Where does the time go? Number Two has started a new job which is much more local to where we live. It took about six interviews before he was finally sent the offer letter, but it's changed our lives already. He no longer has to commute to London and stay away from home overnight, and because his working hours are 8:30am till 4:30pm, he is even getting home at a reasonable time. Although two weeks into the new job and they have already had at least the equivalent of a free day of work off him. His last job paid overtime, but this one doesn't, and he's not established enough yet to suggest a bit more planning go into the timings of some of the out of hours work they are doing. And because he doesn't drive, he is still relying on me for a lift to work which means when he could go in later he can't because his lift needs to get herself to work too. His bike is being serviced at the moment - once that's sorted he will be cycling each day. I'm looking forward to seeing the results of 15 miles of cycling every day!
Number One is stuck in the middle ground of crawling quickly and efficiently, standing up, cruising around the furniture, but not quite ready to take the first step. She can stand on her own if she has something in her hand to distract her from what she's doing. She's learnt to point and spends all day blowing raspberries and chatting constantly.
And I am very busy at work, and still trying to get our house finished off. We have a list now, so I just need to chip away at it, and maybe one day it will all be ticked off, and I can relax. I actually think there might be a little bit too much relaxing going on already, which is why the list is still so long. But who can blame me when it's 30 degrees in April!
Tuesday, 1 May 2007
Tuesday, 3 April 2007
Bright lights
How exciting - a trip to London! After living and working there for nearly nine years, little did I know that when I finished work on 16 June last year to begin my maternity leave I would be leaving and not returning for over nine months.
But an invitation to a 40th birthday provided the incentive for Number Two and I to leave our darling daughter for a whole twelve hours. We got ourselves onto a train and arrived at Waterloo Station a couple of hours later. I felt quite nostalgic, passing through Surbiton, Wimbledon, and Vauxhall Stations, all familiar parts of my route to and from work the last couple of years when we lived out in zone six. As I looked at the people standing on the platforms waiting for connections, despite the fact that the weather was quite warm that day, my lasting memories will always be of waiting endlessly in the freezing cold, wrapped up in coat, hat, scarf and gloves. This winter I didn't even manage to find my hat, much less need to wear it.
After spending 20p at Waterloo, we walked across the bridge and on to Covent Garden. Number Two and I had our first real date at Chez Gerard in Covent Garden. We were both so nervous, despite having known each other for a long time already. We both knew that night was the beginning of a new phase of our relationship. We ordered what seemed like half the menu and, once it all arrived (and we had to move candles and glasses to fit it all on the table), we barely touched it.
I realised walking through Covent Garden that I have very quickly reverted back to the small-town mind-set I arrived in the UK with in 1997. After living in London for a while I got used to getting about quickly and efficiently, knowing exactly where I wanted to go and avoiding slow-paced tourists easily. And I didn't really mind the crowds. But this time I found it frustrating and uninspiring. I didn't feel like shopping, or even browsing. We went into a couple of shops to buy tee-shirts and trainers, and then ended up in a bar. We didn't even manage to buy a present for Number One - we went into one shop that sold teddy bears and children's clothing, but when we discovered that the clothing, which was tiny, wasn't for children, but for the teddy bears instead, we decided she didn't need a present.
After dinner (why why why didn't we have Thai?) we taxied to the party. We arrived early, mindful of the fact that we had to leave early to catch the last train. It was lovely to catch up with people I haven't seen for ages. And to meet new people. And to wear heels for a change. It was a shame to go, but we still had a two and a half hour journey ahead of us.
The journey back was uneventful. Number Two is thankful that I don't sleep heavily on trains, and was able to wake him up when we had to change trains. And I am thankful to Number Two's inside knowledge of the route. When we had to change trains, he knew exactly which carriage we should be in to arrive at our station right beside the stairs to the exit, resulting in us being first in the taxi rank, and avoiding standing in the cold with 100 drunk and rowdy travellers.
I couldn't help giving Number One a little pat when we got home. She stirred just enough to know it was me, and then we all went off to sleep.
