Domestic Goddesque » infanticipating

Out of Office Excuse

Domestic Goddesque — Fri, 19 Feb 2010 14:15:00 +0000

Annabel Violet Grace

born 7:10pm, 17th February 2010

8lbs and the image of her doting Daddy.

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Monday Madness

Domestic Goddesque — Mon, 18 Jan 2010 20:50:00 +0000

Picture credit

My life is no longer my own. Evidence:

1. I have a To Do list a page and a half long. My brain has turned to mush so if I don’t write it down, it’s forgotten in a breath.

2. I know I have feet and toes. I just can’t see them. I can’t remember the last time I had a pedicure, because it’s been so long since I’ve been able to get up on the beautician’s couch.

3. You can no longer find my belly button: my tummy looks like a giant boob with a nipple. The scars from when I once had a belly-button piercing stand in a line with the aforesaid belly button. You could use them to practice playing the recorder on.

4. My sleep is controlled by someone else. I am often awakened by a party in my body at 3am which means that when I actually need to get up and get the PD dressed, I just want to go to sleep.

5. I no longer choose when to eat. If I eat when I want, I get indigestion and heartburn. If I eat when ‘told’ I get the same. Just not with the same ferocity.

I used to do my nails every week and get my hair cut every couple of months. I used to love high heels and spend stupid money on them. I used to keep my clothes dry cleaned. I used to go out to dinner with my husband and be witty and amusing, then dance the night away. I used to be a blonde, thin-ish wife who had opinions. As I write, I sit on a special cushion, because the fabulous cream sofa is too low for me to manage. My zimmer frame stands next to me. I am wearing tracksuit bottoms and a tatty wrap cardigan I bought three years ago,not to mention the surgical support belt. My extraordinary husband will listen to my complaints about pain, my exciting day wedged on the sofa, what my daughter has done (usually visible on my clothing) help me to get in my pjs and put me in bed, then he’ll do the laundry and the washing up and walk the dog. I know one day I’ll be that wife again. I hope he knows that too. But for now, I’m a Mamma.

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A 2009 retrospective

Domestic Goddesque — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 12:07:00 +0000

You get to Christmas and when people have stopped talking about presents and shopping and asking “are you ready?” they ask the classic rhetorical question: where did this year go? I wondered the same thing at 4am when I was lying awake being kicked by the Jumping Bean. I didn’t really get into blogging until late in the year, so figured I’d share 2009 with you:

January
The last blog. Barack takes office and I go back to work, leaving the Pocket Dictator at nursery one day a week. I miraculously remember to file my tax returns, miss my Maternity Allowance and wonder how I’ll pay off the credit card.

February
We get lots and lots of snow, celebrate Valentines’ Day and our wedding anniversary, and wonder what it would be like to have more children.

March
After two ear infections, the PD goes down with tonsillitis. It’s a long month.

April
The month of the Wisdom Teeth. The PILs come and stay whilst I have three of the teeth surgically extracted under General Anaesthetic. It’s not fun. Particularly as I developed an infection, had to take anti-biotics and had my food chopped up for four weeks!

May
A big month: the beginning of First Birthday Season for our NCt group. The first half of the month is spent planning the ‘big weekend’ for the Pocket Dictator. She has her First Birthday Party the Saturday before she turns one and her Christening the day after. The sun shines all weekend, which is good because she gets to show off her ‘purpose-built’ playhouse at the party for a couple of little friends and family and godparents. The weather is even more of a blessing the following day when we have 70 guests back to the house after the Christening. On the actual birthday I take a cake to nursery and we have cake for tea. And cake later that week at playgroup. By the end of the week we are all caked out.

June
I find out that we are expecting babydeux (aka jumping Bean) and am a bit too cryptic in breaking the news.
The PD finally starts walking independently (after months of handholding) and I march off to the shops to get her first pair of shoes.

July
The DG family take a well-earned break, not having had a proper holiday for a couple of years and we all jet off to sunny Jersey. The pocket dictator discovers handbags. Shoes and handbags- there’s no going back!!

