The funny side to life as a working single Mum. My stories of embarrassing escapades, toddler tantrums and great expectations.
Showing posts with label mother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mother. Show all posts
Sunday, 25 January 2015
Hard or soft boiled?
Sadly, this isn't another gripping piece about my love of breakfast or TV cookery shows. Incidently, I did make a delicious soft boiled egg for my salad this afternoon.
Anyway, over the past couple of months lots has happened, lots has changed, lots has transposed. Something I have realised, just today, is that over the past 17 months as a single Mum, I made a choice to harden myself. I have always been rather a softie to be honest. A vegetarian at 9, believing in soul mates forever, helping the homeless and volunteering abroad later on.
When my heart was finally and fully broken, I made a decision to be tough and protect myself. Consequently, I changed into a different version of myself, that i'm not all too sure I like. I became less sympathetic of those outside of my close inner circle, I became more judgemental and, as such, more hateful. That's just not me.
Now, I do think I need to protect myself and to be honest, take less shit; does this mean I need to be hard? Of course it doesn't. I like being kind, I like helping others to be happy and I love seeing the brightness in everything. I miss it, in fact.
When talking to a friend about this, she told me 'you are soft and that's why we love you.' That just says it all really.
Contrary to this, my Mum advised me that if I were in fact soft, how the hell did I give birth to a giant baby, in my house, without pain relief? Good point, Mum.
Something to note is that my Mum always makes good points and always has done. No one knows me quite like my Mum.
This got me thinking: are my soft attributes really all that soft? I make a choice not to eat food, which may be delicious, to live by my morals. I travelled to Africa alone, when I had never even left the South of England alone! I saw and heard things there which were painful and I had to leave the beautiful children I met behind me. Soft? No. I have risked and felt heartache because, deep down, I still believe in love. I call that brave.
So, rather than consider myself soft or hard, I'm going for strong. It's far more accurate. I'm a strong mother and strong individual. That's just me.
Friday, 11 April 2014
Need, want and independence.
A boisterous toddler, Ethan now has real personality, holds the most basic of conversations and yet has far more complex needs and, moreover, wants than as a baby.
At the weekend, we went for lunch at our local The Alex with friends and got to discussing when Ethan gets older and starts to work. Maybe he will work in a pub. Maybe Auntie Sam, Auntie Katie and Mum will embarrass him by popping in for lunch. What kind of young man will Ethan become? I have an image in my head of what he will look like, what he will sound like, who he will be. The frightening thing is that I have a feeling it won't take long to get to this point.
The last ten years since I was a teenager myself have passed in what seems likes minutes. All of a sudden I am a Mother, with relationships and marriages behind me, sitting on the brink of thirty. This is not to sound negative at all as my life now is richer and fuller than that of my 19 year old self. It has just taken years, yet moments to get here.
Ethan is no longer a baby. That part of his and my life has passed. The night waking, breast feeding and endless rocking is finished. Done. The Ethan of now is loud, excited and sometimes seems to need me less.
Or, does he simply need me differently?
On his first trip into London on Monday, this was more obvious, wonderful and alarming than usual. As we walked the streets of Camden, made friends with animals in the zoo and travelled by train and underground, Ethan seemed to grow even more into a little boy in front of my eyes. He ran with confidence, laughed as an emotional, not biological reaction and was wild with excitement.
There were moments, however, when my little boy still needed me. He didn't need to suckle for nutrition and comfort, but needed to tell me or show me things, to share chips with me and to hold hands while running through puddles.
Similarly, he needs my Mum, his Nan, for cuddles, for laughs and for playtime. He needs his Grandad, my Dad, for walks to the shop, noisy games and secret sweets. Ethan may not need me solely, but he still does. The difference is the wonderful independence he now has. It may feel like rejection and loss at times but, ultimately, I have utilised our close relationship and Ethan's reliance and trust of me to give him an independent and brave spirit. If this gives any prediction of his future young man, he will be an incredible young man indeed.
From this...
...to this...
...to now...
