Big M embarked on a trip this morning to spend the weekend on his brother’s stag ‘night’, leaving me with a thick and heavy cloud hanging over my head. Let’s called it the post-vacation blues.
We were counting the days to our first family vacation. Two weeks on the French Atlantic coast. Our first holiday since our honeymoon and our first ever holiday as a family. Our expectations weren’t disappointed, au contraire! Although, I noticed a few little differences to the style in which we took on les vacances before having little L.
After merely 12 hours drive, we arrived on Ile de Re. Ah, Fance, finally France! The food, the weather, the language and: the misunderstandings. I love it!
Don’t worry. It hasn’t hit us. I am just trying to come up with a sensible plan to keep it as far away from us as possible. And if that means I am going to sit on my 5 extra pounds for a little longer, so it shall be.
Little L has been three months today. Striking a balance under the past three months seems to be almost impossible, as life without her is close to unimaginable. Again, I am surprised by how true it is what everybody says: once your baby entered your life, life without her seems like a distant memory. And: it does get easier with time.
A completely average Wednesday morning, around 9:30AM. Rushing around my local Sainsbury’s with little L screaming, juggling piles of grocery shopping on the pushchair. Queuing at one of the few tills that hasn’t been turned into a ‘self-checkout’, I dare to look up and count annoyed co-shopper’s looks against encouraging fellow mummy-smiles.
Result: one cashier who looks like wanting to kill me, a drunken dosser who just about manages a smile, two annoyed grannies disapproving my parenting abilities, four silently smiling mums and six dads. SIX DADS? Now, what is going on here?
I have been tagged by Rachel Pattisson. Thank you, Rachel, I am honoured and more than happy to complete the task.
My sister has been over to visit for a few days. Not the time for calorie counting; rather for barbeques with buttered corn on the cob, juicy sirloin steaks and fresh baguette. Also, being an older sibling and thus a role model, I didn’t want to obsess about food and had the best excuse not […]
11 weeks into motherhood and of course, I am moaning about sleep deprivation, weepiness and weight gain. Sometimes I am not even sure if I would have embarked on this adventure, if I had known how much our lives would change. But then I look into those bright blue eyes and sink my nose into the creases on her neck and know: this is all I ever wanted. And more.
On the fitness front, I am more than proud of myself. Went to another class of mummy & me yoga. Joined the gym. Parked little L in the crèche for 60 minutes twice in one week. Didn’t start to cry when handing her over to the carers. And only once jumped hysterically out of the pool and ran dripping wet to soothe my allegedly mummy-missing baby after misinterpreting an announcement. To my defence: the speakers are rubbish, I had water in my ears and the girl behind the micro was chewing on a blanket, it seemed.