Back when the Hungry Mouth only wanted milk and wasn’t keen on trying out solid food, I looked into a method of weaning (see ‘http://muslinmummy.blogspot.com/2008/11/baby-led-weaning.html') all about letting your child set the pace by only serving things the child can eat by herself. Basically for an under-one, that means finger-food.
But although finger-food could be fun for my daughter to play with (and occasionally nibble), and did not take much effort to prepare, she didn’t actually eat very much. (Peas were good for practising that pincer grip.) Compared to a bowlful of porridge, getting any kind of finger-food into a gummy little mouth with fumbly little fingers is incredibly inefficient. So even before she suddenly started taking an interest in actually using food to assuage hunger, we also offered her food that could be spooned…such as yoghurt, butternut soup, or spinach+potato+cream cheese. Meals could be over in ten minutes, spoon skills were speedily mastered, much stress (see ‘http://muslinmummy.blogspot.com/2009/08/one-day-on-one-day-off.html’) vanished from our lives.
So I don’t think we really ‘did’ BLW. I still quite like the idea, but it wasn’t a complete solution for us.
Wednesday, 19 August 2009
One day on, one day off
Our toddler seems only to feel hungry every second day or so, or every second meal…or maybe it’s only when we serve up something recognisable and delicious. We can’t tell, but we no longer worry.
Time was, back when she was six months old and firmly turned away almost every kind of food, preferring to subsist entirely on breastmilk, that her not eating would stress us out. A day on which she ate something was a Good Day, whatever else happened. And even the best of days together could be overshadowed by a foodfight at the end of it.
Part of the problem was that we really wanted her to start sleeping through the night, and our theory was that if she ate a lot of dinner, she might not wake three times a night for milk. If we had known that she would not sleep through until she was 11 months old, and that she’d continue waking at least twice a night till then, and that she’d never agree not to be breastfed on each occasion…would we have felt more relaxed about her not eating? If we’d known that food would suddenly, mysteriously, morph from playstuff to delicious, at around ten months, would we have bothered offering her three (rejected, messy) meals a day for all those months?
Well, now she’s seventeen months old, and in the best of plump-tummied health. She is still a breastmilkaholic, but eats hearty little meals crammed full of fruit, veg, dairy products and porridge – when she wants to. Nothing could be clearer than her eagerness to be fed or feed herself, when she’s hungry, unless it’s the sealed lips and lashing head when she is not at all interested. At the moment she seems to be rather vegetarian, but we expect that, like everything, this is just a phase.
However, having said all this, I must admit the days when she keenly eats what I offer are still Good Days. It’s so deeply satisfying to feed your child.
Time was, back when she was six months old and firmly turned away almost every kind of food, preferring to subsist entirely on breastmilk, that her not eating would stress us out. A day on which she ate something was a Good Day, whatever else happened. And even the best of days together could be overshadowed by a foodfight at the end of it.
Part of the problem was that we really wanted her to start sleeping through the night, and our theory was that if she ate a lot of dinner, she might not wake three times a night for milk. If we had known that she would not sleep through until she was 11 months old, and that she’d continue waking at least twice a night till then, and that she’d never agree not to be breastfed on each occasion…would we have felt more relaxed about her not eating? If we’d known that food would suddenly, mysteriously, morph from playstuff to delicious, at around ten months, would we have bothered offering her three (rejected, messy) meals a day for all those months?
Well, now she’s seventeen months old, and in the best of plump-tummied health. She is still a breastmilkaholic, but eats hearty little meals crammed full of fruit, veg, dairy products and porridge – when she wants to. Nothing could be clearer than her eagerness to be fed or feed herself, when she’s hungry, unless it’s the sealed lips and lashing head when she is not at all interested. At the moment she seems to be rather vegetarian, but we expect that, like everything, this is just a phase.
However, having said all this, I must admit the days when she keenly eats what I offer are still Good Days. It’s so deeply satisfying to feed your child.
Wednesday, 22 July 2009
Muslin Mummy’s easy citrus almond cake
Oh dear, I’m not sure out of which magazine I snipped this recipe…but I have changed it considerably, so…
50g bread/cake crumbs (ideally not the shop-bought kind)
100g caster sugar (at most)
100-150g crushed almonds (ideally crush whole ones in a blender, for extra almondy flavour)
2tsp baking powder
200ml olive oil (or sunflower)
4 large eggs
Zest of orange
Zest of lemon
The original recipe had an order of events to follow, but really, just tip everything into a bowl and stir briskly. Use a silicon baking dish ( no need to grease, and cakes never stick). Bake at 190 degrees C for 35 minutes or so (clean skewer test).
