There's a gnome in the bath!

My stomach contracts and my eyes stream as I kneel on the bathroom floor. Eyeliner stings as it runs, and my cheeks ache. Wet hands make it difficult to wipe the black smears from my eyes and laughter echoes and overlaps behind me.

Long gone are the days of being bent over the porcelain throne, as the here and now is a different kind of overwhelming moment of just how my son can make me forget adult worries that can cloud the mind.

It's BATH TIME! And any parent will know that a bath is not JUST a bath.

At 12-months-old, my son doesn't just wash off the day before bedtime. OH NO. He stands, climbs and soaks his mum by creating waves that a whale would be proud of. One of his latest tricks is dunking his head into the foam and standing to show off his gnome-like beard and tache. Repeatedly. THIS is entertainment! His appreciation echoes the room, along with lots of poses - tongue out, a tilted head, tensing like The Hulk...  to the amusement of myself, his nanny and auntie (who are drawn towards the splashing commotion).

After the 20-something time, the hilarity turns to wondrous appreciation. As my mum snaps various headshots of my little gnome, I cannot help but start to mentally thank my son. So innocent, and yet such a genius, as well as a comedic angel. How can a person be so perfect?

As adults we may feel frustrated when our child cries and we don't have the answer. Or feel so god damn tired when we've had interrupted sleep, been sterilising bottles/dummies and still have the washing, cooking, shopping and a dozen other things on the to-do list.


As a single parent I've had so much to take on since splitting with my husband at the end of November, 2011. I worry when the house phone rings, the post arrives and upon checking my bank balance. I also have to take a deep breath when I find out each week that I'm no closer to getting maintenance, when cooking a batch of food for the freezer and Harry is bored and clutching my legs.

How will I provide us a lovely home? Where will he go to school? How will I fund us for the next few weeks?

However, I've learnt to keep these worries locked away, until I can find time to voice a small part of those on this blog. Or get the laptop out at night to try and find answers. My mum once told me: "He can sense when you're stressed." I understand that.

However, my little performer entertains me in many ways. His gnome-like face at bath time is just one of those that brings on an almighty belly-laugh and temporarily drowns the adult woe.

I no longer sing a strained song into the white china like many moons ago after a Leo Sayer. But in the bathroom I share laughter with my loving son before putting him to bed.

I have many thoughts to deal with, but his night-time routine helps me put them to bed... until another day at least.

Last night I cried

Propped up by a mixture of memory foam and squishy pillows - I'm in a place that's almost unrecognisable. The room is dimly-lit, all thanks to a navy Primarni vest hugging the lamp. Soft music wavers into the air, and a rhythmic heartbeat relaxes. It beats. Beats. Beats.

I also have a man cosying into my chest on the bed. He's so relaxed he's falling asleep. It's now that I'm overcome with such wonderful thoughts. I ACTUALLY take the time to concentrate on the here and now and forget 110 other thoughts.

Me in the 70's - hats were in

You see, this is no student commune, nor is it a flashback of the 1970's where flares ruled (hallelujah) and a whiff of musty air made you high. No. This is my sister's bedroom. Well, old bedroom, as myself and my 'man' have moved in (temporarily hopefully). The soft music and heartbeat is merely Ewan the Dream Sheep, and of course, the only man cosying into my chest is my beaut of an eight-month-old.

It's 11pm and I'm dreamfeeding my boy. His eyes are closed, and he sucks on the bottle as soon as I put it towards his lip. His orange pyjamas are crumpled into me and I can't stop but stare into his innocent face. He's adorable. I'm his mum. He's mine. Forever. I'll protect him. I love him - I truly, truly love him.

Since I became pregnant I've had a lot to deal with, including becoming a lone parent. Something I hoped would never happen. My mind is clouded with thoughts such as; 'I have to do his bottles...', 'I still haven't cooked that chicken...', 'I must buy him the next size vests', 'damn, I need more formula/nappies/cotton wool...' or 'when should I get him the next level car seat?...' It's endless, and that's not even touching on the financial side and remembering to inform certain authorities and other companies with a change of address. You forget that even your Boots card needs changing! So, for once I share a moment that is empty of these 'must do' thoughts. It's beautiful.

I don't know if it's all thanks to the recent purchase of Ewan, but I am sooooo relaxed that I look at my son's smooth complexion and feel his warmth and love. He's innocent. He can be whoever he wants to be. I tell him how much I love him and how I will always be there for him. I will bring him up to be a strong, respectful and the wonderful man that I already see in him. I hold him for a while... I didn't check the time. I cry, but with a smile on my face.