But an invitation to a 40th birthday provided the incentive for Number Two and I to leave our darling daughter for a whole twelve hours. We got ourselves onto a train and arrived at Waterloo Station a couple of hours later. I felt quite nostalgic, passing through Surbiton, Wimbledon, and Vauxhall Stations, all familiar parts of my route to and from work the last couple of years when we lived out in zone six. As I looked at the people standing on the platforms waiting for connections, despite the fact that the weather was quite warm that day, my lasting memories will always be of waiting endlessly in the freezing cold, wrapped up in coat, hat, scarf and gloves. This winter I didn't even manage to find my hat, much less need to wear it.
After spending 20p at Waterloo, we walked across the bridge and on to Covent Garden. Number Two and I had our first real date at Chez Gerard in Covent Garden. We were both so nervous, despite having known each other for a long time already. We both knew that night was the beginning of a new phase of our relationship. We ordered what seemed like half the menu and, once it all arrived (and we had to move candles and glasses to fit it all on the table), we barely touched it.
I realised walking through Covent Garden that I have very quickly reverted back to the small-town mind-set I arrived in the UK with in 1997. After living in London for a while I got used to getting about quickly and efficiently, knowing exactly where I wanted to go and avoiding slow-paced tourists easily. And I didn't really mind the crowds. But this time I found it frustrating and uninspiring. I didn't feel like shopping, or even browsing. We went into a couple of shops to buy tee-shirts and trainers, and then ended up in a bar. We didn't even manage to buy a present for Number One - we went into one shop that sold teddy bears and children's clothing, but when we discovered that the clothing, which was tiny, wasn't for children, but for the teddy bears instead, we decided she didn't need a present.
After dinner (why why why didn't we have Thai?) we taxied to the party. We arrived early, mindful of the fact that we had to leave early to catch the last train. It was lovely to catch up with people I haven't seen for ages. And to meet new people. And to wear heels for a change. It was a shame to go, but we still had a two and a half hour journey ahead of us.
The journey back was uneventful. Number Two is thankful that I don't sleep heavily on trains, and was able to wake him up when we had to change trains. And I am thankful to Number Two's inside knowledge of the route. When we had to change trains, he knew exactly which carriage we should be in to arrive at our station right beside the stairs to the exit, resulting in us being first in the taxi rank, and avoiding standing in the cold with 100 drunk and rowdy travellers.
I couldn't help giving Number One a little pat when we got home. She stirred just enough to know it was me, and then we all went off to sleep.
Monday, 26 March 2007
Swedish meatballs
The first time I ever went to Ikea was when I had first moved to London from New Zealand. I had some friends who had lived over here for a year and had discovered its delights about six months earlier. They raved about it. And after flicking through a catalogue, I was pretty keen to take a look. The only problem was that we didn't have a car. We lived in East London and the easiest one to get to without a car was the Brent Cross branch. So we set off, and after lots of browsing, decided to buy a shelving unit for our bedroom. It was heavy. We spent ages in the packing department, binding it up with paper and string to make carrying it easier, but it was a horrible walk back to the tube, and then travelling through central London with a package almost twice as tall as me was not fun - even on a Saturday when the tubes are supposedly quiet. I think at the time I swore I would never go back. (That shelving unit travelled with me for nine years from one flat to another, and I was most upset when it was left behind by Number Two when we moved into our latest house. I don't think he realised how much effort it took to lug it from Ikea to home all those years ago.)
Even though the first Ikea experience was pretty horrific, the joys of looking at fully-furnished rooms and even homes laid out must have been enough of a draw for me to repeat the process several times over the following years. I think I only ever bought picture frames though.
And then when I moved into my first home with Number Two, another visit to Ikea followed, although this time I managed to talk a friend with a car into taking me, so I could indulge in the purchase of some flat-packed furniture along with my obligatory picture frames. Who would have thought you could get an entire dining suite into the back of a VW Golf?
