Them vs Us

Another controversial post for you today... It's something I've been thinking about ever since I got pregnant. And something I perhaps shouldn't confess to but, you know me, I like to be honest. And overshare. And tell people things that are best kept to myself. Hmmm.

But, anyway, it's Sunday after all. Confession time. Here goes: before I got pregnant I used to view women with children in a rather unsisterly way. I don't know what it was, but a part of me thought they'd kind of failed the feminist movement somewhat by conforming to biological stereotypes rather than going out there and changing the world (I am aware of how ridiculous this sounds, it's not like I was changing the bloody world either). But I thought they'd taken the 'easy option' by choosing motherhood over furthering their careers. And I was aware that lots of women did manage to further their careers while becoming mothers but they seemed to be in the minority and seemed to spend the entire time banging on about how hard it was, which just struck me as showing off.

It may sound absolutely insane. Like I said, it was just a small part of me - I'm not completely inhuman, I did also understand that they were sacrificing many of their wants and needs for the future generation. But I would roll my eyes if I was on a train and heard two mothers chatting about some aspect of their child's care as though it was the only thing that mattered. I'd get irritated if I heard them complain about how tired they were (you CHOSE this life, I'd think, very uncharitably, suck it up). I'd hate the women with pushchairs in shopping centres who'd ram past me to get to where they wanted, completely oblivious to my existence. I'd tut out loud at children having tantrums in supermarkets. I'd do a SATC Samantha at badly behaved children in nice restaurants. I'd inwardly judge women who decided to be stay-at-home mums with fierce prejudice. I'd even be a bit pissed off if a pregnant woman without a bump yet barged past me on the tube to grab a seat.

I know, I know.

It really did feel a bit 'them vs us' - the childless (or childfree as I liked to think of it) versus the mothers. How horrible of me. But I don't think I'm alone in feeling like this*.

If I'd had a difficult day at work, I used to think how easy mothers had it, being at home all day watching This Morning and online shopping. HA! One thing I have learned: there is nothing mentally harder than being at home alone all day with a young baby. Single mothers have my utmost respect.

One of my friends said that having a baby is like joining an epic worldwide club. A club of overtired, empathetic women. It's so true. You suddenly feel sorry for the pregnant woman on the tube who knows she has to grab that seat because at ten weeks she feels lightheaded standing. You offer her yours gladly. You feel deep sadness for the poor woman trying to have a nice meal out while containing a bored hyperactive toddler. You wish you could help. When you see a woman pushing a hooded pram with grim determination you notice her eyebags and stained leggings and you wonder how old the baby is, and how much sleep she had the previous night. You want to reach out and hug her and tell her that it gets easier, it really does. When you hear women chatting about childcare, you feel great relief that you're not the only one going through such things and often end up joining in (motherhood is a great way of getting talking to ANYONE!). You feel these women ARE you, they belong with you, you GET them and you like them even if in your former life you would have had nothing in common. It is actually one of the best bits of motherhood - this sudden deep solidarity with other women.

I wonder why the old me felt so scathing of mothers. I wonder if it was jealousy, or some kind of defence mechanism. I always worried that I wouldn't get around to having children and that I'd regret it long term - was this my own survival instincts prepping me for the future? Telling me somehow that that life was crap, that I'd had a lucky escape? I don't know. I do know I feel a bit ashamed now. It doesn't mean I don't look back on my old life and think, god that was a great life, I had so much freedom and time and opportunity. In many ways I miss it. I miss being one of the childfree. Because without a child, you ARE free. I am aware of motherhood's limitations. I don't think that there's a clearcut winner in the 'having a baby' versus 'not having a baby' life choices. Both have their difficulties, both have their advantages.

But at the same time, this new empathy, this new KINDNESS and respect for others that I've developed since having Daphne. That's something I didn't expect, and something I'm so grateful for.

I guess the short version of this post is: motherhood has made me a nicer person.

* It may be that EVERYONE feels like this before they have kids, in which case, I feel much less sociopathic. 

Midweek Musings: My 'tiny' break

When is a mini break not a mini break? When it's a tiny break. That is, just 48 hours in total. I got back from Edinburgh yesterday afternoon, exactly 48 hours after I left. And I believe I have now cracked that great mystery of 'how to have a successful holiday after having a baby'. The answer, my friends, is: Leave The Baby At Home.

Sorry to be glib. It actually wasn't that easy, but it wasn't that hard either. I dropped her off with my mum (who she loves to death) and only felt a tiny bit teary as I walked away - she was totally happy and playing so it wasn't some great big emotional scene. The train journey up was bloody lovely - nice and quiet and I read a whole book and scoffed Pret and it was like being a grown up again. I also bought OK magazine for the first time in ages but never actually got round to reading it. I feel I need to mark this as some sort of pinnacle of maturity. The thing is, I usually buy Red mag (if I buy mags at all, which I never do any more - my 15-year-old self who dreamed of being a magazine journalist would be beside herself with sadness) but there were none left in WHSmith in Kings Cross. So I bought OK because it's the kind of crappy thing I usually like reading in the hairdresser's. But when it came down to it: just me, the train and the magazine, I found that I actually didn't care. I looked at the cover several times, taking in all the trying-to-be-tantalising-titbits about various slebs I was vaguely aware of and I found I didn't care enough to even open the damn thing. How times have changed.