August
The Sydney branch of the DG family come for a visit and we get to meet our nephew (and his mum) for the first time.

September
I rediscover blogging and share my big news. The SPD twinges that I’ve been feeling become permanent so I order a new walking stick and start persuading DH that we might need a nanny.

October
Postal strikes, Pumpkin Parties and a Hedgehog birthday Cake for the SFM.

November
The stress starts to get to me and my blogging suffers a little. DH and I get another year older, though excellent present-buying eases the pain. we put the finishing touches to the PD’s new bedroom and are still waiting for the bunk beds to arrive. The Mothership makes a flying visit, bringing many hand-crafted cardigans to keep her precious only grandchild warm through the winter.

December
The Girl starts work and is an instant hit, with me at least! We get down to the serious business of planning the PD’s social calendar, since I am incapable of making any of our London-based Festive Events. The snow and ice render me and my crutches housebound, which is good news for the DH and Houseguest since I spend much more time baking. Said baking goes down well at the PD’s Christmas party (although I fail to give out a single party bag) and suddenly, The Big Day is here. Needless to say I go down with tonsillitis a mere 48 hours beforehand and struggle to make it through the day, never mind force down the Houseguest’s carefully prepared Turkey. Thus the year fizzled out.

What 2010 will bring
I’m not a fan of the Resolution since I invariably find myself making unrealistic resolutions, not getting very far with them (because they are unrealistic) and then feeling like a failure for the rest of the year. I do have plans for this year, the first of which is to have a baby. The second of which is to have a baby; the first of which is to be ready to have a baby. nesting has kicked in in a major way. I’m on laundry pile 48, have ordered far too many nappies, repacked the hospital bag twice and am making DH and the Houseguest (who has yet to get what the rush is all about) do all the DIY things that have been bugging me since we moved in. In addition, I’d like to enjoy a proper family holiday, since last year’s was a big hit. And maybe, if there’s money left over, look at getting some build work done. More kids means we need more space.

Oh, and I really should get on to those Tax Returns.

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Surgical Support

Domestic Goddesque — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 17:40:00 +0000

Peggy at A Mother’s Secrets is compiling stories about pregnancy lows, so I thought I’d share mine:

I hated DH, who wasn’t DH at that point (by which I mean he wasn’t my husband rather than he wasn’t my darling) for making me learn to drive. I hated the lessons, though he found me an annoyingly nice teacher, hated the car he bought just so I could learn to drive, hated the driving he made me do every evening when he got home from work. I hated the test so much I remember nothing about it. I hated the shiny red car sitting on our driveway just daring me to go somewhere in it. I refused to drive if DH wasn’t in the car. Until I got pregnant, got SPD and had to drive everywhere; driving stopped me from going mad.

Pregnancy didn’t come as easily as you imagine it will when you spend your twenties praying for your period. But after over two years, one miscarriage and five cycles of Clomid, I had peed on 12 sticks and had 24 lines to show for it. DH and I floated on cloud nine planning and preparing, putting the house on the market and trying to pick the perfect name. I started getting this odd feeling in my pelvis, but just assumed that it was part of the expanding process, until it got a lot worse and I went to see the Doctor. Funnily enough the doctor turned out to be pregnant too, but that didn’t stop her poking me in places that shouldn’t be poked (unless you are Samantha in Sex and the City) until I cried, which admittedly didn’t take much. She gave me a diagnosis of Symphysis Pubis Disfunction and a referral to my local Physiotherapy Department. I thought it was pregnancy karma.