Recently he's been saying 'mumma' as he crawls towards me, or happily climbs the chest of drawers. He repeats it over and over. I know it's just a matter of time before he says it 'to me' and I cannot wait.

This is a poignant post, because it's amazing how you can really feel when you shift all the crap from your mind. Last night I cried. And boy, I'm glad I did.

Good toes: Getting out into the sunshine with H down by the river - he loved eating outside, walking further than the kitchen (and yes, further thsn the conservatory... along the river. I ask ya). H seeing geese and horses for the first time.

Bad toes: Chicken burger and chips for lunch. Trifle for evening dessert. Damn.

The mother of all questions

Gina 'Yes Please' Ford, or Gina 'F-off' Fraud?!

Recently I was tagged on Twitter by @beachpebble to answer ten top motherly questions. 'Your questions answered' were my replies. Thanks to Emma (@beachpebble), not only did I want to answer her questions, but it gave me the jolt to tap at my keyboard once again.

So, mums AND dads, here are MY burning questions (no sterilisers, rubber gloves or sick involved. Hurrah).

YOUR answers will be valuable and enjoyed. You may find it therapeutic to boot. Feel free to write ten questions after for other parents to speak their mind in their blog. Aces.

1. How do you sum up 'parenthood'?


2. How has your relationship changed with your partner since your first arrival?


3. Are you going on holiday this year? If so, what type of hols are you taking your little one/s to?


4. What do you think of Gina Ford?


5. Do you agree with 'controlled crying'? If so, did it work?


6. What's one piece of advice you would tell an expectant first-time mum/dad?


7. What's your child/children's favourite food?


8. It's lunch time and you're dining in a restaurant. There aren't many diners. Your excitable baby is babbling/screaming and blowing raspberries loudly on their highchair. How do you react?


9. What's your biggest worry?


10. What makes you smile?

And my questions are being sent to:
@AlwaysAMummy, @Fower_Mammy, @_katie_bailey, @Lozzie_Lou04, @mugofdecaf, @AnnaDummyMummy, @benwakeling, @Mammywoo, @DaDaRocks @MinistryOfMum

NB: If you've already received Ten Questions, then do feel free to pass on to other mums' who haven't.

Get thinking. Get writing. Get answering.  'Cos this mumma is sure interested!


Good toes: Seeing my son smiling and enjoying his fourth swimming lesson. Taking my sister to her Osteopath appointment whilst going for a coffee with my son. Healthy food shopping.

Naughty toes: That bad rhubarb pie and custard jumped down my throat, much to my battle to stop it (what do you mean I spoon-fed myself??!!?)

Buying a stroller is no walk in the park

"Everyone ends up with a Maclaren anyway." These were the words my hub and I were told when purchasing a Bugaboo Chameleon travel system before the arrival of Harry. 'Whatever Trevor', I thought.

On two hours sleep - first journey

When pregnant, I wasn't that bothered about surfing the net for baby essentials. I left all that to my husband. He informed me that the Bugaboo was the best pram for us. So, we traipsed the shops and had numerous demonstrations on how to swivel, collapse, push, lift... you name it.

I'm afraid I was easily distracted. It was like stopping for directions and then drifting into one of your own. One shop assistant had really smelly breath, another reeked of BO, one other had her own business so the price was a no-go. AND... another was a man. I was surprised. He was about twelve. What did he know?

It turns out that he knew quite a lot more than me: "You have a go."
"I'm sorry, what?" I blundered my way through a poor attempt to collapse yet another pram. I blamed the hormones.

One son later (and a lot less dosh), I've been Googling everything from 'dribble bibs', to 'lightweight Strollers'. The latter searchable term has thrown me into a world of forums, shopping sites and various Top Ten results. This busy lady only gets to sit her tired arse on the sofa at about 9.30pm at the earliest, so you can imagine the frustration at finding far too many results which confuses an overtired mind.

So, why the hell am I searching for 'lightweight strollers'? Hhmmmm. I love the Bugaboo. I really do - it's easy to swerve around annoying obstacles (the likes of nattering grey-haired duo's and young pram-pushers with an attitude). It's also bright blue, which I love. And it's been there from day one.

I may be attached to my blue beauty, but I'm tired of lifting it into the car boot in two parts. Its back wheels have also been known to jolt a few coffee slurpers in Costa too. It wasn't on purpose. Honest.

