So where *do* babies come from ?

A holiday might help ?

I've learned a lot of new terminology since becoming a parent. My least favourite right now is secondary infertility which sounds rotten however you look at it. I do, of course, appreciate that having my beloved son is a wonderful gift and am very grateful that we have him in our lives. I guess I just hoped that when we tried to have another baby it wouldn't be quite as fraught as the first time, nor take as long. So imagine how much fun it is to find out that we aren't in the subset that fall pregnant again really easily the second time. Instead we're finding it's startlingly similar to how it was the first time. This time with added guilt as craving another baby makes me feel I'm devaluing my son in some way. I also realise that it's nothing like it was when we genuinely believed that we wouldn't be able to have a child at all. For anyone who is in that situation what I'm struggling with right now must seem a bit 'princessy.'

In the first instance we were able to dodge enquiries about babymaking with the usual 'we want to spend some time just the two of us before we start a family.' or 'I'm concentrating on my career right now.' After a few years had passed though I was reduced to a terse 'we can't have children' in response to any polite enquiry from a stranger who didn't really need to know the details of my life.

The enquiries from family were more difficult. Telling my own Mother that it wasn't about not having enough money for IVF, we'd genuinely prefer to adopt was a repetitive conversation that only really ended when we did in fact find out we were expecting a baby. Whether this can be attributed to a miracle or tenacity I still don't know.

Of course now the questions are, 'will you have any more ?' or 'when do you think you'll have another baby ?' Both of which cause a ripple of panic as I haven't yet worked out a response that isn't tinged with bitterness or tears. Telling people that you're trying and it's making you feel like a failure doesn't seem to be enough to head off an awkward personal conversation.

Then there are the stupid things people say when they find out it's not happening for you.

"My pregnancy was a mistake." In all the years I've been married (and the ones before) I didn't make a mistake that resulted in a baby - this one baffles me. How exactly do you fall pregnant by mistake ? I used to know a woman who would fall pregnant when she suspected her relationship was skittering into the buffers and I'm sure she used this line on the boyfriends/husbands concerned.

"We fell pregnant on our honeymoon. It's funny really as we were hoping to go back for our first anniversary, but of course we'll have to get a passport for the baby now." How unbearably smug are the newlyweds who score the honeymoon baby ? I cannot stand this one, it's up there with always winning the best raffle prize or getting a strike every time they go bowling.

Lorean

"Have you tried acupunture / shamanistic healing / traditional chinese medicine /  Zita West / co-enzyme Q10 / agnus castus my friend swears it worked for her." I've tried everything - yes even the stupid stuff - and if you suggest another crazy ass idea I'll probably try that too. I'm desperate for something, anything to work. According to one holistic therapist it's about me being honest about wanting another child. Of course I'd never considered that what I think is pain, anguish and desperate sadness might just be indifference and indecision about having a baby. Silly me.

"Oh we just fell pregnant as soon as we started trying. We didn't think it would happen that fast." So why did you start trying then ? This is the person who tells you how easy it was for them to get pregnant every time they tried and is a special from of torture that makes me wonder if they also go up to people who are selling the Big Issue to boast about how big their house is and that they're considering a second property.

Closely followed by the couple who decide to have another child and lo and behold a month later she's pregnant and tells you that she's never had any problems falling pregnant and proceeds to tell you exactly how she does it. For me this is like the person who complains that they just have to eat or the weight just falls off them. If I don't walk away at this point there is a risk that prolonged contact could result in a serious assault.

I have no idea what it was that tipped the balance for us last time - maybe it was the fact that we were in the adoption process, maybe it was one of the holistic therapies we tried, maybe it was the three holidays in a row that we took, maybe it was the champagne that we decided it was ok to drink at New Year. Or maybe it was just the right time for us.

Whatever it was I suspect it's going to be like Back to the Future and however much we try and repeat it something will be different. The main difference - of course - is that we have our wonderful son already.

That's a pretty great point to start from.

From Clockhouse to Yessica and back

As my little man goes to nursery on Mondays and Tuesdays I now have time to do nice things for myself. On a Monday I present my radio show on Croydon Radio and on a Tuesday I usually catch up with some boring housework and watch a DVD if I have time or like today I get something to eat outside the house. I decided to have some dim sum for a treat today and was really surprised at how many families were eating out too. Then Hubbie reminded me that as it's the last day of school hols for most children this is their last hoorah with the grown ups.

