Tuesday, September 29

Go On, Wear Your Baby

Self-portrait of me wearing Molly in the fisheye mirror.

Been on holiday in the beautiful Yorkshire Dales, so missed International Babywearing Week. Although, of course, spent most of the week wearing my baby.

Here's why babywearing rocks.

1. Because cwtching is what babies were invented for.

2. Your baby gets to see what really goes on in the world. Molly thinks that life is just one long round of baking, sitting around drinking tea, pegging out washing and going to the park. Oh, it is.

3. You can snuzzle your little wuzzle all day long, but still have your hands free for important stuff like making cakes and pushing swings and throwing balls for your dog.

4. People always, always talk to you when you have a baby in a sling - "Oo, is there a baby in there?", "Ooo, that looks cosy", "My daughter/wife/friend is pregnant - I must get her one of those".

5. Your baby gets more kisses on the bonce than the average baby.

So for happy, cwtchy babies and hands-free mamas, check out this cheesy promo vid and get yourself a sling.

But, be warned, slings are addictive. At the last count, I had just one baby but - gulp - five slings.

Wednesday, September 16

Days Like These

My days at home are filled with finger painting, messy crafts, even messier baking, walking the dog, reading stories, washing blowing on the line, going to the library, going to the park, stopping at cafes for carrot cake or toast, visiting friends, hanging out with family, cooking up a storm, books and roibos tea while the babies nap, taking photographs, eating cake, chalking on the patio, watering the plants, snuggling under blankets with apple juice and iPlayer, dancing round the kitchen to Feist and Crazy Nights.

The house is on the dirty side, our clothes are usually creased, we don't have lots of money for expensive clothes and treats. Sometimes when there's a baby screaming, a toddler tantruming AND a dog barking all at the same time, I can feel ever-so-slightly frazzled, but I wouldn't swap these days of simple freedom and chaotic domestic bliss for anything.

Now if only I could hatch a plan so I didn't have to return to work in March.

Wednesday, September 9

Lovely Things

  • Summer came back today - hurrah.

  • Gwen saying "Look, the moon is open" when she spotted the fading moon in this morning's blue sky.

  • Pesto made from the veg box swiss chard - who'd have known that could be so scrum-diddly-umptious?

  • Getting my photography groove back with a 365 project.

  • Sing-a-long-a Lily Allen on the Ipod.

  • Molly having a bed-time of 7.30pm, so I can start swimming and running and cinema-going and photography course again. Woo-hoo.
  • Wednesday, September 2

    On Babies and Boobs (and Cake)

    I know breastfeeding is fab for lots of reasons - great for bonding, boosts the immune system, the greenest option, etc. But if the NHS really want to boost the appalling breastfeeding rates in the UK, they just need to change their health promotion campaign to reflect the hidden benefit.

    You can eat cake. Every single day. Sometimes (well, make that more often than not) more then one slice. And still lose weight.

    I weighed myself this morning and am half a stone lighter than I was pre-pregnancy. And I'm eating all day long. In fact, my humongous birthday cake disappeared embarrassingly quickly.

    In other news, despite having a 10-week-old baby, I am - gulp - exceptionally broody. Here's the evidence.

    Went to Roath Park in the sunshine and saw the most beautiful, heavily pregnant woman, dressed in a green cut off trousers, a floaty top and a straw hat - looking the vision of summery pregnant glowing gorgeousness. I turned to Mr Meep and said wistfully, "I've got bump envy." He went a bit white.

    One of my oldest friends text me last Saturday to say she was in labour. Me: "Oh, I'm so jealous - she gets to give birth today and have a snuggly newborn to cwtch up with tonight." Mr Meep: "Oh my god, you're actually insane."

    I can't help it. I love babies. I love their fat bracelets and their fuzzy heads and the sweet smell of their milky mouths. And I just want more, more, more! And I am 34 now, so the clock is a-tick-tock-ticking.

    Tuesday, September 1

    Elvis was wrong

    There IS a cure for the summertime blues.

    I turned 34 on Sunday. It rained all day. My lovely girl had been taken away and replaced by the tantruming toddler from hell. Then it rained some more.*

    The next morning, the rain clouds had taken up permanent residence above my head. I ate my breakfast in a fog of gloom. By 10am, I decided to take action. The best cure for the rainy bank holiday, God-I'm-getting-old blues? Don wellies and macs, head to the beach, splash in rock pools, find sea snails and do roly polys in the sand. Of course, there was the customary eating of hot, salty chips on the picnic blanket behind the rocks too.

    Today, the sun came out, my head clouds have lifted and my sunshiny daughter is back. Hurrah for beach therapy.

    *Despite this, had a lovely day and was completely spoilt with Neale's Yard goodies, wombly books, new funky music, the best chocolate in the world (orange and geranium - who'd have thought it?), bottle of posh Sauvignon Blanc, an incredible three course 'meals-on-wheels' from my lovely mam, and the most enormous carrot cake baked by Mr and Mini Meep.