Only a few months ago, I felt completely housebound. It seemed I would never again make a trip into town, as little L would start crying in her highest pitched voice, as soon as a stranger would come too close. Which happened about every 5 minutes. Add to that the fact that I never mastered […]
When we bought our current home, we have been DINKOS – double income no kids. We were looking for a property t in walking distance of the tube, with plenty of shops and bars and restaurants to choose from. The cab trip home from a night out in West London shouldn’t be more than £ 15, and the communal garden at the back seemed to be inviting and lively, with the neighbours having garden parties and kids running around during long summer nights.
Thanks to Liz at Violet Posy, not only did I make it in time to the Gap to admire Stella McCartney’s cooperation with the high street brand, I even hunted down one of the one-piece sweaters for little L.
Yes, she is seven months already. And I know that some parents manage to finish the nursery six months before the baby is born. But as you might have realised already, I am not the first in line when it comes to accomplishing household related tasks. Hoovering the floor? Tackling the laundry pile? Painting the hallway? I’d rather flip through the pages of my Grazia, thank you very much. Especially when I have to start off with this:
Since becoming a mother, my days have been filled with much more housewife stuff than they used to be. In my childless, naïve and slightly illusive mind, I had envisioned channelling all my energy into looking after the baby, the husband and our home, once I had left that high-profile but mundane city job behind me. Our spotlessly clean house would smell of freshly baked bread, baby food would be cooked by myself and every night there would be a healthy and delicious dinner awaiting Big M when he’d come home. HAHA.
In the six months since little L’s birth, I have barely been separated from my precious baby girl. There have been about ten evenings where I nipped out for an hour or two, leaving Big M behind to keep a close eye on the baby monitor. An easy task, as little L usually doesn’t wake until the wee hours, once mummy has tucked her in and kissed her good night. Then there have been about six times she spent an hour in the gym crèche, guarded by the lovely Jane and her staff. But all of a sudden, little L decided not to like staying there anymore, and Met Mum had to be called to her rescue via the intercom. So there it went, my tiny bit of me-time.
It’s official now. The leaves are falling, temperatures barely climb over the 20C mark and scarves, gloves and hats are back on the menu. It’s autumn! One thing that really cheered me up recently is… gardening. Maybe it’s because I am a mum now, that I find these things appealing. The whole philosophy of the circle of life, the old making space for the new, the deep connection between life and death. Or maybe I am just getting old.
In a recent comment-conversation, the lovely Rose said: ‘Oh I envy little L, I imagine she has a great wardrobe of clothes!’ I had to think about this, because a) yes, she does (thanks to her generous grandma, little L is sporting Ugg Boots, pink Ralph Lauren corduroys and a white Petit Bateau hooded jacket in the picture above) and b) I envy her myself, because she’s better dressed than me. Realising this kind of hurt, but it’s the truth and it’s time to face it: I am a slummy mummy.
Little L is having her first ever cold. And ever so generous, she passed it on to me. Not without mummy pride I realised that we managed to get pretty far without the slightest sign of a sniff. Can you believe that she’s five and a half months already?
My feet are once again walking on British soil. I am still feeling a bit seasick from the jet leg, and little L not wanting to settle back in doesn’t help. On top of it, I brought home a nasty could, thanks to the Americans’ OTT love for air conditioning. Yes, it’s hot out there, but do you have to cool down every room to minus 10 degrees Celsius?