Random Thought Generator by the International Man of Mystery next door, a name I earned for a commuter train discussion on whether or not you can sneeze in your sleep.

Anyway, as I already have this title I may as well share with you two random thoughts I have in my head at this very moment in time.

Why don't they use Weetabix in the building trade? It's super super absorbent, soaks up however much milk you happen to have in the fridge, and it sets like concrete. Isobel's high chair is a testament to that.

Number two: How wonderful is it, when having spent a delightful afternoon chatting about boys and babas over champagne with a friend and her beautiful little girl, that having put your own baby to bed, you find a whole glass of champagne still in the bottle. Thank you Erica and little Genny-May.

Oh, sorry I have one more thought: Has anyone seen the remote control? I suspect it has been 'posted' somewhere by she-who-is-now-peacefully-slumbering.

I'm tired

I'm really, REALLY tired.

Isobel has been sleeping through the night for so long now I can barely remember any different. The problem is I'm not sleeping through the night.

I'm awake for a good few hours everynight, and Isobel has, since she was sick, woken up before sparrow fart every bloomin morning. Yep, she wakes up sometime between 5 and 6am, just as I'm ready to go back to sleep!

Where's the justice in that.

I really need to exercise more

Isobel can be a very harsh critic, she looks at me funny when I have my hair in a towel, but nothing beats the looks and prods I got this evening.

Although Isobel has a bath every evening, I have only actually taken a bath with her three times, this evening being the third.

It was fun, but she proded my tummy, pinched my thighs and looked totally bemused by my wibbly-wobbly flesh.

I may be lighter than I've been for years but I'm obviously not firmer!

After the presents

I have a very vivid memory of sitting at the coffe table in the sitting room writing thank you letters. Yes, my mummy brought me up to know that lots of lovely christmas presents means a nearly equal number of thank you letters, normally written in some notelets or another that had been part of the christmas haul. (Do people still have notelets?)

It may be a little early for Isobel to start writing, but she is a dab hand with the paint brush.

Also, it was an easy way to amuse her and me for five minutes, something that is an increasing problem with a ten month old. Am I a pushy mum for getting the paints out or a neglectful mum for letting her amuse herself with her toys on the floor while I type this post?

(I make no apologies if this sounds like a smug post, I AM proud of my little girl.)

Weebles wobble but they don't fall down

Since Friday I have been having a bit of a wobble. Tears have sprung forth at an alarming rate and I have often vacillated between hiding and running away. Obviously I have done neither of these things.

I have attempted to function normally, including entertaining on Sunday lunchtime, my reapplication of mascara had dried before the guests arrived. I just knew if I cancelled I would feel worse because that would be giving in, so I propped myself up with more champagne and red wine than was probably advisable! I had a lovely time and managed not to cry until everyone had left.

This wobble is all the more disappointing because I had been ok, more than ok. The tablets had kicked in, the side effects diminished.

I have realised that the wobble coincided with Isobel going back to nursery and saying goodbye to her on Friday had been quite tough. But I can't use her as a prop, she cannot be my only joy, that is FAR too much responsibility for her little shoulders to bear, so I'm going to get through this.

Perhaps I'll just go put my coat on...

Joseph has nothing on me

Money being more than a little tight this winter, most of my wardrobe
has come from eBay. Not only has it been purchased from eBay, it has
been funded by sales of my old clothes. You see I was formerly
a shopaholic, now an ebayaholic!

There has been one exception and that is my lovely mustard yellow
coat. On one of my darkest days I wandered into French Connection and
there, on sale, was this toasty warm coat.

It is my favourite purchase of 2008. Even on my worst days, when I
wear it it makes me smile: it makes me look shiny, happy and
confident, and who doesn't want that?!

On my best days it suits my shiny, happy, confident nature.

And it looks good on the coat peg too!

Armbands anyone?

I've just read a great quote on a tarot card (don't ask).

"if you feel you are up the creek without a paddle, get out and swim
for the shore."

Well, there's a thought for today.

Sent from my iPhone

Another 1st, in fact the first 1st of 2009

Yes, little girl it is the first day of the new year and a day that marks your ten month anniversary.

You have now existed independently far longer than you filled my tummy and this last month has been marked by your independence growing in yet more ways. Your games are more sophisticated, your dexterity is amazing: you can now post the letters through the narrow slot in the letter box; not just spring the pegs from their holders but pop them in too and you are beginning to build the towers rather them simply knock them down.

The fascination for boxes continues but now it is putting things in and taking them out rather than just sitting in them.

In the last couple of weeks you have spent more time on your feet and like to play kneeling rather than lying down; you track toys down rather than being handed them.

And I love the way you come looking for me, I've never had a more lovable pursuant or such a beautiful shadow.

With this independence has come opnion: you certainly know what you want (iphone, remote control...) and, more voiciferously, what you DON'T want (plastic toy meant to look like mobile or remote control...) and OMG can you whine!

So 2008 is over and, hopefully, 2009 is going to be OUR year. Giving birth to you was the best thing that could ever have happened to me and for that reason alone 2008 will always be special, even if everything else fell apart, but here's to 2009. x

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'.