My trip to Ikea this time was a bit different. Apart from the fact that I was driving myself at last, this time I was shopping as a mother, and my eyes were opened to a whole new world. Brightly painted wooden toys, cartoon bedroom furniture, lovely colourful bedding sets, cuddly soft toys, and tiny little chairs. And so many children! When we got to the restaurant I was amazed at just how many babies and children had been shopping with us - it's such a huge place that it's not till you get to the restaurant you realise just how busy it is. I had the fortune to be there with my friend, both of us having left our children at home with their daddys, so we could browse at leisure, and eat our Swedish meatballs in peace (actually, she had fish). But it certainly seems to be much more family oriented than it was when I visited it nine years ago. Or is that just because I see the world differently now?
Even though the first Ikea experience was pretty horrific, the joys of looking at fully-furnished rooms and even homes laid out must have been enough of a draw for me to repeat the process several times over the following years. I think I only ever bought picture frames though.
And then when I moved into my first home with Number Two, another visit to Ikea followed, although this time I managed to talk a friend with a car into taking me, so I could indulge in the purchase of some flat-packed furniture along with my obligatory picture frames. Who would have thought you could get an entire dining suite into the back of a VW Golf?
My trip to Ikea this time was a bit different. Apart from the fact that I was driving myself at last, this time I was shopping as a mother, and my eyes were opened to a whole new world. Brightly painted wooden toys, cartoon bedroom furniture, lovely colourful bedding sets, cuddly soft toys, and tiny little chairs. And so many children! When we got to the restaurant I was amazed at just how many babies and children had been shopping with us - it's such a huge place that it's not till you get to the restaurant you realise just how busy it is. I had the fortune to be there with my friend, both of us having left our children at home with their daddys, so we could browse at leisure, and eat our Swedish meatballs in peace (actually, she had fish). But it certainly seems to be much more family oriented than it was when I visited it nine years ago. Or is that just because I see the world differently now?
Monday, 19 March 2007
When will it end?
Number One woke up numerous times last night with coughing fits. She's being her typical laid-back self about it, but it must be getting her down. Since she started childcare in January not one day has passed when she didn't have a snotty nose. No wonder the poor little thing makes such a fuss whenever anyone approaches with a baby wipe, tissue or paper towel. I've taken to doing it by stealth now - creeping up behind her and taking a quick, but hopefully efficient swipe in the hope I will avoid the shouts of anger that normally follow a front-on attack. These endless colds (and teething too, we think), are certainly character building for her. She's proving to be very resilient, and there really have been very few tears considering how miserable she must feel most of the time.
I put it down to the fact that she's so pleased with everything else she's been accomplishing lately that she doesn't think about the colds. Since 14 February she has got her first two teeth, learnt to sit up, then crawl, wave, clap hands and pull herself up to standing firstly on one of us, but more recently on bits of furniture. She's also had her first taste of mud, much to my shock (although not enough that I didn't run for the camera first!) And she's becoming quite the dancer, bopping away to pretty much anything. She will even dance when I sing, although I'm not quite sure how she recognises that what is coming out of my mouth has anything to do with music. I am wondering though whether she's destined to be full of cold forever - approaching two solid months and no end in sight.
And today I have another cold too. I think Number One's given it to me, but I had thought that after all my various sicknesses last month, and the massive regular doses of vitamins I'm now taking, that I would be able to avoid catching any more colds. I guess not. Can't wait to get home now to relax with a nice cup of tea.
I put it down to the fact that she's so pleased with everything else she's been accomplishing lately that she doesn't think about the colds. Since 14 February she has got her first two teeth, learnt to sit up, then crawl, wave, clap hands and pull herself up to standing firstly on one of us, but more recently on bits of furniture. She's also had her first taste of mud, much to my shock (although not enough that I didn't run for the camera first!) And she's becoming quite the dancer, bopping away to pretty much anything. She will even dance when I sing, although I'm not quite sure how she recognises that what is coming out of my mouth has anything to do with music. I am wondering though whether she's destined to be full of cold forever - approaching two solid months and no end in sight.
