The funny side to life as a working single Mum. My stories of embarrassing escapades, toddler tantrums and great expectations.
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.
Tuesday, 9 October 2012
Fifty Shades of Grey? Give me food porn any day.
My name is Catherine and I am a food porn-aholic.
I don't know if it is just me or whether I have just reached that stage, or should I say age? I have never watched soaps, I don't follow sport and reality TV rarely catches my attention. I only ever watch the odd comedy show, documentary and so it seems, food shows. I love it. From 'Masterchef' to 'Come Dine with Me' nothing makes a night in better than a lovely bit of rump, a sexy salad and a tarty torte! I even found myself watching the Hairy Bikers tour the US the other day. Although, honestly, the show is really good and really funny AND hairy! What more could you want on a dull Wednesday night?
I am not too sure why I enjoy watching these shows so much. I am not a chef, nor do I aspire to be one. I do not consider myself a 'foodie' of any kind and I am not a wine snob by any means. I enjoy baking and I think I am pretty good at it. Either that or my family and friends have been lying to me about how much they enjoy my cakes! I enjoy what you could consider fine dining and wine but I also enjoy nothing more than a huge plate of hot wings and a bottle of Budweiser. So, why the addiction to food shows?
My first guess is that I like food. A lot. A simple answer which leaves this piece rather redundant and surely there must be more to it that just being a greedy bitch who likes cakes. A lot. . Often my menu of the day consists of half finished mugs of tea and super noodles topped off with lashings of custard creams and bourbons while looking after my now 9 week old son; hardly fine dining. Why then, would I want to watch Ramsay shout at his desperate chefs: 'Move your arse Big Boy and get the beef in the fucking oven!' on a loop for 45 minutes? The first answer is that it is funny; harsh but funny. The best example of classic Ramsay humour I recall is the occasion he offered a challenger the advice of 'don't fuck it, make love to it' when referring to kneading bread. If this isn't both drama and comedy gold, I don't know what is. The second answer is that when a chef on the show actually produces something so good looking that I don't know whether to make love to it, fuck it or eat it. While I may never have the skill to produce something this good or the money to pay someone else to, it is an aspiration to what I could eat. The possibilities through food shows are endless.
This leads me to the comparison between my love of food porn and the current addiction of millions of women to 'Fifty Shades of Grey' critic dubbed Mummy porn. When women read 'Fifty Shades of Grey' they apparently gain an erotically charged satisfaction missing from their day to day lives. Through Mr Grey and his chamber of secrets or whatever the fuck it is they too can live out their fantasy of becoming a sex slave. How wonderful. In my alternate universe, however, I can use the likes of Mr Ramsay to live out my food fantasies. I too can become a slave to scallops, a seducer of saffron and get scandalous with savignon blanc. That's a posh wine right? It sounds French so it must be posher than a bottle of Blue Nun at least.
When it comes to porn you can keep your whips and chains. Save them for Gaga and Rhianna and pass me a knife and fork. Kinky eh?
Sunday, 23 September 2012
Lazy days, tattooing days and an impending birthday.
As I approach my 28th birthday tomorrow I realise it has taken me some time to reach the point where I am truly happy. Not drunk happy with false smiles, not plastic happy with forced hope, but happy. Smiling so the wrinkles show happy, wearing no make up and baggy PJ bottoms happy, really happy. I can credit this whole heartedly to my husband, who came out of nowhere and shook me into reality, our reality. If someone had told me that I would be sharing my 28th birthday with my 23 year old husband, who I sang Shania Twain to at our reception in a 50s diner while 16 weeks pregnant with our now 7 week old son I would have at least laughed out loud. Here I am though, laying in bed with the most straightforward happiness available; a wonderful husband and beautiful baby boy beside me. Nothing breeds smiles like days like these.
Just to clarify I am not knocking drunk happy. That can still be fun, even for a wrinkly Mummy like me!
I also sit here with a new tattoo to share. Yesterday as a birthday present we both went and had tattoos together. Charlie ended up having a disaster piece repaired, which we had created on a previous lazy Sunday pre-marriage, pre-pregnancy. I, however, am now the proud owner of a gorgeous pink and blue cupcake with 'Ethan' on the band. I am sure in years to come our son will find this highly embarassing and question what his arrival has to do with cakes! Mummy loves Ethan, Mummy loves cakes. Simple. While being tattooed yesterday the in laws looked after Ethan and he was perfectly behaved of course! This was the first time (other than an essential blood test) that I have been out without Ethan in tow and the first time me and Charlie have been out just the 2 of us since his birth. Some may find it strange but getting tattooed was the perfect way to spend this precious time as a couple. We have both always shared a love of tattoo art, Charlie is a tattoo artist himself and one of our first points of contact was when comparing ink. I can see more tattoo outings on the cards in the future.
My new tattoo by Darren at Thundertats, Leigh-on-Sea.
