A long winded simile for weaning

I tell you, this whole feeding your offspring thing is a tricky business. It's like every day you make someone a heartfelt homemade card telling them how much you love them and care about them. Some days the person is like, awww, for realz? This is for me? You are the kindest person ever! And you know what, I wasn't sure I was, you know, there yet in this relationship, but if I'm honest, I love you too. Deeply Truly.

And so you feel wonderful - having your beautiful handmade card received so well, to have your feelings reciprocated. And then the next day? When you give them another handmade card declaring your love? They look at it and say, um yeah, not trying to be awkward or anything, cause it looks like you went to a lot of trouble and all, but this is just too much, and uh, not in a good way, ya know?. So I'm just going to go ahead and give this card back to you and we'll just pretend this little encounter never even happened ok?

Eat ma damn food bebe!

Huiteme mois avec mademoiselle Eloise

Eloise -

There’s a big part of me that doesn’t want to write you this letter.* I am having a really hard time accepting the fact that you are now 8 months old. Which I’m sure sounds ridiculous to you at the age you are now, reading this, but here you are 8 months old and you already seem too grown-up for my liking (which may just help you to understand why I still won’t let you get your ears pierced).

You are learning quicker than I can keep track of, which is amazing and exciting to witness (you sit, you wave, you flirt, you joke) but this is slightly bittersweet because a lot of what you are learning is no longer to my credit, but to the fabulous nursery school you attend. Every time I pick you up from there you’re one step closer to the little girl you will become.

Gone are the early days when I would collect you and you would look like you had been to battle – red-rimmed eyes, small, sad face, covered in food you refused to eat. Instead when I go get you you are smiling and excited. Well, you’re still covered in food, but that’s just because you insist on feeding yourself.

You greet me with a face that says "Awesome! Mom’s stopped by to watch me play with my new friends” instead of “Thank GOD Mama has come to rescue me”. At nursery you’ve discovered the joy of being pushed in a swing, finger painting, eating chocolate ice cream. They all love you there – love making you smile. They tell me all the time how beautiful and happy you are – when you’re not startled or overly tired, that is, otherwise you scream loud enough for the pre-schoolers to hear you on the top floor. I suppose I only have myself to blame for the fact that when you’re miserable you make sure every one knows it. Like mother like daughter.

You’re finally able to sit and it looks like it won’t be long until you can get into that sitting position on your own. I love watching you do these little ab work outs trying sit on your own. Notice I said watching and not joining in. Yeah – Mama don’t do sit-ups. Go see your Aunt Claire if you want crunch tips.

I am often blown away by how much I love you. Your laugh, your smile, the little look you get when you’re concentrating really hard or that adorable pout and sharp stare you get when you’re frustrated – which makes me feel like I’m looking in a baby mirror – all these looks make my heart sing. I had you sitting in your little activity centre ma-bob today. This activity thing has so much to keep you occupied - a disco ball, a turntable, this 40’s style mic that encourages you to ‘sing it baby' and the coolest version of the ABC’s I have ever heard. And despite all this song, dance, and flash surrounding you, vying for your attention, your eyes were on me, waiting for me to look at you, to sing with you, to laugh with you.

And oh when I did. Your little face could not get any more joyous if it tried – you looked as if you could quite literally burst with excitement. Arms and legs flailing. Babbling so loud and fast you’re practically choking on your baby gurgles. And then it hit me.

I’ve been so focused on and in awe of how much I love you that I almost didn’t realize just how much you love me.

Je t'aime.

Maman

We all know you're really the boss of the stuffed animals. Mickey is totally cheating with that stupid hat.

*Which explains why this is two days late. Well the fact that you're still not sleeping through the night doesn't help.

More show than tell.

Eloise hasn't been sleeping very well lately. Which means I haven't been sleeping well lately. Which means my brain is foggy and slow. So instead of attempting to write about our day yesterday, I'm just going to show you instead.

Mothering Sunday

Happy Mother's Day to all the Slummy and Yummy British Mummies!!

Hope your day is filled with heart felt cards and clumsy art work made by little loving hands.

Sleep deprived mommy moment of the day....

After putting Eloise to bed I went downstairs and helped The Frenchman clean up the kitchen from the wake of Eloise's foray into finger food. After wiping down her high chair and throwing away half gummed chunks of lamb and fruit I went to wrap up half of the papaya that I had cut up for her earlier.

I pulled a sheet of cling film, carefully wrapped the papaya in it, making sure that no air could get through to keep it fresh. And then? And then I dropped the fruit in the garbage can.

Obviously my plan was to put it in the fridge - though wrapping every piece of trash in cling film before you throw it away would certainly make the garbage smell less.

Yeah - no doubt about it - 7+ months of interrupted sleep is taking its toll.

Days like these

There are some days when she is restless. When she seems unhappy with her lot in life and I cannot figure out what she needs to smile again. Days I get the feeling she wishes she wasn't a baby anymore. Not today.

She happily went into her carrier. She tilted her head and smiled at the old woman cooing at her on the bus. She enjoyed her signing class (although I can't say she payed much attention to the teacher) and on our walk back home she took in the world around her and every once in a while would lock eyes with mine and give me the sweetest Oh! You're still here! YES! Smile and then carry on taking in the sights.

We came home, and after lunch of chicken and leeks, dried fruit and green beans we took a nap together in my bed, her fuzzy head resting just under my chin. She woke up and started pushing her little hands on the small of my back. Then we hid under the blankets, me pretending to gobble her up, she laughing.

She resisted her afternoon nap (when I usually do some housework and spend my one hour of "me" time a day watching my t.v. show). So instead I set up the play mat, scattered some toys on the ground and sat down with her - putting the t.v. on in the background. I was quickly distracted from the quick quips of the Gilmore Girls by Eloise laughing at her teddy bear dancing and singing. So I continued to make her bear dance and sing just to hear her sweet giggle, until she rubbed her eyes and I took her upstairs to get in a quick nap before dinner.

Some days being her mother is the easiest job with the biggest rewards.

My left boob

I can always tell when a new exercise or diet regime is working because my left breast looses weight before any other part of my body. The right one will eventually catch up, – right boob is a little lazy. This of course isn’t the greatest incentive for trying to lose weight. Avoided cake and huffed and puffed till your face was red on the treadmill? How bout I shrink half of your best assets as a reward.

So combine a left boob that is always itching to get back to it’s C cup and a baby that has an unexplained preference for nursing from the right boob and we got ourselves a one-way ticket to lopside city.

I had been warned from other mothers about what the dreaded nursing boob preference could do, but I thought, really – how much damage can a little baby do. Yeah, I can see you shaking your head from here.

When she was younger she would scream and writhe when I offered her my left breast. When I had the patience I could wait through this period and get her to eventually accept it. But my patience was more often used up with changing her outfit for the third time that day after yet another butt explosion, or wiping up another dollop of baby spew from the bedroom floor. So I would cave in and just move her to the right breast and call it a day.

Now she has no preference, can swap between boobs without batting an eye, but the damage has been done.

I gave her my heart and she took my boobs. Not only do they no longer match, but they’re also a deflated shadow of their former selves.

So my advice to any childless women out there – go have fun, kinky (protected!) sex and in the morning strut around his place in nothing but his oversized t-shirt and a smile while your body is still in a state to make that look sexy. Take a moment to drink in your fabulousness – because once you have a kid your body is theirs.

These days I put on the Frenchman’s shirt and I just look like Meatloaf prancing around without his pants on.

Just cute enough to make my sad boobs worth it. But only just.