Wednesday, 31 July 2013
I *heart* Caitlin Moran.
Moran is indie without being pretentious, intelligent with just enough ego and funny but dry enough. Like a good cider; she's no white lightening but she isn't quite a Bulmers either. Definitely not a scrumpy but certainly not completely refined dry. Caitlin Moran is the Brothers cider to our sisterhood. Original enough to be convincing but tastes nice enough that you don't have to pretend you like her because she's cool.
To then discover that this woman is not only married...yes, married! How bloody normal. So normal, it makes it unusual. Not only is this woman married to a man, she has two children. Two of them! Two. Of. Them. This, of course, makes her even more accessible for a woman of my intellect and prowess.
I had discovered Moran a few years ago on the telly box interviewing Fay Weldon and talking about her own childhood of being one of several children, home schooling and family financial struggles. I found her interesting back then but hasn't picked up on her again until finding this gem of a book, bought for a mixture of I know her, the quote on the front is funny and her boots are awesome.
As you read Moran's thoughts and theories on life, you build a picture bigger than her writing; a portrait in fact of her life. Like me, Moran embarrasses herself a lot and has string opinions, a lot of those too. She writes passionately about her hatred for party bags which is something on my current agenda for the first time. Alongside this, Moran writes about feminism in a way so honest and new it's like it's a whole new concept. She writes about fashion as an outsider, as someone who likes to look in and occasionally step over the threshold, soon returning to those refreshing DM boots.
To give you an example of Moran's brilliance, here is her take on our addiction to caffeine:
"So many aspects of modern life I'd never understood before-things that had completely baffled me about society-suddenly became obvious-once I'd spent a month off my face on tea."
Moran doesn't write as a wife, as a mother, even as a writer. She writes as a woman, encapsulating all sides of her moranthology and leaving them wide open for her readers to delight over.
I urge you to go and read some of Moran's work and if you see her, tell her Cat Hadley is always up for getting off her face with her on beer, or a cup of tea.
I *heart* Caitlin Moran.
Moran is indie without being pretentious, intelligent with just enough ego and funny but dry enough. Like a good cider; she's no white lightening but she isn't quite a Bulmers either. Definitely not a scrumpy but certainly not completely refined dry. Caitlin Moran is the Brothers cider to our sisterhood. Original enough to be convincing but tastes nice enough that you don't have to pretend you like her because she's cool.
To then discover that this woman is not only married...yes, married! How bloody normal. So normal, it makes it unusual. Not only is this woman married to a man, she has two children. Two of them! Two. Of. Them. This, of course, makes her even more accessible for a woman of my intellect and prowess.
I had discovered Moran a few years ago on the telly box interviewing Fay Weldon and talking about her own childhood of being one of several children, home schooling and family financial struggles. I found her interesting back then but hasn't picked up on her again until finding this gem of a book, bought for a mixture of I know her, the quote on the front is funny and her boots are awesome.
As you read Moran's thoughts and theories on life, you build a picture bigger than her writing; a portrait in fact of her life. Like me, Moran embarrasses herself a lot and has string opinions, a lot of those too. She writes passionately about her hatred for party bags which is something on my current agenda for the first time. Alongside this, Moran writes about feminism in a way so honest and new it's like it's a whole new concept. She writes about fashion as an outsider, as someone who likes to look in and occasionally step over the threshold, soon returning to those refreshing DM boots.
To give you an example of Moran's brilliance, here is her take on our addiction to caffeine:
"So many aspects of modern life I'd never understood before-things that had completely baffled me about society-suddenly became obvious-once I'd spent a month off my face on tea."
Moran doesn't write as a wife, as a mother, even as a writer. She writes as a woman, encapsulating all sides of her moranthology and leaving them wide open for her readers to delight over.
I urge you to go and read some of Moran's work and if you see her, tell her Cat Hadley is always up for getting off her face with her on beer, or a cup of tea.
Monday, 8 July 2013
Why I am a great Mum!