I had a sympathetic phsiotherapist; she had suffered with SPD through two of her pregnancies. Over the second half of my pregnancy I saw her regularly as my mobility became more and more restricted. I was measured for a Surgical Support Belt, one of many as I expanded. I was urged to get crutches but living in a house with lots of stairs and a small bouncy dog, that wasn’t really a practical option, so settled for a cane. I was monitored and measured and told what I could and couldn’t do. I did my best to stay positive and perky, because I was actually pregnant and we were so happy, but it got harder and harder to deal with. One day I found myself in tears trying to get up on the couch for my midwives’ appointment, and couldn’t stop crying once I’d started. Pain medication was prescribed, because I’d been chomping Paracetamol like they were Smarties, and the midwives started coming to the house for my appointments. From there on in, things got more and more difficult, until the God that is my husband started working from home so that he could help me do everything, from getting dressed and going to the loo (those wedding vows really mean something now!) to laundry and housekeeping. I had to take feather pillows everywhere because I couldn’t sit comfortably. Neither could I stand, or sleep comfortably, and not just because I was the size of the Goodyear Blimp. The women at my NCT group thought I was disabled; given that I showed up with stick, belt, painfully slow walk, two feather pillows and more pain meds than Gaviscon, you can understand why. I sobbed with joy (in much the same way as I did on the day I found out I was pregnant) when, after a considerable session with the Consultant in which I wailed and cried and begged in a pitiful fashion, they agreed to an early induction at 38 weeks and, joy of joys, gave me a zimmer frame and a private room. And a baby!

Babydeux has officially made it to 20 weeks today, and sadly this pregnancy is going the same way. There’s some irony that I, a person who thinks that running is for madmen and whose only exercise is going to the fridge for more Fruit and Nut, should have the flexibilty of a person who has spent years doing ballet and yoga. This so-called hyper-mobility seems to be the main reason for my SPD. I recently fell down the stairs and landed badly on my hips which, when combined with the general insane amount of activity involved in keeping up with the Pocket Dictator, means that my condition is degenerating far quicker than I had hoped. I have ordered a brand new walking stick, and outsourced the dog-walking to our house-guest. The PD has to nap in a newly-installed travel cot in the study whilst I nap on the sofa. I am driving everywhere again, and re-learning the closest places to park to entrances. I am even taking the bus so that I don’t have to walk up the hill to the centre of Bromley (an embarrassingly short distance). My working days are numbered. It’s disappointing and painful at this point, though not unbearable. More than anything it’s frustrating. I’m frustrated that it’s come on so much earlier and that the alternative therapies have not helped make it manageable for just a bit longer. I’m sad for the Pocket Dictator, who has had to learn to go upstairs by herself and that Mamma can’t always pick her up. Some days Mamma can’t even get her out of the cot. I’m annoyed with myself; my lack of mobility is limiting our ability to go out and do fun things together. Some days it’s all I can do not to cry. It’s going to be an awfully long 18 weeks for us all. But at the end of it we will have another beautiful baby, and all the trying and the miscarriages and the misery of painful pregnancies will be forgotten.

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A new development

Domestic Goddesque — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 10:39:00 +0000

IN truth there are several new developments, which is not really a surprise, given that I haven’t put metaphorical pen to paper since January.:

1. The new blog is taking a little longer than planned, but I’m still optimistic that it will be up and running soon. I will then do my best to get back on track with new recipes and thoughts and complaints about running the house.

2. Whilst I am doing all of the above, I shall be preparing a new bedroom for the arrival of Baby Deux, who is due at the end of February. I’m hoping the nesting instinct will kick in soner rather than later as I really need to get back to being an Aspiring Domestic Goddess.

3. As if keeping up with one blog isn’t hard enough, I have come up with a second. Feel free to take a peek and tell me what you think.

I’ll leave you to digest all that and will be back shortly.

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DG- the Next Generation…

Domestic Goddesque — Tue, 20 May 2008 10:29:00 +0000

Cecily Jean Olivia (CJ) born Sunday 18th May 2008 at 12:55pm, and weighing 7lbs 1oz and pretty damn perfect.

