Writing, Motherhood and why my blog isn'talking to me!

Me: Hi blog!

Blog: I'm not talking to you.

Me: I know I've been a bit lame.

Blog: A bit lame? It's been months.

Me: I've got something to show you.

Blog: Tell me it's not another baby snap. People have been talking, you know. They say your Instagram has been mummified.  

Me: I'm not sure that's the right use of the word.

Blog: BABYFIED!

Me: Not a word.

Blog: MOTHERSMOTHERED. BABYBURGLED.  

Me: I'll wait until you've calmed down.

Blog: OOH, LOOK AT ME AND MY BABY BABY BABY BABY BABY BABY.

Me: ....

Blog: You used to be a writer.

Me: I still am. In fact, that's what I wanted to share. I had a piece published in Pregnant Chicken!

Blog: But you know sod all about farm animals.

Me: It's a really sassy pregnancy magazine. My piece is called: Is Your Pregnancy App Making You Paranoid?

Blog: Is it?

Me: I'm not pregnant any more, but I talk about it in my Pregnancy Diaries book, remember

Blog: No.

Me: I've also been interviewed on the Common Sense Pregnancy Podcast. The interview is all about No-Fear Pregnancy. It was a great conversation with author, Jeanne Faulkner. She's based in Portland.

Blog: Is that where you've been all this time?

Me: Portland? Uh no. I've been looking after the baby.

Blog: HERE WE GO AGAIN! BABYBABYBABYBABYBABYBABY!

Me: I'm going to go now...

Blog: So, you just came here to show off?

Me: Uh, no, I just wanted, you know, to share writer stuff...

Blog: Whatever.

Me: We'll speak again soon.

Blog: Will we?

Me: You should buy my book!

Blog: You know what you should do...

Me: Shss, don't swear in front of the baby!


Sorry it's been so quiet around here  - I do update much more on my Facebook Author page! Thanks for reading! 

When baby laughs at your cooking...

My gourmand baby blew a raspberry at my homemade oat biscuits and swiped them onto the floor with a derisive laugh. She had a point, really. They weren't biscuits so much as oat flakes squidged hopefully into mashed banana. 

It summed up the day, really. One of those long drawn out ones, where you catch yourself staring into space and then saying, "right!" a lot, as if the word might rev up your inner motor if you said it enough times. 

Right, baby. Right, baby. I love you, baby. Even if you laugh at my culinary efforts, I love you. At least you are partial to my homemade milk. Now, good night baby. 

It seemed as if the challenging day was to end wrist-deep in pee, with the ritualistic rinsing nappies in baby's bathwater. But then, there was a knock on the door. 

There stood my neighbour, with a plate of food in her hands, a halo glowing around her head. "Room service?" she said, grinning. And just like that, the day didn't seem so bad, after all.

A relaxed approach to weaning your baby

"What are you having for lunch, Sol?"
"Same as you, mummy.
"Correct answer, baby girl!"

That's how we roll in our house. Okay, so I'll lace my Bolognese with chipotle chili, but other than that, it's the same fresh ingredients. I'm so glad I read Gill Rapley baby led weaning book (thanks Rachel for the tip!).

'Fun before one is the motto!' removing any pressure to get food into her in the first year.  As long as she's drinking her milk, she's going to be just fine. The few times I've googled baby weaning, I've narrowly missed suffocating under an avalanche of anxieties.

Do parents need to be having such a tough time? One woman reported that a nurse had told her that, rather than breastfeed her hungry and crying 8 months old first thing in the morning, she should hurriedly get up and prepare her cereal instead. Why? It doesn't sound logical. Just breastfeed the baby and have a solid breakfast later.

Did the nurse just feel she needed to give some advice for the sake of it? Or was it a bit like when a stranger asks for directions and you kind of know so decide to have a stab at it?

These weaning 'rules' are flexible. We should trust ourselves more and trust our babies. I started with sticks of steamed vegetables to suck and she soon started grabbing at everything that was put before her. She lunges for chicken, I give her chicken. She lunges for my biro, I say no biro. It's common sense.

So, your baby prefers purees, then give them purees. The point is you've got to do what's best for both of you. The point is you can't believe one set of ideas fits all.

Cada bebé es un mundo, they say here in Spain. Every baby is a whole world. I hate the thought of stressed parents desperately aeroplaning mash into their 4 or 6 or 8 month old babies, and worrying themselves silly when they don't swallow it, and thinking that they must be starving. They're not starving if they're drinking their milk, plus they've got a tiny stomach and know when they've had enough.

I'm not a pediatrician, and maybe I'm just adding another opinion that the world doesn't need; but if my positive experience helps one mother relax, I'm happy. I can't recommend Gill Rapley's book enough.

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It was inevitable that I was going to start writing about motherhood, wasn't it?! My latest non-fiction book, The Pregnancy Diaries, will be out this Spring. 

I also write fiction... if you haven't already, check out my latest novel The Hen Party! 

Mamma mia! Are you letting yourself go?

I will not let myself go! I told myself, when I got pregnant. I'd see ragged mums in stained jumpers and think, Seriously, how long does it take to put on a bit of make-up?

It's not the putting on though, I've since discovered. It's the taking off. Who has time for that? Foundation I'm fine to leave on until the next rushed shower. But mascara?... eyeliner? There have been nights when I've heard my baby call, and have been unable to locate her, too blinded by the congealed mascara gluing my eyelids together.

I say 'call', not cry, because at 7 months baby Sol can already say MAMMMMMM-A. That's how she says it; like an exuberant Italian. 

Mammmmm-ma!  Why are you taking so bloody long-a?

Sorry bambina, it's my maledetto mascara!

As for stained jumpers? I remember in the first weeks I'd change my top at the slightest proximity of milky dribble. Now I'll rub it in and consider myself good to go. All the shoulders of my jumpers whiff and under a forensic's lights the sleeve of my dressing gown would doubtless glow like a Vegas hotel.

I've also been wearing the same clothes for 7 months, because I only wear breastfeeding-friendly outfits. Basically 98% of my wardrobe is on holiday, leaving four spaghetti straps with clever clips to do all the work. Spaghetti straps in winter? Oh, yes. Motherhood has made me square up to the cold, boobs exposed, eyes narrowed: Bring it, bitch! Is that all you got? 

Funny. I used to be such a shivering wuss.

Anyway, enough is enough, it's time to get myself on track. Look good, feel good, right? Which is why I'm going to get a haircut today... or tomorrow...well, at some point this year. Letting myself go? Never. 

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Hello lovely reader, you may as well succumb to buying The Hen Party, because it's my best novel so far, and novel number 5 has still a lot of cooking to do! Thank you!