While being tattooed and chatting to the artist he said something which I have been thinking about since: 'a tattoo is the only thing you will take to your grave.' This may sound depressing but it made me reflect on our life and really consider how our family memories which will be tattooed on our hearts and sleeves are the only thing which matters. Do I care if we never afford to buy a house? Am I upset if we can't buy expensive clothes? Does material gain interest me? Not so much. I knew this all along but I think the impending birthday might be getting to me and making me realise that as I head closer to 30 I really haven't done too badly for myself!
Friday, 21 September 2012
Membership of the Mummy gang!
One of the most surprising things about pregnancy is the feeling of drifting away from your friends who don't have children, particularly those who are single or not living with partners. Throughout my pregnancy I somehow got it into my head that my close childless friends were excluding me from our social circle with no consideration for my feelings or current state. In fact our friendships were evolving. I was becoming a parent and that is at least a little scary for everyone involved!
Whereas before pregnancy me and my flatmate would think nothing of a cheeky vino to accompany a 'Glee' marathon, I was now necking pints of milk and popping packs of Rennie in a desperate attempt to cure my heartburn. Instead of sharing hangover days on the sofa together, I was feeling rough due to morning sickness. Rather than shopping for a little black number and heels for a night out I was simply searching for underwear and shoes which would actually stretch round my ever growing arse and feet. While I felt left out from the life I had previously led, I didn't once consider that my friends may have felt left out of my new life. I was changing before their eyes not only physically but emotionally and socially. I never considered that maybe this new version of me was a shock to my friends. Would they ever have things back the way they were or were we growing apart so far it was beyond repair?
As my flatmate is also one of my best friends I would like to add that we lived with her for the first 6 months of my pregnancy and I feel truly sorry for her! I cannot imagine living with a pregnant woman unless you are responsible for getting her in that state to begin with! It must have been frustrating, tiring and at times at least a little bit boring. However, for me at least, I feel incredibly blessed to have shared my pregnancy with her as the second she held our son and he heard her voice there was a clear connection unlike with other friends. Now I know that Ethan will build strong relationships with his surrogate Aunties and Uncles but with said friend it was as though he recognised her voice and had an awareness of who she is and that she is part of his world.
Close to the end of pregnancy we attended antenatal classes and I must admit I had never been too keen on the prospect of Mummy friends. To be honest, before the classes I was aprehensive as to how much I would have in common with these new potential friends beside the fact that we were all shagging at similar times. I couldn't have been more wrong. The second I arrived at the first class I realised I was desperate to meet new friends and a little bit nervous. Would they like me? Would they think my tattoos were weird? Would they see me as Mum material? As soon as I started chatting to the other women my nerves disappeared as soon as I found myself giggling discussing constipation and pile cream over a cup of tea. The thing was though, as I got to know these Mums more we began chatting about festivals, music, books, normality! Not surprisingly really these Mums were normal!
After the final class I went home so excited and feeling a bit of a geek at the prospect of new Mummy friends but then realised I have regressed back to school. What if they don't call? What if they meet up without me? What if they don't want to be friends? What if their baby doesn't want to be friends with my baby? Oh dear. When I received my first text from another Mummy, just as I was about to send one I was probably too excited. I had been accepted into an exclusive club of women, much to the amusement and piss taking of my husband. He spent some time quoting the 'friend, football friend' episode of 'The Inbetweeners' with 'friend, Mummy friend, antenatal friend.' He may have been taking the piss but he had a point.
Since having our babies the antenatal gang have been amazing! Supporting each other and laughing together, there is a real feeling of comradeship between the group which is a blessing, not only for me but for my non-baby friends. It means they are spared the cracked nipple and lack of sleep speeches and can just enjoy the bouncing and beautiful part of motherhood and regain a little bit of their friend back.
I underestimated the power of the Mummy gang until I became a part of one and would suggest all Mums to be get a membership to one sharpish! It stops you feeling totally mental and makes you feel more human, if only briefly. Never forget, Mummies are people too!
Wednesday, 19 September 2012
Fasting for Ghana.
This is a photo of some of the amazing boys and girls from the class I taught in Santrokofi last summer.
My wonderful husband is among supporters who are undertaking a 24 or 48 hour fast next week! Charlie has gone for 48 hours of fasting from 8am on 25th September to 8am on 27th September. To clarify what I mean by fasting this is that he will consume nothing other than water. You may be asking why I am not taking part, especially as I am banging on about how great it all is! As I am breastfeeding I genuinely can't take part as it wouldn't be safe for me or Ethan. However, I am fundraising and getting the next batches of clothes and books ready for the children. Plus I will be undertaking a fast at a later date as soon as I stop breastfeeding. Now it is in writing on a public forum I can't escape!
If you can sponsor Charlie in his fast it would be amazing. Believe me, even just £1 makes a huge difference in the lives of these children, as I have seen first hand!
http://www.charitygiving.co.uk/charlie
If you want any other information about Raising Hope Foundation or have thought of another way you can help please say! Or if you want to join in the fasting please do!
See http://www.facebook.com/#!/events/155234567948911/ for the event details and to sign up.
http://www.raisinghopefoundation.co.uk/
Thank you so much
Cat x
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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