So, I apologise to 'Whatever Trevor'. You were right. A Maclaren it is. After rubbing my eyes after two weeks of screen surfing, tonight I said the words: "S*d it. I'm buying it." I've read the forums, I've had the tedious shop demonstrations (and I listened), I've clicked on the Top Ten websites, and compared weights. The hardest part was trying to find my settled choice at the cheapest price. Which, by the way, I bought through Boots.com for £111.60 (rrp is currently £155). Just key in 'PUSHC80 if you're interested.

Nicole Richie styles-out a Maclaren

The Maclaren I'm ending up with is a Quest Sport (2011) in coffee and deep water (I drink the former daily and the latter is something I've been in a few times). It's lightweight and easy and doesn't have a drawstring back to recline. The seat has four positions, there's a calf-rest, a five-point harness, reflective strips (for evenings if I ever go on holiday), a raincover and a UV protected hood.

OK, so I ended up with a Maclaren. But so has the likes of Brangelina, Salma Hayek, Heidi Klum, Gisele, Emma Bunton, Nicole Richie and Michelle Williams.

I will just have to sweetly kiss my Chameleon goodbye. It's been quite a journey.

Bye and thank you Chameleon

I will never forget our first trip, as the July sun breathed warmth across my hair and face.
We spent quality time together, as we tentatively walked the neighbourhood.
It was a proud moment.
My confidence grew, and you were shown off -
You were with me wherever I went.

There were good and bad times.
We shared moments with friends - I laughed, ate cake and sipped coffee.
We walked hand in hand. Together.
But, there were times when we sat by the river.
Alone.
Looking out at the water, wiping lonesome tears.
Sometimes we had company.
Other times, it was just us.
You may be 'just a pram'. But you've been there from day one.
You never left my side. Thank you.

Good toes: Taking my son on his third swimming lesson, strolling the shops (exercise), going to the Osteopath for my painful back and shoulders. Eating a gorgeous salmon stir fry, Getting my son into bed by 7.45pm. Hooray!

Naughty toes: Eating too much of my mum's Green & Black chocolate, becoming fed up of people knowing the ins and outs of my business. It's out there. I can't change what other people have said about me, so I just need to deal with it.

Sleep when baby sleeps?!

I silently lay on the bed as Harry finally sleeps, after fighting it for almost two  hours. I close my eyes and attempt to clear my mind. Harry takes a big breath. My eyes open. He's fine. I close my eyes again and imagine I'm in a boat, floating across calm ripples and heading for a long, dark tunnel. 'I haven't cleaned up his bowl. His chair is covered in broccoli. And I must post that letter today. Damn. I need to pee.'

Whoever said 'sleep when baby sleeps' must have had a housekeeper... an accountant... a chef... and a very good partner!

I must have tried to sleep when Harry has (in the day) about five times or so. I'd love to have attempted to do it many more times, but the intentions vanish, as I have so many other things to do. It used to be bad when I was with my husband, but it's ten times harder now, as I have more pressing things to sort out, like finances and housing etc. Not only that, I'm now feeding my son three meals a day, giving him an afternoon snack and a milk feed. I buy all fresh produce, cook, blend and freeze. I have more freezer bags than Cheryl Cole has shoes (and she has many apparently). I also have to eat. I know, how selfish of me. And don't get me started on all the cleaning (and of course sterilising). Oh, and I solely bath him every night.

Sometimes it takes my son AGES to actually go to sleep in the day too, even though we'd both be better off if he gave in. He can get a little cranky, as well as clumsy. His legs kick more than an over-enthusiastic footballer on trial, as I rock him in my arms.

If any mum knows exactly when their baby will go to sleep, then I'd like to know their secret! I do know that Harry is better off when he has a sleep before 11am, and another sleep in the afternoon before 4pm. Otherwise, I'm doomed.

I try my best to tire him, so that he wants those naps too - either by playing with him, getting him in his bouncer, letting him safely crawl and climb, use his walker. OR, I get him out and about at baby classes, swimming, shopping or walks in the fresh air. This brings me to say; HOW THE HELL CAN YOU SLEEP IN AISLE 19 OF TESCO'S? Babies enjoy the motion of being in the pram, pushchair or car seat. Sometimes, I merely start the engine and drive to the end of the road and Harry's eyes close. Before that he could be groaning as I get us both ready to head out the door.

Gone are the lazy Sundays when I read the paper, studied the fashion and gossip mags, applied a face mask, lay on the sofa and sipped a glass of wine, watched a film. Ate a roast at the pub, watched the footie. I could go on. It's just bloody amazing to have a shower without an audience these days - that's my luxury.

