In the Pudding Club

Good Morning Miss Eloise!

2012-01-31T21:22:00.004Z

Post bath in our bedtime routine, The Frenchman and I found ourselves sitting on her bedroom floor, a diaper clad Eloise running in front of us. She suddenly took in her captive audience and went into Teacher mode. She grabbed a book, reminded us to stay seated, and then asked The Frenchman "What's on this book? Buh Buh Buh..." she encouraged.
"Baby" he replied.

"Yes!, Here's a sticker" and pretended to hand her father a reward sticker. She then turned to me and asked the same question. I in turn received a sticker. If either of us attempted to stand up, she said, "No! Sit DOWN". If we laughed, she said "No Laughing! Stop Laughing". She had to tell us this quite often. We got lots of stickers as she took us through the book, but we also had lots of stickers taken away - for not sitting, for laughing, for not listening. "Hey! You're not listeninging!"

At one point, her father and I both in tears from laughter, trying to pay attention and win stickers, but also in awe of this stern, diapered little dictator we created, Eloise stopped and turned to us, finger pointed and uttered out of pure exasperation at her unruly students: " I am NOT happy! NO Laughing! You. Just. Listeninging!"

Kid runs a tight ship.

Happy Chrimbo and New Year to all!

2011-12-26T10:02:00.000Z

What I think about when I'm away on business

2011-12-11T00:21:00.004Z

I think about how insanely relaxing and liberating it is to travel without a child who is wont to run down the aisle screaming to try and open the airplane door and "get off de plane!". I think about how nice it is to have a drink and not have to worry about being responsible for the life of the person you love most while mildly inebriated. I think about how peaceful it is to fall asleep knowing that the only culprit for a potential bad night's sleep is mine and mine alone - no toddler at 2am calling for mummy. I think about how great it is to have a meal that is hot and without worry about what my toddler might do to put in question my parenting skills.

And I think about how you are growing without me, how your accent sounds that much more English when I speak to you on the phone. I think about how my heart breaks when you tell me: "see you tomorrow!" and I know you won't see me for 5 more days. I think about what your grasp around my neck will feel like when I come home and pick you up from nursery after more than a week away. I think about the tears that will sting my eyes at how more worried you seem about where I am and when I'm leaving than you were before I went away. I think about the single parent mode I am putting your father through. But mostly I think about how much I miss you. I miss you calling me a pretty princess when you like what I wear, I miss you pretending to fall asleep and snore and making me laugh so hard I have tears in my eyes, I miss you holding my face in both your hands when you sleep next to me, and I miss you telling me that you love me.

2 ans avec Mademoiselle Eloise

2011-07-23T23:48:00.004+01:00

Oh Eloise. My Eloise. No. Not my Eloise. You are very much your own. I know how commonplace and slightly boring it can be listening to parents go on about the mundane tasks their mini person can achieve, but it is hard to explain just how rewarding and inspiring it is to see someone who you created, who went from not being able to keep their own head from snapping off their neck to a little girl who tells me that a cow goes moo and puts her shoes on her own feet and who not only washes her own hands and dries them, but wipes down any drops of water she spilled in the process. A little girl who makes me laugh - intentionally and often unintentionally. A little girl who can challenge my patience, energy levels and priorities. A girl who can make me feel like the most beautiful and cherished woman in the world with the most gentle of cuddles.

I don’t know how much longer I’ll keep up these letters. I am more and more aware of the person you are becoming and I worry that you’ll be angry with me for over divulging our lives. But while I’m not sure how long I will keep this blog out there for the world to see, I do know I will always write you. I am the mother who will cry each time I see you sing in a choir. I will cry when you give me your first handwritten mother’s day card. Hell, I’ll probably cry the first time you get your period, so we both have that to look forward to. I’m a heart-on-my-sleeve, emotional sort, and becoming your mother has simply made my sentimental heart expand ten-fold. So I will always need to put my feelings for you into words. To not only let you know how much you mean to me, but to help me figure out how to handle having my heart live outside of me.

I wonder where we will be living, what you will be wearing, the day you start reading these letters. What will your voice sound like? What will your hair look like? What size shoe will you be wearing? What music will you be listening to? What will you feel when you read all that I have written about you? I just...well, to quote a man that makes far more money than me for the words he writes: I hope you don't mind that I put down in words how wonderful life is while you're in the world.

Vingt-troisieme Mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

2011-06-22T22:27:00.005+01:00

Eloise -

Man, on your bad days you push me to limits of patience I have never been pushed to before, by far the most challenged I have ever been is during one of your tantrums, but on your good days? There is no one else in this world I would rather hang out with.

Your language is INSANE. All of the sudden you are speaking in sentences, bossy slightly caveman-esque sentences, but sentences none the less. Sit DOWN mummy. Daddy, no sing. Eloise singing. Eloise no like it. Mummy dance. Mummy running. Shhhh,Rabbit sleeping. Thank you Mummy!

And then of course there is the ultimate: I love you!!! ( I loff OOOO)

As these tantrums get more intense, you find a corner and just loose your shit - throwing whatever you can get your hands on, banging whatever surface is within reach, producing strange frustrated sobs, I am becoming aware that while the hard bits get harder, the good bits get AWESOME. To hear you tell your father and I that you love us? Makes the tantrums worth it. Ok, maybe not worth it, but tolerable. Really completely tolerable.

You are becoming less and less Eloise, my baby, and more and more Eloise the Person. Eloise, the half French Amercian born in England. Eloise the little girl who asks for cereal in the morning and ham at night. Eloise who loves Snow White and owls and cats and dogs and Nancy Sinatra's Sugar Town.

And yes, there are moments when I miss Eloise the baby, the little being so dependant on me, but that is eclipsed entirely by the pure elated joy I feel every day at meeting a little bit more of Eloise the person.

You amaze me. Je t'aime.

Mummy, Mommy, Mama, Maman,

Vingt-deuxieme mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

2011-05-26T21:15:00.000+01:00

(Photos to come soon(ish) - still working on this whole job/home/blog balance)

Thank you Eloise. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. You have made this transition between stay-at-home mom to “working mom” (starting to hate that term - like what I did with you the past 21 months wasn’t work?) (incredible work by the way - best job ever) so much easier than I thought it would be. And sure it hasn’t been entirely smooth, but I was expecting far worse. I should have given you a bit more credit, for being the adaptable and curious child that you are.

So far you haven’t cried when either your father or I have dropped you off at your nursery (By the way BIG UPS to your Daddy for doing more than his fair share in getting us all to our new jobs on time and back home in one piece each night). You’ve been clingy, which is fine, because let’s face it, I’ve been clingy too. But after you’ve stayed in my arms for a while, wrapping your arms tight around my neck, you take a look around, and I talk about how good the breakfast is going to be and how much fun it looks like your friends are having, and oh! Did you see those jungle animals hanging out and being awesome over there? And then you slowly release your grip and get swallowed up by different loving arms.

You have however had a handful of more difficult nights. It’s like you bottle up all your frustrations at having to deal with this change and save it for when you get home and you can unleash it on the two people you’re closest to. I guess we all do that. But to see you so angry with me was a hard pill to swallow. We’d finally wrestle you into your pyjamas (some nights literally wrestle - 2 against 1 and even then it would take your father and I 10 minutes to get you dressed, you got some moves kid) and then after reading 8 stories I’d turn out the light and hold you while you finished your glass of milk. You would pull my face close to yours, so that our cheeks were pressed up together, and then you’d keep pulling and pulling. Trying to get me even closer. I mean, I would have had to swallow you whole to get any closer. And then you got mad. Mad that we weren’t more together. And you started clawing at my face and hitting me - things I would normally scold you for doing, but this time I just let you do it. Let you get the frustration out of your little body and into the scratches on my face. And then you called out for Daddy and he came to finish putting you to bed while I went into my room and cried.

Luckily we’ve only had a few nights like this. On the whole you’ve been an absolute star and I can see in your social skills and language skills what a great effect nursery is having on you. And I’m really enjoying my new job, it is interesting and challenging and creative and I love that I am pushing myself in different directions. But make no mistake Eloise, the worst fucking part of this job is being away from you.

Je t’aime. Super hard kid.

Mummy

Then these things happened

2011-05-05T22:39:00.005+01:00

The in-laws came over for a quick visit and we dyed easter eggs and then went searching for them in the garden wearing a colonial inspired dress from Grandma and Grandpa's trip to Mississippi.

Then Eloise and I had a little day out together in Nottingham, visiting the Contemporary Museum and having a picnic on the market square.

Then we somehow managed to secure a patriotic hat and flag and watched much more of the Royal Wedding than we planned on. But there were horses, and cars, and pretty! So we waved our flag and wished the happy couple all the best.

Then we went to a nearby pub which had chicken and ducks in the garden and were giving away free! tiaras and we ate sausages and "royal" mushy peas with mint sauce.

Two ladies in waiting...

Vingt-et-unième mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

2011-04-19T20:58:00.014+01:00

Eloise

I have recently been reminded of how precious and fragile this life is, and it makes me all the more thankful for you, and for the chance I have to write these letters to you. You have been a wonderful distraction while I mourn a friend, wiping away my tears and helping me to laugh again.

You seem to have shot up in size once more, I just noticed today how your legs seem to dangle from your highchair as if they should belong to a much older child. I could spend my whole life (and indeed I plan to) studying the different expressions your face can make. Every once in a while I catch you making a face that gives me a glimpse of the young woman you will become and it makes me equal parts ecstatic and scared poopless.

You are starting to build proper relationships with your little friends - calling them by name, shouting No! No! No! at them when they don’t play the way you want to, giving them unprompted hugs to say goodbye. At the moment I can safely say you run with a good crowd. I’m sure all parents worry about their children’s choice in friends - I know first hand how much damage a manipulative friend can cause - but if your early choices in mates is anything to go by, your Father and I will have nothing to worry about (ha!).

Some changes are going to happen around here soon, and it breaks my heart that I can’t sit you down and explain it all to you, that instead one day you’ll just see less of me and you’ll wonder why. To make the most of our time together before I become a full-time working mother, I took you out on a date, just me and you. You were an absolute star and I couldn’t have had a better time. In homage to your namesake we spent the night at the (Park) Plaza in Nottingham (the Presidential Suite Daaahling). We rode up and down the elevators and ordered roomservice with giant linen napkins wrapped around our necks. We went shopping and went out for lunch where all the grandparents sitting around us commented on how well behaved you were. We walked around the castle grounds, chasing squirrels with security guards and playing with little boys in school uniforms. In the morning we had coffee and milk in bed while reading the paper, then went down stairs for breakfast where the hotel staff fawned all over you. We went to the Museum of Nottingham Life and had the whole museum to ourselves, playing with dolls, opening kitchen drawers and walking through caves. I think my favorite moment was buying a copy of Vanity Fair for me and a jug of milk for you and watching you walk down Maid Marion Way carrying your milk and weaving in and out of the people trying to get home from work.

I feel so fortunate to bear such close witness to the person you are becoming, to see you stand taller and taller as you make your own path through the crowds.

Je t'aime.

Maman (Mummy) (Mama)

Mothering style in 1000 words

2011-04-05T22:56:00.002+01:00

This picture perfectly demonstrates my parenting style. There's clutter. There's a "cubby" where I apparently think it is appropriate to store bubbles and booze. There's a pile of recycling that only needs to be taken a few feet outside but still hasn't made it out there. My kid is wearing a cardigan with her name tag on from a song class she had been to a few days prior. Her hair looks like Pebbles from the Flintstones because some days I feel like making her (and me) look spruced up but I'm not actually that good at it (though far better than her Father). She has apricot jam on her face but she's also eating homemade spelt bread and local honey. And the person taking this picture is a little bit tired and a lot happy.

Mummy Eloise

2011-04-04T21:45:00.003+01:00

Ah, remember the early days of being a mother to an infant?

Having to carry your baby with you everywhere.

You could barely find time to feed yourself, let alone keep your eyes open while doing it.

Having to constantly help prop their heads up.

And don't get me started on how old and tired it made you feel.

Vingtieme mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

2011-03-25T14:51:00.004Z

Eloise -

20 months old. In 4 months you will be 2. T-W-O. Today for the first time you demonstrated an understanding of counting. One. Two. Three. Four. You said. I followed with five and we were able to confirm that you did indeed have five fingers on your right hand and five toes on your left foot. You need to slow this growing up thing right down.

You are certainly a mummy's girl at the moment. Calling for me in the night when you wake.

Smothering me in the morning when we drag you into bed with us, letting your father sleep peacefully as you jam your elbow into my clavicle and fingers into my eye saying “awww, Mummy, Cuddle”. Though we have discovered that you would probably be more affectionate with your father if he didn’t have that prickly beard. You’ll very happily kiss him through the shower door, or kiss his hand when he covers his mouth. But every once in awhile you plant one on your daddy despite the beard, and it is an adorable sight to see.

You know it is going to hurt, but you’ve gone too long without kissing him and pain or no pain, you’re going to give your daddy a bisous. Then you touch your mouth, say ça pique and laugh. Ah the sacrifices we make in order to love the men in our lives.

We had parents night at your nursery a few weeks ago (which made me feel insanely old) and we’re pleasantly surprised by the feedback about you. The reserved, observant little girl who clings to her mother for twenty minutes before deciding she wants to join in is the girl who immediately makes friends with the new kid. The child who makes her parents run around the kitchen trying to find something she’ll actually eat has 2 helpings of lunch. The girl who will often make her mother spend over an hour trying to get you to take a nap is known as the best napper in the nursery.

The other day I dropped you off at nursery and we were greeted by three of your little friends, running over to see you shouting Ewoweeze! Weeze! Weeze! Ewoweeze! I am becoming increasingly aware that you are your own person, a real individual. And nothing brings that idea home more than seeing a room full of your cohorts call out your name.