Cool for a bit, then prick the cake surface all over with a skewer. Make a syrup by mixing the juice of a lemon and an orange with a few spoonfuls of marmalade, warm it up (as it might be, in the microwave), and pour it over the cake.
It’s a moist cake that you could also serve warm as a pudding.
50g bread/cake crumbs (ideally not the shop-bought kind)
100g caster sugar (at most)
100-150g crushed almonds (ideally crush whole ones in a blender, for extra almondy flavour)
2tsp baking powder
200ml olive oil (or sunflower)
4 large eggs
Zest of orange
Zest of lemon
The original recipe had an order of events to follow, but really, just tip everything into a bowl and stir briskly. Use a silicon baking dish ( no need to grease, and cakes never stick). Bake at 190 degrees C for 35 minutes or so (clean skewer test).
Cool for a bit, then prick the cake surface all over with a skewer. Make a syrup by mixing the juice of a lemon and an orange with a few spoonfuls of marmalade, warm it up (as it might be, in the microwave), and pour it over the cake.
It’s a moist cake that you could also serve warm as a pudding.
Wednesday, 15 July 2009
Vignette at the swings
Muslin Mummy gently swings and sings to her little daughter, who chortles cheerily, waving at the six-year-old hogging a baby swing next-door.
Badly-behaved Six-Year-Old: Dad, Da-a-a-d, Dad, come push me on these baby swings! Now!
Grumpy Dad: Who you talking to? Youse too big for them baby swings. I’m not fackin swingin you, you can do it your ownself.
Badly-behaved Six-Year-Old: I’m kicking off my shoes. They’re off now. Look! Swing me. Da-a-a-d.
Grumpy Dad (now grumpily pushing): Say please. Say thank you, cantya.
Muslin Mummy (to pointing Hungry Mouth): Yes, those are pretty pink shoes. Soon you’ll be walking and then you can have some shoes too.
Hungry Mouth: Hah! (chortle)
Grumpy Dad (to Muslin Mummy): Yes, and as soon as she turns sixteen she can put em on and walk out the house and never come back. (to Badly-behaved Six-Year-Old): Gerroff! Put em back on. Come back ere!
Badly-behaved Six-Year-Old: Dad, Da-a-a-d, Dad, come push me on these baby swings! Now!
Grumpy Dad: Who you talking to? Youse too big for them baby swings. I’m not fackin swingin you, you can do it your ownself.
Badly-behaved Six-Year-Old: I’m kicking off my shoes. They’re off now. Look! Swing me. Da-a-a-d.
Grumpy Dad (now grumpily pushing): Say please. Say thank you, cantya.
Muslin Mummy (to pointing Hungry Mouth): Yes, those are pretty pink shoes. Soon you’ll be walking and then you can have some shoes too.
Hungry Mouth: Hah! (chortle)
Grumpy Dad (to Muslin Mummy): Yes, and as soon as she turns sixteen she can put em on and walk out the house and never come back. (to Badly-behaved Six-Year-Old): Gerroff! Put em back on. Come back ere!
Muslin Mummy’s Easy Custard Shortcake
Shortbread, shortcake, who knows the difference? Actually my Grannie’s recipe. Though it was mainly my mum who made it for us, until we could make it ourselves. Takes about ten minutes mixing and measuring, then stick it in the oven for 30 minutes, then wait for it to cool…probably an hour from thinking of shortcake to eating said shortcake, provided you have:
6 oz self-raising flour (you could use plain)
1 tsp baking powder
6 oz margarine or butter (not the spreadable sort)
2 or 3 oz icing sugar (no other kind of sugar)
2 oz custard powder (nothing else will do, and this is what makes this shortcake different from the Scottish sort)
Whizz butter all by itself till it turns white (who knows why?), then add all dry ingredients. Now use a fork to hand mix till it looks like breadcrumbs. Press firmly into greased tin with your fingers. Bake at 175 degrees C (gas mark 4) for 25 to 30 minutes. Remove and carefully mark out portions with sharp knife, but do not remove from tin until cool.
You could dip portions into melted chocolate and then chill, if desired.
Eat!