Ssssh! They're sleeping

My (shared) bathroom no longer has scented bubble bath displayed neatly beside the tub, nor does it have expensive body cream in the cabinet. I left those when I moved out. Damn. Instead, a green rubber frog (which says 'ribbit' don't you know, a pink squirty dolphin, lots of plastic tower blocks with holes and a wind-up penguin 'sleep' next to the bath now.

In the mornings, I often find white powder adorning the marble surface near the sink. No, I don't live with Kerry Katona. It's merely follow-on milk that's missed the bottle when I've blearily made up a milk feed at silly o'clock.

When I'm woken by my little human alarm every morning at 7am, without fail I say to myself: 'I must sleep when Harry sleeps today.' But it hardly ever happens. I'm too busy, or I don't think the general public are ready for me to lay down in the cereal aisle just yet.

So, whoever came up with 'sleep when baby sleeps', must have been skeletal, make-up free, a bit smelly and owned one messy house. Either that, or they had one brilliant partner...

Nah. It must have been a frickin' man!


Good toes: I've asked my mum to look after Harry for 20 mins tomorrow whilst I go for a RUN. Yes, I've committed myself. I moved furniture around to make some space. I can breathe again. I finally organised my (lack of) finances in a nice green folder. How grown up.

Naughty toes: Those devil choc chip cookies. And that evil rhubarb pie. Damn.

Your questions answered!

Twitter is a bloody brilliant thang. Not only can I chuckle at various celeb tweets after one too many champagnes. I can also follow marvellous Mum's who too are up at all hours and armed with support, advice and an abundance of assurance. I'm not the only one rubbing my eyes at 4am!

One of those fab mum's tagged me on Twitter. I wasn't even sure what the hell 'tagging' meant. Did I have to chase them like a playground stunt? Well, Emma in Bromley, I'm playing the game. Not only did you inspire me to tenderly caress my blog, after ignoring it for some time. But you've given me 11 questions to answer.

Emma's questions answered:

1. How long have you blogged for?
Since Boxing Day in 2010. Armed with a brand-spanking new laptop (thank you Christmas). I was three months pregnant and wanted to share my happiness, frustrations and experience. And my love for biscuits. I took a break before the ultimate birth and the first seven months of motherhood though. I explain more in Forgive the absence... it's been a bumpy ride.

2. If I held a blogging event, would you come?
Does this involve an obstacle course of laptops and iPhones?

3. Do you pinterest?
I can't say I do. It has the word 'pint' in though, so it can't be bad.

4. What's missing from your kitchen?
Apart from my husband (he was a good chef), it's got to be a wine rack. I've always wanted one of those  built-in beauties. I only have a wine cellar at the mo *dreams*.

5. What theme are you doing for your child's party this year?
My son will be ONE YEAR OLD!! *Jumps and claps like an over-excited school girl*. I really haven't thought about a theme, but the biggest event of the year will be in July. I'm sure he'll be more interested in the wrapping paper than the pressies.

6. Have you given anything up for lent?
I'm not drinking as it is, so a girl's gotta have some pleasures.

7. Have you thought of an invention?
How about a robot who rocks babies to sleep and is programmed to do night feeds?!

8. If you were to have an actual hour to yourself - what would you do (no housework allowed!!)
A whole hour??! Bliss. I would shut myself away with the latest Parenting and gossip mags, have E! Entertainment on the box, eat a McChicken Sandwich meal, accompanies with a milkshake (sad but true) and probably end up kipping.

9. What was the last book you read?
Maisy's Bedtime. I read it to my son tonight. I bought The Power recently (for myself. Not sure my son would be fussed), but I haven't had time to open the damn thing. Right now, I'm in a darkened room with my laptop as my light, as my son sleeps on the other side of the room. Not ideal.

10. If your 2-year-old was imagining monsters, what would you do?
A toughie! I would ask about the monsters. What did they look like? When did they come out? Do they have names? I would listen. I'd give him his favourite toy and tell him that he/she would protect him and shield him from the scary fools. I would also assure him that I'm nearby and will scare any monster away. Rrraaaaaahhhh! I'm one scary mother.

11. Do you believe in aliens, ghosts or vampires?
Aliens - no. Ghosts - yes. Vampires - no. Why ghosts? I believe that some people are in limbo before their soul can rest.

Thanks Emma. Cool questions. Am I meant to create some? I do take requests ;-). Just let me know.

Forgive the absence... it's been a bumpy ride!

Forgive me blog for I have sinned. It's been a month of pregnancy and seven months of motherhood since my last entry.