Hmm. Not sure what the point of that little sidestep was, but I guess as an admission it won't help my 'career' if I ever decide I want to get back into the meeja properly. Anyway... yes, my tiny break. Edinburgh is bloody lovely. Beautiful. Why did no one tell me this before? I've only been to Scotland a couple of times before - once on a rather disastrous honeymoon with my ex husband (we stayed in the middle of nowhere in the Highlands in JANUARY and it was freezing and boring and the water in the toilet was brown because it was filtered through peat or some such nonsense - anyway, nothing romantic about that trip) and then once for a wedding. I never knew Edinburgh was so pretty, and had such fab landscapes all around it. Also, thank you weather gods, because the sun shone all day - we walked 16km exploring the city as much as we could and I enjoyed every second. I didn't even think about the baby much, which makes me feel ashamed and feminist all at the same time.

She was fine, anyway, and had a lovely time with her grandparents. And best of all, Oli's show, Simply Bowie (a pared-back, Jazz interpretation of some of David Bowie's hits), was a phenomenal success. They had no PR budget yet it was packed out every night, they were on Scottish TV and BBC Radio Scotland and the feedback was unanimously positive. I was so proud and I've been blathering all about it all over social media ever since we returned. But in case you've missed it, you can check out his Facebook page for more info and you can also buy the album on iTunes (or stream it, if you can figure out how on earth to use this new bloody Apple Music - if you can, you're a wiser (wo)man than me).

My only regret about Edinburgh is that I was only there for one day, and that day was the last day of the Fringe, so lots of the shows had already finished. As a result there wasn't much on offer to see, and the atmosphere was a little more subdued than I had expected. I did however, get to witness the awesome last night fireworks. So, you know, swings and roundabouts.

Midweek Musings: Surviving!

Oh god, I'm writing this during Bake Off, so I guess no one will read it. But anyway. Just a quick update and a big thank you to everyone who gave me tips for surviving my week home-alone parenting. So far, it's been a mixed bag, but I can confirm that we are both alive. Hurrah!

Daph was actually an angel for the first two nights, sleeping through from 6.30pm to 6.30am which she has never ever done before without a middle of the night feed. So that got me all cocky and thinking I was nailing it. It also got me shedloads of sleep, which was awesome. But then last night, it all went wrong. I'm blaming the weather. This hideous weather! I love the summer but why in the hell can we not just have 23-24 degrees and sunshine all summer long rather than rain for most of it, punctuated by this insanely humid and stuffy ordeal. It's horrible. We've also seemingly bought the Hottest House in the World. It has no loft (the ceilings are open to the roof, which sounds weird but is kind of cool and quirky - I KNOW I need to do pictures of the damn house, coming soon I promise...). The lack of loft means all the bedrooms basically ARE the loft, and you know how hot lofts get in this kind of weather.

Poor Daph's room is about 32 degrees and there's literally no way of cooling it down. I've looked into leaving frozen bottles of water in there but worried about the humidity from that making it even worse. The window is open, the blackout blinds have been down all day but it's still a mini oven in there. Which means she's been taking forever to go to sleep (she hates not having her sleeping bag on, but obviously she's just in her nappy, and she's also scared of the oscillating fan which sends her elephant mobile batshit crazy) and then last night she woke up at 11.30pm and screamed blue murder until 1am when she fell asleep on me. That was... sweaty.

I don't suppose this is a very interesting tale really - all mothers are probably having the same issues. Compounding the situation though is the fact that she is now teething her first set of molars (they're meant to come through at 14 months Daph, you precocious child!), and has simultaneously decided that Calpol and Nurofen are disgusting and there's absolutely no way thank you very much she will take them: syringe, spoon, hiding it in Petit Filous, sucking it from my finger - NOT GOING TO HAPPEN MAMA.

So yeah. Today was tiring. I marvel as ever at Daph's ability to scream and wonder what on earth my poor neighbours think - if I was them I would have been calling social services last night.

Another side effect of this lovely heatwave are the mosquitos. There are mosquitos in my garden thanks to next door's stupid bloody water feature. Yesterday I actually caught one biting me and now my arm has swollen up to twice its size* - perhaps you're not meant to interrupt them mid-meal. Either way, stupid neighbours, stupid heatwave and stupid water feature. *itches*

But onto more important things! What I really meant to say is that, thanks to pressure from my mum (who I suspect is just desperate to look after Daph) this Sunday I am now going to Edinburgh to see Oli's show! And leaving the baby behind! EEEK.