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Tea for one-and-eight-ninths

Domestic Goddesque — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 16:42:00 +0000

I have been a bit lax of late in the blogging department. Put it down to nesting and such- but now the nursery has been painted, decorated, furnished, curtained and dog-proofed. The Moses basket is stationed by my bed and the car seat is installed (so the dog gets used to it being there, you understand). I have sewn until my fingers bled, packed and repacked the hospital bag, spent hours filling in the forms for Maternity Allowance (a forty page document of which the first twenty pages are instructions on how to fill in the form…) and have officially gone on Maternity Leave. Of course this is all practical stuff that needs doing, but quite dull really.

The fun bit happened last weekend when I had my Baby Shower. It’s a very American thing that is beginning to take off here, although generally with a lot less (dare I say it) American enthusiasm. I have always had a thing for afternoon tea- such a great British tradition- despite the fact that I don’t drink tea, so when a friend offered to organise a baby shower, I told her that I would like to ‘do’ tea with friends. And so on the appointed day at the appointed time, I waddled past the doorman at Harrods to their terribly glamorous, if somewhat over-decorated, tea room Laduree. I sat bedecked in a floral garland and tiara and enjoyed hand-pressed apple juice and slowly ate my way through a host of candy-coloured goodies that were piled up on the tiered silver trays. The hot chocolate was literally that- hot molten chocolate that you needed to add hot milk to just to be able to sip. There was Champagne for the non-pregnant ladies, but to be honest, as I was knee deep in presents, I didn’t really notice! I had a lovely afternoon and came home literally weighed down with children’s books for our impending arrival
I confess though, that the tea wasn’t really all it could have been, a fact belied by the queue of people who patiently waited, often for more than an hour, for a table.

As I mentioned earlier, I have long adored the idea of an afternoon tea. This stems back to an afternoon when I was a Forces Brat and mum, the brothers and I participated in a fake-evacuation. To be honest, the whole day was bloody boring- there was so much hanging around on a day when we could easily have been by the pool or at the beach. But my abiding memory is of the tea that awaited us in the Sports Hall. Now I know that choux swans are actually more about looks than taste, but I had never seen a food more decadent and other-worldly. From the moment I saw them, I promised myself that one day, when I was all growed up, I would eat proper afternoon teas with proper scones and swans and be a lady. When I ended up in London, I came a few steps closer to the reality.

I now know the joy of afternoon teas. DH- who, at least 99% of the time is the most heavenly man a woman could ever hope to meet, organised afternoon tea at The Wolseley for my birthday. It was the most magical afternoon- the realisation of a childhood dream. The setting was exquisite; there are cathedral-like ceilings, twinkling lights, heavenly Art Deco surroundings that I could have just stared at all afternoon. Then I noticed that the white linen tablecloth was decked with silverware and china and sparkly glass, and a tiered tea tray stacked with dinky sandwiches, pastries, scones, enough to feed me until bedtime. I felt like a child at Christmas; I had to go to the bathroom to do a happy dance, and even they were fabulous.

DH has recently also brought me one step closer to being a lady- he gave me a Lady’s Card to his club. So when the mothership last descended I thought I would take her there as a birthday treat, for afternoon tea. The setting is somewhat different to The Wolseley- it’s calmer, quieter and more understated. But this is no bad thing when you are seven months pregnant and the size of a small elephant. Sadly the tea that I had built up turned out to be nothing more than toasted teacakes and a few digestive biscuits. It was both disappointing and embarrassing, and will mean a strongly worded letter to the secretary. Next time I think we’ll try somewhere else. The advantage of being a lady who lunches is that there are plenty of other places to ‘tea’ out. Even if I don’t take full advantage of the separate tea menu.

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Wide load

Domestic Goddesque — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 17:21:00 +0000

The mothership is expanding my readership in the little corner of Africa that she calls home. She is a very excited grolly(granny)-in-waiting and I think that the ex-pat community in Addis Ababa know more about my pregnancy than my friends do. They should have a face to put to the name (anyone who has a mother still displaying 10-year-old pictures of their kids in the sitting room where anyone can see them will understand this!)