I have decided to start each week with a proclamation of exactly why I am actually a great Mum and my achievements over the past week! Now, please don't think that I am bragging about how amazing I am; I just figured after all the self doubt and guilt we feel as Mothers it is about time we started praising ourselves. After all, being a Mum can be a pretty thankless job at times.
So, last week I have been a great Mum because of the following:
1.) Each night I had a relaxing bath with Ethan before bed.
2.) We took Ethan to a friend's 2nd Birthday party where he ran around and played like crazy, loving the attention.
3.) I cooked nutritious and tasty meals for the family.
4.) I went to work for long hours, including extra tuition and events which helps provide for Ethan and his future.
5.) I spent Sunday with Ethan and Charlie at the park where he ate ice cream, playing on the swings and running barefoot on the grass.
6.) I breastfed Ethan everyday, even at night when totally exhausted from long work days.
7.) When not with him, I left Ethan in a safe and caring environment with people he knows and trusts.
8.) I cuddled and kissed him everyday.
9.) I told him I love him everyday.
10.) I made sure he was as happy as possible everyday.
I am sure we all have our own list of things we do all the time which make us great parents. Why not write yours?
Ethan is my reason behind all of the choices I make. Sometimes I just need to remind myself that I have made the right choices for my family.
Saturday, 15 June 2013
Why I like the bus (sometimes).
So everyday I get the bus from down the road to the village where I work and most of the time I actually really enjoy it. On the days I don't have Ethan I listen to music, drink tea and either get some marking done or read. It's a rare time to relax on my own or get some work done so I have more family time at the weekend.
For the most part I like it on the days I have Ethan with me going to our on site nursery. While he is a handful on the bus, he experiences meeting a whole range of people, some eager to meet him and some not.
A perfect example is the two ladies who we see most evenings who Ethan has made great friends with. One has wild orange hair, which waves and shakes as she constantly smiles and giggles. Her companion is a tall, strong minded South African woman, who tells fantastic stories of how different South African parenting can be compared to English parenting. Namely giving salty biltong to babies as a teething aid, something our South African friend has spoken about too. Ethan really likes these two ladies and it adds a sweetness to our day.
Next, my students. Fascinated, scared and mainly amused as teenagers would be, it's amazing to see Ethan point and call out to the 'big kids' and just lovely to see them respond to him. One of my students found it quite magical that Ethan was 'talking' to her and holding her hand contently. It's a lovely part of the day.
Don't think it's all smiles, giggles and charming baby talk. It isn't. Some of the time, Ethan screams and wails the bus down when just before he was fine. On one particular day he did a shit of epic standards which I thought was some dirty bastard farting on the bus! I'm opening windows while Ethan sits there smiling literally like a piglet in shit.
The staring is the worst bit. The way people stare as though I need to DO SOMETHING! As though I've not thought of trying teething powder, or a cuddle or a drink or any other idea you may have. I understand a screaming babe is annoying but he is just that, a baby. At times he is an exhausted, teething wind filled baby! He's just telling us all about it!
Anyway, I've now just persuaded myself I actually hate the bus. Thanks blog. It's all your fault.
Thursday, 13 June 2013
Motherhood vs Life.
One of the articles inside focused on the choice by women to have or not have children. It turns out women are leaving it later in life generally to have children. No surprise. With women moving further forward in their careers, often with more stereotypically masculine attitudes to relationships (think Samantha from 'Sex and the City') and ever advancing medical science it's hardly news.
My issue with this piece is the clear distinction between 'I'm a success and didn't have kids; look at my fabulous life!' with 'I was a success but gave it all up; look at my wonderful mothering.' Either way, both hold a tone of 'you there! Yes you, the one reading? You're fucking shit and will never be this awesome.' Whether you are the 28 year old without children or the 25 year old with 2 or 3 at your feet, you can never be as successful as these women.
Now, I'm not blaming these women at all. They both seem to be great examples of women, when you dig beneath the bullshit. It's the journalism which I hold issue with. We are in a time now where women are forced to seek extreme ideals. While the idea of 'having it all' was once marketed as real womanhood, we are now faced with two opposing ideals. A choice with no middle ground, only perfection.