When Oli first said he was doing the festival we did ruminate over me going up there for a couple of nights too, but I think if I'm honest we were both too lazy to think about the logistics. But the show's been going really well and I've never been to Edinburgh before, which is pretty shameful at my age. And my mum seems very keen to have Daph overnight. And the other day I realised with a bit of a shock that she's one now and I've never left her before - not for a single night. So perhaps it's time to cut the apron strings a little. It's pretty terrifying but the thought of two nights' sleep in a row is unbelievably exciting. It's kind of like going on a mini break! I suspect I will spend the entire time phoning my mum/trying to Facetime/whatsapping her bossy instructions but still. We might even get to have a grown up dinner out. Squeak!

*may be a slight exaggeration

The Fear

Tomorrow, Oli is leaving for Edinburgh, where he'll be staying for just over a week. He's going to be doing a show at the fringe with the wondrous Chad Lelong - a reinterpretation of David Bowie songs - if you're at the festival and fancy popping by, then you can find out all the details here.

But this post isn't really about that (sorry Ol). It's about me (so far, so predictable). You see, it'll be the first time I'll have been left alone with Daph even overnight, let alone for a week. And I have a confession: I am absolutely terrified.

I've known this week was coming up for months - I think Oli agreed to do the festival back in January. But it seemed so far away and I thought as Daph would be one it would be OK. I assumed by now we'd have a really lovely easy routine and rapport going on, and of course it never occurred to me that she would still not be sleeping through the night every night. *bitter laughter*

At present, I know I'm a spoilt cow because Oli is around a lot in the day - he works evenings obviously and so I've always got help with the childcare. I've never had to be a traditional mum, stuck at home all day on my own with a baby. I get to say things like: 'Can you just hold Daph for a sec while I pluck an errant chin hair/straighten my hair/have a twenty-minute toilet break?' I've got used to the lie ins that I get every morning (I think I mentioned in an old post that Oli and I struck a deal - I do all the night feeds, and he gets up with her in the morning so I can catch up on sleep). I usually wake up about 8am. But this week, I'll be doing the night feeds AND getting up at 6am and giving her breakfast and then looking after her all day until she goes to bed. I am afraid. Very afraid. Of the following things specifically:

1. Bathtime. How will I coordinate running the bath/ getting her ready/stopping her from drowning while she's in the bath while I turn around and grab her towel? We have a SYSTEM goddamit: Oli gets her ready for her bath, I give her the bath, he watches her while I get all her towels ready and then I lift her out of the bath and bring her to him to get her into her nightime nappy/pyjamas. Then I read her a story and give her her milk and she goes to bed. It works! It's a process! If one of us is missing, it's no longer a process; it's a health and safety violation.
2. Mealtimes. These are my most hated of all parenting duties, due to Daph's rather fussy nature (read: tendency to scream and squirm and try to climb out of her highchair after one mouthful of food). And I will have to do all of them. Worse still, I will have no one there to distract her/pull funny faces while I try to shove food into her unsuspecting mouth. And how am I meant to prepare the actual food when if you leave her in her playpen for more than about ten minutes she goes batshit crazy?
3. Playtime. I guess I am a terrible mother because... *whispers* ... I find playing with my own child monumentally dull after about twenty minutes. Oli is BRILLIANT at playing with her, and comes up with voices, names and characters for all her animals etc etc. All I have managed so far is voracious quacking as I squeeze her rubber duck in the bath (which barely even registers a response, truth be told, let alone a smile). I feel so ashamed but I just don't know HOW TO PLAY. I love her to death - I think I've got loving her down to a fine art and have mastered the art of cuddling and kissing her and soothing her when she's sad. But more than ten minutes of stacking bricks that she just knocks over in favour of barging towards my handbag/mobile phone/any hard surface on which to bonk her head and I just want to stick her in front of Teletubbies and hide behind my laptop. I try reading to her, but she just yanks the books out of my hand and closes them. Apparently trapping Mummy's fingers in the pages is more fun than watching Mummy point out where Mr Tickle is.
4. Going to the toilet. How. How. How.
5. Having a shower. The only time I'll be able to do this is when she's having her first nap at 9.30am. But on Thursday I have to go to work and my mum is going to babysit. So again, how, WHEN am I meant to have a shower before leaving for the office? At 5.30 before she wakes up? When I've probably been up at 4am anyway. Maybe the answer is NEVER GOING TO BED.

I so wish I was better with children - I've never been very good with them, and much as I adore my amazing little daughter, I find spending long periods time with her now she's older and more aware (and more opinionated) really quite challenging. I know you're not meant to admit that, but I hope I'm not the only mother out there like it. I love the days when Granny comes over and I can sneak off and waste some time doing fun adult things like, y'know, replying to my emails. Or writing blog posts. The most challenging thing by far about being a mother is not having time to get things done. I hate that it takes four days to fold the washing because any spare second is spent firefighting the essential chores like emptying the nappy bin (you don't want to leave that overflowing in August; LESSON LEARNT).