I took maternity leave from my laptop. It reminds me of all the years of computer-committed work I dedicated my adult life to. Keyboards bring me out in Hives.

OK, there may be another small reason why I've taken time out. That would be giving birth to my wonderful son (and days being full of milk-producing, brown and yellow-stained nappies, more milk-producing, sleep-deprived nights, tears, laughter... and did I mention milk?) Amongst the joy of seeing my son for the first time, and getting to know him, day by day, I have had other time-consuming relations that have tried to eat up every emotion and spit me out. My marriage. It ended in late November.

I won't go into details. I'll save you. And me. But it's been a bumpy ride. Conversations revisited try and eat me up when my day's duties fade with the sun. The why's and wonders circle my mind as the moon lights up the sky. Unanswered questions hover. Then, today's priority cries out at me. I lift my son out of his cot, cuddle and feed him.

I look at my son and know... he'll always be mine. I may hold his hand for a short while, but I'll hold his heart forever (so the saying goes).

My son arrived six days earlier than his due date. It all happened so fast, just like the ending of my marriage.

The memory of H's birth will forever turn up the corners of my mouth and give me the warmest feeling. Yep, all the pain really does fade into a big hole of forgetfulness! It's the silly things... like...

• Standing outside Tesco's with my hub waiting for it to open after my water's had broken to buy sanitary towels. We didn't make it inside the shop, as I had the worst 'period pain' and wanted to go home. 
• The 'crouching over the swiss ball' moment is also up there, as I noticed that my hub had bought me every gossip mag going for the labour, a bottle of Pink Verve Cliquot in prep for our celebration, and the important post-pregnancy towels (like frickin' bricks).

Cheekbones to die for

My labour was quick. I woke at 7amish with a 'show' and broken waters... slightly. Nice. My hub dutifully rang the labour ward and we went in. My waters were 'broken'. She talked us though returning 24 hours later, if things hadn't progressed. I was uncomfortable on the bed and couldn't really take in what she was saying. Was I a Brosette? Could have been up there for all I knew. OK, I doubt it.

I told her I had cramps. That was all fine. Contractions are "different". Now I look back - I was in labour.

To cut a short story shorter...  I managed to clamber off of our toilet to get down the stairs to the car. Water was trailing. I'd already changed my leggings, but the fresh pair were now soaked.

I was driven to hospital by my sweating hub (it was 10 July... hot, and he was about to have his whole life changed). I only just got into the car. I repeated: "Water is going everywhere!" I'm a respectable woman who always leaves the house with a bit of blusher. Now, I was blushing. I was driven into the hospital car park and I hobbled into the ward like I'd shat myself. I hadn't. Yet. (No, I didn't btw). I pressed a button outside the door around 1pmish. "Let me in." Not the most rehearsed, or polite way of putting it, I agree. But, I never expected it to happen this way. I mean, the hired TENS machine was pointless!

I threw my folder at the receptionist and raced to their nearest loo. Water trailed my tracks. Could I leave the toilet? I look back and I never had 'the urge' to push. I felt like sucking it all in to be honest.

Hub - all parked up. Hub - at my side. Me - in pain. I'd forgotten my volume levels. I was taken straight to be examined (after I swished myself off the toilet and down the corridor). I was 10cm fully dilated. I had to push my baby out. Hang on!! I've not had my hair done yet, nor painted my nails. OMG. IT WAS TIME.

It felt like 20 mins later... although I believe it was about 40. Towards the end I was threatened with forceps if I didn't push enough, so... Harry was born at 2.17pm at 6lbs 9oz (in a little distress). It seemed to happen so fast.

throughout almost every One Born Every Minute, I would cry when I was pregnant. I also wondered why the mum's hardly ever did. My hub cried... so did H (a given). I didn't. Is it hormones? I was so overwhelmed. I even had the Community Midwife (who delivered H) chatting about her holiday to Cyprus as she was stitching me up. All I could think about was: 'I've got a son. I'm a mum. I've done it!!!'

Every day since, I've been fortunate. I count my blessings. Yes, my hub, whom I adored, didn't have the same future or dreams as me, but my son makes me smile every day. At seven-months-old he's already pulling himself up to standing and crawling so fast. I trail him with his clean nappy.

And... those gossip mags? I read them more than three months later.

Good toes: Raising my head above water to always put my son first. Eating salmon and spinach risotto. Holding off on dessert.

Naughty toes: Letting others get to me. Being a lone parent is a full-time job... it's not easy to fit much else into my day.