And today I have another cold too. I think Number One's given it to me, but I had thought that after all my various sicknesses last month, and the massive regular doses of vitamins I'm now taking, that I would be able to avoid catching any more colds. I guess not. Can't wait to get home now to relax with a nice cup of tea.
Monday, 12 March 2007
Really back to work
When I finished work last June to begin my maternity leave, I told my boss I would be back the following January. I would be taking some annual leave and then six months of my maternity leave entitlement, and that would be it, he could definitely expect me back in the New Year. From the very first day I was away from work I began to regret those words. I knew that I wasn't committed, and could go back to work anytime during the 12 months after Number One was born, but I have always been the sort of person that hates to let people down, and often at my own expense, I do things I don't really want to do. In light of the fact that I consider myself to be quite selfish, this actually seems very contradictory, but I think that for the most part its just work that makes me feel like this. I am not owed a living in this life, and I think that if someone is good enough to employ me to do a job, I'm going to do it. And I'm going to do everything I can to make sure they know I'm a hard and loyal worker. That's why it was so hard for me to have two days sick leave last month.
Anyway, as time drew on, I dreaded going back to work more and more. I started to see that being a stay-at-home mum would have suited me down to the ground. Sod all those people who said to me that I would need the mental stimulation of work, that I would become bored and eventually go mad if I stayed at home with a baby all day, every day. No way - I would have loved, loved, loved it!
But Number Two didn't really think it was an option for me not to go back and I suppose I agreed with him. While we're not frivolous with our money, we are certainly not the sort of people who keep spreadsheets of every single outgoing, and have calculated to within pennies how much our gas bill will be over a twelve month period. I've never really been the sort of person who would be happy having to ask for permission to buy something I want, or having to budget for the household (although something tells me we are heading for disaster with this slack approach to our finances).
I really wish I had thought a bit more about taking a couple of extra months of maternity leave. It seemed like such a rush in the end, coming back from New Zealand, trying to get Number One back into this time zone, and mentally preparing myself for starting my job in a new office, with new people. And then of course, the whole trauma of actually doing it, and struggling with the child care situation, and getting sick with stress didn't help. Number Two did allow a bit of compromise though - I decided I would like to go back four instead of five days a week, and he agreed that it wouldn't make that much of a difference to our lifestyle if I took a bit of a salary cut. Little did he know that being at work less and therefore earning less money would mean more free time to spend more money.
But now I feel like I'm properly back. I actually did a full week of five days last week, to finish of a project I have been working on for the past month, and I really did enjoy it. Number Two had to take Friday off work so I could do it, but it was a win-win-win situation. Number One got to spend her first full day on her own with her daddy since she was born. She loved it. Number Two got to have a day off (paid) work, got to play with his daughter all day, watch the cricket, and go down to the pub with some other mummies and their children. And I got to work, finish off my project, earn some overtime, and also got to see that going back to work wasn't actually that bad after all.
Anyway, as time drew on, I dreaded going back to work more and more. I started to see that being a stay-at-home mum would have suited me down to the ground. Sod all those people who said to me that I would need the mental stimulation of work, that I would become bored and eventually go mad if I stayed at home with a baby all day, every day. No way - I would have loved, loved, loved it!
But Number Two didn't really think it was an option for me not to go back and I suppose I agreed with him. While we're not frivolous with our money, we are certainly not the sort of people who keep spreadsheets of every single outgoing, and have calculated to within pennies how much our gas bill will be over a twelve month period. I've never really been the sort of person who would be happy having to ask for permission to buy something I want, or having to budget for the household (although something tells me we are heading for disaster with this slack approach to our finances).
I really wish I had thought a bit more about taking a couple of extra months of maternity leave. It seemed like such a rush in the end, coming back from New Zealand, trying to get Number One back into this time zone, and mentally preparing myself for starting my job in a new office, with new people. And then of course, the whole trauma of actually doing it, and struggling with the child care situation, and getting sick with stress didn't help. Number Two did allow a bit of compromise though - I decided I would like to go back four instead of five days a week, and he agreed that it wouldn't make that much of a difference to our lifestyle if I took a bit of a salary cut. Little did he know that being at work less and therefore earning less money would mean more free time to spend more money.