For the woman without children reading along, she is goaded into thinking her life should be as sophisticated and jet setting as woman A, rather than spending the odd night in front of 'The Voice' shovelling in popcorn in her PJs with the cat. Equally, for the mother (working or at home) she is faced with a frightening example of motherhood perfection; think a beautiful, baking, smiling miracle worker. This mother looks at woman B and then at herself; a milky bile or chocolate biscuit covered display in joggers cooking up fish fingers. How does she feel?
I come at this from the view of having been both these women. It doesn't take having children to make you a full, pure woman. Just as you don't need to live the life of a glamour girl 24/7. We just need to be left to live.
The whole portrayal of women in the Media gets on my wick anyway, but that's a whole other blog or ten. This article just goes to show that public attitudes to women haven't changed that much. You're either a sexy singleton or an angelic earth mother. Case and point.
Come on, have a day off Media. Don't you have a Mum too?
Monday, 10 June 2013
Only a Mother knows.
From this I have been thinking back on what I really gained, learnt from my childhood and one thing prevails. Be yourself. It may sound cliche but my parents really did and still do accept me and my brother for who we are, who we want to be, who we can be. For myself, I feel incredibly lucky to have parents who have been welcoming and accepting to my friends and past boyfriends. They have always instilled in me a link between my life in and out of their house. My parents have always accepted my hobbies and ever changing aspirations with support but an equal amount of realism. Most of all, my parents have always been open and accepting of my love for the unusual, whether that be fashion, music or tattoos. Although, I should probably add here that it was my Mum who got me into Siouxsie and the Banshees and persuaded me to listen to Marilyn Manson as a Greenday bopping teenager!
My parents have always been interested in our hobbies, our tastes, our life which was great. My Mum and Dad would stand in the crowd of my gigs playing drums in shit indie bands and in my days as an angst ridden goth singer! They even made it to a goth night to watch me DJ and my Mum always made sure I had big pants and tights to wear under my mini skirt! As I say, I think this is what I take most from my childhood and adulthood really: openness and acceptance.
Having such open parents does make it hard fucking work to rebel though. See Mum, I said fuck!
Even in adulthood my parents put up with me going through an array of fashions and phases along with going out with some pretty dodgy characters, several house moves and the decision to undertake teacher training after just 6 months living solo working in London. They still accepted me home for a year to do my teacher training. After this my parents allowed and accepted me travelling to Ghana alone for the summer which, while a woman of 26, I can see now how harrowing this would have been for them. In particular for my Mother, watching me check in at the airport knowing that from that moment on I am alone in an unknown world, without her protection or care.
Being a parent never ends. Being a Mother doesn't stop when they are off your hands. It just gets more difficult, as you are forced to let them go and learn to accept and love a new person. This person still holds the core of your baby, your child but has changed under the influence of not just you but the world outside of you. When we live in a world as cruel as ours, its no wonder this ensues madness.
Monday, 3 June 2013
Putting your foot in it. Literally.
I am obviously an excited and proud Mother every time Ethan lifts his size 3 1/2 G foot to take a couple of heavy steps like a miniature Godzilla until he falls to his reliable crawling, laughing as he goes down. It's amazing to see his face light up with the strength he is ever building. However, I could do without him trying out this new skill through a shitty nappy change. Being full of energy and an urge to destruct, Ethan isn't exactly enthusiastic about laying still for any length of time. Wriggling with such power it is almost impossible to hold him down, his current playtime is to push to standing, with what can't even be described as a turtle-head hanging out of his bare arse. Giggling and panting he then takes messy steps into raisin fuelled excrement, printing shitty footprints all over the change matt and beyond. Like at nursery when the girls got the babies using paint to forever mark sugar paper with their comparitively tiny handprint; except with shit.
Anyway, I hope you weren't eating lunch when you read this. I also hope that some of you read this and recognise the stamp of shitty footprints in your own lives. That't not a metaphor for parenthood, I promise. I hope you too literally have shitty footprints in your household, just so we aren't the only ones. Let me know your thoughts on putting your foot in it in the comments below.