6 oz self-raising flour (you could use plain)
1 tsp baking powder
6 oz margarine or butter (not the spreadable sort)
2 or 3 oz icing sugar (no other kind of sugar)
2 oz custard powder (nothing else will do, and this is what makes this shortcake different from the Scottish sort)
Whizz butter all by itself till it turns white (who knows why?), then add all dry ingredients. Now use a fork to hand mix till it looks like breadcrumbs. Press firmly into greased tin with your fingers. Bake at 175 degrees C (gas mark 4) for 25 to 30 minutes. Remove and carefully mark out portions with sharp knife, but do not remove from tin until cool.
You could dip portions into melted chocolate and then chill, if desired.
Eat!
Pretty pink shoes
The Hungry Mouth has developed a shoe fetish earlier than expected. It started innocently enough with socks and toes. She likes the cheery patterns on the grippy-soled socks her Grannie sent her, patting her feet with her socks and then pleasedly ‘helping’ Mummy put them on. Possibly with the help of ‘this little piggy…’, she learned ‘toes’, and can point at any family member’s toes, whether encased in shoes or socks or bare. Then she found some carelessly un-put-away parental flipflops, and had to learn not to chew them…instead she would awkwardly carry a flipflop, half-crawling, half-shuffling, and place them on top of our feet. Now that she’s walking, she routinely gets them out of the cupboard and brings them helpfully to one of us in the morning.
Yes, indeed, now that she’s walking… That throwaway phrase was what kickstarted this whole shoe thing. From the moment she scrambled to her tiny feet and zoomed her new pushalong trolley off down the garden path, we knew our days of not buying kiddy shoes were numbered (and that number was zero). Clearly, those grippy-soled socks were not going to cut the mustard when it came to mud, concrete, knobbly paths etc. We didn’t want those little piggies stubbed.
So, off we went forthwith to purchase baby’s first shoes. ‘Cruisers’, they’re termed, according to Clarks, because she still crawls sometimes. But the sinisterly shaped foot-measurer caused unprecedented, unpredicted distress and total lack of cooperation. Yowls and flailing ensued. Loud yowls. Whole-body flails. We scrapped the measuring idea and asked the nice lady simply to offer a shoe to our daughter. This went much better. She instantly chose a brightly coloured shoe, far too large. With cunning distraction we substituted another style and size. Sadly, according to the nice lady, nothing fitted correctly. So off we crept, shoeless, with a soggy-cheeked, limp toddler, banished back to the Land of Socks.
Our next attempt met with success. Measuring still called for many a tear and a comforting breastfeed…the commemorative Polaroid shows a sad and drooping tiny child gazing anywhere but at her new shoes. But once we’d left the shop with sparkling new feet, the Fetish began. Admittedly, it’s focused on only one pair. But she’d like to wear them day and night. First thing in the morning, she excavates them from her footwear bag, and brings them to us, sits down hopefully, and waves her shoes until we put them on to her feet. Then she’s up and off. Pretty pink Manolos next, no doubt.
Yes, indeed, now that she’s walking… That throwaway phrase was what kickstarted this whole shoe thing. From the moment she scrambled to her tiny feet and zoomed her new pushalong trolley off down the garden path, we knew our days of not buying kiddy shoes were numbered (and that number was zero). Clearly, those grippy-soled socks were not going to cut the mustard when it came to mud, concrete, knobbly paths etc. We didn’t want those little piggies stubbed.
So, off we went forthwith to purchase baby’s first shoes. ‘Cruisers’, they’re termed, according to Clarks, because she still crawls sometimes. But the sinisterly shaped foot-measurer caused unprecedented, unpredicted distress and total lack of cooperation. Yowls and flailing ensued. Loud yowls. Whole-body flails. We scrapped the measuring idea and asked the nice lady simply to offer a shoe to our daughter. This went much better. She instantly chose a brightly coloured shoe, far too large. With cunning distraction we substituted another style and size. Sadly, according to the nice lady, nothing fitted correctly. So off we crept, shoeless, with a soggy-cheeked, limp toddler, banished back to the Land of Socks.
Our next attempt met with success. Measuring still called for many a tear and a comforting breastfeed…the commemorative Polaroid shows a sad and drooping tiny child gazing anywhere but at her new shoes. But once we’d left the shop with sparkling new feet, the Fetish began. Admittedly, it’s focused on only one pair. But she’d like to wear them day and night. First thing in the morning, she excavates them from her footwear bag, and brings them to us, sits down hopefully, and waves her shoes until we put them on to her feet. Then she’s up and off. Pretty pink Manolos next, no doubt.