I am not complaining - I mean, it's hardly a hardship to be at home with my child like many mothers up and down the country whose partners work abroad. But I AM scared. I think this week will be an interesting learning experience for me (and Daph, poor mite). I am hoping it'll turn out better than I expect. I've arranged trips out for us every day, to make sure I don't go insane with loneliness. But I'm frightened. I hope that doesn't make me a horrible person. Wish us luck!

One year baby BODY update!

I wasn't sure what to call this post, or indeed, whether to write it at all, but it's been niggling in my head for a week or so I decided to just do it. Please skip if it's not your kind of thing, but for those of you who are curious about how having a baby changes you physically... read on. I love a good overshare, me. I also love reading these kind of posts because pregnancy affects everyone so differently - I find it fascinating.

So, deep breath, here we go...

My weight

Daph was born a year ago and I am kind of perversely proud to say I have not lost all my baby weight yet. Shock horror. I haven't actually weighed myself since we moved because we've lost the bathroom scales somewhere in the melee, but you know how you know your own body... I would give a rough guess that I currently weigh about 9st 9 (on a good, non-period day, first thing in the morning after a wee). I'm 5ft 7 just to put that in context for you. When I got pregnant, I was about 9st 3, but I was actually the lightest I'd been in a while because I'd been on a bit of a fitness kick and had been going to the gym a few times a week for about six months. Earlier that year, I was about 9st 7, and that was probably my base weight for a couple of years.

So yes, I am not back down to 9st 3 (I was nearly 12 stone at my heaviest when pregnant!). I wanted to get back to 9st 7 but I haven't even managed that. I have mixed feelings about this to be honest. I think - if I wanted to - I COULD get back down to that weight relatively easily, by doing a few runs each week. I started running earlier in the year when Daph was younger and weirdly I was less tired (somehow smaller babies are less tiring because despite the night-wakings, they're less demanding during the day and nap a lot). But I gave it up when I started working again, when she was about five months old. Now when I get some time to myself I have to do my freelance work, and exercising has definitely taken a back seat.

Interestingly, when Daph was first born I was desperate to lose ALL the baby weight and really worried about it, but, now I can honestly say I don't care! It's quite liberating. The only part of me that really wants to lose the extra pounds is the part of me that sees myself in jeans, as they're not as flattering as they were, but otherwise I am quite happy floating about in maxi dresses. The extra weight is all across my thighs - the inside of my thighs mostly, and a little bit on my tummy and arms. It's not terrible. And on that note...

My tummy

The good thing about having a long back is that you also have a long tummy. Which means it usually looks pretty flat - there's plenty of space to spread out the fat y'see. I also have a tummy button that goes in a lot which helps it to look flatter (blimey, this is a weird blog post). So my tummy actually looks pretty normal at first glance. I didn't get any stretch marks (thankfully) when I was pregnant and the skin isn't loose. What is different, is the - now excuse me here cos this is also a bit weird - texture of my skin on my stomach. It's kind of squishier than before. I guess, it's because it stretched and it's now fatter, but I think it's actually also cos my abs separated and I am fairly sure they haven't joined back together yet. I think there are exercises I can do to sort this, but I can't really be bothered to be honest. Maybe if we go on a bikini holiday next year I will do something about it. The main thing is that my tummy is pretty much the same as before, just a bit... softer.

My general shape

My mum doesn't believe this, but my hips are definitely wider than before. You know how they stretch a bit when you are pregnant thanks to the ligaments relaxing? I really don't think they go back - fitted trousers and dresses I wore before I got pregnant just don't look quite right now (and no, it's not just the extra weight - I can tell the difference). My waist is also less defined - that whole area is a lot more 'square'. But it's not terrible. I feel a bit more 'mumsy' shaped and dare I say it - middle aged?

Oh and my feet. My feet are still bigger. Not swollen any more but bigger, and most of my pre-pregnancy shoes are now uncomfortable.

My boobs

As you may know, I didn't breastfeed really - just pumped for six weeks then gave up. After I stopped pumping my boobs shrank back pretty quickly to their previous size. They look the same now as before, honestly, but they are pretty small and inoffensive (I fail the pencil test) so maybe that's why. I reckon they're a bit lower than before, but that's probably ageing more than anything else. I don't know if boobs change more if you 'properly' breastfeed, would be interesting if anyone wants to share!?

My hair

This is the weirdest and most annoying thing. A year later - my hair is still not the same. It's still darker (although I noticed my first few greys coming in - AAAAAH!) and even more weirdly, I seem to have developed a strange kink on one side. At first I thought it was the way I was wrapping my hair in a towel, but no, it turns out it's actually gone a bit curly on one side. My hair has always been poker straight, and now if I leave it wet, it goes into a really unattractive wavy mess. Annoying.