You are more accurate, more deliberate than last month. Your dance moves are more precise. You can pick out songs on the radio and sing along. Your vocabulary is ever expanding. Some of your recent additions that I’ve really enjoyed are “pretty” (especially when said about me) “honey” “knock knock” and “jackass”. You can blame Grandma for that last one.

After you're in bed for the night, your father and I can catch up on our day, immerse ourselves in various time-sucks on the tinternet, cuddle on the couch with a glass of wine and a film. And for a brief moment, if feels like it's just the two of us, back to the early days of our relationship. And then I walk upstairs and see your bedroom door, hear the faint snores coming from your room and my heart swells with the knowledge that we are not alone. That our daughter is lying in her bed, surrounded by stuffed bunnies and dreams of stray cats and cuddles and messy adventures to be had. And in those moments I am reminded that becoming your mother was the best damn thing that ever happened to me.

Je t'aime.

Maman (Mummy)

Dix-neuvieme mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

2011-02-28T21:17:00.004Z

Eloise -

These letters to you all read a little more saccharine than our lives are in reality. This is mainly due to the fact that I write these letters when you are asleep and all I can remember when I look back on the last month is what an incredible, fascinating, curious, loving and clever little child you are. But certainly there are moments when we test each other. I can’t say it’s all roses. You are trying to be more and more independent, which I applaud, but sometimes your independent streaks are either ill timed, inconvenient or down right dangerous. So we disagree on many subjects throughout the day. You insist on drinking from your cup without the lid on it. Which normally I let you do (hey practice makes perfect, and I love the way you say “gentle gentle” before taking a sip) but when we’re already on outfit number 5 due to you forgetting that your cup doesn’t have a lid, I’m a little less patient. Or you insist on walking instead of riding in your pushchair - which again, I usually let you do, but when we’ve got 20 minutes to get to where we need to be and not an entire hour, I need to just strap you in and do my best to explain and then ignore your complaints. Or most of all when we are walking and you decide you are just too cool to be seen holding mummy’s hand and I have to explain for the 10th time in as many minutes that you either hold mummy’s hand or you get in the pushchair because there are cars and it’s dangerous and you are too young to realise that holding your mother’s hand is lame.

But your independence has also been a wonderful thing to witness. Brushing your teeth on your own. Attempting to carry the heavy wooden foot stool you stand on to reach the sink back to its place on the bathroom cupboard every night. Having a say in what you want to wear that day (some days you are quite picky I have to say - but I always love your final decision).

While pregnant I remember sitting in the pub (drinking apple juice and soda water - looks just like lager!) and talking with your Father and Godfather about what type of personality we hoped you’d have. I was thinking a confident and loud little girl would be great, mainly because I was an overly sensitive child and I remember how painful it could be some times and perhaps with a extroverted child some of that pain could be avoided. Your father and Godfather said they pictured you being quiet and reserved, which in the presence of strangers you very much are. It took some adjustment on my part to accept that anyone who meets you for the first time will not see the affectionate, smart, funny little toddler you are at home, but now I love that reserved quality in you. I love to watch you sit back and observe your new surroundings and then see you slowly show a bit more of your self as you start to trust the people around you. It may take you a while for you to let them into your world, but as your Grandmother said, man is it worth the wait when you do.

I count my lucky stars every single day that I am one of them.

Je t’aime

Maman

PS. These letters are getting harder and harder to post on time, thanks to you my deliciously adorable time suck.

And we're the three best friends...

2011-02-10T11:49:00.000Z

Now that Eloise can hug and kiss back, as opposed to the first months of her life where she had to politely tolerate daily overdoses of parental love, I am amazed at how intimate the relationship between parent and child is. How affectionate and loving. A lot of times The Frenchman and I will ask for a kiss or a cuddle from Eloise, and half of the time she will very happily oblige, the other half she is far too busy discovering a congregation of dust bunnies or getting her head stuck in kitchen cupboards to bother with silly things like hugs. And then there are the few moments that Eloise will show affection unprompted, and oh goodness me! I am tearing up just thinking about it. These moments, make up for every sleepless night and every sleepless night to come. When she sits on my lap, listening to a story and in the middle turns her head and kisses my cheek, smiles, then goes back to listening to the story it takes a mountain of strength to not break into a million cherished little pieces at the blessings that kiss brings me.

We are a much more cuddly family than I expected. The Frenchman and I are not a very affectionate couple - I wouldn't say we're unaffectionate but we're certainly not the constant hand holding butt grabbing types. But Eloise certainly brings it out in us. Many a night after Eloise's bath, we go through our little ritual of putting cream on her skin and holding her close and getting her pyjamas on. And on most nights the three of us will somehow end in a three way embrace, smooshing each other close, kissing each other's cheeks, Eloise making sure Mummy and Daddy are kissing enough by pushing our heads together. And yes, some nights we even find ourselves bouncing up and down in embrace, singing that little song from The Hangover.

And we're the three best friends that anyone could ever have...

Hair Cut

2011-01-27T11:20:00.002Z

We trimmed Eloise's bangs/fringe for the first time. She sat in my lap while the Frenchman snipped away. And no I didn't cry, but yes, I thought about it. She's turning into a little girl!

Here we are showing off our hair cuts. Or is that hair Cutes...? Oh YEAH!

Dix-septieme et Dix-huitieme mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

2011-01-20T21:59:00.006Z

Eloise -

Bear with me here because we got 2 months to cover and you are just shooting off in all sorts of directions of awesome wonder that I’m having a hard time keeping up. I know it’s been a few months that you’ve been walking, but my heart still sings a little ditty whenever I see you run towards me - it sings even louder when I see the back of you walking away, on to the next adventure.

Your nursery song knowledge is ever expanding. You can jump in on the E-I-E-I-O during Old Macdonald, and picked up on Frere Jacques within a week. I love when you sing to yourself, and when I can pick up a familiar tune hidden within your baby take on music, I join in. The look on your face when I start to sing with you - like yes! YOU know what I’m singing about, Mama - you get me - is priceless.

Although I’m not Mama anymore am I? I remember when pregnant, people asked me what you would call me - would it be the French Maman? - The American Mommy? I told them it would be Mama.

Little French girl playing with an onion

Universal. Warm. Big. But Mama was short lived, you have since moved on to a very English Mummy. If you told me when I was 17 and imagining what my future child would call me, Mummy would have been the last thing. But coming from you it is insanely cute. A lot of your words only your father or I can understand. Ba means Banana. Aww Doh means All Done. Jen TOE means Gentle. But Mummy. Mummy comes out clear and precise and with great conviction. And I love it.

One of my biggest concerns was how our relationship would evolve now that we’re done breastfeeding. I worried that I was loosing my magical power to soothe you and bond with you. How silly of me to worry. You quickly found other ways to get the closeness from me you need. Every night when I take you out of your bath wrapped up in your towel and place you on your changing table you immediately shrug off the towel, despite my best efforts to explain that you’ll get cold and to put the towel back on. Instead you prefer to rest your head on my chest, if there is a scarf or a necklace in your way you hurriedly move it out of the way to be sure that the side of your face is in contact with my skin and nothing else. One night I made the mistake of wearing a high neck sweater and you were very grumpy indeed. If I don’t immediately wrap my arms around your little body you will move them there for me. And we stay like that. Your warm face against my chest, my cheek resting on your damp head and my arms cradling you. You have no idea how this moment every night feeds my soul. If I could I would stay there with you till the world fell apart around us, but there are bottoms to be diapered and bedtime stories to be read.

After about 2 weeks you had stopped signing for milk during the day, but if we ever brought you into bed with us in the morning you would still turn to me asking for milk. So we stopped the family morning bed routine (much to your father’s and my chagrin as it afforded us a few more minutes sleep) for a while to help you forget. Then a few weeks ago you weren’t feeling well and kept waking up, finally by 4am we caved in and had you sleep with us. And thankfully you did not ask for milk because I was so tired I just don’t know what would have happened if you did. As you still weren’t yourself the next night, your father slept downstairs and the first time you woke up I took you into bed with me. Let me tell you Eloise, you are one cuddly sleeper. Normally I cannot stand to be touched while sleeping, I practically bite off your father’s head if so much as a knee cap grazes me and have more than once threatened to divide the bed in half with duct tape. But you give me no choice. You start off sleeping more or less on top of me, your head nestled under my neck, and through out the night we do a sleepy dance, you constantly trying to snuggle up as close as you can, like some adorable little animal searching for warmth in the night. It is not a habit I want to make, and it certainly does not make for a good night’s sleep for me, but I do wake up feeling extremely loved.

As ever you are very affectionate. Hugging your father and me whenever the mood strikes you, and lucky parents that we are the mood strikes often. Though your father is slightly miffed that he doesn’t get as many kisses as I do, perhaps you don’t like the spiky beard. You have however found a compromise. When I ask for a kiss, you give me one, when your father asks for a kiss; you push my head towards his so that I will kiss him instead. It is beyond adorable.

You are becoming quite the opinionated little madame. You’ve started choosing your own clothes. You are much more daring in your fashion choices than I am, but you have a great color palette.

You certainly have an opinion on what you eat. Some days it seems like you are running on oranges alone. While it can be frustrating when you refuse a meal I’ve made for you, you’ve developed a sophisticated palette (anchovies and capers? Guinea fowl and truffles?) and you are a very independent eater. So I try my best not to get upset when you have less of an appetite than usual and just let you get on with it. Because while one day you may choose to only eat cereal, the next day you will tuck into lentils and duck with gusto asking for seconds.

This Christmas was wonderful. Simple and cozy and full of love. Your paternal grandparents came over and spoiled you rotten - with gifts yes - but more so with their undivided attention. They spent the entire week just drinking you up and of course you adored every minute.

Thankfully you were on good form appetite wise and really seemed to enjoy the “posh” meals I made for Christmas (Guinea fowl stuffed with truffles with shallots, potatoes and green beans and for Christmas day Game pie with peas and mashed potato). My favorite moment this Christmas was on Christmas Eve. I had put the presents under the tree weeks prior but kept a close eye on you. A part from a few moments of curiosity you mainly left the gifts alone. As is our tradition, we each opened one present on Christmas Eve. You opened your gift, said Wow in your funny little E.T. voice then turned to look at the rest of the wrapped packages underneath the tree, your eyes widened to large blue saucers and we could all see the cogs in your head turning as your mouth dropped open and you finally understood what all those pretty colored boxes under the green tree were.

May there be many more penny-dropping moments of pure wonder in your life Eloise. And may I be lucky enough to bear witness.

Je t’aime

Maman

Eloise at 17 months

Eloise at 18 months

Aren't you glad I shared?

2011-01-16T20:13:00.004Z

Aaaaaaand we're back after a long hiatus (unplanned hiatus I should specify - turns out I can't cook Christmas dinner, entertain guests, try and keep the house from looking like a bomb site, help Eloise play with all her new presents AND blog at the same time).

So Happy Christmas, Happy New Year etcetera etcetera. I come back from this blogging pause with an announcement...we won worst parents of the week award! (oh, you were totally thinking I was going to say I'm pregnant! or The Frenchman and I are finally going to stop living in sin! well, no).

Eloise woke up this morning after sleeping through the night - a bit of a rarity in this house - at 6:45am. I let her cry a little bit and she fell back asleep for another 45 minutes (sweet!) and at 7:30 I decided she'd been stuck in her crib long enough. The sickly sweet smell of barf hit me like a wall when I opened her bedroom door. I quickly turned on the light and there she was, happily smiling at me covered in pink vomit. Stuck in her hair, dried into her blankets, smeared into her sheet. While our dinner of whole wheat spaghetti with seafood in a cream sauce was delicious last night, the sequel this morning was vile. From the state of her sick I would say she had thrown up well before we went to bed, probably while we were eating our own dinner, drinking a couple glasses of Sauvignon Blanc and commenting on how poor Eloise's cough was pretty loud as it came through the monitor we barely pay attention to these days.

This picture has nothing to do with vomit!

So let me make this clear. My daughter, the one who is a sensitive sleeper, the one who cries at night when she has a cold, when her skin is dry, when she'd rather be showing off some new motor skill she's just acquired. That daughter threw-up a pile of regurgitated crustaceans and then WENT BACK TO SLEEP FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT.

Boob be gone

2010-12-19T13:39:00.005Z

So it looks like we’re winding down our breastfeeding relationship. Which is good. I think. I mean, right? This is what I want, isn’t it? She’s almost 17 months old. Old enough that I personally don’t feel comfortable feeding her in public and haven’t for around 6 months or so. Which is not say I have anything against extended breastfeeding, but I certainly have found my own comfort threshold with it. Eloise and I are starting our first step to growing apart as individuals. And while I will forever and always be Eloise’s mother - a permanent stamp on my identity, Eloise will become more and more Eloise, plain and simple (though far from plain and far from simple is she).

I can now get her to nap and sleep without nursing. A feat I have tried for near on 7 months off and on with no luck. Finally this last week, Eloise and I were ready. I had more resolve to stick it out and she no longer felt this was a battle worth fighting against so hard. So she signed for milk and I calmly gave her a beaker of cow’s milk instead. And I rocked her in my arms and she kicked and screamed and pointed at the old chair we usually nurse in, but I rocked and shushed and patted and after 10 minutes she laid her cheek against mine and started to fall asleep. And the next day it was 5 minutes of screaming. And that night. That night I held her and rocked her for maybe 30 seconds and she indicated that she wanted to be put down in her bed, so I did, and she curled into a ball, butt in the air, and I put the blanket on her, patted her back and left the room.

We are now embarking on day 5 of not nursing and there have unfortunately been many a moment at 1:12am, at 2:29am, at 4:38am that tears have sprung to my eyes while Eloise wailed and thrashed - because of teething, because of a cold, because of a tummy ache, because she likes a good challenge - and I thought I should just give in and sit in that chair and nurse her. But we both need to learn how to calm and be calmed by other means than my milk - and while cutting 2 molars without being able to nurse her through the discomfort has been a baptism of fire, we have stuck through it and she has woken every morning, happy and cheerful and slightly more independent to two very tired parents.