Thursday, 23 May 2013
Even superheroes struggle some mornings.
As the day has progressed I have been busy and distracted of course but still looking forward to getting home to my boys. Still yearning for home.
Days like these are less frequent now but some mornings I still feel overcome with guilt, like a shroud sharply tightened, catching my breath the best I can. More than guilt though is the longing on these mornings. The longing to just wake up and be with my Son, the longing to give him everything, the longing to just be Mummy.
At least I am off next week, so while I have lots of work to get through at home, the Mummy days I long for are close in sight.
Wednesday, 22 May 2013
Everday Superhero.
"I used to be a superhero
no one could touch me
not even myself
you are like a phone booth
I somehow stumbled into
and now look at me
I am just like everybody else."
This metaphor for a life changing relationship is one we can all relate to and has taken on a whole new meaning since my return to work following maternity leave.
In one respect I used to be a superhero, able to put on a costume and get through anything with relative ease. Since having Ethan, I am more open, more exposed, more free. There is no time to hide behind a costume and no time for defences. I am a Mum and it is hard. Ethan is my phone booth in one respect as he has made me far more honest with my own emotions and more open in sharing my worries with others, regardless of whether this makes me appear weak or struggling. He has shattered my unnecessary defences.
Since returning to work it is as though I have accepted that at times I will struggle. At times relationships may be strained, I may be exhausted and work may be challenging. Thankfully I am lucky enough to work with and for people who accept this and understand the pressures I am facing first hand. I am surrounded day to day by people who understand that we are not robots; we are individuals. We each have individual needs just as we have individual skills and experience to bring to the school. I am not judged if I honestly say that Ethan has kept us up all night and I am exhausted. Instead people offer support and understanding, even if they can't fix the problem.
I can honestly say that the past half term back at work has been positively enlightening.
Back to superheroes though. While I feel like I have been stripped of one superhero costume I feel I may have exchanged it for another. Within a matter of minutes I go from Mummy to Teacher to professional woman to wife with no time to think. To say it is hectic is an understatement and to say it is demanding doesn't cut it. However, it is quite astounding really to think that I, well, women in fact, have the ability to switch between being at home in their comfort zone to out in the world of work in the tights and cape without a phone booth to get changed in.
Being a Mum is a job in itself, the hardest job of all. No training provided, no manual and no guarantee that your management techniques will work. When you add this to a job outside the home it is as though you are doing two separate jobs alongside each other. You finish one shift and head to the next. Sleep. Repeat.
Repeat may make it sound as though my life as it stands is banal or that I am unhappy. This couldn't be further than the truth. While it is challenging returning to work full time, I feel immensely proud that I am raising my own wonderful young man into the world while hopefully helping to raise even more young men and women. Being a teacher has changed for me since becoming a Mum. Before, I would listen to upset students and it was heartbreaking. Now, it breaks my heart because I can't help but see my own child in their position. When I have stacks of marking and am exhausted I think of Ethan as he grows and the importance of praise and feedback for him at school. What would I want for my Son? Surely all children deserve the same. Since my return, I have gained opportunities to use and expand my skills further at work. Over the next year things are changing and improving even further and I feel truly appreciated. The best part of it all is that I get to do this with a fabulous family behind me all the way. I can't really ask for much more.
The thing is, we all struggle sometimes but it is coming to terms with our imperfections and unreachable aspirations which is key. You know what? Sometimes I feed my family fish fingers for dinner rather than an all organic Anal-belle Karmel creation! Sometimes, the washing is stacked up and I febreeze my cardigan for work. Other days I go to work proud of my freshly washed dress and Ethan fucks it up with a carrot crisp. That's another thing: I feed Ethan treats on the bus to keep him amused. I also breastfeed him on the bus, however much it freaks people out. But guess what? Some Mums don't breastfeed and that's ok too! Another thing: some Mums do breastfeed their older babies when they have teeth! Some days I pick Ethan up later than planned because I am still working. Other days I am out the door as soon as possible because I just want to get home and be a Mummy. All of these things? They're ok. They might not be perfect but they are ok. There is nothing wrong with you, your child or your parenting. There is nothing wrong with your life so start loving its imperfections. They're what makes it yours.