My down-belows

Yikes, I can see my mum reading this and thinking I've truly lost my mind. However. I can confirm that all is functioning as before in this respect! No discernible changes AT ALL, despite my second degree tear. Your body is designed to give birth, and seems to make a really decent job of recovering from it. Or maybe I just got lucky. Either way, there's been no leakage (SORRY!) or problems of any other nature... *stops talking before everyone I know disowns me*

Baby brain

Has gone! Hurrah. Apart from being eternally knackered, I feel my brain has returned to its previous level of functioning. If anything, I reckon it's better - I'm certainly better at remembering things, multitasking and all that jazz.

What else what else... In general, I look older. A lot older than before. I am pretty sure this is all down to lack of sleep however, and not the baby per se. Oh and y'know I'm 35 now so it was to be expected.

So there you have it. My most navel-gazing post to date. Literal navel-gazing. I can see loads of you rolling your eyes and sneering at the sheer self-absorbedness of it. I may be full of regret at publishing this. But I think the point was really to say that yes, my body is different from before and no, I don't actually care. I know all that gubbins about seeing your body differently after you've given birth sounds annoying but it's SO true. It does put stuff into perspective. It does make you respect it more. It doesn't stop you wanting to eat ice cream and sugar all day to cope with your three hours of sleep. But one look at the little person you made, and their PERFECT BOXFRESH skin and PERFECT SOFT hair and it's a sacrifice that feels both completely natural and well worth making.

Still alive!

Hello!! I'm still alive! We survived the move! The sun is shining and I have a gin to hand. All good things.

Apologies for the radio silence, so much for my two-week break from blogging... Thing is, everyone was right: moving house with a baby is just soooo hard. The problem is not the moving so much as the fact that you don't have any time in the day once you have moved to Get. Shit. Done. It's impossible - Daph sleeps for a maximum of two hours per day at the moment and the first nap is in the morning so I spend it washing my hair and stuff like that (OK, OK, and wasting precious time on the sidebar of shame, but I MISS being able to waste time like that SOOO much), and the second one is just 45 minutes after lunch which I mostly spend checking emails and whinging on the phone to my mum about how busy I am. Hmm.

But when you move, you have to do things like unpack boxes, order furniture, sort out curtains, hang pictures, CLEAN (a lot), find lightbulbs that fit, redirect mail, work out how to use your stupidly expensive new washing machine etc etc. Oh and break up tons of cardboard boxes and try to squeeze them into your fortnightly (!! bloody suburbs) collected recycling bin. So yes, it's all been a bit of a blur.

Meanwhile we've also been going back and forwards to my old flat to try to clear it. I thought I was quite a minimalist person but then I went up into my loft for the first time in about two years and apparently I'm actually the sort of person who hides stuff in my loft and pretends to be minimalist. Why I felt the need to keep every single box for every single thing I ever bought (knackered old kettle, a £20 iron etc) is a bit of a mystery - somewhere in the back of my mind a stupid little voice kept saying 'if you keep the box you'll get more for it on eBay one day' but when on earth am I going to get around to selling an old iron on eBay anyway? Time is money Charlotte, and ain't nobody got time for that. Thank god for London's street freecycle system (leave things outside your flat, the next day they've magically disappeared - it's brilliant).

The good news is that we're starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel, and we're finally getting there with the new house too. It's been an exciting and incredibly expensive two weeks buying new things for the house - we have loads of furniture but of course none of it fits or looks right in the new place. It's like when you get a new job, suddenly you need a whole new wardrobe because all your old clothes aren't quite right. Or maybe that's just me. Either way, we're having to decide what furniture to get rid of, and what to keep, while ordering exciting new things like massive extendable dining tables for all the Christmases we'll probably never host and sideboards (oh so middle-aged) to store Scrabble and Monopoly in. COS WE HAVE A BABY NOW AND IT'S TRADITION TO HAVE BOARDGAMES IN THE SIDEBOARD EVEN IF YOU LITERALLY NEVER PLAY THEM.

I'd love to blog a bit about the new house, if people are at all interested. I'm not sure who reads my blog these days - I get lots of emails from PRs talking about interiors stuff but as all the posts have been baby-related lately I suspect most of my readers are interested in babies. And of course next week we have the momentous occasion of Daphne turning one so lots to talk about in that regard too. If only there were more hours in the day!

Oh god, what a tired old cliche. Yes Charlotte, you're SO busy and important, we get the message...

*shoots self by way of apology*

What I wanted to say in this long rambling and really slightly pointless post is that I will be back, whether you want me or not, and I'm hoping my new mix of topics won't put you off. So there. More soon!

