Monthly Archives: April 2011

Bridezilla: Part I

30 Saturday Apr 2011

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Unfortunately it appears Gary Barlow has lost his chance as I’m soon to be off the market.

In just under four months I’ll be a married woman. Either that or my relationship will be in tatters. It all depends if I manage to hold the Bridezilla in me at bay. So before it all goes horribly wrong, I thought I’d take part in the meme devised by Super Amazing Mum and Manic Mum and record how I got here. For posterity’s sake and all that.

When myself and the (self proclaimed) Northern Love Machine announced we were “with child” a lot of people assumed it was an accident. How could we have planned a baby when we’d only been together a year and weren’t even married? We didn’t own our own home and I was only 26. Apparently in life you are meant to do things in a certain order, at a certain time.

Well no one told us that. And if they did, we weren’t listening.

We met in the venue of romance that is The After Dark nightclub in Reading. A shared love of sticky floors, cheap booze and rapping bouncers helped us find each other. That and the fact the NLM is six foot five so is hard to miss.

Anyway, we had our first kiss outside the toilets. It went something like this:

NLM (in his soft Rochdale tones): Look, we both know this is inevitable. Come here and give me a snog.

Me: Oh, OK then.

What a picture of romance.

It carried on like that for a couple of months. Kissing outside toilets and getting drunk, with the occasional pub meal thrown in for good measure.

And then came Christmas. We both spent the festive season apart as the NLM went back up North to his Motherland (Rochdale) and I went out west to mine (Bristol). New Year’s Eve arrived and we crossed each other somewhere on the motorway. The NLM drove from the North back down to Reading to celebrate with his friends and I drove up from Bristol to Manchester to celebrate with some of mine.

And then I got drunk again.

I was still swigging sipping champagne at 8am on New Year’s Day and thought it would be a good idea to ring the NLM and wish him a Happy New Year. In my inebriated state I’d forgotten I was meant to be back in Reading that night to go out for a drink with him. When he reminded me,  I said the only way I’d be there was if he drove up to Manchester to collect me as I would still be over the limit and couldn’t drive. I was joking. He’d only completed the four hour drive the day before so wasn’t going to drive all the way back just to pick me up for one drink, was he? No one’s that stupid, right?

Wrong.

After collapsing in a heap on the sofa I was woken at 6pm by my friend shaking me awake telling me there was a “tall Northern man outside”. He’d driven all the way from Reading up to Manchester, having only driven from Manchester to Reading the day before.

In a haze I stumbled into his car, completely forgetting my own car was parked just round the corner. And we made the four hour drive back to Reading, with a short stop around two hours into the journey. I’d been sick, you see. All over the interior of the NLM’s brand new car.

We arrived back in Reading after midnight, by which time all the pubs had shut. And I was certainly not in the mood for alcohol. I immediately fell fast asleep only to wake at 7am the following morning remembering I’d left my car in Manchester. So I made the NLM drive me all the way back to collect it. And then we drove back to Reading. Again.

We moved in together a month later. I thought I’d be unlikely to find a man willing to drive eight hundred miles for me in the space of two days. And let me vomit all over his car.

It was exactly a year later, on New Year’s Day (well midnight New Year’s Eve to be precise) that the NLM proposed. The memory of driving back and forth across the country and cleaning up my sick was forever etched in his memory as the day we became “serious”, so he thought it a fitting date to ask me to marry him.

Since that time I’ve managed to avoid throwing up in his car again. And I’ve had a baby. So it looks like he’s stuck with me forever now. Lucky man.

Paparazzi

28 Thursday Apr 2011

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I appear to have become a member of the paparazzi.

Since giving birth I just can’t help myself sneaking behind doors and hiding behind chairs to take a sneaky pic of Frog when she’s not looking. If I manage to snap her mid-doing-something-silly I feel a rush of elation, just as strong as if I’d papped two top celebrities snogging.

So I was pretty chuffed when Shoot the Baby by Helen Webb arrived through my door. You can read all about this brilliant book in my review over at Real Parenting today. If you have a baby or toddler, or know someone who’s about to give birth, I highly recommend this book as a present. It’s stuffed full of great tips to help you take a pretty decent photo – minus the photography jargon and fancy pants equipment.