Will I be able to stay as strong tonight if she does the same thing? If she wakes up 4 times and takes a good HOUR to get back to sleep each time? I don’t know. I’m tired. I honestly don’t know. But I do know that Eloise and I are growing up. And I’m a little sad and a lot relieved. Because do you know what stopping to nurse means? It means that I can drink as much sparkling water as I want without it upsetting Eloise’s stomach. It means that I can wear bras that don’t pretend to hold my boobs up by flimsy Lego snaps. IT MEANS THAT I CAN DRINK DURING THE DAY ~~AGAIN~~.~~IF I FEEL LIKE IT~~. ~~IF I AM NOT NAPPING~~.

Christmalhijrahanukwanzaakah

2010-12-16T12:51:00.003Z

Neil over at Citizen of the Month - a man who saw me start blogging during my carefree, boozy, childless life pre-Eloise - hosts a fabulous inter-faith holiday concert. This year I was sober enough to send a little clip of Eloise and me singing along with Fairytale of New York.

Lots of entertaining, heartfelt, beautiful and adorably embarrassing holiday videos can be seen. Go. Now. Fill yourself with holiday spirit and then come back and tell me how cute my kid is.

http://www.citizenofthemonth.com/2010/12/15/the-fifth-annual-blogger-christmalhijrahanukwanzaakah-online-holiday-concert/

2010-12-14T22:07:00.003Z

The weather has been a slight challenge and we find ourselves indoors a bit more often then usual.

Impromptu photo shoots happen frequently.

Baby Tings are everywhere

2010-12-03T13:53:00.003Z

When Eloise turned 9 months, one of the babies we knew around her age started walking and I thought, wow, that's early! When Eloise turned 12 months old a few more of the babies her age had started walking, and I thought, ok, she can take her time, no rush. When Eloise turned 15 months old and nearly all the babies we knew her age were walking but her, I complained to the other mothers. I want her to walk already! It would be so much easier, I said. The mothers said to me, with one eye on their baby who was running away, careful what you wish for! Enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts!

And now at 16 months she is walking, and yes, there is more running around and chasing and the danger that she can get into has upped my mom senses to amber alert. But because my friends had prepared me for this next step, I feel ready. And since we waited so patiently, I am still in the proud mama bear phase (ps. Eff you Sarah Palin for taking the "mama bear" concept and smearing your giant Alaskan poo all over it). But what I was not prepared for was the spread of the baby things. Her junk is EVERYWHERE. What used to be contained to little pockets of pre-determined Eloise areas is now invading the rest of the house.

After she is in bed and I go around tidying the house up, I find rubber ducks in kitchen cabinets, baby spoons on book shelves, children's books in the bathtub.

She is taking over the house. And it kinda makes me smile.

Seizieme mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

2010-11-30T21:45:00.003Z

Eloise -

I won’t tie in the last few days with my recap of your 16^th month on this planet, because if I did I would have to say that you’ve been a hot snotty mess with the ability to cry at the drop of a hat and cling to me or your father like the world around you is crumbling. But you’ve got a fever and molars the size of child’s fist breaking through your gums so we’ll ignore the last few days. Especially since this month is the month you learned to WALK! We’ve had little steps here and there and that great running-at-an-ever-decreasing-angle-between-me-and-the-floor-until-you-either-catch-me-or-I-face-plant walk. But this past week you have finally gone from bum shuffler to walker. You got a bit of Charlie Chaplin thing going on, and you often stop and look around you in surprise that you got this far and in even more surprise that the rest of the world moves so fast.

You love to sing and I am amazed at the speed with which you pick up new songs. I sing. A LOT. And I know one day you’ll get fed up with my singing and tell me stop. But for now, you love it. When I was pregnant I sang lullabies to you in my belly. I’d often take a bath at night to help ease the aches and pains and to have a calm place to let my pregnant emotions out. I would sing “Tender Shepherd” from Peter Pan and “My own Home” from The Jungle Book and The Beatles “I will” while rubbing my belly, feeling my body pulse with love for you. When you were born it was a few weeks before I could finish a lullaby without crying - my adoration for you was too new and intense and the words all felt too true. During your first year I sang to make you laugh, to calm you down, sometimes I sang just so the house would not be filled with your cries alone. And now 16 months of listening to me sing you’re joining in. And in tune. And it is awesome. Eloise, you can duet with me wherever whenever.

Along with the singing is the dancing.

You have different dance moves depending on the tempo. A slow song and you sway back and forth and I swear once I saw you raise your lighter in the air. A fast song and you are quick to rock your diapered hips and nod your head up and down.

You have also become a lot more affectionate. You hug and kiss on command - obviously not every time, but it is becoming less and less frequent that you’ll turn down a chance for a cuddle. The other day I was getting you ready for your bath and I put your sweater on my head, you stopped and looked at me with a huge grin, clapped a few times and then put your little hands on my face, pulling me towards you and planted a wet one on me. It was the first time you had kissed me without me prompting you and it was the best thing ever.

There are moments every day when my heart swells and I am overwhelmed at how much I love you. A new look, an excited smile, a contented sigh. You are my heart. And to think that my heart just might love me back, even just a fraction as much, is pure indulgent icing on this mammoth mama of a cake.

Je t’aime.

Maman

ZZZZZZZZZ

2010-11-26T21:09:00.003Z

There's a half written letter to 16-month-old Eloise kicking around my computer. The post was written late because I wanted to surprise my mother who came to visit on the fact that her granddaughter is a walking being. The post is half finished because since my mother arrived Eloise went into full on sabotage mode and reverted to waking multiple times a night, nursing for hours non stop and generally complaining to whomever would listen.

I'll post more when I get some sleep that lasts longer than 3 hours and/or doesn't involve a snorting toddler trying to suck the life essence from me at 4am.

Until then....This.

Hover hover

2010-11-09T21:50:00.006Z

Am I the mother I am because she is my daughter or is she the daughter she is because I am her mother? It is hard to see where her personality ends and my parenting influence begins.

At the moment I think I could be classed as a "helicopter" parent. When Eloise and I go to playgroup in the morning - big bustling rooms filled with newborns to four-year-olds and a whole plethora of toys - I struggle to leave Eloise's side - or rather, I guess we struggle to leave each other. I want her to be independent, to go forth and make friends and discover new ways of playing. Instead Eloise tends to either sit on my lap, or hold my hands as she walks around the room observing. When she does get comfortable in her surroundings and wanders off to read some books or play house, I try and keep my distance and chat with the other mothers, but I find I can't entirely take my eyes off her. To me she is just a fragile little child, incapable of running away or defending herself and when she is no longer attached to my jeans I fear that it will be only moments before she gets pushed down to the ground or the toy she's playing with will get unjustly ripped out of her hands.

But kids need to get pushed down, right? They need to learn to get back on their feet. They need to learn to share and also to learn that sharing is a tough lesson, one not everyone you come across will have learned properly. So when Eloise does (more often than not) end up on the floor in tears I squash the initial reaction to punt the other child across the room and help Eloise pick herself up and tell her these things happen.

But inside I'm thinking, Oh cruel world! What can I do to make sure nothing harms this beautiful little being before me. I hope I'm not alone in this (because if I were I would start to doubt my sanity) but ever since I became a mother, lost scenes from my upbringing have sprung to the foreground. I remember at my own nursery having the worried feeling that the adults did not have enough control, that there simply wasn't enough of them to witness all the injustice that was occurring on the playground. So clearly my anxiety has been there from the get go. What I don't want to do is pass this on to Eloise through nurture if she managed to dodge the anxiety bullet potentially handed to her via nature.

As I have spent these last 16 months getting to know Eloise, I can clearly see that she has a reserved personality. She takes her time and gets to know her surroundings before jumping in. She chooses who gets to see her with her guard down and who doesn't. I wouldn't call her shy. A) because I don't think she is shy and b) the more you tell a "shy" person they're shy, the more withdrawn they become.

I guess I'm just struggling to find the balance between honoring her emerging personality and exacerbating it.

Confessions of a Mother of a Bum-Shuffler

2010-11-06T19:30:00.003Z

If she's not bum shuffling from room to room she is crawling.

If she's not crawling she is holding her hands out so we can "walk" her.

Adorable tights with frills on the bottom are now encrusted with garden dirt and playground sand.

A naively purchased pair of white trousers hangs unworn in her wardrobe.

As soon as I get into an interesting conversation with another mother at playgroup (and by interesting I mean anything not about baby poo), Eloise bum-shuffles over to me hands up in the air demanding me to walk her.

When I see other babies her age running around I know that I have it easy. The mothers look tired, and rightfully so, seeing as they now have to look after a child that walks like a drunk elf and has the same concept of danger as one.

But I envy them too. I want to see where Eloise will go. I want to chase after her at the park. I think I am finally ready to see her walk away from me.

A kiss Goodnight

2010-11-01T19:45:00.003Z

What if I don't remember the little details of being her mother in the days before her memory takes hold? What if I forget that the first time I put her to bed without nursing her I had tears in my eyes while she drank her cup of milk reading Goodnight Moon. What if I forget that when she lay down in her crib, belly full and a smile on her lips, she took her bunny and teddy bear and pressed their lips together with a kiss.

When she gets too old to kiss me on the lips what if I forget the day she first kissed me?

Tonight after she brushed her teeth in her father's arms, he handed her to me and she planted her minty mouth to mine. She pulled away and we both laughed. She kissed me again and again, laughing each time. Then her father said, Et Daddy? Bisous a Daddy? And when he leaned in for her to kiss him, she pushed her father's face towards mine, preferring that he kiss me instead.

What if I forget this? What if the pictures and even the words aren't enough to remember exactly how it felt to have her in my arms at the exact age she is now, to hold her so completely in my heart.

Hopefully some things are never forgotten.

Review of the 9-12 month wardrobe

2010-10-23T21:09:00.001+01:00

Despite being born at a hearty 8lbs 5oz Eloise is now a petite toddler. Most of her little friends have all filled out with plump baby fat while Eloise remains rather dainty. Because of this she has been wearing her 9-12 month wardrobe well past her first birthday. It is only in the past week or so that her wardrobe has tipped to be mainly the 12-18month size.

So it's taken me a bit longer than usual to compile my ode to the new baby wardrobe we get to indulge ourselves in every 3-6 months. Going back over these pictures to choose which ones to add made me see just how much Miss Eloise has changed since last spring/summer. Her face is now less babyish, more young child. This of course makes me very broody.

Sometimes we rock a do'-rag.

Sometimes we rock it hard. Dress by Next UK. Tights vintage. Bandanna model's mother's.

Sweater by Jean Bourget, dress vintage

Blue romper and pink onesie by Peacock's

Peter Pan collar shirt vintage, jeans by Sainsbury's, star-spangled shoes by Next

First shoes by Peacock's, green leggings by Babylegs, pink polka-dot romper by Sainsbury's, white cardigan vintage, England cap by Pub Landlord

Blue tie-dye by Denver vintage, Jeans vintage, First shoes same as above

Pink top Arizona vintage, Jeans by Jean Bourget

Long white sleeve shirt by Sainsbury's, Floral top by French designer whose name escapes me

Bug dress by Zutano, hot pink tights vintage

Grey tank and star pants by Ikks

Navy striped top with matching jeans Arizona vintage

White long-sleeve shirt same as above, purple overalls Nottingham vintage

Purple vest and pants gift from cousine Eloise

Floral jumper and matching pants Chicago gift

Handmade hoodie and matching dress Denver gift

Quinzieme mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

2010-10-20T10:00:00.000+01:00

Eloise -

As I write this you are sleeping in your crib. This of course is nothing out of the ordinary, except this time it was not me that put you to bed, but your father. Oh what a break through! While we've had nights when you've struggled to let me send you to sleep and I had to call in reinforcements this was the first time your father did the final bedtime routine all by himself. We're trying to move away from me nursing you to sleep. Your father and I have been meaning to make this bedtime routine change for a while now, but by the time we get to the hand over point we're both so tired that we just go with what is tried and tested to get you to sleep.

After 15 months of putting you to sleep I am thrilled at the liberty of no longer being the sole person who can. And of course as I have quickly found that motherhood is full of contradictions, I also feel slight melancholy. It seems that just as I have come to terms with the idea that I am a slave to your every need - you stop needing me as much.

The biggest change this month has been getting the hang of the one-nap-a-day routine. We're taking full advantage of the many morning play groups our town has on offer. It is really interesting to see the difference between your private and public persona. At home you strut and dance and blow raspberries on any part of my body you can access. At home you explore the house on your own, singing to yourself. In playgroup you are reserved and observant. You hold my hand and watch the other kids play before cautiously choosing where to join in.

It is frustrating and exhilarating watching you learn to communicate. When you want your doll you say 'Mama' in a spookily accurate imitation of how your doll says Mama. You make the sign for 'eat' when you're hungry and say 'mmmm' when you like what you're eating. You sing little snippets of songs to let me know you want me to sing to you (my favorite is when you say 'up above' which sounds more like 'uh buh buh' for me to sing Twinkle Twinkle). The frustrating part though comes when you vaguely point in some direction and keep repeating 'dat! dat!' with increasing intensity which sends me on a scavenger hunt at the whims of a tiny dictator with a very short attention span and limited vocabulary.

This past month I've had a few "down" days as I deal with future career decisions. I assume you have been none the wiser to my change in mood. Not because I don't think you are smart enough to know when your mother is upset about something. Children - even 15 months old - understand a lot more than adults give them credit for (one of my favorite quotes of late: One of the pitfalls of childhood is that one doesn't have to understand something to feel it). No, I think you are none the wiser because it is practically impossible to let things such as a job or money alter my mood when you look at me with our shade of blue eyes, smile and lean your head into the crook of my neck.