But now I feel like I'm properly back. I actually did a full week of five days last week, to finish of a project I have been working on for the past month, and I really did enjoy it. Number Two had to take Friday off work so I could do it, but it was a win-win-win situation. Number One got to spend her first full day on her own with her daddy since she was born. She loved it. Number Two got to have a day off (paid) work, got to play with his daughter all day, watch the cricket, and go down to the pub with some other mummies and their children. And I got to work, finish off my project, earn some overtime, and also got to see that going back to work wasn't actually that bad after all.
Sunday, 4 March 2007
The perils of mobility
Number One has learnt to crawl. We reached a major milestone the week before last when she worked out how to move from her tummy to a sitting position, which meant that we no longer had to spend hours a day picking her up when she toppled over. I was happy with that.
But very quickly she's worked out how to move hands and knees to get from one spot to another, and as everyone pointed out to me, that's when they get really high maintenance. We've had big tears every day since she got it properly sussed. On Friday she managed to wedge herself between the wall and the TV unit, which she found rather distressing. Yesterday she wandered off into the wooden-floored hall, and somehow face planted (I think her hands slipped out from under her). There were screams and wails, and worst of all, a little bit of blood from her nose. I think she's inherited her mother's delicate nasal passage - she had several nose bleeds with her first cold (very alarming to get up in the morning to find your baby's face covered in blood), and a slight bump on the nose has brought on a bleed too, so I expect she'll be like me as she gets older, and suffer regular nose bleeds.
Today she kept bumping her head on the underside of a chair she was trying to crawl underneath, probably to retrieve something she's not allowed. And of course, that meant more tears.
I guess we all have to learn pretty quickly how to cope with this new-found skill. Our new house needs some serious baby proofing, and Number One needs to learn that independence may not be all it's cracked up to be if that means getting hurt when you try to go it alone. A lesson that will go on teaching for many years to come.
But very quickly she's worked out how to move hands and knees to get from one spot to another, and as everyone pointed out to me, that's when they get really high maintenance. We've had big tears every day since she got it properly sussed. On Friday she managed to wedge herself between the wall and the TV unit, which she found rather distressing. Yesterday she wandered off into the wooden-floored hall, and somehow face planted (I think her hands slipped out from under her). There were screams and wails, and worst of all, a little bit of blood from her nose. I think she's inherited her mother's delicate nasal passage - she had several nose bleeds with her first cold (very alarming to get up in the morning to find your baby's face covered in blood), and a slight bump on the nose has brought on a bleed too, so I expect she'll be like me as she gets older, and suffer regular nose bleeds.
Today she kept bumping her head on the underside of a chair she was trying to crawl underneath, probably to retrieve something she's not allowed. And of course, that meant more tears.
I guess we all have to learn pretty quickly how to cope with this new-found skill. Our new house needs some serious baby proofing, and Number One needs to learn that independence may not be all it's cracked up to be if that means getting hurt when you try to go it alone. A lesson that will go on teaching for many years to come.
Thursday, 1 March 2007
Childcare woes
Going back to work is the hardest thing in the world, especially when you have had the luxury of spending every minute of every day with your baby, had a lovely Summer in a new house, and had a lovely holiday to New Zealand where your own mother and father took care of you and their beloved granddaughter every day for six weeks.
But it gets even harder when you find out that your baby absolutely hates her child minder, and spends every waking minute she is there sobbing her little heart out. I've never felt so stressed in my life. In fact, until this past month, I didn't really know what stress was, such a charmed life I've led so far. I kept telling myself it was just part of the settling in process, and she would get better. But when it got to the third week, and each day I collected her I was told that she had cried all day long again, panic really started to set in.