You never know, it may help me focus a bit better on my subjects from now on, without accidentally snapping random objects instead…

Papped

Introducing: The home edition

28 Thursday Apr 2011

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So I’ve been back from my holiday for less than a week and it’s already time to step aside and hand some Mother’s Right limelight to you lot. Don’t say I never give you anything.

And in yet another act of unspeakable generosity, I’ll give a little recap as to what Introducing actually is. This is for anyone who’s new here, or who just hasn’t been paying attention.

Every Tuesday I send out an elephant-style trumpet for new friends. This is your chance to email me and introduce yourself. Then on Thursday, I pick three new friends (for this, read “blogs”) to bring to the rest of the blogosphere. The rules are simple but strict. All you have to do is email me with a link to your blog, but the limit is three a week. Anymore than that and I fear my brain will explode.

If you missed the sterling job Frau Fancy did holding the fort while I was away, catch up here and here. She brought us some brilliant new blogs and proved she’s as capable of work as the rest of us non-fancy lot.

So, this week the choices are mine. Oh, the power…

Circus Queen

For a funny, honest and thought-provoking read about pregnancy, this is the woman to visit. Circus Queen is on the eve of giving birth to her first child and writes so engagingly about her journey through pregnancy, I am as excited about the birth of her baby as I am any “real life” friends I know! What’s more, she lives in Bristol, which is where I’m from, earning her a big Introducing bonus point.

Her Melness Speaks Out

OK, so my daughter’s only ten months old. But I’m a regular visitor to this blog to see what lovely situations lie in wait for me when she becomes a teenager. Her Melness calls the subject of her blog The Gibberish Generation and writes about teenagers, parenting, relationships, the menopause…all sorts really. She has a raft of tips and anecdotes for living with teens, such as some must-read and very funny insights into how to tell if your child is lying. I’m personally storing all this as ammo to use once I make it through the baby years.

Not Missing Out

This is the go-to blog for anyone who needs to follow a lactose or gluten free diet. With recipes like Easter Bunny biscuits and Nachos, I defy anyone to leave this space without feeling slightly peckish.

That’s your lot for this week. Don’t forget to come back on Tuesday to answer my call for next week’s Introducing stars.

Back in business

27 Wednesday Apr 2011

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The boobs are back in business.

After recently deciding she’d had enough of my aggressive attempts to thrust a nipple in her mouth, Frog appears to have done a U-turn. The flame has been reignited, so to speak, and Boob and Frog are firmly back together.

Bugger.

Even though at the time I lamented the end of breastfeeding and looked back on those moments of closeness and bonding with bleary-eyed nostalgia, I was – to be quite honest – relieved. It meant I could get rid of the unflattering maternity bras and start wearing dresses again. I’m all about the dresses, me.

So here we are again. Back to tops and trousers. Maybe even a skirt with leggings if I’m feeling particularly trendy. But no dresses. Well, apart from the fabulous breastfeeding Dote Noir dress I bought for a wedding. But that’s pretty much it.

This time last year I was eagerly looking forward to getting my wardrobe back. I was excited about being able to wear whatever I wanted, without having to consider if it had an elasticated waist. I ordered my sister to return every item of clothing I had leant her during my pregnancy, and greeted each flatteringly cut dress like a long lost friend.

Yet here we are. A year on and I’m still not completely free to choose what I wear each morning. It’s like being three again and having someone else pick my clothes. Getting dressed each day is a military operation of tactical considerations. Can I easily get the boob out in this top without showing it to the entire world? Does this one pull up easily or will I end up sitting on it because it’s too long? (Clearly here I’m talking about the top, not the boob.) If I unbutton this shirt am I going to be stuck with one boob flapping in the breeze? Sheesh. It’s enough to give me a headache.

It’s an unpredictable business. Some days Frog’s fine until bedtime, in which case I lament a day’s loss of dress-wearing having opted for jeans and a T’shirt to be on the safe side. On other days, though, Frog is clamped to me for what feels like hours. And she always chooses those days when I’ve opted to risk it with a dress. It’s like she knows I’m not keen on flashing my pants as I attempt to hoik up my dress and get the boob out in a discreet manner.

Ten months old and already she’s mastered the art of embarrassing her mother. Or maybe she just hates dresses.

A tiny Frog and an ugly bra

The Gallery: Green

26 Tuesday Apr 2011

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I want chickens. And ducks. And maybe even the odd goat.