I know I've said this before but you are so much fun to be around. I am just so excited at the fact that I get to be your mother. Imagine that you are say, 6 years old and you get a seal puppy for your birthday. A baby seal! All for you! Can you just picture how eye-poppingly excited that 6 year-old is? This is what being your mother feels like. Like I'm the only 6-year-old on the block to have a real live baby seal as a pet.

Je t'aime

Maman

Cleaning

2010-10-06T21:39:00.000+01:00

My biggest downfall as a daughter was my inability to clean up after myself. I think my sister would agree that this was her biggest downfall as well. It certainly wasn't intentionally out of a lack of respect for our mother, more a lack of respect for the act of cleaning. I just could never understand why bother cleaning something if you were just going to mess it up again.

I remember when Claire and I would hear our mother's car in the driveway there would be a mad dash to put dirty plates into the kitchen sink and move school books to the bottom of the stairs to avoid being yelled at.

It's only recently that I've got a bit better at cleaning and especially with the addition of Eloise there is a certain level of hygiene I try and maintain for her safety. But there's a lot of cleaning tasks that I am still rubbish (ha!) at.

When my mom would tell me to clean my room, a hot rage would burn in my stomach. It wasn't so much that I minded cleaning my room. If I was in the right mood and with the right "cleaning" music, I could actually quite enjoy it, and certainly enjoyed the satisfaction of having a clean room. But something about being told to clean up would make me seethe.

These pictures have nothing to do with the post. But someone needs to knit me that sweater in a mom large.

I know my sister's and my inability to pick up after ourselves drove my mom crazy. And who can blame her. Single mother, working hard, and her two intelligent, thoughtful daughters can't muster up the energy to keep their mess in check. I'm impressed all she did was yell.

I want to do whatever I can to avoid this struggle for cleanliness between Eloise and me. So I've made a point of singing songs* as I clean-up small messes, or putting on good music to clean a whole room. I'll use the vacuum to suck up her shirt to make her laugh. I read a tip saying that when your baby is old enough, get them to help with the cleaning. If they throw all their food on the floor - no problem, but when you're done with the meal, get the kid down there with you helping to sweep up.

I don't know if what I'm doing is going to have any impact in the long run, but this past week Eloise has snuck baby wipes behind my back and started wiping whatever surfaces she could find. The other day while I was wiping the food that missed her mouth off of her highchair, I turned around to find her wiping my chair clean with a baby wipe. And you better believe I praised the shit out of that behavior. My voice shot up 8 octaves "Good Girl! Are you cleaning? You are so clever! Mama's little helper! That is some REALLY GOOD CLEANING ELOISE".

So of course now that she has shown an interest in wiping down surfaces I am doing what I can to show my support as a mother in what my daughter enjoys. Which lead me to what happened yesterday when I found myself sitting on my fat ass with my feet propped up drinking a cup of coffee while my child was on her knees below me mopping the floor with her own toilet paper.

*Does anyone know of any good clean-up songs apart from that horrible "Clean-up, clean-up, everybody everywhere.." that makes me want to punch myself in the head?

How can I be lonely when she never leaves me alone?

2010-10-05T14:34:00.006+01:00

The other day a grandmother at one of the morning play groups Eloise and I go to asked me if I find motherhood lonely. Now you know you're giving out super happy content-with-my-life vibes when a stranger who is currently spending her well earned retirement as an unpaid babysitter asks you if you could use a friend.

And sure, I guess I've been a little mopey lately because I'm unemployed and our savings are slowly seeping out of our bank account and I'm trying to stretch the household income as much as possible which means being frugal and not pampering myself as much (two things I am not good at) - but am I lonely? A 1 year old doesn't really give you time to be lonely, do they? I finish my day with Eloise and my feet hurt from running around with her and my cheeks hurt from smiling and my heart hurts from adoring.

And while I do sometimes need to make sure I get some adult conversation into my day I can think of quite a few people that are far less interesting to talk to than my 14-month old who knows all of 7 - wait - is meow a word, or a sound? - 6 words.

Because there are not enough posts on breastfeeding in this world.

2010-09-29T22:22:00.006+01:00

Sigh. Breastfeeding. I'm still at it. We're still at it. If you had told me when Eloise was born that I would still be nursing her at 14 months I would have said you clearly don't know me that well. Turns out I don't know me that well.

My plan was to go to 6 months. The disastrous Paris trip knocked back my confidence and I just couldn't bring myself to wean her. So I said we'll nurse until her 1st birthday. Then she can have cow's milk and I can have my boobs back. Or what's left of them.

Well 2 months on from her birthday and we are no closer to being weaned. I had a one week period where I offered her cow's milk more often and was going to take it from there, but I didn't really pursue it much more than that. She still gets a couple glasses of cow's milk a day (which she never finishes) and of course she's going without breast milk when she's at nursery twice a week.

But when she's with me and those little hands are furiously making the sign for milk! milk! milk! Dear GOD woman whip one out and FEED ME! with those big blue eyes I cave in nearly every time.

I don't breastfeed her in public anymore, because I'm slightly embarrassed by it now. Partly because we're not feeding as often so I'm more aware of it. At the beginning you're feeding your baby more often then you're not feeding her and if I hadn't nursed her in public back then I would have turned into a reclusive mole person who smells faintly of mildew and cream. And partly because I remember how I felt seeing a mother nurse a baby/child Eloise's age and it kinda creeped me out. I'm vain enough to care what others think of me and I just don't have the passion for breast feeding to back myself up. If I were a militant breast feeder who had read all the facts and chose to nurse my child until, what is it age 4? as recommended by the WHO? Then I would happily nurse in public and proudly explain my pro-breastfeeding stance to any naysayers. But I am not a militant breast feeder. Sure, I believe if you are able to, in the early stages, giving your baby milk created especially for him/her with your own friggin' body is the best option. But do you know what trumps that option? Making sure your baby does not go hungry and that you as a FAMILY are happy and healthy.

No, I am still breastfeeding my 14-month old baby because I am one lazy mother. I am feeding her with my own milk because I just can't face the week it would take to train her to nap without nursing. I am nursing her because on the nights when she wakes up at 4am, popping open my nursing bra and falling back to sleep in the chair next to her crib is the easiest option IN THE MOMENT. I am nursing her because on the rare occasions when she has a total freak out and is crying hysterically I know the quickest way to calm her down is to nourish her with my own body in the best way I know how. And if I am honest with myself, I am still nursing Eloise because I am afraid that if I stop I will no longer be as important to her as I am right now.

I know it needs to stop sometime. Sometime in the not so distant future. There is a long night at the pub with my name written in beer foam all over it. I want to take drugs again - no, not the ~~fun~~ bad kind, just some sudafed once in a while would be nice. I want to one day not be such an integral part of her bedtime routine. I want to know what other super powers as a mother I have up my sleeve. Powers that I have yet to discover because Eloise and I still can't get over the fact that my body? PRODUCES FOOD.

Eloise takes London

2010-09-25T20:39:00.000+01:00

A few weeks ago the three of us went down to London for a friend's wedding. We decided to go a day early to settle Eloise and get the lay of the land as well as hit up an old friend from our Paris days.

Everything went very smoothly. Well, a part from my mad panic getting Eloise and I to the train station on time, the bus not stopping to pick us up - most likely because I was an overloaded sweaty mother who clearly had somewhere important to be - so we called a taxi. When the taxi came I realized I didn't have any money bar some coins. I figured I could call the Frenchman to meet us to pay the fare. On the taxi ride over I got a text on my phone saying I had just run out of credit. Luckily the taxi driver was the same man who had driven us to Manchester for our trip to Chicago and he let me off with paying just under the fare. This is why I'm glad we always tip generously.

Eloise naps through London

AnyHOO... We went to dinner at a big american restaurant called Maxwell's that came recommended as family friendly. We got set up with a high chair and some crayons and once drinks arrived Eloise was very happy to drink her milk by dipping her hand in her glass and sucking the milk off her hand. Perhaps not the most charming of methods, but if it keeps the kid happy in a busy restaurant I'm all for it. The company was fabulous - but we had to wait a good hour for our food. Eloise for the most part handled this wait fairly well - we had to keep her toys in a steady rotation and occasionally take her our of the high chair so she could have a change of view, but there were no tears. Then the food arrived - which was insanely hot - and the poor thing after waiting patiently, had to wait even longer for Mama and Daddy to blow on her fish fingers and chips while she nibbled on the cucumber and tomato from her salad.

Near our London hotel

Being hungry she ate heartily (as did we) and proved her English roots by devouring the little cup of baked beans that came with her meal. Once she was finished eating she started turning towards the other tables and flirting, saying hi! and waving. It was here that a table not far from us got up and left, but before they did, the grandmotherly-american woman came over to us. I'm sorry she said, but I just have to tell you that she is such a good baby. Oh! Thank you, I said. No. No. She emphasized, that is a REALLY good baby.

I'm not going to lie - despite the fact that Eloise happened to be in a good mood during a longer than anticipated meal which I can take no credit for as a parent - this was music to my ears. And I will replay her voice telling me what a good baby I have on days like today - when Eloise decides to spend most of her time screaming in my face because I am clearly not meeting her demands.

Eloise and I at the wedding.

Quartorzieme mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

2010-09-19T20:28:00.004+01:00

Eloise -

You took your first steps the other week. After months of aided walking and bum shuffling and stopping dead in your tracks the second any one let go of your hand you finally took a leap of faith and toddled between your father and me. I cried. I know, what an emotional boob am I?We spent three days gleefully practicing this 4 step dance between us, and now suddenly, walking upright is so last season and you are back on that cute bottom of yours, getting around in the way you know best. And that's just fine. As fun and exciting as it was to see you take your first steps, I do not want to rush you, because with those tears of joy also came a bunch of holy cripes my life is about to change. So thanks for the preview but your father and I are happy to wait for the main event when you feel good and ready.

You've been showing a cautious interest in animals. Cats in particular, which will please quite a few people in your family as you come from a long line of crazy cat ladies. A big friendly black cat has started hanging out in our back yard and from watching your father and me you have figured out how to call the cat close to you, reaching your little hand out and making kissy noises. However once the cat gets too close you retract your hand and back away saying no. Then when the cat moves further away, you call him back, frustrated that he's out of arms reach again. It's a rather hilarious display of woman being afraid of what she wants.

You have become more and more social. While you often still take a little while to get used to new surroundings or people, you're coming out of your shell a bit quicker each day. When I take you out in the pushchair people smile and wave at you, and not just because you're adorable, but because you're the one who initiated the wave. You say hi all the time now - starting conversations with strangers that you cannot finish. Most people of course give a jolly Hi! right back at you and often the two of you will say Hi back and forth for quite sometime. Not everyone likes babies though, or maybe some people are just having a bad day, or think you'll drag them into some long boring conversation about your favorite diaper brand, but whatever the reason, occasionally when you give a happy little Hi! to a stranger they don't respond. I can completely understand that not everyone wants to engage with a very young child and do not push you on them, but inside it just breaks my heart to see your greeting go ignored. Here you are pleased as punch that you can talk and make yourself understood and interact with the world around you and the person cannot even muster a quick Hi! back. It takes a lot of self control for me not to scoop you in my arms and say, nevermind, that person is just a heartless ass.

We are transitioning from two naps a day to one. You've been fighting your morning nap more and more and then when I would get you down it would be past 11 and you'd sleep through lunch and be totally off schedule. (well, whatever mild semblance of a schedule we try and keep). So not only would you be out of whack but instead of doing something fun together we would spend a good chunk of the morning fighting each other in your darkened bedroom. I remember when you were a lot younger and reading about how at some point between 1 and 2 years of age most babies will drop the morning nap and I thought, ugh how dreadful. I do not know what I'm going to do when there's only 1 nap. Turns out - I LOVE IT. I love having more time with you, being able to have little outings in the morning together. And don't get me wrong, I enjoy your nap time - I get to tackle some of the house work and then make myself a cup of coffee and read what's left of the weekend paper. But you know what kid? You are a lot of fun to hang out with.

The other day your father was downstairs working while you and I were in your room, after awhile your father came upstairs and said "What are you two laughing so hard about?". The two of us can get a serious case of the giggles - usually caused by you blowing raspberries on my stomach or me chasing you on all fours. See what I mean? Fun to hang out with.

I loved you, was in love with the mere idea of you, years before you were born. I started falling deeply in love you from the moment you were placed on my chest and I have kept on falling. And while I think it is important to remember that I am the parent and you are the child, this past month I have been so excited to see that we have become such good friends. And while I am not in the habit of wiping my friend's bottoms, for you my dear Eloise I will make an exception.

Je t'aime

Maman

P.S. Hi!

In hindsight

2010-09-12T14:40:00.002+01:00

I wish I could go back to that new mother over a year ago and give her a glimpse of what is to come. I wish I could wipe away her tears. Not the tears of overwhelmed love, those were full and beautiful and worthy. But the tears of bewilderment. The tears because she couldn't see past this precious needy creature she had just brought forth in the world. Because she couldn't see that one day this mewling milk vomiting helpless little being who demanded so much of her would turn into a ray of light on toddling feet. That one day this being would wrap her arms around my neck every day and hug me. Hard. That one day she would wake up every morning and say Hi! That one day she would trust herself enough to let go of my hands and take her first steps. That so much sooner than I could have imagined she would love me back. Almost almost as much as I love her.

I'm a what now?

2010-09-01T15:47:00.004+01:00

The carpets have been deep cleaned, the laundry hung out to dry. The dishes have been washed and the kitchen floor vacuumed. A pot of ratatouille is simmering on the stove and the vase is now full with fresh flowers cut from the garden. The shelves have been dusted and my daughter's toys have been put away.

I didn't ask for this, but here I am. Unmarried housewife extraordinaire!

Tampax should hire me for their next marketing campaign

2010-08-29T12:29:00.005+01:00

Who needs to spend money on baby toys when you have.... Tampons! Shameful parenting alert.