When I was at school we didn't have a ritual other than to get our bags and clothes ready the day before we went back for the new autumn term. What we did have was the annual shoe shop on the Saturday before we went back. Every year my Mum would pack us all off in the car and take us to Hounslow to buy everyone new shoes. We always began at the C&A end of the High Street. For the youngsters out there it was like a department store that sold skiing gear at affordable prices and was a favourite amongst Asian families. I was delighted to find a few years ago that C&A still existed in Europe - we bought a pretty ropey suit for Hubbie in a branch in Paris and a vibrant pink coat for me that all but two of the buttons fell off after two wears.

The reason for beginning at C&A was so that my Dad could take hours to buy the same blue shirt and sand coloured trousers he bought every year. It took so long because he was so outraged that his size had gone up since last year and he'd try all permutations of outfit before reverting to his usual style and colours. He was also the wild card in the shoe buying stakes as my Dad has always worn slip on shoes, but he'd insist on trying every pair in every shop before choosing the same ones as last time. I have a theory that he can't actually tie shoelaces which is why he wears slip-ons. He never helped me tie my laces and seemed a bit befuddled when I did them myself. I will test this again when my son has shoes with laces and get back to you.

Of course the trawl of the High St ineveitably ended at Curtess shoe shop which provided most of my teenage footwear. It was affordable, pretty fashionable, but not trendy. Also, Paula Rushbrook from school worked in the Greenford branch on Saturdays so she'd slip friends a sneaky discount. I bought my first pixie boots in Curtess and probably many other ill-advised fashion choices. A woman with a love of shoes is so cliched as to be beyond parody. I mention this only because my own love of shoes has slowed in recent years due to swollen feet in pregnancy and now the need to be able to put on shoes quickly to get out of the house to do whatever activity is planned for the day.

I pretty much only wear sandals or boots now anyway as the trawl of the High Street was usually a pointless and ultimately unsatisfying search for the Holy Grail of shoes. A non-ugly, practical and yet nice to look at pair of shoes. I've found they just don't exist so I now own beautiful impractical shoes kept in clear boxes to look at. Lots of flat sandals that tone my legs (apparently) and many, many pairs of boots that keep my feet super warm.

However, it's the pair that I don't yet own that interest me most right now. A few years ago me and Hubbie made a bet which he lost - the details of the bet are not that important - suffice it to say that he owes me a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes and it's now time to collect. I've never spent more than £50 on a pair of shoes (boots don't count) so this is a pretty major purchase for me. If I'm not careful it could end up being the most expensive pair of flip flops ever or a disastrous foray into the world of slingbacks (after a bad experience at Nine West in Las Vegas we don't mention them any more in this house).

I'll keep you posted as the search progresses...

Lipstick, powder and paint.. and a shedload of shoes !!

In my dreams this is what I'd look like

I told Hubbie a few weeks back that I wanted to change my image. Being a polite chap who has learned the art of not saying stupid things to his wife when she has access to a range of things to throw (macbook, mug half full with tea, remotes, etc.) he just hummed and said, "Ok."

The phrase 'change of image' suggests I had an image to start with, which is not entirely accurate. What I have is an idea in my head of how I used to dress and do my hair and nails and a distant memory that I used to think about my appearance before I left the house. I've realised that I rarely look in the mirror and don't know what I look like when I go out. So imagine how surprised I was when today two young women complimented my appearance.

Of course this is post image change and it has been many months in the making. Firstly I decided to trade in my post pregnancy jeans with wide legs and stretchy waistbands for fitted styles with a panel that holds every flabby bit in and up. I got the ones that Gok Wan makes (natch !) and put them away while I thought about wearing them when I felt up to it. I also went through a process of collecting suitably stylish tops that would be wearable and washable (essential with a toddler who likes to throw things). It wasn't until a few weeks ago that I started to wear the slimmer jeans with massive baggy blouses over the top and then today with a fancier top than I've worn in ages.

Today I read this blog about nail varnish adding-bit-of-colour and it reminded me that I used to take time and effort over my appearance. I used to paint designs on my nails and do my hair differently every day. Well it was always a variation on plaits, but it was still different. I also used to co-ordinate my shoes, bag, belt, scarf, etc. It was a full time occupation choosing what to wear and how to look. I'm not suggesting I looked any better than I do now, but I made more effort.

In reality it's more like this 

In reality I was experimenting with different looks until I found what suited me. I wore pretty much only black for about 12 years so just moving onto colour was progress. It's also been a long road which has resulted in my having far more shoes than any person could ever reasonably need and so many bags that even when I give away ten of them it still looks like day 4 of the Next sale.

As well as an inordinate amount of accessories (I haven't even mentioned scarves or jewellery !) I own enough make up to pass for a WAG. This is all the more disturbing as I barely remember to put on lipstick and eyeliner (my minimum) let alone the mascaras, eyeshadows, glosses and powders that have quietly accumulated over the years.