With humble apologies to people who see me every day and people who couldn’t give a fig what I look like at 28 weeks…

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Wide load

Domestic Goddesque — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 17:21:00 +0000

With humble apologies to people who see me every day and people who couldn’t give a fig what I look like at 28 weeks…

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What’s in a name?

Domestic Goddesque — Wed, 05 Mar 2008 14:54:00 +0000

I naively assumed that once we found out what flavour baby we were having that it would stop all the questions….how wrong I was. The moment you tell people what you are having, they immediately ask what names you have chosen, then look almost outraged when you reply that the baby’s name will be a closely guarded secret until birth (as DH so rightly pointed out- there still needs to be an element of surprise!) As we are forward planners, we did in fact have the names before we had the baby. And there was a tense moment or two of wondering whether DH’s brother and girlfriend, who are a mere two weeks behind us in the race for first grandchild, would have chosen the same name [gasp!] Naturally I have no intention of spoiling the moment by revealing anything, but thought I might share with you a few of the names I have chosen merely to wind the people-who-press-me-on-the-issue up…

Girls
1. Echo-“what???” How amusing is that?
2. Liberty- added to our surname, would be very cool name for IT girl/rock band.
3. Charlene- after the infamous character in Neighbours
4. Pomegranate- read it in a book somewhere!
5. D’Lilah- particularly like P Diddy’s spelling of the old Tom Jones classic.
6. Chardonnay- as suggested by Mrs CPS who is very fond of a glass bottle or two.
7. Peony- floral names are in, apparently
8. Isla- her initials would be II…
9. Medea- seriously, given the background, why is that name in every names book?
10. Truly. As in Scrumptious. As in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang! Then I could sing the song all the time…

Boys
1. Deforest. There are no words.
2. Kevin. After KFed, who is bizarrely in the running for Parent of the Year…
3. Thermistocles- saw it on a Maltese statue and thought it would make a great name…
4. Elvis. A royal name!
5. Bailey. Did you ever watch Party of Five?
6. Harley- if I shouted this in our local park, I’d either get my son back, or one of a variety of Staffies. Either way I win.
7. Bromley- following on from Brooklyn and Chelsea.
8. Hannibal. No really, I’ve seen it happen.
9. Caractacus…or Cara-cata-catus as it was pronounced in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. I thought old-fashioned names were back in?
10. Dwaine. Suggested by DH brother, who lives in Oz.

WARNING, WARNING: LOOK AWAY NOW IF YOU DON’T WANT TO KNOW WHAT WE ARE HAVING. THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE. OFF YOU GO. I WON’T TELL YOU AGAIN.

Knowing what we are having has made things easier for several people in my life, not least for me because instead of referring to ‘the baby’ and ‘it’ and he/she’ I can now say her and xxx (the name). On the down side DH took one look at the first dress I bought and banned me from buying anything else that was pink. Fortunately the grannies (of which there are three) don’t have to follow the same rules- hurrah- and I am now the proud owner of 4 pink dresses and several in other colours, some with matching knickers, little pink tights, little pink hats and even a pair of Mary Jane’s. I have also been warned to expect many hand-knitted things, not least a pair of uber-cool Ugg boots, as the craftier ladies I know get busy with the two-ply. I do not knit, as a matter of principal. I do sew, however, and have been amassing a splendid collection of fabrics with which to make baby quilts and so on. I am also very skilled in the art of spending DH’s money, and have been spending the last few weeks getting the nursery ready. It’s a vision of red gingham and puppies and, were it not for the fact that I already had a reputation for falling off ladders before I became pregnant, would also have had the lyrics to “How much is that doggy in the window” artfully painted around the room.

The only issue I foresee is that the Wonder Hound has a fetish for tearing the eyes (not to mention any device that might cause a noise) from any stuffed animal that foolishly strays into her path, followed by a slow disembowelment until the carcass is left flat and empty, surrounded by fluff and stuffing, at the bottom of the stairs, and I feel obliged (after having called in the CSI team to investigate) to give the poor creature a decent burial. How do I make such things restricted access to WH?

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