Usually I am able to take my shower while Eloise naps in the morning. I bring the monitor in with me and listen to Johnny Cash sing to my sleeping baby. More often then not I am even able to get myself dressed before the beast awakes (though I have had to rush into her room with soap in my hair and clumsily throw some clothes on while I entertain miss grouchy face) (and her "I've just woken up and I'm not happy about it" face is the best. I'm a baby. Waking up sucks. Love it.)

Sometimes however I am forced to take a quick shower while Eloise is plonked in her bumbo seat on the floor of the bathroom. It takes her about 5 minutes to get out of this seat, so these showers are FAST. I give her some toys to distract her from the fact that the seat she is in does not hold her captive. The Latest development is that she eschews the toys for my box of tampons. Apparently Tampax make really fun toys for babies! You can bang them together! You can slide them through toilet paper rolls! You can bang them together again!

My first instinct was to stop her from playing with them but then I thought, wtf, she might as well have a positive association with these things now before she equates them with cramps and crying and blind rage while curled up in the foetal position.

The other day I was sitting at the top of the stairs with Eloise while she used the railing to pull herself up and down and I kept saying UUUPPPP DOOOWWWN. Then she would say UHHHH DAAAAAA and I would clap. The Frenchman came home from work and as per usual Eloise got so excited when she heard his keys in the door that she flapped her arms and rushed over to me and threw her arms around me and squeezed my neck so tight because the excitement of Daddy coming home is just. too. much.

This picture has nothing to do with tampons. THANK GOD.

The Frenchman came and sat next to me at the top of the stairs and we talked about his day and our day and Eloise then shuffled away into the bathroom. I kept an eye on her while we continued to chat and then after some rustling she shuffled back from the bathroom with a bright yellow tampon in her hand and gave it to me. Very proudly. Here mom. You can have one of my new toys. There's a whole BOX of them! Thank you! I said. Then she bum shuffled back to the bathroom and retrieved another, shuffled back to us and handled it to me. Thank you! This went on five more times until finally The Frenchman piped up and said what about Daddy Eloise? J'en ai pas et Maman elle en a 5! So Eloise went back and found another tampon and brought it to her father. He said Merci! and she went back to get him another tampon.

We both started laughing as she turned to go back into the bathroom to find more Tampon toys. What kind of parents are we? Making our daughter show her fondness to her mother and father by giving them tokens of love in the form of a tampon. As Eloise was in the bathroom, back turned to us, about to reach for another tampon she started to laugh to herself. A short sharp Ha! Ha! and then found what she was looking for and came back to her parents.

Seriously. Tampons. Best toys ever.

Rain

2010-08-23T22:17:00.002+01:00

Sometimes you get caught in the rain.

Sometimes you get caught in the rain while pushing your baby in her stroller.

Sometimes you get caught in the rain while pushing your baby in her stroller with the rain cover inaccessible under groceries.

Sometimes you get caught in the rain while pushing your baby in her stroller with the rain cover inaccessible under groceries and you realize that you forgot to button up your top from the last time you nursed your kid.

Sometimes you get caught.

Treizieme mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

2010-08-22T22:44:00.005+01:00

Eloise -

13 months old baby. Well 13 months old and 4 days. We’ve been busy busy busy over here. And by busy I mean unorganized.

There have been a couple more signs this month (eat and monkey) and you’re getting more confident with your cruising. You’re still very comfortable with the bum shuffling as your mode of transport but you’ve also started to contemplate the idea of standing on your own. The biggest change of course has been your sleeping. While I think you’ll always be a bit of a sensitive sleeper, we have gone from waking every 3 hours to sleeping 10.5 hours maybe 3 or 4 days a week. Just so the sleep gods don’t think I’m boasting, we’re not totally out of the woods. When you do wake up it now usually takes an hour or two to get you back to sleep and sometimes we’re still struggling to get you down to bed for the night at 9pm. 9pm Eloise - this seriously encroaches on mama’s ~~drinking~~ relaxing time.

I think the most important change this month though is with me. Instead of treating you like a little baby, I’ve finally started treating you like the bum-shuffling toddler that you are. You’ve been to the museum. Ate at your first restaurant. And I mean really ate. Almost an entire omelette with a fork and you drank a whole glass of milk. A glass. No sippy cup.

After your first birthday we finally moved your pushchair around so that you are facing the world. At first I missed you, missed smiling and joking around with you, missed watching you try and fight sleep and then fail miserably. But now I get to see how you affect everyone else who sees you. From little old ladies to hardened men deep in conversation. You break all of them of their daily grind and bring them into your innocent world of wonder and smiles.

We’ve been taking longer excursions; 5 hour long walks through nature reserves and marinas. Just today we spent 7 hours on a canal boat, along with a stop at a pub and a park. I always start these outings with a slight trepidation. Will you get cranky and pout all day? Will you scream the entire car ride? Will you cause a huge mess while eating in public? And at the end of the day I realize I had nothing to worry about yet again because while you have your moments, on the whole you are a charming, portable baby who makes her needs known and thus easily met.

I’m just sorry it took me this long to realize how far we could go together.

Je t’aime

Maman

Oh the places we'll go!

2010-08-10T21:24:00.002+01:00

Just today Eloise wrapped her stuffed animal in a blanket and patted her to sleep. I feel like we are on the cusp of the really good stuff. My childhood, like most, had its ups and downs, and as simple as it was I think the best moments of my childhood was paying pretending games with my little sister Claire. Animal games we used to call them.

We played these games for as long as our imaginations were stronger than our self-conscious. Which I am proud to say took us far into the double digits. Our beds became boats as we rescued mewling kittens from the jaws of sharks nipping at our bow. Blankets became caves where we would nurse our sick pets back to health out of the rain while the other would forage for berries so we could eat. Closets became abandoned cottages in the woods in which we could become the youngest pair of squatters with a travelling family of injured pets.

The other day Eloise was playing with my computer. To lure her away to more baby friendly play I cuddled a floppy black cat to my cheek, shushing it and singing it lullabies. She took the bait and bum shuffled over to me, but instead of pushing the cat out of the way in a fit of jealousy as I suspected, she came to cuddle me, but made sure that I kept cuddling the cat too. Could it be? Her first Animal game? Lets pretend we’re a bunch of cats that need to be cuddled by mama.

Oh the worlds we have ahead of us! The injuries to nurse, the teddy bears to wrap in blankets to keep from catching cold, the forts to build to take shelter from the thunder storm that is happening in our living room.

This right here is why I became a mother. I just pray she will let me play with her for a few years before she realizes these games are so much more fun without adults.

The Man in Black

2010-07-26T21:45:00.003+01:00

Adjusting back to life as what is currently a Stay at home Mom hasn't been easy. We were spoiled on our trip to Chicago and having all those extra hands for 2 weeks made me almost forget how much energy it takes to look after Eloise.

Coming back from holiday we were again faced with the challenging reality of raising a child in a country of which you have no family. No one to take her for a walk when you only got 3 hours of sleep the night before. No one to distract her on the changing table so she doesn't wipe poo on the walls. No one to play peek-a-boo with her while you drink a cup coffee while checking facebook. But that doesn't mean we don't have help. In fact, we had help right under our noses this entire year and I cannot believe I didn't think of it sooner. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Babysitter extraordinaire: Mr. Johnny Cash.

Picture of Johnny Cash at Listal

I've been a fan of Mr. Cash for some time now, and when The Frenchman saw him in a episode of Columbo he became a fan too. While I was pregnant I listened to a lot of Johnny Cash. Streets of Laredo was my favorite. Johnny even came with me in the labour suite when I gave birth. They say that songs played while the baby is in utero can often calm the baby when they are on the other side. We were afraid we'd have to play the theme song to Friends over and over to calm her down.

When Eloise goes to sleep at night, we play a medley of calming songs (mainly classical, some Belle and Sebastian, Charles Aznavour used to be on there but we're pretty sure he gave her night terrors so we booted him from the play list). I've been trying to get her to sleep a bit longer during her nap times in hopes that it would help with her sleeping better at night. So I decided to put on some music for her nap. I was in the mood for some Johnny and figured I could change it to her sleep medley if he didn't work. If he didn't work. Please. Man's voice is like a friggin' baby whisperer on a train filled with warm bottles of whiskey laced milk and paracetamol. I'm kicking myself that I didn't try him earlier.

Instead of 30 or 45 minute naps, Eloise is now doing almost an hour and a half. Yesterday instead of waking up crying as usual, she woke up calm and babbling and when I picked her up in my arms, Ring of Fire came on and she started to dance.

Johnny Cash I cannot thank you enough. I can shower AND drink a cup of coffee while reading the paper AND do the dishes AND mop the floor AND hang out the laundry to dry ALL during nap time. All thanks to you.

Douzieme mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

2010-07-18T16:59:00.002+01:00

Eloise,

At 15:59 a year ago today you came into this world and were placed in my arms. Arms that didn’t quite know what they were good at until they held you. Oh this year. This year that you will have no memory of. This space between 0 and 1 that belongs more to your father and me than it does you. This year that saw you go from an angry little bundle of reflexes and squishy poop to a near toddler who kisses her mother’s tummy to make her laugh and pouts when her father tells her no.

This is the year I discovered all the clichés are true. That your life does change. That your priorities shift. That you’ll love stronger than you ever thought physically possible.

We had a little gathering planned to mark your first birthday. Down at the pub that probably helped provide the libations that resulted in your conception. We invited old friends and new “mummy” friends to have a BBQ in the beer garden. I imagined watching you sitting on a tabletop in your little gingham dress with matching shoes, as we sung you happy birthday, me fighting back tears while you looked at each of our faces and smiled back at us. Then delighting in seeing you devour a piece of homemade birthday cake, covering your face and hair in icing.

Instead you appear to have caught the chicken pox and so the party amongst friends is cancelled. I had the chicken pox on my birthday too, when I turned 5. It wasn’t great. But my mom made the best of it and despite the fact that you won’t remember this, I’m going to try to make the best of it too. We’re not even entirely sure it is Chicken pox, but it is going around, you have some spots and miraculously you are sleeping better. How I wish this new sleeping pattern is just you finally reaching that oh so coveted milestone of sleeping through the night. But from the time you had your first round of vaccinations I know, when you’re sick, you sleep.

So instead we will have pancakes for breakfast, and I will attempt to make you a carrot cake, we will open presents and sing to you, and yes, at some point I will probably cry. In fact here’s a little warning for you - I will be that mom. That mom that cries whenever you sing on stage with your classmates, or receive an award for perfect attendance, or grow another year older. I can't help it. Enjoy my gushing displays of love and keep kleenex in your pocket and we should be fine.

I even cried a little putting you to bed on the night before you turned one. And I’m not entirely sure why. I think part of the reason is it can be hard watching you grow up, wanting to slow time down. But for the most part I am so excited to see what you'll do next that I don't have time to mourn the past. But I think it is also that I wish I could give you more. I know it seems silly to make a big deal about someone turning one when they won’t even remember the party, but you are so amazing Eloise. You have more personality in your little pinky than most people I know and you’re only 12 months old. You deserve so much, you deserve to be celebrated, you deserve elephants and acrobats. I’d give you the world if I could kid.

Nearly every night for the entire first year of your life I have held you in my arms. I have held you when your hot tears have drenched my cheek, held you when your face erupted in laughter, held you when your breath became slow and warm against my neck. And I will continue to hold you in my arms, carry your weight, carry your heart against my heart, your dreams nestled safely just below mine until your feet reach the ground and you can turn and walk away from me.

Happy Birthday my little Eloise.

I love you. Plus que jamais. Je t’aime

Maman

In Amerika

2010-07-14T21:50:00.008+01:00

Apologies for the delay on the photos, but a baby who thinks it's amusing to wake up every 20 minutes crying for her parents has left me with little time or sanity.

Our trip to Chicago in photos:

In Amerika we will have land and chocolate.

A love of flying is born.

Eloise meets her Godmother, Aunt Ding-a-Ling and sadly doesn't look too happy about it.

They fought over which one got to be the Ketchup for ages before they let me take this photo.

The Bean.

Eloise and the Frenchman take a dip in the fountain.

Eloise and Grandpa Gary sun on the deck.

Eloise and Aunt Claire rockin' the do-rag.

Boat tour (aka the photo that makes me question why I left).

Cubs game.

Story time with Grandpa.

Eloise meets her new friend Rory and embarrassingly they wore the same outfit.

Eloise at the zoo.

4th of July Parade.

We flew all the way over here for that?

Eloise meets (and approves of) potential suitor, Avery.

Goodbye Chicago. Thank you for a wonderful visit!

CHI TOWN BABY

2010-07-08T19:42:00.006+01:00

No, I haven't fallen off the face of the earth, I just fell off the face of England and into the strong, warm hands of Chicago. Were we crazy? brave? for embarking on a long haul flight with an 11-month old? Turns out we were just insanely lucky (this kid is good on planes). And also incredibly stupid to think that combining sight-seeing and visiting family and friends with a baby who at almost a year STILL DOES NOT SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT would be anything but exhausting.

Going back to Chicago is always bitter-sweet because I am reminded of everything and everyone I am giving up by living abroad. This time was especially hard because a) I was given a glimpse at what life would be like having Eloise's grandparents near by and ohdearlord it is such a lighter load and b) Chicago in the summer is a difficult place to leave. A stark contrast to Chicago in the winter (when we most often visit) which is quite frankly a difficult place to live. Summer Chicago is sizzling, easy, hotdogs, sundaes, rooftop cocktails and sandy toes.

Eloise charmed everyone with her myriad of faces, her little scowl, a tilted head, a raised eyebrow. From airport security guards to friend's parents who knew me when. The Frenchman and I have of course been smitten with Eloise since the day she came into this world, but it is always touching to see her cast her spell on others in her path. There is nothing that warms the heart more than to see how much love there is in the world for your child.

The family on the Chicago shores of Lake Michigan

More photos to come...

