Thankful Thursday

 

I'm thankful for (in no particular order):

:: this little buzzy, whizzy bee arriving in plenty of time for a special boy's 1st birthday (eek)

:: my husband, my soulmate finally being allowed out of hospital

:: antibiotics that still work

:: healthcare that is still free and available to all in this country

:: a dear friend popping round unannounced this evening with half of bottle of scrummy red

:: my 2 boys being safe and sound in the land of nod this evening

For more things to be thankful for on a Thursday, check out miss buckle.

Passion...or obsession?

A little while ago, Spud at Chez Spud asked 'What is your passion?' and I've sorta been pondering about it ever since.


Where does passion end and obsession take over? Do you need to be a little bit obsessed to be passionate about something or does the act of becoming obsessed mean that your passion has taken over? (deep thoughts for a Tuesday night, I know).


Because I'm not sure if my passion is *just* a passion. I fear I may have strayed into obsession territory. Which I don't think is necessarily a bad thing, but I'm not sure I want to be totally obsessed by it. You see, my passion is breastfeeding.


Now, a large part of that passion is probably due to still being in the throes of breastfeeding a very avid breastfeeder. My 11 month old is very much a boob man. Refuses a bottle point blank and will only tolerate a cup of cows milk if I'm a good 12 miles away in London town.


So my life, at the moment, still revolves around breastfeeding. He feeds at least 3 times a night (making up for feeds he's missed while I'm at work) and whenever he can during the day. But the reason why I fear we've strayed into obsession territory is because I found myself having a tense discussion on twitter last night with a TV celebrity doctor (of all people) about poor breastfeeding advice that had been given on his show.


Now, I know that sounds like a weird way to spend your evening, but it just made me so cross. There are so many harmful myths out there about breastfeeding and often the media fail to check facts or consult an expert. Instead, the same old tripe is spouted about 'don't feel guilty', 'breastfeeding IS tough', 'it's not the end of the world if you give a bottle'. Well, frankly I'm sick of it. 

*rant alert: if you've made it this far, get out now while you still can!*


Yes, breastfeeding CAN be tough, for many many reasons. But telling women that it is tough before they've even given birth really isn't very constructive. It just sets them up to fail: so you give birth (which in itself is fraught with opportunities to 'fail' unless you 'achieve' a totally natural, drug-free birth at sunrise on an auspicious date), tensions are running high, you're probably exhausted and an emotional wreck and now you HAVE to get this tiny little naked (read slippery) baby, who probably isn't that hungry (myth: babies are born hungry) to open it's mouth and latch on to your nipple. Yes, your nipple.  A part of your body that is usually kept safely tucked away from the cold, cruel world. And now you must expose it to every passing midwife and her dog AND get your newborn baby to latch onto it. Yip. Piece of cake.


Now, the thing is. Sometimes it truly is a piece of cake. With my second baby it was*. I knew to just chill out. I knew to turn the harsh lights of the delivery room off. I knew about skin-to-skin. I knew The Politics of Breastfeeding inside out and I knew where to find expert help. 

So surely, instead of running around telling everyone not to feel guilty and it's too bloody hard for the average Jo to do anyway. Would our efforts not be better spent helping woman understand how to make breastfeeding easy?

Not having support, or knowing anyone who breastfeeding or where to find help when it's not going well makes breastfeeding tough (I'd never seen anyone breastfeed before having my boys). And bad advice just makes it 10 times, no, 100 times worse. It perpetuates the myth that exclusive breastfeeding is some perfect mothering nirvana that very few women are capable of achieving. It just makes me so sad. 


Women need to know that breastfeeding is normal. (not the dizzy heights of mothering perfection)


Women need to know where to find help if breastfeeding isn't going to plan.


They need to know what to expect when breastfeeding a newborn baby.


They need to know that breastfeeding babies tend to work on a strict schedule of "I'm hungry. Feed me now" that often has no discernible pattern in terms of hours or minutes.


They don't need to be judged. Or patronised. Or placated. Or told breastfeeding is tough. Or made to feel guilty.


Now, if anyone is still reading, can you please pass me a ladder so I can get down off this bloody soapbox? I'm getting vertigo.

Now that's multitasking!

So. Passion or obsession? It's a close call I reckon. A close call.


*at first it was easy, then it all went tits up (boom boom), then we sorted it out and are still at it. Just wanted to clarify that. But that sorry tale is a whole other post.

At the tailend of the weekend...

I'm mostly pondering

:: why, yet again, I didn't get over to the allotment. Those poor, poor plants.

:: the pile of ironed laundry that has yet to make it's way to the correct wardrobes and drawers. Heck, at least it's ironed.

:: whether it will be as hot tomorrow as it was today

:: what shall I wear tomorrow?

:: if I'm still blogging will I want to go to Cybermummy12 next year?

:: the use of the word mummy in cybermummy makes me evah so slightly uneasy - why do we have to be defined as 'mummy bloggers' just because we have offspring and also happen to write crap on t'internet.

:: maybe I'm being a tad oversensitive about the whole mummy blogger thing - I've just spent 2 months trying to prove to myself all and sundry that giving birth for a 2nd time did not cause my brain to melt

:: am I a mummy blogger? Do I want to be a mummy blogger?

:: have I ordered enough groceries in our weekly grocery delivery? Think I may have fogotten creme fraiche. bugger.

:: will this week be the week that my husband (formerly, currently and forever known as A Keeper) comes home from hospital?

:: will I ever manage to reach level 3 of The 30 Day Shred?

Silent Sunday

I love London town because...