Tuesday, 7 July 2009
Homemade building blocks
OK, they probably can only be built into a tower. But that's tricky enough for a young toddler, and is actually one of those development goals your health visitor will be watching for.
Use any sturdy screw-lid container or pot, so long as it has a flat top and bottom, obviously, otherwise they won't be stackable. If the pot is transparent, fill with something visually interesting. Beads, buttons, ribbons, a Duplo man, a roll of pretty paper, a dried flower…whatever you have. If the contents are potentially fatal to your twisty-fingered child, stick the lid on forever by squirting glue into the threads before screwing it on tight. Another good idea is to part-fill with water, and add a squeeze of Fairy liquid. Shaking it will cause chortle-inducing froth that slowly settles. Or add food colouring and glitter, for a snow-globe effect. For opaque containers, part-fill with objects that rattle, such as dried chickpeas, rice, and so on. (The Body Shop body butter/scrub containers are good for these, and come in unusual colours, and stack well too.) You could put fun stickers on the lids.
Use any sturdy screw-lid container or pot, so long as it has a flat top and bottom, obviously, otherwise they won't be stackable. If the pot is transparent, fill with something visually interesting. Beads, buttons, ribbons, a Duplo man, a roll of pretty paper, a dried flower…whatever you have. If the contents are potentially fatal to your twisty-fingered child, stick the lid on forever by squirting glue into the threads before screwing it on tight. Another good idea is to part-fill with water, and add a squeeze of Fairy liquid. Shaking it will cause chortle-inducing froth that slowly settles. Or add food colouring and glitter, for a snow-globe effect. For opaque containers, part-fill with objects that rattle, such as dried chickpeas, rice, and so on. (The Body Shop body butter/scrub containers are good for these, and come in unusual colours, and stack well too.) You could put fun stickers on the lids.
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
Muslin Mummy’s Easy Drop Scones
Takes about 5 (uninterrupted) minutes to make batter, if you have to grate the cheese. (Takes about 20 minutes if you have to entertain and feed your toddler while doing so.)
60 g wholemeal flour
60 g plain flour
1 tsp baking powder
Some grinds of black pepper
A pinch of salt if desired
1 large egg
160 ml milk
Handful of grated cheese if desired
Mix and whisk until you have a nice creamy batter, then fry in a little oil in tablespoonful-sized blobs, as many at a time as can be arranged in a frying pan without touching. Keep warm in a clean tea towel as you go, though it really doesn’t take long to fry the whole batch. Serve with butter and maple syrup if you like. Suitable for finger-food-eating babies and toddlers too.
60 g wholemeal flour
60 g plain flour
1 tsp baking powder
Some grinds of black pepper
A pinch of salt if desired
1 large egg
160 ml milk
Handful of grated cheese if desired
Mix and whisk until you have a nice creamy batter, then fry in a little oil in tablespoonful-sized blobs, as many at a time as can be arranged in a frying pan without touching. Keep warm in a clean tea towel as you go, though it really doesn’t take long to fry the whole batch. Serve with butter and maple syrup if you like. Suitable for finger-food-eating babies and toddlers too.
Where’s Mummy? Part 2 of 3
She was FINE. The Hungry Mouth ate an enormous dinner, slurped down some formula, snuggled up to Dad, and fell blissfully asleep. And stayed that way.
I had a nice night out, thanks.
I had a nice night out, thanks.
Tuesday, 2 June 2009
Where's Mummy? Part 1 of 3
Tonight is the first night I won’t be home to tuck my sweet tot into her sleepybag and give her her bedtime breastfeed. Whatever my excuse is (a social obligation I really feel I ought to attend), she won’t care. What I hope is, she won’t care too much that I’m not there. What I mean is, of course I want her to miss me, but not too much… Dad will be there, and I hope she thinks he’s good enough for bedtime snuggles.
On the upside, tonight is the first night since she was born that I’ll be out frolicking in central London after dark! That does sound fun…but all I really want to do is rush home and squeeze my daughter till she squeaks Mamama. Guess I will have to wait till I creep into her room at midnight, scoop her gently up and offer her a mid-snooze milkshake (she’s always adorable when she drinks milk in her dreams.
On the upside, tonight is the first night since she was born that I’ll be out frolicking in central London after dark! That does sound fun…but all I really want to do is rush home and squeeze my daughter till she squeaks Mamama. Guess I will have to wait till I creep into her room at midnight, scoop her gently up and offer her a mid-snooze milkshake (she’s always adorable when she drinks milk in her dreams.