Joyeuse Fete des Peres : Happy Father's Day

2010-06-20T09:36:00.003+01:00

Onzieme mois avec mademoiselle Eloise

2010-06-19T20:31:00.005+01:00

Eloise -

You started this month with 3 teeth and are ending it with 8. Lucky for me, most of those teeth came in the same week - the week your father was out of town. Considering the fact that you at one point had 4 teeth breaking the surface of those shiny little gums of yours at once I thought you handled it very well. I didn't once get a phone call from nursery asking if they could give you calpol and during the day with me you were great. At times a bit more clingy and whiny but easily distracted from the discomfort and quick with a smile. At night however, you were not so tolerant of the pain, and there were some nights so difficult that we both found ourselves in tears at 3 in the morning.

We still haven't cracked this sleep issue. In fact, your father is upstairs trying to get you to bed and I can hear you slowly singing through the baby monitor, fighting it. I spent the last 47 minutes trying to get you to sleep and now he's trying. You sleep through the night every once in awhile, maybe once or twice a month, just to show us you can. Usually though you take a while to fall asleep (like tonight) and you wake up twice a night. I know there are babies out there who do much worse so I try not to complain, but those rare nights when go from 7pm to 7am show us just what we're missing. It is amazing what your body can get used to though, and waking up every 3 or 4 hours is no longer as painful as it used to be. Plus, I kind of miss you when you sleep the whole night through*.

Eating with you is so much fun now. Gone are the days when I would watch you eat with my heart in my throat seeing you gag and sputtle while you tried to understand the art of chewing. You do still occasionally gag, but it is less and less common, allowing me to relax and just enjoy you enjoying your food. Finger foods go down best with you as you like to be in control. Usually your meal is made up of whatever your father and I had for dinner the night before. Steak and potatoes. Salmon and green beans. Chicken and cous cous.

You drink from your sippy cup like an old pro now. To go from the days where I had to spoon feed you mush and hold your cup to your lips just to watch you spit out the water, to now. Now where you sit with an entire grown up meal and pick and choose what you want to eat, throwing what you don't like on the floor (thanks for that) and taking sips of water inbetween bites of food.

There are times when I become nostalgic for the little baby you once were, the scent of milk, the baby sighs as you sleep, the fragility and utter dependence on me. But then I see you butt scooching out of the room, turning to see if I've noticed that you're trying to escape and grinning hysterically and wildly flapping your arms when I come to scoop you up again. Or looking out the window and upon seeing your father in the garden, pointing and saying Da. Or deciding that you're thirsty, looking at me and making the sign for milk. And I think, holy crap, watching you grow into this world is so exhilarating and humbling. You won't let me be a witness to who you are becoming at such close range forever so I better stop looking backwards and start making sure I'm watching you plan your escape.

Je T'aime

Maman

Eloise is a hair above Mickey now but is clearly unhappy with her new commanding role.

There there Mickey, the title is still yours...

...FOR NOW!!! (I'm scared)

*Don't worry kid, I'll get over it, you sleep all you want at night. Please?

Crawling is beneath her

2010-06-08T10:34:00.004+01:00

She'll be 11 months in 10 days and she still shows no desire to get on all fours and crawl. The Frenchman and I have both demonstrated at separate times how the whole crawling thing works. Eloise laughed hysterically at the sight of her parents on the floor, moving around like animals. Ha Ha! She said. Look at the big people degrading themselves so happily.

We will occasionally get a backwards crawl. She lies on her stomach, does a quick glance backwards to make sure she's lined up to where she wants to be next and pushes herself back with her little hands.

More often though she is sitting up, and with one foot and one hand she scoots her diapered bottom around the room. This is fine with us. If any of you have sprained an ankle, you probably know the butt scootch* well, and so you will know that it is not a rapid means of transportation.

This means we've been able to go this long as parents without having to chase after our baby. We can see the danger coming miles away and slowly move her away from the wires/sockets/basket of knives. Ah the power of distraction. I want to chew on those cables! Oh look! A sock!

I'm afraid though that babies crawl before walking for a reason - mainly to ease the parents into having a mobile baby. First they roll - ok, no more plopping you on the middle of the bed. Then they shuffle around - see above. Then they crawl - stair gates up and locks on cabinets. Then they cruise - ok, anything remotely entertaining for an adult must now be put into storage or onto much higher shelves. Then they walk - best to remove all shelves and furniture with sharp corners or better yet just pack up and move into a play gym.

I had a dream last night that she was walking. I was clapping and jumping for joy at my clever little girl. When I woke I was panicked. This house and our sanity are so not ready for three upright and mobile humans. If it were up to me Eloise would be butt scootching all the way to college.

*Scooch? Scoot?

Squirty Thirty

2010-06-04T10:07:00.005+01:00

30 years old today. Three-OHHH. I woke up to the sounds of Eloise babbling in sing-song alone in her room and her father scurrying around the house getting ready for work. The Frenchman brought Eloise into our bed along with my birthday presents. He was going to be late for work so we quickly opened my presents, which was good because having not fed Eloise since 3 in the morning I could feel that I was soon going to leak with her sitting next to me signing for milk. She continued to sign for milk, looking confused as to why I was not whipping my boob out on demand, but then was quickly distracted by the presents in front of her.

A few years a go I would have imagined a big boozy blow-out for my 30th. Good food, strong reds and dry rosé, a few well thought out cocktails, the din of people chattering and ice knocking together in sweaty glasses as I floated around in a new dress with my cheeks rosy. Music and dancing, the crowds thinning out until it was just me and a few with stamina, putting the world to rights with a couple of fingers of whiskey.

Instead I sat in bed, my breasts leaking through my t-shirt, my pyjama clad daughter sitting next to me chewing on a jewelery box as I leaned over to kiss The Frenchman thank you. Thank you for the bracelet. Thank you for telling me I am the best thing to happen in the past 30 years. Thank you for creating this family with me.

And I couldn't be happier.

Although I wouldn't say no to a stiff drink...

She'll be here all night ladies and gentlemen

2010-05-30T21:11:00.004+01:00

Occasionally the Frenchman and I worry about Eloise's development - as I'm sure all parents do. She's not able to get into a sitting position on her own, she mews like a kitten with a sprained ankle when in crawling position instead of actually going anywhere, and she needs to be bribed to attempt cruising.

This picture has nothing to do with this post. But oh the cuteness!

But then she'll surprise us. Like the other day she did the sign for milk and home. In context. Like "Hi Mama. Whip that boob out cause I need to get my milk on" context. Or today. She was eating dinner while skyping with her French grandparents. She was drinking out of her sippy cup when the force of her sucking combined with her removing her mouth from the spout caused the cup to squirt her in the eye. We all laughed. Then she laughed. Then she worked out how to make the cup squirt her again so we would all continue laughing at her.

Passing on my fear of spiders? Check.

2010-05-21T09:51:00.003+01:00

Wanna make a 10-month old laugh hysterically? Find a giant hairy spider in the bottom of the laundry basket and do the "MotherCRAP that thing is HUGE and FAST and the Man is in the shower and OHMYGOD is it on me? Is it on me? Throw it out the window without it touching me EEEEEK" Dance and you will have a squealing little baby sadistically laughing at her mother's totally RATIONAL fear. Seriously that thing was massive. And MEAN. I could hear it laughing along with Eloise as it fell out the window.

Up until now I've tried to be really calm about spiders in front of Eloise - no need to turn her into an arachnophobe - plus, if I didn't pass on this fear then when she got older I could ask her to dispose of giant house spiders. Damn thing attacked me before I could remember to keep my cool in front of her.

Dixeme mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

2010-05-18T21:36:00.005+01:00

Eloise -

This past month you are on the cusp of so many things. You say ‘yeah’ and ‘hi’ and ‘mama’ and ‘dada’ but not yet on purpose. I can see the little cogs in your brain trying to make the connection to this milk jug woman who keeps referring to herself as Mama and the Mamamaaamaaamaaa sound that comes out of your mouth.

You’re thinking about crawling, but not yet convinced it’s necessary. You can scoot backwards, roll this way and that, pull yourself around on whatever clutter is lying around the house (you’re welcome) – so basically you can get to where you need to be without the crawling.

Tooth number 3 reared its ugly head the other week and you were not a happy bunny.
It’s your first top tooth, second or third next to the middle. The same tooth on the left side is almost about to break the skin, so you’ll be rocking the fang look soon. Which will suit you perfectly because you’ve turned into a rabid animal. When I attempt to put you to bed you often try and eat my face, gnawing on my chin or sucking my entire cheek into your mouth. It’s like you’re trying to consume me. And I tell you kid, as much I want you to go to sleep, it’s really hard not to laugh when you press your little face next to mine, your eyes and mouth wide open trying to get whatever piece of me you can.

I love how we’re able to joke around with you. Your sense of humor is expanding every day. Daddy wearing one of your hats, Daddy making your stuffed dog attack you, Mama playing hide and seek behind the drying laundry – even your little baby friends make you laugh with their silly noises and movements.

When your teeth aren’t bothering you, you are an absolute delight to be with. You laugh and clap and wave and dance. I have to fight the urge to constantly cup you little face in my hands, squish your cheeks together and smother you with kisses. When your teeth are bothering you though, you sit and scrunch up your face and complain and grizzle – giving me a great glimpse of the surly teenager you will become.

You got personality kid. When you’re not happy you let us know. You know what you like and you’re not afraid to do what it takes to get it. And I might be eating my words when this determined personality meets puberty, but I couldn’t be happier at the opinionated little madame you are turning into.

Your father on the other hand has got his work cut out for him with the two of us around.

Je t’aime

Maman

Eloise learns to write - by whatever means necessary.

2010-05-12T14:26:00.003+01:00

Lordy. Where I have been? I guess teething, sleepless nights, work stuff, highly enjoyable visits from friends, sinus infections, stomach bugs, more teething have all kept me from having the energy at the end of the day when Eloise is asleep to do anything other than cook dinner and turn into a zombie with The Frenchman in front of the telly.

Eloise is getting more and more mobile. Not quite crawling - a bit of a backwards shuffle - but she climbs on people and pulls herself up. Of course with this new mobility comes more accidents. She hits her head on all sorts of things these days. Kid has a got a very high pain threshold though, and rarely cries. It wasn't until this morning that I realized that this high pain threshold can have negative consequences.

As is our usual routine in the morning, if Eloise wakes up before 7am (which is always), we bring her into bed with us (if she's not there already) and I let her nurse while we sleep a little more. When she's done, I sit her up, give a book or toy, and try and sleep a little longer. This morning while The Frenchman was taking a shower, Eloise was sitting up, reading Handa's Surprise with a stuffed squirrel next to her while I tried to get a little more shut-eye. Periodically I would open one eye and help her turn a page or make the squirrel dance and then quickly fall back asleep. She happily babbles away looking at the pictures of Handa and the animals in Africa eating fruit. The next time I open one eye I notice something red on her hands and the book. I quickly sit up and I see that Eloise has a rather large paper cut on her finger and is smearing blood all over the book and her face as she tries to turn the page herself. She didn't cry at all. How am I supposed to keep her in one piece if she won't even let me know when she's bleeding?

After I took her to the nurse to make sure the cut was ok (it bled for quite awhile) and dropped her off at school I went back home to clean up the carnage. This is her book:

Just in case there was any confusion as to who this copy of Handa's Surprise belongs to, my daughter has signed her name in blood.

While I was sleeping next to her.

6 - 9 month outfits.

2010-04-30T19:58:00.009+01:00

Here is a rather lengthy collection of photos of Eloise's 6 - 9 month wardrobe. We were spoilt for choice these last three months. It freaks me out to no end that we are now onto 9 - 12 month outfits. 12 months as in a year. A year as in my baby is now wearing clothes she will be wearing when she celebrates her first birthday.

Eloise's local organic cotton shirt with local saying "Ay up m'duck!"

Do you know how hard it is to find girls clothes in blue? When I saw this blue sweater with pompoms I didn't think twice about buying it. I want one in my size.

Pink Pirate Skull and Crossbones t-Shirt.

We call this her pimp coat.

Peekaru hat. Cutest turtle baby I ever saw.

Fancy Oilily sweater that I don't allow her to eat in or do messy play in. That shit's expensive (and adorably quirky).

I rarely put Eloise in proper "baby" clothes (she's more of a jeans and t-shirt gal), but this little antique style baby lamb romper makes my heart swoon.

This denim dress was a killer find at a charity shop for £1. Super cheap, durable and cute. She's also wearing her moccasins from Grandma and Grandpa's trip to New Mexico.

The denim dress again paired with my favorite brown cardi purchased in France.

By far Eloise's poshest outfit - Baby Dior!

Hmmm, this is what happens when Daddy dresses Eloise. Purple trousers? Cute. Orange dress? Cute. Together? Not so much.

A fabulous gift from the states - this cupcake sweater comes with brown fleece pants as well. This is my go to outfit when Eloise is feeling sick. It is so cozy, I imagine it is what I would choose to wear if I wasn't feeling myself.

Have you seen this gorgeous coat?

Calvin Klein pyjamas. On sale at TK Maxx.

Hail Beatles!

Lucky number 13. Oh how exhausting it is to be so well dressed.

Getting the laundry done.

2010-04-22T19:22:00.004+01:00

One of my favorite activities to do with Eloise is the simple task of hanging up the laundry together.

I'll either put her on a blanket in the garden with some toys while I put the laundry out on the clothes line or better yet I'll put her in the carrier or sling and let her help me. We'll squint our eyes in the sun, Eloise will touch the different fabrics while I attach the clothes with pegs and sing to her.

It's the time of the day I feel most Motherly. And thus the time of the day I am happiest.

Beware lactating readers - your boobs just might cry.

2010-04-21T10:53:00.003+01:00

Her pyjamas are too big, mine are the flannel equivalent of a chastity belt, the photo is blurry, his knee is in the shot and you can clearly see that the house is a mess. But this photo makes my uterus finally understand why it had to stretch to 5 times its normal size.