Midweek Musings: eBay, babbling and paint

Hello, hello! As suspected, I've been having a manic week or so since we got the house, trying to get everything ready. We're hoping to move in closer to the end of July, so I'm going to take a two-week break from blogging (a summer holiday if you will!) while we get everything sorted, as it's a bit too chaotic trying to fit everything in right now. And no one likes those crappy short posts bloggers do apologising and saying how they're too busy to blog, do they? Ahem. Decorating a house that's 40 minutes away in the car with a baby that needs to nap between 1.30pm and 3pm every day in her own bed (nowhere else will do now apparently - a new thing, she will ONLY sleep in her cot) is a bit of a logistical nightmare. But I'm enjoying the challenge. I think (so far!). Here's a quick update of some things that have been happening, for those that are interested:

1 The house has ginormous windows. They are three metres wide in some rooms. Which is lovely, but means finding curtains or blinds to fit is an absolute piggin' nightmare. An expensive nightmare too (all that fabric!). Last night I discovered the immense stash of vintage curtains for sale on eBay however, and literally lost four hours of my life trawling through them. You have been warned. Now I just need to convince Oli that pink velvet curtains are the way to go... Hmm, what was I saying before about there being too much pink in my flat?

2 In non-house-related news, the first time we took Daph to see the house, she started babbling. And not just a bit, but PROPERLY babbling, babababababa and gagagagagaga and dadadadada and all kinds of similar things (although she's yet to do mama or any 'm' sound). It's literally the cutest noise in the world. We finally have an appointment next week for her to be referred to a paediatric specialist about her development which is of course ironic, because now I can no longer say she doesn't babble. I am so relieved, but also a little in shock. I also highly suspect that the Teletubbies have something do with this new skill.

3 We're painting most of the house white, just to begin with. But in our bedroom, I wanted to go dark - I'm totally obsessed with dark paint at the moment. We're testing the above three colours from Farrow & Ball today, but my money's already on Railings (which I have on my front door to my flat, and I love). Inchyra Blue is one of their new colours however, and does intrigue me - there aren't that many examples of it being used online yet as it's *so* new so I'm keen to see how it turns out. Will it be too blue? One colour I really just can't get on with in interiors is blue, dunno why. I love the teal-y green of it, but then that's also quite a commitment to colour, whereas Railings is basically a dark neutral. Ooooh, so excited (loser).

4 Another exciting loser development - after years of getting angry with crappy washing machines, I have finally treated myself to a Miele. It arrives tomorrow and I am more excited about it than pretty much anything I've ever bought online. I bought it from Appliances Online and have been so impressed with their service. And prices. Check 'em out if you're in need of some white goods (and no, I wasn't paid or given a discount to say this).

So yes, that's about it from me. A thrilling update I'm sure you'll agree. I shall be back in a couple of weeks when we are hopefully finally all moved in. Can't believe we'll be getting all our stuff out of storage after nearly a year now - will be intriguing to rediscover what we actually have. Hope you are all having lovely summers - at least the sun is shining today - and speak soon!

Midweek Musings: All change

I'm sorry I haven't posted for a while. Last week was a very strange week - not just for me, of course, but for the entire country. I woke up (at 5am) on Friday to the news that no one saw coming and it really did shock and surprise me. I want to be positive about it, because there was actually a lot about the EU I really really disagreed with (not least the fact we never actually chose to join the EU as it manifests now), but I hate to see people already suffering the consequences of a decision that has basically split the country in two. I also cannot bear the fact it has given Nigel Farage something to be smug about, and, on a more serious note, given that tiny minority of racists in our country the confidence to air their views publicly.

I don't really want to write more on this because one thing I have realised over the last few days is that there's such a thing as TOO many opinions. TOO many voices, all clamouring for attention. I don't want to be one of them. The media lately has disgusted me to the point I'm ashamed to call myself a journalist (and I know, I'm not a real journalist, I write about cushions but still, it's listed as my profession on my car insurance...). I'm too ignorant and don't think my thoughts consequential or erudite enough. All I'll say is that I feel sad, and especially sad that there is so much anger and contempt on both sides at the moment, and that I hope that we can turn this situation around into something more positive. I don't believe things are black and white - 'in' or 'out' with no middle ground. There has to be a compromise, a solution that both sides can bear. We need someone to take control now and show us true leadership - this is what I'm hoping for in the next few days and weeks.

In the midst of this horrible, historic Friday, something strange happened for us personally. You'll know already if you follow me on social media, but we finally exchanged contracts on the house we've been trying to buy for two and a half months. There was a huge amount of uncertainty leading up to us finally getting the place, thanks to various issues further up the chain. A few times we thought we were going to have to pull out, and once the woman we were buying from threatened that she would pull out. So I can honestly say I never really thought it would happen. And in fact, up to about an hour before it finally happened I still wasn't sure it would, as Oli was having serious doubts about buying somewhere when it's very likely that property prices will now start to drop.