Sunday, 24 May 2009
From Tummy To Toes
Ahh, the miracles of locomotion. Back when the Hungry Mouth was a mere six months old, learning to sit up, I wondered when she’d ever learn to roll over, even as I positioned her sitting on our bed, waving feebly, surrounded by pillow buffers. (Nowadays, she simply snatches such offending obstructions out of her path as she gallops towards the light switches, squeaking determinedly.)
But she did it eventually. First one way, and then, as the books say, the other. Was that left to right, or tummy to back? ‘Tummy time’ suddenly became a lot more fun, as she wiggled hopefully on our smooth floors, all too often sending herself speeding backwards…sometimes underneath a table and alarmingly out of sight. Cleverly, she managed to get into sitting position from her tummy. But would she ever gather those tubby knees under her hips and crawl?
But she did it. Once her tummy and leg muscles were strong enough and coordinated enough, she rose to all fours and progressed proudly — forwards. Playtime became so much less frustrating, home so full of places to explore. Muslin Mummy could no longer vanish with that tantalising ‘Mummy’s back in a moment’ to complete a tiny task in another room. Instead, an anxious scurrying, shuffling sound would indicate the approach of my tiny four-footed tot, hurrying as fast as she could after me, chirping with happiness and relief as I came into view. I’d leap to the floor and crawl welcomingly towards her till she slid underneath me for a hug.
Next, pulling-up and cruising. She did it all herself. One day she simply got a good grip of something and tugged herself up. Everything became a handle, and a much taller tot can reach many more shelves, and things on shelves, and things in things on shelves… Here’s where to apply the Muslin Mummy out-of-reach rule. Can it hurt her? Can she hurt it (do I care)? If yes, move it up a shelf.
Next, getting up to her feet to stand alone, wobbling and clapping herself, squeaking with pride, demanding applause 75 times a day. Practising holding something while getting up…a prune, perchance. Blankie, of course. Bumping back down with a nappy-padded thump. Gliding up and down in seamless squats to make an unfit Muslin Mummy’s thighs creak in sympathy.
And that brings us to the toddling stage. The enthusiastic springy leaps holding our hands gave us the idea. So we bought her a wooden pushalong trolley full of toy bricks. She took one look at it, grabbed its handle and set off. She picks up a fair pace until it tonks against a piece of furniture. Then she cruises around it, climbs in, and sits hopefully on the bricks, awaiting rescue or…a ride!
I expect she’ll walk next. Sigh. Run. Climb trees. Swim. Trike. Bike. Car keys…
But she did it eventually. First one way, and then, as the books say, the other. Was that left to right, or tummy to back? ‘Tummy time’ suddenly became a lot more fun, as she wiggled hopefully on our smooth floors, all too often sending herself speeding backwards…sometimes underneath a table and alarmingly out of sight. Cleverly, she managed to get into sitting position from her tummy. But would she ever gather those tubby knees under her hips and crawl?
But she did it. Once her tummy and leg muscles were strong enough and coordinated enough, she rose to all fours and progressed proudly — forwards. Playtime became so much less frustrating, home so full of places to explore. Muslin Mummy could no longer vanish with that tantalising ‘Mummy’s back in a moment’ to complete a tiny task in another room. Instead, an anxious scurrying, shuffling sound would indicate the approach of my tiny four-footed tot, hurrying as fast as she could after me, chirping with happiness and relief as I came into view. I’d leap to the floor and crawl welcomingly towards her till she slid underneath me for a hug.
Next, pulling-up and cruising. She did it all herself. One day she simply got a good grip of something and tugged herself up. Everything became a handle, and a much taller tot can reach many more shelves, and things on shelves, and things in things on shelves… Here’s where to apply the Muslin Mummy out-of-reach rule. Can it hurt her? Can she hurt it (do I care)? If yes, move it up a shelf.
Next, getting up to her feet to stand alone, wobbling and clapping herself, squeaking with pride, demanding applause 75 times a day. Practising holding something while getting up…a prune, perchance. Blankie, of course. Bumping back down with a nappy-padded thump. Gliding up and down in seamless squats to make an unfit Muslin Mummy’s thighs creak in sympathy.
