So here’s the thing, it is almost six months since I gave birth to my daughter and it is glaringly obvious that she is ready to be weaned. ‘Glaring’ being the operative word because that is precisely what she is doing. I eat cake, a morsel of chocolate and am treated to a salivating drooling baby, wide-eyed with wonder whose interest is peaked beyond plain curiosity. She stares at me whilst I eat as though I have just deprived her of her favourite toy. ‘Ravenous’ springs to mind, even after consuming a litre of milk.
Thus in preparation for the first meal I consulted Google and having prepped myself with the appropriate literature, decided after little deliberation that my daughters diet would ostensibly, be healthier than my own. Cakes, pastries, crisps and the like will be off the menu for a good few years. Fruit, nuts (well not yet obviously) grains, vegetables and so on will be premium choice in order to coax and nudge her into the healthy baby/toddler I envisage. Well that was the plan and in order to co-ordinate said plan I read a few helpful parent-manuals and glossily photographed blogs before embarking on my menu.
One blog stood out with lots of recipes, advice and information regarding the virtues of homemade baby food. ‘Avoid shop bought’ where possible warned a particularly floaty looking eco-warrior type mother, whose hippy persona was sealed with the wood hut photograph dreadlocked hair and opened toed sandals she displayed in her photographs. She caught my attention from the off, I am not overly floaty myself I don’t live in the countryside, keep chickens, breed cattle and bake my own bread much as I sometimes dream of doing so, subconsciously spurred on no doubt by the happy couples on ‘escape to the country’ who wander hand in hand between thatched cottages to ‘outhouse’ conservatories in search of their dream home. Continue reading
Two days ago I met a friend for lunch and as I rushed back from the toilets to the store café where we had arranged our little tete a tete an old lady in large glasses and wide brimmed hat shuffled towards me,
‘Love’ she whispered pointing to my behind, ‘you’ve got your knickers stuck in your tights’
I flushed red and it wasn’t from running ‘Thank you’ I mumbled distractedly unhitching my skirt and walking head erect, dignity intact into the café, thankful for the kindness of a stranger and her private mission to save me from the inevitable embarrassment I would have been subjected to, had I queued for coffee and croissant with one nylon clad thigh and more than an inch of buttock exposed to the public. Continue reading
I think prams/strollers are rather like cars, income and status is often denoted by the frame/body work. Driving a Ferrari or Mercedes puts you in the big league people stop and admire the exterior irrespective of the passenger or driver. It is the same with prams and strollers. It is not so important who is riding inside even if the baby is super cute, all babies are cute aren’t they? what is important is the year, make and model.
My current pram is neither state of the art Hi tech nor end of the line wholesale, it is smart practical and gets my daughter from A to B. We live in an age however where glamour and status is everything. Owning a car that is one up from a skoda is just not what one wants to be seen driving when out on the road mingling with the traffic. The same can be assumed for the designer pram club of which there are apparently numerous members. Continue reading