But we went ahead because we believe once you've committed to something for the right reasons, you have a duty to see it through. We get the keys today. Now I have to start choosing wallpaper, shopping for fridge freezers and washing machines (this hasn't got any more interesting since the last time I did it, sadly) and dealing with the momentous task of moving house with a baby. All very exhausting already, but I'm excited.

I decided not to talk much about this house on my blog because after all the ups and downs we've had trying to find a home for our little family I didn't want to jinx it. But I will say now that it's not in London. We had so much soul searching around the decision to move out of the capital. We both love it here, but lately we've also both seen its real and significant downsides when it comes to children - the lack of space, the pollution, the traffic, the tiny gardens and the ridiculously steep house prices (ha! possibly not for much longer). So we're moving to the suburbs. Back to Surrey, where I was born and bred. And ironically, to the very same town that I lived in until I was 13. That in itself seems super weird (not least because hardly anything has changed!) but I had a happy childhood there - pretty much the happiest of childhoods in fact, and that was enough to convince me that I wanted the same for Daphne.

Oli and I have both agreed there's no way we would have bought this house if it weren't for Daph. It's scaring us both already. Stupid little things like not being able to use our Oyster cards at the station (you have to buy paper tickets - how quaint!). And we both love Wimbledon, and I'm going to miss all our little haunts so much. Hell, I'm even going to miss Colliers Wood's Mothercare, where I currently spend 78% of my time waiting to get served. It actually makes me quite emotional even writing this - we're planning to move in in a couple of weeks and I'm already making a list of things we must do 'one last time'. Silly little walks that we used to do regularly, that kind of thing. I've lived here for five years now - the longest I've lived anywhere as an adult - and I really do feel at home here.

But the new house. The house is lovely (pic up there ^). It's a 1960s terrace with an 80ft south-facing garden. It has a garage. I'm fairly sure it has an outside tap (the true marker of adulthood in my eyes - that and paying someone to clean your windows on a regular basis). I will have my own office, which fills me with nerdish joy. It's in pretty good nick but we want to put our own stamp on it, and I am so excited about having the opportunity to decorate again, after so long in my tiny flat with its grey and pink colour scheme that now bores me to tears. I hope to blog about it a lot, so watch this space if you like interiors blogs. (This is meant to be an interiors blog, believe it or not, but I hadn't had much to write about on that front lately. No such excuses now).

So yes, a funny old week. Life moves on, as it must. As Mr Hawking once said: 'Intelligence is the ability to adapt to change'. Change may be hard, but it is inevitable, and change is good for the soul. The future is looking... different.

Midweek Musings: Me and shoes have issues

I am very pleased with the sort of accidental alliteration of my subtitle up there. Not sure if alliteration is quite the right thing and am too tired to look it up, but you know what I mean. Shoes. Issues. They rhyme.

Anyway. I have never been a shoe girl. I am a handbag girl and a real-jewellery girl and a full-time make up girl. But shoes. Meh. I can take you or leave you. Not literally of course, as I have to have something on my feet (even at my most drunk I've never done the walking home barefoot in London thing - YUCK). But I've never got excited by an overpriced pair of stilettos. Or a swish pair of trainers. Shoes to me must be functional and smart, but I don't want shouty shoes that draw attention to my feet. I don't want shoes that cause me to hobble like a geriatric after five minutes' wear. IMO there's nothing fun or glamorous about looking crippled, or like a wobbly newborn giraffe.

This is my main beef with shoes: you try them on in the shop, they look wonderful and feel comfortable and not too high to walk in. You get them home, you wear them out once (so you've ruined the undersides, making them non-returnable), they rip your feet to shreds and you either cover your blistered bits with that moleskin stuff (doesn't work, always just works its way loose) for round two or you consign them to the back of the wardrobe and pretend you didn't spend £80 on them for one wear.

I dunno. Maybe it's just me. Maybe I just have weird feet.

Either way I rarely buy shoes. I buy enough shoes to get by. I love winter because I can basically buy one pair of (nice) boots every year with a mid heel and then I don't have to think about my feet until the dreaded warm weather rolls around.

If it was up to me,  I'd basically wear those mega-comfy black thong flip flops from Accessorize all summer long. I have about eighty pairs - every year I buy a fresh pair but forget to throw the old ones away, so I spend lots of mornings trying to work out which flip flop goes with which flip flop (usually I work this out by taking a look at how worn the underside is - the really knackered ones have holes in the bottom. Nice). When I was running my PR business I truly struggled with the professional-shoes-for-the-summer thing. It was a pain in the arse. I usually carried a pair of heels in my bag and wore my trusty flip flops right up until walking into the client's showroom.