And that brings us to the toddling stage. The enthusiastic springy leaps holding our hands gave us the idea. So we bought her a wooden pushalong trolley full of toy bricks. She took one look at it, grabbed its handle and set off. She picks up a fair pace until it tonks against a piece of furniture. Then she cruises around it, climbs in, and sits hopefully on the bricks, awaiting rescue or…a ride!
I expect she’ll walk next. Sigh. Run. Climb trees. Swim. Trike. Bike. Car keys…
Thursday, 21 May 2009
One
Well, this event happened a few weeks back now, of course. But turning one is such a milestone for a baby (and her parents) that even when she was only 11 months old, we sort of thought of her as already being one…And now that she’s speeding on into those awkwardly named ages — awww, what a cute little smiler, how old is he? SHE’s 13 and a half months — we still think of her as being one. We remember what we were like a year ago, proud parents of such a tiny, new tot. And we smile fondly at her now, thinking how much more adorably interactive she is now. (Even if she still hasn’t grown enough hair to overcome what I hereby dub the Bystander Gender Bias.)
So to mark the occasion, a personalised website named after her birthdate, like Sienna Miller’s? Or, a Birthday Party?
My mum back in sunny South Africa said that the rule of thumb for how many guests a child ought to have at her birthday party is the same as her age. Turning one? One guest. Suck it and see (as indeed, the Hungry Mouth does, at every available opportunity). Well, this did not seem feasible to us. And yet, in hindsight, perchance ‘twas wise advice.
Obviously all the rellies had to be invited. Some had not yet met her, in fact. Quite a few people right there, and no other children. Pub lunch for all, and hence late nap for the Hungry Mouth, but on the whole, apart from not getting to eat our own lunches, all went OK. Tick.
Our antenatal group consists of six new families. That’s six one-year-olds and twelve parents. Aaack. Late afternoon playdate with baby-friendly snacks and parent-friendly bubbly. Entire floor covered with wriggling babies, squeaking with excitement. And their toys. And their discarded snacks. All went well till normal teatime and bathtime came and went (blame bubbly!) and our brand-new one-year-old went into meltdown, causing eventual departure of all guests and their happy, chortling babies. Sniffly scoops of soothing porridge in the bath…Tick?
Friends with children. Ahhh, mostly not having invited us to their one-year-olds’ parties, either because we were unbabied at the time, or because they followed my mum’s golden rule, or heck, maybe we aren’t that close after all. Skipped ’em.
Friends without children. In general, not incredibly interested in the Hungry Mouth’s amazing milestone. And why should they be? Invited ’em round for girly, bubbly Afternoon Tea and gave dad the Hungry Mouth to play with. Does that count as a birthday party?
Godparents. Turned up (bearing gifts) in the course of a normal visit. Good on them. Tick-tock.
All these events did generate lots of exciting new toys and clothes, but on the whole, not entirely sure if exhaustion was worth it. Turning two? Two guests – Mum and Dad…
So to mark the occasion, a personalised website named after her birthdate, like Sienna Miller’s? Or, a Birthday Party?
My mum back in sunny South Africa said that the rule of thumb for how many guests a child ought to have at her birthday party is the same as her age. Turning one? One guest. Suck it and see (as indeed, the Hungry Mouth does, at every available opportunity). Well, this did not seem feasible to us. And yet, in hindsight, perchance ‘twas wise advice.
Obviously all the rellies had to be invited. Some had not yet met her, in fact. Quite a few people right there, and no other children. Pub lunch for all, and hence late nap for the Hungry Mouth, but on the whole, apart from not getting to eat our own lunches, all went OK. Tick.
Our antenatal group consists of six new families. That’s six one-year-olds and twelve parents. Aaack. Late afternoon playdate with baby-friendly snacks and parent-friendly bubbly. Entire floor covered with wriggling babies, squeaking with excitement. And their toys. And their discarded snacks. All went well till normal teatime and bathtime came and went (blame bubbly!) and our brand-new one-year-old went into meltdown, causing eventual departure of all guests and their happy, chortling babies. Sniffly scoops of soothing porridge in the bath…Tick?
Friends with children. Ahhh, mostly not having invited us to their one-year-olds’ parties, either because we were unbabied at the time, or because they followed my mum’s golden rule, or heck, maybe we aren’t that close after all. Skipped ’em.
Friends without children. In general, not incredibly interested in the Hungry Mouth’s amazing milestone. And why should they be? Invited ’em round for girly, bubbly Afternoon Tea and gave dad the Hungry Mouth to play with. Does that count as a birthday party?