I've got your heart in my sights

2010-04-20T21:18:00.003+01:00

9 months and one day. A pretty decent run I guess. I mean any workplace that had employees who lacked object permanence would surely be impressed to go a whole 9 months and a day without an entry in the accident book. So I guess I could feel ok with the fact that I managed to keep you from falling off the bed for just over 9 months of your life. I could feel ok if it weren't for the fact that while you were diving for your freedom off of our bed to the hard wood laminate below I was standing not 4 feet away, hanging up the laundry to dry, serenading you with Elton John and Kiki Dee's 7o's hit Don't go breaking my heart.

Neuvieme mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

2010-04-18T09:27:00.005+01:00

Eloise -

You're sleeping upstairs in your rocker. I am still in my pyjamas and feeling a little fragile from the stomach bug you brought to the family. I have to say you were a very good patient. A little more clingy and cranky sure, but for the most part you kept smiling and wanting cuddles between the projectile vomit.

You've learned how to clap and watching you bang those chubby little hands of yours together warms my heart. You almost never fall over when you're sitting these days, and you're able to pull yourself to a kneeling position. You hold your hands out when you want me to pick you up. You appear to say Dada more around your father and Mama around me.

You at 3 months looking surprised in your jungle mat.

You at 9 months, Queen of the jungle.

My favorite moments recently are putting you to bed after you feed in the night. During the day you're vocal and squirmy and excited and growing. But at night I can pretend that time has stopped and that you will always be my little baby. I nurse you, both of us half asleep. Then when you've had your fill, I pick you up and you nestle your head against my neck, heavy with sleep. I gently sway with you in my arms, breathing you in, a few moments longer than necessary before gently lying you down in your crib.

There will be times in your future that you will be frustrated with me, with the rules I impose which you find unfair, you will fight against me for your independence. And when you yell at me I will be obliged to remind you that I gladly rocked you in my arms at 4am nearly every night for going on 9 months. And I'd gladly do it for 9 more (though feel free to start sleeping through the night before then, really, I'll be ok).

Je t'aime,

Maman

What's a little friendly eye poking amongst friends, right guys?

Buuuuudies.

To night wean or not to night wean

2010-04-13T09:19:00.006+01:00

Every night I go through this battle in my head. Eloise has good nights, where she only wakes up once to feed, but those are few and far between. More often than not she has bad nights where she wakes up 4 times. Though I know she doesn't need to eat, in my sleep deprived state I go to the easiest in the short term solution and plonk my boob into her crying mouth so we can all get to sleep again NOW.

While I'm feeding her in her darkened nursery the same argument runs through my mind. She's not even 9 months yet, and a couple experts say that sleeping through the night is a milestone to reach just like sitting up or crawling. Plenty of other books say that by 6 months your baby does not need to feed at night and should be sleeping through. I go back and forth. I know I am creating a habit for her, that she is nursing for comfort and doesn't need the breastmilk (at least not 4 times a night!), but at the same time do I want to put us through a week of sleep training hell if she's just going to get there on her own at some point? And especially as she isn't getting any milk while at nursery I can easily guilt trip myself into feeding her more than she requires.

And if we do decide to night wean, how much crying are we willing to subject our child to?

This would be a lot easier if we were trying for a second child. Then the decision would be made for me - if I want another child, I would HAVE to get Eloise off of the night feeding. (Breastfeeding - especially at night - is a very potent natural form of contraception). I could use the promise of a sibling for Eloise as motivation to handle the sleepless nights. But so far we're holding off on baby number 2.

It's quite impressive how mother nature makes sure that you are sleeping through the night before having another child. Makes perfect sense to me. What I need to know though is whether mother nature is waiting for your baby to get to the point where they no longer need their mom and her milk jugs to sleep or is mother nature waiting for you to prove you are a good enough parent by getting your child the much needed undisturbed night's rest before she grants you a second kid to ~~fuck up~~ love.

Feel free to add your opinion to the mix that is my muddled Mama brain.

Brekkie

2010-04-08T19:54:00.002+01:00

Eloise and I had a leisurely breakfast. I made us a bowl of Irish porridge and toasted some soda bread and spread with butter. Eloise enjoyed both. I read left-overs from last weekend's paper that I hadn't got to yet and sipped my cup of coffee while she babbled and concentrated on feeding herself pieces of toast. The morning sun just starting to make it's appearance in the dining room promises a warm spring day ahead. As happens with most meals, lots of pieces fall to the floor and in the sides of the highchair. I look up from the paper to see Eloise looking down at her pyjama clad thigh and reach down to salvage a piece of toast she had just dropped into her lap. I smile at my baby's resourcefulness and take a sip of coffee. But it is not piece of toast she retrieves, it is a green bean. A green bean she had for dinner TWO NIGHTS AGO. A two day old green bean that she proceeds to eat for breakfast.

Parenting FAIL.

Baby's First Easter

2010-04-04T21:22:00.004+01:00

A lot of firsts happened this Easter. Our first trip as a family to church. The first time Eloise was blessed by a Vicar. The first time I read a bible passage out to a congregation. The first time Eloise ate chocolate. And not just any chocolate. Good dark chocolate from Daddy's hometown.

I don't want to wear this stupid hat Ma.

Do I look cute in it though?

Hands off my chocolate Mama.

Which to eat first, the chicken or the egg???

I CANNOT DECIDE!!!!@$&#

Oh hot damn that is goooooood.

What do you mean there is no more chocolate.

Happy Easter!!!!!!

A tiny thought

2010-04-02T22:17:00.004+01:00

I often wonder how different Eloise would be if she were raised by another set of parents. Would she still have refused to drink from a bottle? Would she be sleeping through the night already? Maybe she would be crawling by now. Would she laugh more? Or less? Weigh more? Most importantly, would she be happier?

Mommy Love vs. Daddy Love

2010-03-30T21:44:00.004+01:00

I am of the opinion that mothers and fathers love their children differently, not more or better, but differently. And I think that's a good thing.

I am consumed by Eloise. I see her and I have an actual ache in my belly to gobble her up. I read some where that this desire mothers have to "eat" their babies is Mother Nature's way of making sure that we get plenty of contact with our young, pick up whatever germs and diseases they're carrying so that our immune system can create the antibodies and pass those along in our breastmilk. I don't know about all that, but if those cheeks and thighs weren't made to be snacked on then they shouldn't make them so deliciously rolly polly.

The other day I was telling Eloise that she was my favorite person in the whole world. Her father was in the room, overheard me and laughed. I asked him if Eloise had replaced me as his favorite person and he said non, it was still me his favori.

Now I have no doubt that the Frenchman ADORES his daughter. He worries constantly about her well being. He marvels at her progress, her strength, her budding intelligence. The best part of his day is when Eloise flashes him a big beaming smile when he walks in the door.

But I think it makes sense that while Eloise has become my favorite person, I still hold that title for her Father. Mother's lose themselves in their children - at least at first - and I think part of the Father's job is to make sure the Mother doesn't lose herself completely.

I would have fallen apart a million times over if it weren't for the patience and understanding of this man.

If I am a good mother it is because of the space and confidence he gives me to do so.

The Mommy Arms

2010-03-28T16:02:00.000+01:00

We went grocery shopping as a family last weekend. We had left it too long and so had a lot to buy. The Frenchman gallantly offered to carry our two giant Bags-for-life that were filled to the brim leaving me to push Eloise. I let him at first, because, hey those bags were heavy, but then as we started walking towards home I told him to let me carry them. I don't think you understand Frenchman, I am really strong now, I said. He scoffed. I often try and pretend that I am stronger than him, yet he always beats me at arm wrestling. But this time I meant it. I am really strong now.

A few years back a friend at work had a baby and when she came back into the office with her little girl I jumped at the chance to hold her little girl. She was only a few months old, but after holding her for 20 minutes I could feel my arm wobble and had to giver her back to her mother. How do you do it? I marvelled at her strength. You just adapt she said.

Now I know what she was on about. I could hold Eloise while running a marathon. Ok. No I couldn't because I can't run nor do I have a desire to run a marathon, but I could hold Eloise at the sideline while cheering on someone else running a marathon and my arms wouldn't wobble a bit. See? STRONG.

What? All Muscle builders wear leopard print scarves, right?

The mommy arm. Some days I'll pick her up and think, whew, you've gotten heavy. And then by the end of the day, my arm muscles will have adapted to her weight gain and I'm back to super mom status again. Forget Spinach. Forget Pilates. Forget Dumbbells. Have a baby. Best way to tone your arms. I'm currently carrying around a little under 18lb from 7 in the morning to 7 at night. I can feel her making me a little bit stronger every day.

...and scarier too apparently.

The Frenchman still carried the groceries all the way home. I guess he needed to work on his Daddy Arm to ensure he's fighting fit before our next arm wrestling match.

Lesson learned. Baby 1 Mom 0

2010-03-24T19:59:00.006Z

While I was pregnant I had it in my head that I would breastfeed until 6 months as recommended and then put my baby onto formula for the next 6 months until she could drink cow's milk at age 1. It's no secret that my life before motherhood was a rather boozy one and I figured that after the 15 or so months of near total sobriety Mama could use a night out on the tiles.

Of course getting drunk now is a whole different ball game. Not only would I have to contend with baby care on top of hangover, but I am such a lightweight these days it is not even funny. Except that it is funny. Because half a pint of beer and I am GONE. I mean like flashing my lopsided milk jugs for free shots GONE.

But my whole plan of putting my baby on formula after 6 months of exclusive breastfeeding didn't factor in the fact that my baby would have her own opinion on the matter.

After the disastorous Paris trip where Eloise went 20 hours sans eating we had a few more attempts at getting her to take the bottle. Not even formula perse, just my milk but in a bottle. She refused. I decided my last attempt would be her nursery. Totally different evironment, no trace of me, and in the hands of child care experts. After 4 days of them trying to get her on the bottle with no success I finally decided to give up. I mean if they can't do it, it just ain't going to happen.

Your boobs are MINE MilkLady.

So there it is. No big boozy night in my future. My boobs are still being held ransom by a tiny being that is growing remarkably sharp teeth as we speak. A very opinionated being who knows what she likes and won't settle for anything less. And as much as I would love to share a bottle of wine or 5 with friends I am quite proud of my little girl for sticking to her guns.

Let a Child Learn

2010-03-24T09:18:00.000Z

Update: In what must surely be unprecedented speed in charity raising without the use of a celebrity my sister Claire has raised ALL the money required to build a new pre-school for her young students in Mozambique. The speed in which this was accomplished indicates not only how easy it is to follow a person as passionate, open, courageous and exciting as my sister but what an incredible project she chose to assist in Mozambique. My sincere thanks go to everyone who came here, read this piece and went to donate. Or spread the word to others. You have helped a group of young kids to get one step closer to whatever it is their heart desires to be.

To quote my sister: THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU PROGRESS STARTS FROM THE BOTTOM UP HELL YEAH!

The university a few blocks away always puts on an incredible fireworks display for Chinese New Year. This year we decided to let Eloise stay up a bit later than usual, strapped her in her bear suit and walked over. We made it just in time and were racing through the courtyard to get to the top of the hill when the first explosions went off resonating off the University walls.

When we found a space on the green I held her in my arms and watched her watching the sky explode into fire and sound. She had a very worried look on her face. She didn’t cry, but she seemed to be thinking about it. I put my hand against her head to try and deaden the sound.

I looked at her worried face and told her that it was only fireworks.

I was suddenly struck with the image of all the mothers in this world who had ever had to cushion the sound of falling bombs from their baby’s ears. Mothers who tried to convince their children that the sound of rapid gunfire was “only fireworks”. And then I started to silently shed tears.

As a young teenager I used to wear my heart on my sleeve. I used to be passionate and enraged at injustice. Shocked at war.

Then I moved to Europe and my bleeding heart slowly retreated back into place. I became complacent and perhaps not a little lazy. With Eloise my passion has resurfaced but now it is all directed towards her – and whatever could possibly affect her.

My younger sister Claire has managed to not only hold on to her “bleeding heart” but has used it to try and put the world to right. She has devoted 2 years of her life to being a volunteer for the U.S. Peace Corps in Mozambique.

Claire (known in some circles as the toddler whisperer) is working with THE ONLY PRE-SCHOOL IN THE COUNTRY. Mozambique does not start education until the age of 5. These young children are often left running around their village, looking after even younger siblings. If you can walk – you’re old enough to carry a baby who can’t. My sister has joined forces with a Mozambican couple that have set up a rudimentary school for children aged 2 – 5. I love hearing the stories about these kids - not just because they sound like funny, unspoiled, loving children – but because my sister’s voice fills with light when she talks about them. These kids have little, and my sister and the other people who run this school often go without a salary to keep it running (food and security are the main costs). Through the Peace Corps my sister is trying to raise money so that by the time she leaves these children have a proper learning environment to create the building blocks for the rest of their education. For the rest of their lives.

I often joke that I do not need to be a philanthropist because my sister is doing it for both of us.

A recent email from my sister about the smiley boy nicknamed Zee in this photo: We celebrated zees birthday at preschool and it was amazing in a different way, we painted all the kids with face paint, zee wore a suit and a crown we made and walked into the room where everyone was sitting and singing, i put him up on a thrown we had made, he was completely overwhelmed by it and put his head in my chest and cried silenltly and refused to answer questions, we cut his cake together and shared it with everyone, he was so adorable.

Impromptu class photo. Too cute.

The four oldest girls at the pre-school.

But what I can do is use this blog as a space to urge anyone reading to donate to my sister’s program.

Please visit this link and read more. Donating is really easy – you get a confirmation email straight away and the Peace Corps site accepts all major credit cards – regardless of country of origin.

Please give whatever you can.

Comforting Eloise during the Firework display made me realize how insanely blessed my life is. How easy it is. It will be decades before a child born in Mozambique will have the same ease handed to them that my Eloise has. My sister is trying to change that. Please help her.