Sunday, 21 April 2013
A full time working, full time Mother.
Over the past week I have breastfed Ethan on a busy 7am bus ride, taught a couple of hundred teenagers in total and pushed the buggy in heels, laptop and all on my back! I have laughed, cried and felt exhausted and elated. I will quickly explain the heels. Work trousers too big since buying two months ago. Didn't realise. No other trousers. Heels only shoes to stop trousers dragging on floor. Back to my week anyway. Teaching was great and I feel challenged and happy to be back at it, especially as I feel I am really making a difference on my new students. Ethan has settled into nursery and enjoyed time with my Mum but has been so poorly with teething and a two week long cough and cold. He hasn't been himself and has just wanted cuddle after cuddle. This is the terrible bit of being at work; I am not there 24/7 to give cuddles. I have cried when Ethan cried at my leaving him but had to pull myself together to teach year 9. This is a positive of teaching, in that there is no time to wallow. Your students are the priority and your focus is on their needs.
This weekend has been a joy. Our family together just playing and cuddling. Watching Ethan learn and laugh, kissing and holding hands with my husband. Long walks in the sunshine, chips on the seafront and lazy afternoons spent with Disney. All the simple pleasures which make it all worth it.
Back to work now. I admit to feeling guilty and heart broken leaving Ethan to a horrific extent but I am still 100% Mummy. I am going to say something now which some people might not like but I have been thinking for a while: I hate the phrase 'full time Mum.' It offends me. It upsets me. It confuses me. If a Mum who stays at home is full time but a Mum who goes to work isn't then surely the working Mum a part-timer? It may be because on the brink of my return the prospect that my time with Ethan will be interrupted and limited, making me a part-time parent hurt me but I don't think it is just this. It's more than that. This is personal, political and social, reflecting all that is wrong in attitudes to the role of women. We are mothers, lovers, workers on many levels and yet there is still an imbalance here. Can society really see us as many faces on one imperfect body or are we destined to be typecast as a one woman show? On my bus journey to work this week it dawned on me that 'Shit! I'm a working Mum!' and I considered those words carefully. Just as the full time tag is problematic to me, so is the working Mum title. Don't we all work? Seriously, I have worked for my SMP the past 8 months and it was really tough. So, a Mum who stays at home past maternity leave is surely a working Mum? We are all full time workers, whether in or out of the home but most of all, we are all full time Mothers. Isn't that the most precious and important job of all, regardless of how we manage it?
Sunday, 23 December 2012
P!nk: Breastfeeding idol.
Watching her triumph of a video for her recent single 'Try' she is the same strong minded and talented woman she always was, despite being a wife and mother. What interests me more with this version of P!nk is that the woman you see is not only a mother, but a breastfeeding mother.
P!nk breastfeeding her 15 month old daughter Willow in September.
Flexible and toned in the video for 'Try.'
When I saw the photo of P!nk above published on Twitter by her husband and read her views on breastfeeding, my respect and appreciation of her as an artist and woman grew further. In an interview with Alan Carr she said a guy walked past her feeding Willow in a restaurant and made some comment that it was disgusting. P!nk's response: 'You obviously didn't get enough of this when you were young!' Brilliant! What a perfect response to an ignorant individual. I still find it shocking that anyone could consider reacting in this way. I breastfeed in public regularly and will continue to do so as long as Ethan is interested! At 5 months he shows no signs of giving it up any time soon and is welcome to continue as long as we can. I plan to return to work when Ethan is around 9 months old so we will have to adapt but we will work it out. The further along our breastfeeding journey we go, the happier I am that I was able to continue. We gain so much from our breastfeeding relationship, not just in terms of the health benefits, but our bonding experience. It is difficult to explain it fully, but while it puts the pressure on, I think there is also a part of me which likes that feeding Ethan is something only I provide. Don't think this is some kind of attack on bottle feeding Mums, it isn't. Every parent does what is best for their child and them, which deserves no judgement. Just as no person has the right to judge a breastfeeding mother in a restaurant, no one can judge those who bottlefeed.