 

:: I get to people watch on Carnaby Street 4 days a week

:: I can walk past the Royal Academy of Arts on my way to work and catch glimpses of cool outdoor sculptures

:: I can window shop on Regent Street on my lunch hour

:: I can meander past Buckingham Palace and catch glimpses of princes and princesses (way too much disney in my life)

:: I can dream wonderful dreams while feasting my eyes on the delights of Liberty's

:: My commute to work means I get 2 x 20 mins on the train. On my own. To read. Quietly. In my head. My OWN book.

:: Starbucks

:: Patisserie Valerie

:: Fortnum & Mason for indulgent breakfasts with my dad whenever he's in town

:: St James Park playpark - the 5 yo adores the giant sandpit

:: Routemaster buses

:: when one is tired of London...I can always escape to suburbia knowing that London town will still be there tomorrow when I'm a little less weary

The Gallery :: Rain? Who cares!

 

What a difference a day makes...

...24 little hours...

Phew. This time yesterday I could hardly keep my eyes open. I was convinced that if anyone said anything even remotely mean to me, I would burst into tears. Hell, if anyone had even been nice to me I would have burst into tears.

3 weeks of having husband in and out of hospital. 3 weeks of solo parenting. 3 weeks of worrying. 3 weeks of trying to do it all, be it all. Have it all. I nearly broke.

But last night, the 11 month old only woke up twice. A quick feed and he was back in the land of slumber. I've given up listening to the Sensible Mum voice in my head that tells me to not pull him into bed with me and snuggle up. She can shut the fuck up. She doesn't have to go to work and write coherent words and sentences. I do. And so last night we snuggled up. And slept. Ahhhhhhhhh.

Last night my grocery order arrived. So this morning I had fresh, real coffee. Aaaahhhh.

Last night I was organised and made all the packed lunches, emptied the dishwasher and hung up the wet washing to dry. So this morning there was a clean kitchen and an organised fridge. Aaaaah.

Last night I made myself a big bowl of super veggie pasta with a ton of spinach (popeye power!) and I chilled out.

Tonight...well, we'll see what happens tonight. But at least I know come tomorrow morning, I'll still have fresh coffee to wake up to.

Blue eyes

How could anyone deny those big blue eyes anything?

Hurrah!

You can't beat a bit of bunting

I've been debating for a couple of days about writing this post. I guess I didn't want to alienate anybody (assuming anyone bothers to read this post of course - they may not!). Weightloss, or rather my weightloss ishoos aren't exactly everyone's cup of chai.

But then I decided to write it anyway (well, duh...!). I'm a firm believer in 9 months on, 9 months off. But since my gorgeous little baby is now 10 11 months old (whaaaaaaaat?!) it's about time I did something about the extra baby weight I'm having to lug around.

Truth be told, I never really got round to losing the first lot of baby weight. Oops.

Trouble is, I adore food. I love cake and I'm utterly addicted to chocolate. Usually when I want to lose a bit of poundage I dust off my trainers and pound the pavement. But 2 boys that like to rise with the larks, an allotment and a job leaves me little time. But the time evening rolls around I'm either catching up on laundry, catching up with cleaning, catching up with shopping or catching up with my husband (geez I gotta sort my priorities out!). I know - excuses, excuses.

But a couple of months ago I noticed a lot of chat on twitter about ThinkingSlimmer. Podcasts that help you lose weight through the power of hypnosis. So I thought I'd give it a whirl. To be honest, my first attempt wasn't very succesful. I downloaded a podcast called 'drop 2 dress sizes' and away I went. I noticed quite a few changes - I made healthier choices at mealtimes, I walked more and I ate more fruit and veg. But I was still comfort eating big style. Chocolate was still my confident, my comforter and my celebration.

Not good.

So I dropped a couple of pounds but nothing spectacular. Nothing like what other people on twitter were reporting.

So I decided to give it another go. I downloaded the chocaholic podcast and started listening to it in combination with my 'drop 2 dress sizes' podcast. And this morning I had a bit of a breakthrough. It started raining about 10 minutes after I left home. Wearing flip flops. By the time I got to Regent Street I was wet, cold and feeling a wee bit sorry for myself. Now, normally this would warrant at least a latte and a chocolate croissant. But this morning, despite passing two chocolate croissant purchasing opportunities, I didn't bother. I thought about it. But then realised that no chocolate croissant, no matter how gorgeous and buttery and flakey, would dry my hair or warm my feet or change my fit flops into something more sensible.

This may sound trivial. Or even downright obvious. But to me, it was a bit of an epiphany. For the first time in a long time I didn't turn to food to make me feel better.

Maybe, just maybe, it's time to start losing that baby weight. Skinny here we come!

No excuses now...

I have a shiny new MacBook Pro. Not that I have the foggiest what to do with it of course. A very funny graphic designer friend of mine could use this machine to 'within an inch of it's life' or so he tells me. I'll be mostly surfing, emailing, pottering, shuffling music, checking out pinterest, messing around with the photobooth app and probably open garageband once just to check it works.

But what a lovely machine to do all that on. It might even inspire me to blog more

It's been a while...

A long old while in fact, since I last blogged. Looking back, I'm not sure what happened really. I lost my blogging mojo a bit, life got a little busier, then it got a lot busier, then I found I just didn't have anything left of myself by the time everyone else had a bit...

But tonight, I'm counting my blessings. After a pretty terrifying health scare and 6 days in hospital, my little family will be reunited tonight. We'll all sleep under the one roof. With our health and sanity intact.

And I even managed to put clean sheets on the bed. Bliss.