Tag Archives: babies

Light

07 Wednesday Mar 2012

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A year ago – almost to the day – I went for a walk in the woods.

With Frog strapped firmly to my chest I donned my new wellies and went splashing in puddles with my friend and her little boy, Arthur. We chased after Boots, the beautiful black Labrador, and built piles of sticks next to a hollow log.

At the time, Arthur was two and a half. Throughout the walk he was in a world of his own. One minute he was driving a train, the next he was boarding a bus, then he was tooting the horn, then he was taking passengers’ tickets. It was the first time he had ever completely lost himself in his own imagination and, as a new mum with all this to look forward to, it was thrilling to see. Continue reading »

Guest post: 5.30am is not morning

13 Monday Feb 2012

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I know, I know, I’m in Cuba. Still on honeymoon. So I’ve handed the fort over to one of my favourite bloggers today, Adele from Circus Queen.

Adele’s was one of the first blogs I found when I started blogging just over a year ago. Back then she was writing about pregnancy – reading her words took me right back to the days 19 months ago when I was huge and fed up.

She writes with humour, thought and huge sprinklings of common sense. And she resides in my homeland of Bristol, so she’s got to be worth a read.

Without further ado, I bring to you, the Queen of the Circus herself….

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When I was fifteen, I voluntarily (!) got up at 5am to study Chemistry and Biology. I was getting ready to write my CXC’s (the Caribbean version of GCSE’s). Looking back I would’ve managed anyway. Looking forward, I’d put my fingertips in the toaster to get those unslept hours to return. Continue reading »

One today

02 Thursday Feb 2012

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Once upon a time there was a woman.

She had a wobbly tummy, big bags under her eyes and a yummy little baby.

But, despite this woman’s attributes, she was worried.

The whole year stretched ahead of her and she didn’t know what it would hold. She didn’t know when her yummy little baby would start sleeping through the night. She didn’t know if she would return to her old pre-baby job. She didn’t know how long she could continue to pretend she had a clue what she was doing when it came to being a mum. Continue reading »

Something I am proud of

23 Wednesday Nov 2011

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There are only three people in this world who can simultaneously make me tear my hair out in frustration while laughing: my sister, the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine and Frog.

She’s only 17 months but boy, that girl can play me. She rolls over with squeaks of delight when it’s time for a nappy change. She looks at me with a cheeky glint in her eye as she deliberately feeds food off her plate to next door’s dog. She delights in taking Every. Single. Book off the book shelf and then coming to find me to proudly show off her handiwork. Like I said, hair tearing frustration, but also a little bit funny. Continue reading »

Sibling age gaps and the family planning debate

14 Monday Nov 2011

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No, I’m not pregnant. And no, we’re not planning another baby yet. But for some reason, recently I’ve found myself thinking more and more about a brother or sister for Frog.

Maybe it’s because some of the other mums I know, who have children the same age as Frog, are pregnant.  Or maybe it’s because Frog is now 16 months old, so it’s getting rapidly too late for her to have a brother or sister who is just a couple of years younger than she is.

Whatever the reason, I’m broody as hell. Continue reading »

The Mother Rage

14 Friday Oct 2011

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Before I became a mum I used to suffer the occasional bad mood. Something trifling like my monthly pay packet being £10 too low – or a few dirty dishes left in the sink – could leave me cold. I would let the grumpiness envelope me like a warm black cloak, enjoying exercising the muscles in my forehead as I scowled for England.

And then I became a mother.

The Mother Rage is a whole new ball game. It takes the black cloak of grumpiness, throws it to the wind and replaces it with a clinging wetsuit, impossible to remove (especially when you have wobbly bits which cling to the unforgiving fabric). Continue reading »