Looking at P!nk as a mother and woman I see strength and beauty in body and mind. If she isn't a positive role model, I don't know who is. I feel as though P!nk has almost grown up alongside me, from a rebellious young woman to a wife and mother. Hopefully I still have a little rebellion still left in me yet!
Monday, 22 October 2012
Diablo Jo's Rockabilly Accessories: Treats for Mamma and Bambino!
In writing this blog I realised I have missed one thing which is probably more important to me than I like to make out: fashion. To clarify, when I say fashion I mean unique and original ideas and creations which make you look and feel good, not TOWIE inspired dullness. I like to think that I am far too interesting and clever to be bothered about silly things like clothes, make-up and hair but the truth is I am a girl and I like pretty things! Like I say to the teenage girls I teach, there is nothing wrong with enjoying these things but this doesn't stop you being a creative, intelligent individual! My style, if you can call it that, varies between poetic bohemian (ha!) to indie comic book geek to 50s rock 'n' roll. The later of the three is my favourite look but the one I have always struggled with. To embody real 50s glamour you need to maintain yourself well, from your hair to your nails it works best when you make an effort. Sadly, I don't have great nails and wear my hair short. While I love having short hair and think it suits me, it doesn't quite fit the 50s chic look. Here is where the rock 'n' roll comes in!
While pregnant I came across some outstanding headscarves which provide the perfect solution to my hair woes. Designed to tie in a typically retro style headscarves come in a range of cute and kitsch designs, from classic flowers to edgy tattoo inspired skulls, each and every one stunning! Throughout my pregnancy and beyond I wear Diablo Jo's creations, not only to help on bad hair days but to make a simple jeans and t-shirt combo far more glamorous! Since finding Diablo Jo's I have found an array of wonderful hair accessories which are just beautiful but the latest addition to the range is 'Bambino Diablo' which includes fabulous pieces for your little rocker! The skirts for girls are gorgeous and I can imagine they would make any little girl look and feel amazing. As for the boys there is an inspired range of beautifully crafted bibs in the same designs as the headscarves. Designed to make your little dude look similar to a cowboy they hold so much more style value than the usual dribble catchers without losing their practical value.
These are two of my favourite designs from the Bambino range:
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| Anchors Away! |
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| Skulls and Roses! |
Wednesday, 17 October 2012
A lesson in poo-cabulary!
Recently Ethan had a bad case of trapped wind which nothing seemed to fix. It just stayed inside. After two days of praying to the Poo Gods we finally had action and it was everywhere! Honestly, my prayers were well and truly answered with that bad boy!
When comparing poo notes with another Mum I was introduced to her term for these poo explosions of a poo-nami! Brilliant! Poo-nami has possibly become my favourite of the poo-cabulary! It is simple, clever and funny with all the makings of a perfect play on words which I hope will one day be included in the Oxford English Dictionary.
Sadly, these poo-cabulary additions to the English Language will just have to stay here in my own personal Dictionary. For now at least.
Poo-cabulary:
Poo-aholic
1: one who feels compulsively the need to talk about poo.
2: one who likes studying and talking about poo to the excess.
Poo Gods
1: the Being perfect in power, wisdom, and goodness who is worshipped as creator and ruler of the universe
2: a being or object believed to have more than natural poo attributes and powers and to require human worship.
2: a being or object believed to have more than natural poo attributes and powers and to require human worship.
3: a person or thing of supreme poo value.
4: a powerful ruler of poo.
4: a powerful ruler of poo.
Poo-nami
1: a great wave produced especially by submarine poo movement or volcanic arse eruption.
Thursday, 13 September 2012
From Birth to Breast.