Godparents. Turned up (bearing gifts) in the course of a normal visit. Good on them. Tick-tock.
All these events did generate lots of exciting new toys and clothes, but on the whole, not entirely sure if exhaustion was worth it. Turning two? Two guests – Mum and Dad…
Wednesday, 13 May 2009
Fat Face Frenzy
So, I have been back at work three days a week since the middle of March, and end of April is when I get my P60, thus enabling me to calculate what our much reduced family income now is, and hence, whether we can ever eat Waitrose cheesecake again with a clear conscience. That means, since it’s now the middle of May, that not only should I get around to that forthwith, but also, that I should clearly treat myself to a Muslin Mummy Makeover before I work it all out and realise we can’t afford it.
Well, when I say makeover, I really just mean some new clothes. Ain’t gonna start wearing actual make-up anytime soon. So, Fat Face sends me a 20% off online voucher, and a catalogue of vibrant, outdoorsy types looking carefree in exotic, sunny locations — and Fat Face’s summer range, natch. Embarrassing to relate, I place this on the pile of worthy reading beside the loo, and carefully peruse it for signs of garb suitable for my mumsy, unoutdoorsy, non-exotic lifestyle, but that will yet convey to me some hint and flavour of such excursions as surfing in Cuba or mountain trekking in Tibet.
I am surely overdue for a new bikini! And an African bead pattern seems meant for me! Maybe halter necks are good for suntans and my new topheavier shape (yes, still breastfeeding the Thirsty Mouth)…Plus, that same topheavy look is causing shirts from my previous life’s wardrobe to seem strangely short in front, exposing midriff in a way that I feel is less than delightful in an office environment. And an office environment is exactly where, Monday to Wednesday, I can sport such shirts, unequipped as they are with those handy flaps for breastfeeding. So, I clearly require a longer sort of top. Embroidered slouchy long tee!
And finally…though it did not adorn the alluring pages of the catalogue, I unaccountably spy the perfect skirt. Flatteringly cut above the knee, wide for brisk walking, pockets galore, general funky look, neutral go-with-lots colour!
It’s clear that I can’t be giving up legwaxing anytime soon either. I certainly hope there are some pennies earmarked personal adornment left over from mortgage, bills, food and nursery fees. It’s not like I’m shopshopshoppin’ at Sienna Miller's store, now is it?
Well, when I say makeover, I really just mean some new clothes. Ain’t gonna start wearing actual make-up anytime soon. So, Fat Face sends me a 20% off online voucher, and a catalogue of vibrant, outdoorsy types looking carefree in exotic, sunny locations — and Fat Face’s summer range, natch. Embarrassing to relate, I place this on the pile of worthy reading beside the loo, and carefully peruse it for signs of garb suitable for my mumsy, unoutdoorsy, non-exotic lifestyle, but that will yet convey to me some hint and flavour of such excursions as surfing in Cuba or mountain trekking in Tibet.
I am surely overdue for a new bikini! And an African bead pattern seems meant for me! Maybe halter necks are good for suntans and my new topheavier shape (yes, still breastfeeding the Thirsty Mouth)…Plus, that same topheavy look is causing shirts from my previous life’s wardrobe to seem strangely short in front, exposing midriff in a way that I feel is less than delightful in an office environment. And an office environment is exactly where, Monday to Wednesday, I can sport such shirts, unequipped as they are with those handy flaps for breastfeeding. So, I clearly require a longer sort of top. Embroidered slouchy long tee!
And finally…though it did not adorn the alluring pages of the catalogue, I unaccountably spy the perfect skirt. Flatteringly cut above the knee, wide for brisk walking, pockets galore, general funky look, neutral go-with-lots colour!
It’s clear that I can’t be giving up legwaxing anytime soon either. I certainly hope there are some pennies earmarked personal adornment left over from mortgage, bills, food and nursery fees. It’s not like I’m shopshopshoppin’ at Sienna Miller's store, now is it?
Wednesday, 15 April 2009
Easter Bonnets
Easter's just passed hasn't it.....and it's a perfect time to spruce up the wardrobe with a new easter bonnet. Hmm okay, not so much a bonnet as a hat. But who really wears bonnets these days?
Wow...it's been so long since I posted last. Let's see if I can pick it up again. A small post to get the ball rolling as it were.
Wow...it's been so long since I posted last. Let's see if I can pick it up again. A small post to get the ball rolling as it were.
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