It wasn't the fact that I was leaving her. She is in fine spirits on the days when Number Two's mother looks after her, so it had to be something to do with the child minder, or the child minders house. With each day that passed my feelings towards the child minder changed. In the beginning she seemed capable, caring and friendly, but as time wore on, she seemed less and less interested in looking after Number One, practically throwing her at me when I went to pick her up in the evening, and interestingly both myself, Number Two and Number Two's mother had all taken a dislike to her, just like Number One seemed to have done.
I decided to look for an alternative. Upon investigation, nanny services were out - I would have had to work six out of seven hours a day just to pay for it. So I rang round all the child minders in our area, and only found one with availability. Luckily she was happy to take on Number One, even after I explained all the problems we'd had so far.
So last Wednesday when I took Number One back to the original child minder she asked if I had time for a chat. Apparently she'd been losing sleep over the problem of Number One not settling in, and felt that it wasn't going to work out. The four week settling in period was over, and she hadn't settled, and it was becoming too stressful looking after her. (And when her friends came to visit they left after five minutes because they couldn't stand the sound of a crying baby. I'm not paying you to socialise with your mates!) So we mutually agreed to that day being Number One's last with her.
Ah, the relief. Number Two was away for work that night, and Number One came to bed with me, while I bawled my eyes out. After being close to tears every day for a month, and often actually in tears (mostly in the car driving to work), and suffering terribly with a cold, the flu, and a stomach bug, I finally felt like I could let it all out. And I did. Poor Number One must have thought Mummy was mad, but when I had finished I felt so much better. And have ever since.
So Monday was day one with the new child minder. The big test. There were no tears when I left, very few tears during the day, and a very happy, smiley baby when I arrived to collect her. She's almost at the end of her first week, and so far so good. I feel like I might be able to start getting on with my life again.
Fingers crossed.
But it gets even harder when you find out that your baby absolutely hates her child minder, and spends every waking minute she is there sobbing her little heart out. I've never felt so stressed in my life. In fact, until this past month, I didn't really know what stress was, such a charmed life I've led so far. I kept telling myself it was just part of the settling in process, and she would get better. But when it got to the third week, and each day I collected her I was told that she had cried all day long again, panic really started to set in.
It wasn't the fact that I was leaving her. She is in fine spirits on the days when Number Two's mother looks after her, so it had to be something to do with the child minder, or the child minders house. With each day that passed my feelings towards the child minder changed. In the beginning she seemed capable, caring and friendly, but as time wore on, she seemed less and less interested in looking after Number One, practically throwing her at me when I went to pick her up in the evening, and interestingly both myself, Number Two and Number Two's mother had all taken a dislike to her, just like Number One seemed to have done.
I decided to look for an alternative. Upon investigation, nanny services were out - I would have had to work six out of seven hours a day just to pay for it. So I rang round all the child minders in our area, and only found one with availability. Luckily she was happy to take on Number One, even after I explained all the problems we'd had so far.
So last Wednesday when I took Number One back to the original child minder she asked if I had time for a chat. Apparently she'd been losing sleep over the problem of Number One not settling in, and felt that it wasn't going to work out. The four week settling in period was over, and she hadn't settled, and it was becoming too stressful looking after her. (And when her friends came to visit they left after five minutes because they couldn't stand the sound of a crying baby. I'm not paying you to socialise with your mates!) So we mutually agreed to that day being Number One's last with her.
Ah, the relief. Number Two was away for work that night, and Number One came to bed with me, while I bawled my eyes out. After being close to tears every day for a month, and often actually in tears (mostly in the car driving to work), and suffering terribly with a cold, the flu, and a stomach bug, I finally felt like I could let it all out. And I did. Poor Number One must have thought Mummy was mad, but when I had finished I felt so much better. And have ever since.
So Monday was day one with the new child minder. The big test. There were no tears when I left, very few tears during the day, and a very happy, smiley baby when I arrived to collect her. She's almost at the end of her first week, and so far so good. I feel like I might be able to start getting on with my life again.
Fingers crossed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)