Moving along...

I hate cars. At what point did we think giving up the horse was a good idea?

Why is it on a roundabout the other drivers go out of their way not to signal, speed up as you enter and if they see a baby shade, 'baby on board' sign or anything remotely suggesting you are a driving mother that they can drive faster and more arrogantly? Wink at me all you want but if you drive like a prat I will follow suit like a road enraged nutter. Ahem,

driving fun aside though...

I feel like Lucy has been teething and dribbling since I met her, mostly because she has but as she approaches a year and a half there is pretty much a full set of chops there.

I can't help but wonder will she be a dentist?

A holiday equals a cold and there you go...

Every return from holiday equates to a cold, perhaps even flu in equal measure.

This year we have decided not to move to the land of cactus and tumbleweed. It would seem we are happier watching our money go down the Brown skid pan. But when that pan contains a significant amount of family and friends I think I can say it was a 'safe bet'. For now anyway...

In the meantime Lucy has a cold like no other (apart from the last one) and reminds us of how she can keep us awake for nights on end despite her hierarchy in the house being on the bottom rung.

Next to the dog and the cat and the goldfish Lucy is the top dawg - very closely followed by the houseowners...

I love being a parent to a toddler. You can feel clever, almost genius like without ever having to explain why or in the worst case senario - why not.

Parenthood...bring it on. I would smash Jeremy Kyle and his Chavchat.

Hitting 30 is easier than cleaning the floor...

I recently turned 30 which is older than 29 and in my book that is just OLD.

Nevertheless I drank like I was 21 for a number of days, partied, celebrated, commiserated and felt like I was 201 for the subsequent week.

However as my life continues so does motherhood. It does not take time out for hangovers and headaches, dry eyeballs, ringing in the ears, the munchies and cramp (the results of too much drink post 29).

I have real problems keeping the house clean and tidy. I can't walk 2 feet without tripping over some toy (or treasured possesion of MINE) that is covered in sticky residue, food and a lone bogey. I figure there is no point tidy things away as we will just have to repeat the 'destroy all things in the house' game the next day. A broken ankle is certainly on the cards.

Which reminds me I MUST clear away those 'tasty naked men' cards I got on holiday when I was 19. Lucy keeps pulling them out to play with and I don't want to damage her mind with Mr Hot Dog....

First Birthday

Lucy's first birthday was the wettest bank holiday on record. Is that possible? While I saw no signs of Noah or his Ark I must say I am impressed with the 'shower proof only' gazebo that was erected to house the party goers who stayed for 7 hours (more of an adult party although Lucy loved it) and the happy clapping baby who relished all the attention.

We even manged to BBQ for almost 30 people so never let the weather put you off. But perhaps let the clean up the next day put you off. Wet grass and mud clumps throughout the house is not great. Especially when you realise the clump is actually your dog.

The weather shows no signs of improving while this time last year I was sat in my hospital bed like a zombie in c-section pain with a fan quietly buzzing across me. My brand new baby had done her first crap and while the midwife was kind enough to check for it she was also kind enough not to change it. I don't relish giving birth again in an NHS hospital but even my most painful memories are content ones.

I am very lucky. If I wasn't me, I would wish I was...

Bottle of the House White

Picture it - I am dressed in a bright blue floaty skirt that makes my arse look like a trifle, white vest and hot pink hoody with silver flip flops. I am pushing my baby along at 6.30pm after convincing her she was not tired enough to sleep (which she was.)

The ultimate Chav mama.

Why? To the off-license I go. It was a beautiful evening. A drink was in order but how guilty can you feel hiking your baby into the offy when it is hot and muggy and past bedtime? I felt like a fool as I browsed the chilled wine section until a bloke pushing a baby in a pushchair strolled in 30 seconds later. Can we do this? Is it OK? It sure is. We chose, we paid and we left. Both babies were happy as Larry to be in the air conditioned off license. Potential play group venue I say.

OK. Maybe not. But sometimes it is OK to still be an adult and not just a parent.

And who was Larry that he was so Happy? Great guy.