The only time in recent months that I've looked like anything other than a suburban Mummy is when I went to a ball and got all dressed up nice for an evening out. Before I left I said bye to my boy and he looked at me with a sideways glance. He gave a shy smile and looked a bit puzzled. I realised that he never sees Mummy look less than dull and seeing me look nice was such a surprise to him that he automatically switched to his flirting face. He usually reserves that look for Lucy the librarian, Maureen at Sainsburys and today the girls who served us in Wimpy who all waved him off as we left as he blew them kisses.

So I'm not quite in the Victoria Beckham stakes when it comes to full on glam, but I'm making more effort to look less rubbish. If for no other reason than I like the idea that my son thinks his Mummy looks pretty enough to flirt with.

Kitchen Confidential (or thrills, spills and lentils)

You already know about my unhealthy obsession with Come Dine With Me and food in general. I have also said I'd never do the programme because no one comes out of it looking anything other than grasping and desperate or incompetent and clueless. I have no idea what I'd cook and while I enjoy cooking I don't think I'm especially skilled at it. I also fear a disaster in the kitchen which once on tape would haunt me forever.

True I do sit around thinking about what I'm going to eat next or even tomorrow. If I have a random ingredient to use up I spend a ridiculous amount of time trawling the internet and poring over my cookbooks to find a suitable recipe. Usually I find one that requires yet more ingredients so I end up with even more in the cupboard which I'll need to use up at a later date. This is why I make banana cake so often - we buy a lot of bananas and if they go a bit soft or spotty I won't eat them. The plus side is I don't like cooked bananas so Hubbie and our friend Jan are the main beneficiaries of my baking prowess, so I don't end up piling on the pounds and I appear altruistic.

When Hubbie cooks a special meal for me he will find a recipe that requires at least 12 ingredients (only 4 of which I have in) and I end up with bottles of rose essence, mustard seeds, desiccated coconut and curry leaves to use at a later date. The meal is always delicious and far more inventive than anything I would try, but then it is an annual effort so he does go to town a bit.

Of course cooking almost every day means there will be occasional mishaps and some of them are so bad they put you off that foodstuff for life.

Here - in no particular order - are some of the many disasters I have had in my years of cooking:

1. While rushing around in the world's smallest kitchen preparing food I dropped an entire bowl of homemade potato salad on the floor before a picnic with friends. Only one of them witnessed it and she is no longer in the circle so can't tell anyone when they might have tasted floor food.

2. The options were to steam for 30 minutes or to zap in the microwave for 10 minutes so for ease I did that latter and this meant we had an exploding rice filled lotus leaf with our beautifully marinated and steamed fish.

3. During an experimental phase with fruit and curry I made an ill-judged decision to put grapefruit in chicken curry. To quote Ross and Monica's dad Jack Geller, "it was not good."

4. In an attempt to use up a box of mangos left by my Dad for my son (which he didn't like) I decided to make my own sorbet / ice cream. I managed to do the stirring every few hours bit for most of the day then forgot and left it overnight. Lets just say it needs to be taken out of the freezer a few hours before eating in order to break into it - yes it is a bit too frozen.

5. I had a pot of quark that I had used about one spoonful of and needed to finish so I had the genius idea to make mushroom pate with it instead of greek yoghurt. The taste was pretty good, but it was quite sloppy. Of course my guests were far too polite to comment on the runniness of the starter.

And the ones that I got away with:

When working in the staff kitchen in Sainsburys I managed to seriously burn the sponge pudding so I poured some lemon icing over it and was astounded at the compliments I got for my "treacly citrus pudding." 

I found a load of seeds and nuts that I'd bought while pregnant and not finished so I adapted my usual cookie recipe to include them. The results were not to my taste, but by all accounts they were a hit with Hubbie's work colleagues. 

Only today I halved the quantities in a recipe for cookies, but a miscalculation meant I added double coconut into the mix. We have yet to find out what the consequences of this error are as the mix won't be cooked until it's been in the fridge overnight. 

Fingers crossed it won't be so bad it'll go into the first list !

I want world peace (and a flatter stomach please)

Last week I had a rare night out with some yummy mummies from a baby group I've taken my boy to for over a year. They really are yummy being slimmer, younger and considerably better looking than me (even the ones who are pregnant again - how demoralising is that ?) so I sat at the dumpy, middle-aged & unattractive section of the table that I had designated for myself. Envy is an ugly thing so I figured the noise of the restaurant and my distance from the others would disguise the gnashing of my teeth. I distracted myself from their loveliness by noshing my pasta and debating whether it would be a bad idea to order tiramisu. For the record, it is never a bad idea to order tiramisu unless you care about getting into slim fit jeans.