It’s probably a bad idea seeing as I don’t actually own my own home. I suspect my landlord wouldn’t be best pleased with me starting a small-holding in his back garden. And going by what happened to the rabbit, I think he may have a point.

But I just can’t seem to let go of those bloody chickens.

Maybe it’s a mum thing. It’s definitely developed since Frog was born. Oh, and moving out to the country has probably been a factor. All those chickens running around happily, laying eggs, clucking, being all rural and rosy.

This chicken lust ties in quite nicely with this week’s Gallery theme over at Sticky Fingers. Tara has asked us to find a picture that captures Green. That’s about as specific as she’s been. Trawling through my pictures, I came across this one, taken on a recent trip to the farm up the road.

It looks like Frog shares my rural chicken-loving green dream…

Chicken lust starting young

The pet’s not dead

26 Tuesday Apr 2011

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Sparkle's cousin

It’s always good to come back from a holiday to find your pet hasn’t died.

When I was little I used to rush home from every camping trip to France to find my rabbit, Sparkle, was still as alive and ferocious as ever. This made me sort of happy and sort of disappointed, as I harbored secret thoughts of replacing her with a docile little lop eared bunny who actually liked me and didn’t try to kill me every time I went near her. I don’t think she ever forgave me for christening her Sparkle.

Needless to say Sparkle came to a sticky end one rainy winter day after my dad decided to build a patio for her and her brother Patch. Being the recluse that she was, Sparkle burrowed a secret tunnel underneath the patio and used to spend hours down there, hiding her head in shame at her terrible name.  That turned out to be a bad move on this particularly rainy day, as there was a mini landslide and the patio came crashing down on her, finally putting her out of her bad-name-misery. We didn’t realise she’d left us until the next day, when Dad dug up the patio to find a Sparkle pancake underneath. I’ll never forget his stern words of “girls, look away – there’s nothing to see here”  before holding up my flat ferocious bunny.

*Sigh*

But I digress. What I actually came to say was a big thank you to Frau Fancy for keeping Introducing alive while I swanned off on my un-Fancy trip for two weeks. It turns out old Fancy Pants is actually capable of work, just as capable in fact as any commoner. So thank you Fancy. Thank you for rolling up your sleeves and getting stuck in, to bring us some brilliant new blogs while I was away.

Now it’s back to me. So, as ever, I want your blogs. Funny blogs, sad blogs, arty blogs, crafty blogs, baby blogs, teenage blogs, travel blogs, any-kind-you-want blogs. Please drop me a line to [email protected] and tell me who you are and the name of your blog. I’ll then bring you three of these brilliant blogs on Thursday, as Introducing comes back home.

Better hope I don’t build a patio between now and then.

Turkey: not just for Christmas

24 Sunday Apr 2011

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You’ve never known true fear until you land in a foreign country and realise you’ve forgotten the directions to your holiday destination.

Yes, I really am that stupid.

It turns out after spending a week packing and fretting about the number of nappies to take on our first family holiday, I forgot the finer details. I was so embroiled in which toys and hats to take, that I forgot to print off the directions to our villa in Turkey. And realised mid-air, somewhere over Bulgaria.

The flight was fine. I mean, really fine. The baby slept and then woke up and happily munched on a corn on the cob for an hour. Despite my aggressive efforts to thrust a nipple into her mouth during take off and landing (after reading that breastfeeding can stop the baby’s ears hurting), Frog was happy and content.

But then we landed at Antalya airport. There the fun began, as our predicament slowly dawned on us. The thing is, when you’re backpacking around Southeast Asia, you can easily rock up to a country with no idea where you’re going to end up. That’s part of the fun. But it’s quite a different story when you have a baby in tow and are still struggling to come to terms with the huge weight of responsibility that is parenthood. I now know why my mum used to take her role as Chief Navigator so seriously.

With Grandad F behind the steering wheel and the (self proclaimed) Northern Love Machine as his right-hand man, we slowly made our way in the hire car out of the airport, each blaming the other for the fact we had no directions. Getting used to driving on the other side of the road and closing our eyes to the fact the baby car seat we’d rented was totally unfit for purpose, we found a road and followed it. In the dark. But after managing to get hold of the friend who we’d rented the villa from we started to relax.

And that was our mistake.

Because after the “dual carriageway” we were following petered out into a dusty dirt track, it became clear we were well and truly marooned in the middle of Turkey. With a baby. In the dark. Did I mention it was dark?