Lost Baby Madeleine

I have deleted the Madeleine post because there is a website set up now with far more information. Keep looking and pray/hope for her safe return.

Goodbyes and Goldfish

Blair announced his Adios today. I remember when I found out he came into power I was slurping on a big bowl of cereal with a mega headache due to a hangover after a night at the student union. Did I really care? Nope. The D-ream song echoed in my ear from the night before anyway. A decade later as he announces he is leaving I am slurping on a similar bowl of cereal, still not caring and still have a headache but this time it is because a baby is screaming in my ear. And not because she is unhappy. Just because she has learned how to scream and likes it.

My brain hurts...

The reality is once you have a family whatever happens outside your bubble is just not as important as it once was. Although - perhaps what should have once been important never was for me so the lesson is lost.

Certain things really do get me though - the Important stuff - a missing child in Portugal, terrifying, the thought of it being my child creates waves of unspeakable fear. The Daily Mail reader stuff - a bin collection ONCE every two weeks? I recycle where I can to free up room in my bin for the dog crap, dirty nappies and kitty litter that fills it in seconds. The thought of it all sitting there for 2 weeks as I pass breathing in a mouthful of flies is not a pleasant one. The Home Owner stuff - slugs, slugs and more slugs destroying my expensive attempts at an instant garden by eating my ready bought beautiful, expensive flowers. A tip - slugs don't like Busy Lizzies or Gardenias or women named Kate squashing them like a madwoman.

To counter balance all this madness in my life I purchased a BiOrb. I have added one fish so far - my daughter named him Eeeeeeee. So E he is. I also have a rather fancy LED light for it that goes from daylight to sunset to moonlight to sunrise. I just don't have time to watch all those experiences...

...but I am sure the fish really appreciates the finer qualities of LED lighting.

Monday's child is fair of face...

I almost moved blogs. This blog was complicated to administer.

OK.

I forgot my password and was slightly alarmed when I tried to retrieve it the email had been sent to my AOL account. I don't have an AOL account...At least I don't think I do. Heck I may just have another blog aside this one in a crazy youthful type move anyway. If youre lucky you may find out what it is.

Anywho to pick up where I left off...

I have a baby. Almost not a baby anymore. Nearly a year old. I don't know where the hell endless bottle feeds and nappy changes went but they are gone. Having said that, I could just have a hungry and damp baby...

I am still tired. Always tired. I can't imagine Lucy getting up after 6 even when she is 18. She is that kind of person. A morning person. Is she really mine?

There was a programme on the BBC about the state of maternity care in the UK at the moment and it basically made me cry. I thought I had a bad time but the reality is I was lucky and so was my baby. I am sure a majority of the time all is fine but for that seemingly growing minority where things have just not been up to scratch my heart goes out. Despite my experience I had a healthy beautiful baby. To imagine otherwise is painful beyond words and to see it in Panorama is depressing.

On the up side, Lucy has been entered into the Baby of the Year competition for Essex along with 987 million other little folk. I am confident we can jig the results so she wins given all the family and friends that are potential voters. I must point out that I am not a pushy mother though. No way.

She can crawl and wiggle about now. She cannot sit still for more than 1 second. Even when I am changing her nappy.

Those cream carpets were a mistake.

Barry Scott and Cillit Bang why can't you do carpet stuff,eh?

Mama

Lucy can say Mama. Or more specifically - "Ma", "Ma...ma" or "Ma-mo". Which is marvellous as she says it all the time to me - and the dog, the cat, her Dad, the lady at Sainsbury's, the pushchair and the recycle bin.

She actually has great conversations with me and Daddad but I have no idea what she is saying although I pretend she is like Elvis telling me what he has been up to since death. She talks to Mr Spoon on Button Moon too. She talks to the TV...

Hurry up nice weather.

So you think you know who you are...

Who am I? This is a question Lucy should be asking herself as she turns...oh...9 months old....

I can't give her US status because I never lived there past the age of 14, but her Grandma can. However, in order for her Grandma to give her nationality Lucy has to be in the country and in order to do that she has to have an immigrant visa anyway.