Then today a pal of mine has tweeted a link to an article about Aishwarya Rai and her post baby weight gain and the consternation it has caused the Indian media. For those unfamiliar with the phenomenon of Ash she is an ex-Miss World, Bollywood and Hollywood actress and married into the most famous acting family in India (her father in law was voted most popular movie actor in a BBC poll some years ago much to the shock of Westerners who had never heard of Amitabh Bachan). In November last year Aishwarya gave birth to a daughter and since then there has been fevered comment on her weight gain and apparent disinterest in losing it. According to the magazines and bitchy blogs in India it is her duty as a star to set a good example of a slim body and to "do a Posh." Of course we're all familiar with the slim body that slebs parade at six weeks post-partum and even I joked with the Obstetrician who performed my emergency Cesarean that I'd like a "Posh tuck." They must hear that joke at least ten times a day - poor loves smile weakly and just say "not on the NHS dearie."

My body loathing is legendary and a few years ago I finally slimmed down to a size ten and wore all the clothes I had thought I'd never get into. Then I fell pregnant and was overwhelmed with the love I felt for my swelling body when I was pregnant. I was so convinced that I'd be able to get back into the small sizes that the positivity gave way almost immediately that my son was born to a sense of failure that I wasn't as slim as every other new mother I met. There was even a woman a few beds away from me who didn't even look like she'd actually given birth despite the evidence to the contrary snoring softly in the cot next to her. My point is that we put ourselves under enough pressure to lose weight without other people reminding us that we're not as slim and our cheekbones aren't as defined as they once were.

I spent all afternoon sorting out my wardrobes and deciding not to dress like a frumpy Mummy any more. The saying goes that you should dress for the job you want. I can't see myself dressing in a bikini, but it's the only time in my life that I can even approximate looking like a Miss World. Take a look at the post baby Aishwarya and see if you think I have any hope at all…

My mother's daughter

As I was half listening to Radio 4 yesterday I heard that a report had found that mothers who work are less likely to become depressed than women who stay at home with their children. One of the women commenting on this report stated that she would be bored senseless if she stayed at home with nothing to do but look after children and going to work gave her purpose and meaning in life.

Having been at home for over a year looking after my boy I noticed that recently I had become resentful of not having any time to myself in a day and waited with impatience for Hubbie to get home so that I could go and do something other than be with my beloved offspring. I was a seething mass of unexplained anger and found that being by myself with my son was appealing for only so many hours of the day. I don't know many people in the area where we live and the ones I do have mostly returned to work or are pregnant again so I don't even see them much. The weekly routine of playgroups and activities gets us both out of the house and I make sure that we do something constructive every day even if it's just a walk to the park. Coupled with an insane paranoia about leaving the house because of a spate of burglaries in our local area I've become a bit reluctant to go too far or out for too long. This is no way to live I was aware that if I didn't pull myself together I was going to become agoraphobic.

I finally opened up about this to a few friends and they concluded that I needed to go back to work as I was bored and underachieving at home. So in the last month I have returned to working a few days a week at a job that is not far from home. I was absolutely miserable for the first few weeks. I missed my son terribly and couldn't bear being in an office on my own for a whole day with only the scale filled kettle in the finance office to lure me out for the occasional cup of tea. It was, however, lovely to come home to hear all about what my boy had been doing and to see his smiling face and acknowledge that he hadn't been irreparably harmed by me not being there to tend to his every whim.

I'm still not entirely sure that this is the dream job for me, but I do know that when my son waves me off in the morning he's in good hands all day. I enjoy going for a walk at lunchtime and I like using my brain for something other than planning meals for my family and deciding if the bookcase should stay where it is or be moved a few feet to the left. Ok so I don't get to bake as much - which is completely overrated as a pastime by the way - and I'm sure the cat will lose some weight without me giving in to his plaintive cries for biscuits every time I go anywhere near the kitchen.

My Mum worked full time most of my life and didn't have a choice about it. She still cooked a meal for us every evening and managed the household budget as well as ensuring we were all doing well at school. In my mind that is the gold standard of what I should be aiming for and anything less is just me being lazy or not trying hard enough.

Trying to be a yummy mummy is pretty demoralising stuff. From comparing how much slimmer every other mum appears to be, to feeling guilty for sitting on the sofa watching mindless telly while the baby naps it all adds up to not being the woman who "has it all." Which brings us back to where I came in and the Radio 4 piece about the myth of women wanting it all when actually we just want to not be bored or depressed or taken for granted. Being pregnant again would be a pretty sweet bonus too if anyone is asking :o)