The best word to describe the past 6 weeks is intense. Physically and emotionally intense. In some ways it doesn't feel that long since I was faced with the shock that I had just given birth to our 10lbs 13oz baby boy in our bedroom without pain relief! Now, I don't bring this up to boast but to this day it all feels a little surreal when people ask about the labour and I give this answer. The looks and comments I get are priceless and never fail to entertain me. Most of the time however, it feels as though Ethan has always been here and I have no idea what I did before he arrived. It is as though I have spent my whole life, in particular 9 and a half months waiting and preparing for something which you can never really prepare for fully.
I may have prepared my body, my mind and home to some extent but I certainly didn't prepare my breasts for what was to come. I was always determined to breastfeed, as my mother did; it seemed the natural choice. I read the books, undertook the training and assumed it would just happen. How naive I was. I figured that breastfeeding would only hurt if you did it 'wrong.' What I hadn't prepared myself for is how hungry babies are, how comforting my boobs are and how much strength of suck a newborn has!
For the first 3 weeks of breastfeeding at least I can only compare our son to a snappy turtle or one of those teethy animal heads on sticks kids get from museums or the zoo. It got to the point where the sight of the deadly jaws of my beautiful boy approaching my nipple filled me with genuine fear and bought many tears to my eye! Breastfeeding is an incredibly natural process, with practise and support. Thankfully after 6 weeks we have managed to settle into breastfeeding but it hasn't been without a lot of tears (on both sides of the breast), guilt and the odd bottle of aptamil. Some will judge those who bottle feed, whether it be the odd bottle or completely but my opinion on this is make your own choice, keep judgement to yourself and understand that the most valuable thing for a baby is a happy Mummy.
Until I gave birth myself I never imagined there would be such heated debate and in my opinion, ill treatment of women for their feeding choices of their own children. I have made my feeding choice for our son but it is just that; my choice. It is not the choice of the health visitor who tells me I am a 'failure' at breastfeeding (actual words) nor is it the choice of the multitude of leaflets which shout BREAST IS BEST over and over again. I may have managed to continue breastfeeding but I don't blame or judge any woman who has stopped breastfeeding at any point. It is hard work, really hard and for some it is impossible both physically and mentally to function and perform as a mother under the level or pressure and pain experienced. Think nipples bleeding while spending half an hour attempting to attach your crying baby to you only to then sit crying in pain for the next hour while they feed. Then imagine getting a 20 minute break before starting the whole process again. Over and over again. Top this with a generous dose of loneliness (as you are the only one able to feed your child at this point) and you have some idea of whether breast is always best.
As I say, I have continued with breastfeeding but this is my personal choice and you can quote me as saying that there have been points far more difficult than labour itself. Having continued with breastfeeding the next hurdle has been feeding in public. Now I am pretty sure that in the days when my weekends (and sometimes week nights) were spent necking cocktails and shots I flashed a boob or two but doing so when sober in daytime hours is a daunting prospect for most women. My first experience of public feeding really threw me straight into it. Sitting in a lovely cafe Utopia in Southend enjoying lunch with my Mum I rapidly realised Ethan was looking a little chompy. Instead of feeding him immediately I decided to start a conversation with him to ask whether he wanted to eat and begging for a clear signal. After a few minutes of this my Mum told me that I need to make a decision, rather than Ethan. Good point. The poor boy is not a lady that lunches, he is 4 weeks old and hungry. With my muslin cloth at the ready and fingers crossed I manage to get Ethan on to the breast without any nipple flashing and not one judgemental look from staff or customers. Lucky me. It has not been unheard of for women to breastfeed their babies in public toilets. As my health visitor said today would we eat lunch in a public toilet? After all my worrying Ethan fed for less than 5 minutes which tells me he either wanted to make the experience less traumatic for me or he got stage fright!
I could probably discuss breastfeeding and the judgement and guilt placed upon women for their feeding choice for the whole blog but will just end with these words. Hot Milk. Beautiful nursing bras; disturbing company name. There is nothing hot (in the sexy sense) about my massive milk machines.
Ethan and I at 5 weeks.
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