Entering the USA as a spouse or baby of moi is not easy, despite the squeeky clean beauty of our family. Nevertheless, it is reassuring to know that unless you have an IQ of 912 you can't fill in the forms anyway. So the only hurdles between Lucy and a new swimming pool / yearly warm weather, a red, white and blue life are - a job, many cati, parents, grandparents and an exchange rate.

If the great Saddle-Up West fails we will be heading North West.

Cheadle Hume mount yer horse....

Button Moon and A Loon

Button Moon is a great children's tv show from the 70s/80s where every episode we're off to Button Moon to follow Mr Spoon....and see what craziness lurks through the telescope. Lucy loves it. Of course I don't advise sitting your children in front of TV all day unless you need a break/ a wee /to clean /cook / brush the dog/ change the kitty litter and whatever else cannot be achieved with a screeching baby in tow.

She watches it almost everyday as I believe it fits the formula - pre-toddler babies need shows with one narrator and basic shapes and images. Most cartoons etc are too busy. Puppets really catch the eye. Okay - I believe this mainly because I read it somewhere but also because Lucy seems to agree.

In between this Button Moon tv madness the phone rings. It is the crazy model agency that 'took Lucy off their books' after I said Hammersmith for £18 was not possible...

"Is Lucy available for a casting tomorrow?"

"Well she is, but the last time you phoned you were incredibly rude when I explained I couldn't get to Hammersmith and told me you were taking Lucy off your books, so please make sure you do and don't call again." I heard her take a breath and I hung up the phone.

The rush, the power of payback, the karma of it all led me to phone my husband.

"You WON'T believe who just phoned." I told him what happened and what a dude I had been.

"Oh" was his reply.

Godparents

How often are Godparents supposed to see their Godchildren? Once a year, once a week, once a decade? I guess it depends how close you live. So I wonder why the Godparents that live furthest away see Lucy the most, while the one closest came to the Christening and that is about it...

Right then! I am moving 7000 miles away to a warmer climate at the end of the year. Then Lucy will see everyone at least once a year...

I am turning 30 in a few months and as I reflect like an OAP - my one piece of advice for having a child would be...

...don't let it change the essence of you.

My one piece of advice for getting married would be...

...don't let it change the essence of you.

As for getting older....use moisturiser. That's all you need.

Teeth

Whoever invented teeth should have just LET THEM APPEAR GRACEFULLY. And - if need be - disappear just as gracefully... whether youre 8 months or 80 years old teeth are not friends - they are foe.

Lucy never sleeps because great big giant white bastards are beating through her gums on a daily basis. But they don't just appear, they crawl in slowly, pushing strands of gum out, bleeding, tearing and generally looking awful. Nevertheless, despite the pain and agony in my child's mouth she can muster the energy to scream and cry like a Mogwli as water falls past midnight...

The truth is, nothing works like a bottle of milk even if it is about 200 oz a day over what she should consume and she is developing a belly like a darts player.

I have had enough. The travel cot has gone up in our room and no more musical beds. If she screams in the night, she will be an arms length away not a dog, a cat, a baby gym, some discarded dirty clothes, a couple of hangers and hoover away.

Well alrighty then...

Just as I am explaining to the modelling agency who have given me a days notice that there is no way I can get Lucy to Hammersmith as much as it sounds great (ahem...) the woman on the other end of the phone turns. Like milk gone off she curdles and I can hear her turn a shade of puce...

"WHERE DO YOU LIVE?! (shouldn't she know this?)...you do realise that these assignments are all in London?"

"Yes thanks...the last two were easy enough to get to but I don't know how I can get an 8 month old on the tube from Liverpool St to Hammersmith without recreating the tunnels to allow for ample lifts and extra toilets." 30 seconds goes by with heavy breathing and no helpful reply (like - I see your point, we will send a limo).

"Right then!" the shockingly rude bitch says "I will take her off our books!"

" Please do. For the 2p an hour she gets she would do better as a Chinese factory worker..."

I didn't actually say that last line but HONESTLY. I was totally shocked by how rude the booker had been. She had obviously had a bad day convincing mums to travel to Hammersmith. And before caling me she must have had a look in the mirror...

...before it slapped her.