Anyway the best thing about being on mat leave and freelancing again from home (in my pyjamas, in bed, most of the time) was not having to think about shoes at all. But last Saturday, as I mentioned, we went out for dinner to celebrate Oli's birthday. I had a new frock. It covered all the postpartum bits of me that are less than picturesque right now but also nipped me in, reassuring me that all is not actually lost in the waist department (hurrah!). What I didn't have, however, were any fancy shoes to go with it.

I mean, of course I do have fancy shoes. But they're all really, really ancient. I plucked three pairs, circa 2002, 2005 and 2008, from my wardrobe and tried them all on with the dress. Picked a pair of gold wedgey things that didn't seem to have aged too badly and off we went.

It was as we were walking to the restaurant I noticed that something felt a bit odd with my right shoe. Like I had something stuck to the bottom of it - chewing gum or a chocolate wrapper or something. I looked down but there was nothing obvious attached. I carried on walking, aware of a strange 'flopping noise' as I tottered.

We went into the restaurant (Roka Mayfair, which by the way was absolutely bloody lovely - very much recommend for a treat). We were seated at a lovely table right by the window. I wanted to wash my hands (tube travel + sushi = norovirus) so I stood up to ask the hostess where the toilets were. As she led me towards them, I realised that my shoe had gone from feeling weird, to feeling wrong. One of my legs was suddenly shorter than the other.

Yes, ladies and gentleman, the wedge part of my shoe fell off as I was walking across a very posh, very expensive restaurant in Mayfair.

It took a few seconds before I realised what had happened. I stopped, scurried back to pick the previously GLUED ON (cheap shoes be damned!) wedge heel up and hopped back to my seat, leaving the hostess bemused as to why I had stopped following her. I then sat there feeling like a total idiot, trying to work out if I had a hairband or something (string?!) in my tiny handbag so that I could somehow reattach it. I did not.

After several minutes of Oli laughing at me as I cringed with humiliation (yes the people sitting next to me did notice what had happened and yes the posh middle-aged lady in Jimmy Choos did smirk at me) I eventually made it to the loo - by 'pretending' my wedge was still attached and walking on tiptoe on that foot. I don't think anyone noticed, except for the person who followed me back up the stairs from the toilet and who would have not been able to avoid seeing that one of my 'shoes' consisted of just a few straps attached to my feet.

So yes. The moral of this story is: you need to buy shoes more than once every ten years, or you will come unstuck. Literally.

We got an Uber home.

Midweek Musings: We're back

We are home from our lovely 'holiday'! We survived. Lots of people have read my last post and asked if it was as bad as I made out - everything I wrote in the post is true, but things did get a bit better! We had one day of lovely sun on the Thursday and so we went off to the beach for an hour in the afternoon, and Daph played with the pebbles (cue me being a helicopter mother convinced she'd choke on one of them) and stared at the sea and we had an ice cream and it was almost like a real holiday. We went for a few walks with Daph in the baby sling too - that was a great solution to our non-off-roading buggy, until we both got sciatica (she's a heavy little monster these days). Ah well.

We also went back to Totnes when the shops were open and I went a bit crazy buying things for Daph in Gazebo - which is the coolest shop ever (I've been going to Devon since I was a kid and it was my favourite shop back then too). We got loads of decorations for her first birthday - banners, cake decorations, napkins etc, all in Liberty print. They are SO lovely and I can't wait for her birthday now.

I also bought this cute 'letters to my baby' book (above) - which contains lots of empty envelopes with prompts on, such as 'What I want you to know about me is...' and 'My first impressions of you were...'. The idea is you write a letter to your baby in each envelope, seal it up and then specify a date on which they can read them. It's quite a sentimental idea, I know, but it really appealed to me. When I was a kid, I actually wrote letters to the future me (yes, I was a geek) and I loved opening them up and reading them as an adult - it was crazy how much my thoughts about things had changed over the years. You can find Letters to My Baby at Leafcutter Designs, along with a host of other amazing and cute things (the tooth fairy letters are so fab!).

But I am sorry if my post came across as massively negative as it was meant to be quite tongue in cheek really - I don't mind laughing at these kinds of situations, all of the bad luck kind of amused me in the end. Worse things happen at sea and all that. Our journey back was a lot better too as we stopped off twice to visit relatives which broke the journey up nicely for Daph. And now we're home, back in our claustrophobic flat and I've done eight loads of washing since we got back, and am now staring down the barrel of a lot of work. But hey ho.

In other news it's Oli's birthday this Saturday and so we are going out for dinner. In the evening. Alone. (Well, alone with each other, IYKWIM). My parents are kindly babysitting. It'll be the first time we've been out for dinner together since Chip was born. Isn't that a bit tragic? The thing is that my family don't live that near me, and trying to find a babysitter seems like an impossible task as I know no one in my local area really. Which is quite sad, but that's London for you. Anyway, I'm looking forward to it, and hoping we both manage to relax and not rush home the second we put our knives and forks down. We shall see!