Midnight came and went and still we had no idea where we were or where we were going. We were searching for an elusive dual carriageway that stubbornly refused to be found. As Grandad F kept up the “this is all part of the adventure” patter, I looked over to my sleeping baby and felt sick. Adventure is no fun with a baby. I just wanted to unpack the car and have a cup of tea, relaxing in the knowledge my baby was safe asleep in her travel cot, rather than a flimsy piece of plastic in a car lost down the end of a dirt track.

The situation was made worse by the fact I couldn’t shout at anyone and pass on the blame as a) the whole situation was entirely my fault and b) the baby was asleep and I didn’t want to wake her.

But, like all good stories (apart from Titanic), it was all alright in the end. Obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this. We found a friendly Turkish fisherman who pointed us in the right direction after unhooking his fish. An hour later, we were safely tucked up in our lovely villa almost laughing at our stupidity.

And that was it really. The holiday was a huge success. I ate too much, as I always do. And then moaned every day about the fact I was putting on weight and Boot Camp had been for nothing, while simultaneously stuffing my face with Kebaps and wine and cheese and stuffed vine leaves and Baclava and more Kebaps.

Frog spent the entire fortnight being accosted for her photo in the street. (There’s nothing like a bit of Turkish baby love to make you think your baby is the most beautiful in the world). And she swam and played and swam some more.

And now we’re home and I’m triumphant. I’ve survived the middle of the night flight with a baby (tried to check in at the wrong terminal and nearly missed our flight but that’s another post). I’ve survived the unpacking. I haven’t had a nervous breakdown.

And my relationship is intact, which is always a bonus.

Holiday Frog

Packing the Prime Minister

08 Friday Apr 2011

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You know me, ever the drama queen.

But this week has seen dramatics taken to a new height, with the terrifying and almost impossible task of packing for our first family holiday.

I used to quite enjoy packing for holidays. It was a leisurely and relaxing activity, part of the build-up to the holiday itself. I’d write lists with sub-headings like “Toiletries” and “Swimwear” (I agree, far too much time on my hands). I carefully browsed the shops to find the perfect new bikini. I took my time painting my nails and making sure there were no unruly stragglers in the bikini line area. My legs were shaved and moisterised and I had at least three new outfits for the trip. I even plucked my hairy toes. Yes, it’s fair to say the pre-holiday experience was a pleasant one.

And then I had a baby. Continue reading »

Introducing: The holiday edition

07 Thursday Apr 2011

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OK, so I’m not on holiday yet (a girl can but dream). But I soon will be, so this is the last time Introducing will be here for a couple of weeks. Don’t forget, Frau Fancy’s holding the fort at I’m So Fancy next week, so head over there on Tuesday to heed the call for new blogs.

If you’re new here, let me explain.

Every Thursday I post a feature called Introducing. With great reluctance I hand over the limelight to three new blogs. It’s a chance for me (and you) to meet some great new bloggers, without trawling the internet for new suggestions.

In a stroke of genius and unashamed laziness, I ask you to get in touch with me if you want your blog to be featured. This means I hardly have to do any work and get an excuse to sit down for an hour with a cup of tea and a biscuit and some brilliant new blogs for company.

So, this week, it’s all about:

A Real Holiday

Meet the family holiday queen.

If you’re sick of reading about the latest boutique hotel or supposedly “family friendly” villa that costs an extortionate amount of money, read on. This blog is about real families who want real holidays. Kids and all.

It’s a great site for information and packed with a wealth of tips and inspiration for family travel. Just reading about this family’s weekend jaunt to Paris has inspired me to start making some plans of my own…

Steph’s Two Girls

A lovely blog written with warmth and honesty. It’s about family life and one mum’s journey with an autistic daughter who, judging by the latest pictures on the blog, is a real star in the making.

Deep In Mummy Matters

For first time mums like me, this blog is a very useful source of information. It’s jam-packed full of advice, especially regarding breastfeeding. This mum is a trained Breastfeeding Counsellor, so if you have a problem, the chances are she’ll have covered it in her blog.

 

That’s your lot for this week. If you missed last week’s Introducing, get yourself updated here.

And finally, don’t forget to head over to I’m So Fancy next, as she’s looking after my baby for the next fortnight while I’m away.

(Not my actual baby, you understand. No, she’s coming with me. I mean the Introducing feature. Ah you know what I mean.)