A long winded simile for weaning

2010-03-21T22:24:00.004Z

I tell you, this whole feeding your offspring thing is a tricky business. It's like every day you make someone a heartfelt homemade card telling them how much you love them and care about them. Some days the person is like, awww, for realz? This is for me? You are the kindest person ever! And you know what, I wasn't sure I was, you know, there yet in this relationship, but if I'm honest, I love you too. Deeply Truly.

And so you feel wonderful - having your beautiful handmade card received so well, to have your feelings reciprocated. And then the next day? When you give them another handmade card declaring your love? They look at it and say, um yeah, not trying to be awkward or anything, cause it looks like you went to a lot of trouble and all, but this is just too much, and uh, not in a good way, ya know?. So I'm just going to go ahead and give this card back to you and we'll just pretend this little encounter never even happened ok?

Eat ma damn food bebe!

Huiteme mois avec mademoiselle Eloise

2010-03-19T22:13:00.005Z

Eloise -

There’s a big part of me that doesn’t want to write you this letter.* I am having a really hard time accepting the fact that you are now 8 months old. Which I’m sure sounds ridiculous to you at the age you are now, reading this, but here you are 8 months old and you already seem too grown-up for my liking (which may just help you to understand why I still won’t let you get your ears pierced).

You are learning quicker than I can keep track of, which is amazing and exciting to witness (you sit, you wave, you flirt, you joke) but this is slightly bittersweet because a lot of what you are learning is no longer to my credit, but to the fabulous nursery school you attend. Every time I pick you up from there you’re one step closer to the little girl you will become.

Gone are the early days when I would collect you and you would look like you had been to battle – red-rimmed eyes, small, sad face, covered in food you refused to eat. Instead when I go get you you are smiling and excited. Well, you’re still covered in food, but that’s just because you insist on feeding yourself.

You greet me with a face that says "Awesome! Mom’s stopped by to watch me play with my new friends” instead of “Thank GOD Mama has come to rescue me”. At nursery you’ve discovered the joy of being pushed in a swing, finger painting, eating chocolate ice cream. They all love you there – love making you smile. They tell me all the time how beautiful and happy you are – when you’re not startled or overly tired, that is, otherwise you scream loud enough for the pre-schoolers to hear you on the top floor. I suppose I only have myself to blame for the fact that when you’re miserable you make sure every one knows it. Like mother like daughter.

You’re finally able to sit and it looks like it won’t be long until you can get into that sitting position on your own. I love watching you do these little ab work outs trying sit on your own. Notice I said watching and not joining in. Yeah – Mama don’t do sit-ups. Go see your Aunt Claire if you want crunch tips.

I am often blown away by how much I love you. Your laugh, your smile, the little look you get when you’re concentrating really hard or that adorable pout and sharp stare you get when you’re frustrated – which makes me feel like I’m looking in a baby mirror – all these looks make my heart sing. I had you sitting in your little activity centre ma-bob today. This activity thing has so much to keep you occupied - a disco ball, a turntable, this 40’s style mic that encourages you to ‘sing it baby' and the coolest version of the ABC’s I have ever heard. And despite all this song, dance, and flash surrounding you, vying for your attention, your eyes were on me, waiting for me to look at you, to sing with you, to laugh with you.

And oh when I did. Your little face could not get any more joyous if it tried – you looked as if you could quite literally burst with excitement. Arms and legs flailing. Babbling so loud and fast you’re practically choking on your baby gurgles. And then it hit me.

I’ve been so focused on and in awe of how much I love you that I almost didn’t realize just how much you love me.

Je t'aime.

Maman

We all know you're really the boss of the stuffed animals. Mickey is totally cheating with that stupid hat.

*Which explains why this is two days late. Well the fact that you're still not sleeping through the night doesn't help.

More show than tell.

2010-03-16T21:34:00.006Z

Eloise hasn't been sleeping very well lately. Which means I haven't been sleeping well lately. Which means my brain is foggy and slow. So instead of attempting to write about our day yesterday, I'm just going to show you instead.

Mothering Sunday

2010-03-14T09:04:00.002Z

Happy Mother's Day to all the Slummy and Yummy British Mummies!!

Hope your day is filled with heart felt cards and clumsy art work made by little loving hands.

Sleep deprived mommy moment of the day....

2010-03-11T19:53:00.005Z

After putting Eloise to bed I went downstairs and helped The Frenchman clean up the kitchen from the wake of Eloise's foray into finger food. After wiping down her high chair and throwing away half gummed chunks of lamb and fruit I went to wrap up half of the papaya that I had cut up for her earlier.

I pulled a sheet of cling film, carefully wrapped the papaya in it, making sure that no air could get through to keep it fresh. And then? And then I dropped the fruit in the garbage can.

Obviously my plan was to put it in the fridge - though wrapping every piece of trash in cling film before you throw it away would certainly make the garbage smell less.

Yeah - no doubt about it - 7+ months of interrupted sleep is taking its toll.

Days like these

2010-03-09T21:00:00.001Z

There are some days when she is restless. When she seems unhappy with her lot in life and I cannot figure out what she needs to smile again. Days I get the feeling she wishes she wasn't a baby anymore. Not today.

She happily went into her carrier. She tilted her head and smiled at the old woman cooing at her on the bus. She enjoyed her signing class (although I can't say she payed much attention to the teacher) and on our walk back home she took in the world around her and every once in a while would lock eyes with mine and give me the sweetest Oh! You're still here! YES! Smile and then carry on taking in the sights.

We came home, and after lunch of chicken and leeks, dried fruit and green beans we took a nap together in my bed, her fuzzy head resting just under my chin. She woke up and started pushing her little hands on the small of my back. Then we hid under the blankets, me pretending to gobble her up, she laughing.

She resisted her afternoon nap (when I usually do some housework and spend my one hour of "me" time a day watching my t.v. show). So instead I set up the play mat, scattered some toys on the ground and sat down with her - putting the t.v. on in the background. I was quickly distracted from the quick quips of the Gilmore Girls by Eloise laughing at her teddy bear dancing and singing. So I continued to make her bear dance and sing just to hear her sweet giggle, until she rubbed her eyes and I took her upstairs to get in a quick nap before dinner.

Some days being her mother is the easiest job with the biggest rewards.

My left boob

2010-03-04T18:00:00.001Z

I can always tell when a new exercise or diet regime is working because my left breast looses weight before any other part of my body. The right one will eventually catch up, – right boob is a little lazy. This of course isn’t the greatest incentive for trying to lose weight. Avoided cake and huffed and puffed till your face was red on the treadmill? How bout I shrink half of your best assets as a reward.

So combine a left boob that is always itching to get back to it’s C cup and a baby that has an unexplained preference for nursing from the right boob and we got ourselves a one-way ticket to lopside city.

I had been warned from other mothers about what the dreaded nursing boob preference could do, but I thought, really – how much damage can a little baby do. Yeah, I can see you shaking your head from here.

When she was younger she would scream and writhe when I offered her my left breast. When I had the patience I could wait through this period and get her to eventually accept it. But my patience was more often used up with changing her outfit for the third time that day after yet another butt explosion, or wiping up another dollop of baby spew from the bedroom floor. So I would cave in and just move her to the right breast and call it a day.

Now she has no preference, can swap between boobs without batting an eye, but the damage has been done.

I gave her my heart and she took my boobs. Not only do they no longer match, but they’re also a deflated shadow of their former selves.

So my advice to any childless women out there – go have fun, kinky (protected!) sex and in the morning strut around his place in nothing but his oversized t-shirt and a smile while your body is still in a state to make that look sexy. Take a moment to drink in your fabulousness – because once you have a kid your body is theirs.

These days I put on the Frenchman’s shirt and I just look like Meatloaf prancing around without his pants on.

Just cute enough to make my sad boobs worth it. But only just.

The Baby Gods Giveth and the Baby Gods Taketh Away

2010-02-26T19:20:00.000Z

Most mothers know about the horrid Sleep Gods. The ones that sit around waiting for a mother to brag that her baby slept 8 hours straight for the first time ever and then swoop in and whisper to your baby in her crib that it is her duty to keep these parent people on their toes by waking up every 3 hours screaming just when they’ve tasted the sweetness of over 6 hours of consecutive sleep.

But I also found out that there are Spit-up Gods and Teething Gods (not to be confused with the Tooth Fairy who I hear is actually pretty nice). As soon as I posted about Eloise finally getting over her penchant for milk regurgitations multiple times a day, I spent the next 12 hours with warm sour milk falling out of my baby’s mouth (almost always onto me I might add). And in the 7 month letter to Eloise where I mentioned that she did not yet have teeth and that I was very happy to keep that milestone at bay for the time being she cut her first tooth LATER THAT DAY. So apparently Spit-up God and Teething God are fans of my blog.

Happily biting on her tongue days before the tooth appeared

And when I saw that tooth? I hugged her close to me, told her how proud I was and then burst into tears. It’s just too fast.

So now that I’m nursing a toothed baby, can someone please tell me how I get her to stop using my nipple as a teething ring? At the moment I just take her off the breast (while yelling in pain of course) and tell her no. Then she smiles at me. And you just know Teething God taught her that one.

I guess this means I'm officially a Mommy Blogger

2010-02-25T17:00:00.001Z

There is a 4 and a half year age gap between my sister and me. I always thought a 4 year age gap between kids seemed like a good idea. A 4 year old is out of diapers, able to help out in their own little way, and can at the very least sit still long enough for you to explain that they’re going to be a big brother/sister.

Then we had Eloise. Within a week I told the Frenchman that I didn’t think I could wait 4 years for another one. He agreed.

Too cute. Must. Make. MORE.

So we said, well, lets wait and see what kind of a 2 year old Eloise is and maybe go for a second kid.

Sarah at BecomingSarah.com wrote a post about how she only needed 6 months to decide that she was ready to try and make another baby. When I read that, I thought well, to each their own and all but that’s cuhrazy talk.

Then Eloise started growing up. It was a small moment. She waved her hand at me. Very slowly and deliberately and I realized that sooner than I would like she would no longer be a baby but a full blown kid. And I am just not ready to live my life without a baby in it.

Now I still need to get The Frenchman on board with the idea of keeping our lives filled with dirty nappies and 3am wake-ups at a continual pace, but reading Sarah’s post was comforting to know that I was not alone in the desire to have more babies sooner rather than later.

But I don't want to share you Mama!

Sarah’s adorable daughter Charlotte is only a couple days younger than Eloise so I have been able to relate to a lot of her posts - we both certainly did our fair share of complaining about the havoc our bodies were putting us through while pregnant.

She has an awesome blog. Killer design. Jealous inducing photos. Great writing.

She is doing a wonderful thing at the moment - encouraging literacy and urging parents to read to/with their children from a young age. This includes giving away children’s books – so get on over there and try and start or increase your children’s book collection.

She also has happened to do a feature on little ole me. I know! Her blog is like super famous now and I’m on it! Check out my interview here.

If you’ve just found my little corner of the intermaweb from Sarah’s site – Hi! If I could I would give you an awkward* fist bump and a big old goofy smile for stopping by.

*not because it is awkward "meeting" new people (yay new people!) but because I'm just not sure I can pull off the fist bump without looking like I'm trying too hard. The big goofy smile I have no problem with.

You're not my mommy your hair is too short.

2010-02-23T21:15:00.005Z

I dropped Eloise off at her nursery looking like this:

And picked her up looking like this:

Luckily a little hair cut didn't confuse my baby and she burst into a big baby grin when I came to pick her up. Eloise likes to spend a lot of her time pulling my hair. Frankly I was getting a bit tired of it, so I decided to just take the temptation away from her by chopping off my hair. I'm pleased with it, but we'll see what happens when I have to style it myself.

The Science of Sleep

2010-02-20T22:47:00.002Z

When I was pregnant the most common comment I got from parents was SLEEP WHILE YOU STILL CAN which was slightly annoying because with the round ligament pain, the pelvic girdle pain, and the intense excitement at impending motherhood a good night’s sleep was rather elusive during most of pregnancy.

The second most common comment from parents was MAKE SURE YOU GET YOUR BABY ON A SLEEP ROUTINE ASAP. Every baby book I read said that creating a bedtime routine is crucial.

The Frenchman and I figured it made sense. Let the baby know there’s a difference between night and day (apparently living in a dark sack of goo for 9 months can mess with your internal clock or something). Give the baby sleep cues so it knows bedtime is a-coming. Teach the baby how to fall asleep on their own so they don’t need you to do it for them whenever they wake up (and BOY do they wake up!)

It’s that last piece of advice that we really struggled with. Most of the books all agree that the best way to teach your baby how to fall asleep on their own is to put them in their bed awake.

I just found this to go against all instincts. I would nurse Eloise before bed (and some would say that’s my problem right there – but I felt the fuller the tank the longer the sleep) and as most babies do, she would fall asleep while nursing. So there I was in the dim light of my bedroom, cradling a warm little creature, heavy with sleep, a small smile on her face drunk with milk – and I’m supposed to wake her up before putting her to bed?!? But the baby snoring and the milk smile and the visions of sugarplums – what monster would destroy that?

And it worked. Sure I was nursing her to sleep – but she was STAYING asleep – 6 hours, 8 hours. Sometimes the whole night. At 7 weeks. My other new mommy friends were waking every 3 or 4 hours and I knew we had it good and saw no reason to change things. If it ain’t broke don’t fix it.

And so I continued to nurse Eloise to sleep and place her in her bassinet. And she would sleep for 6 hours or more, wake up to feed once and go back to bed. Life was good.

Then Eloise reached 4 months. And it would take me ages to get her to sleep. I would nurse her. She would be asleep in my arms I’d lie her down ever so gently in her bassinet and she would wake up. Feed sleep put down wake-up repeat. And she started waking a lot more often. Like every hour more often.. And I would feed her or her Father would rock her and I would sit in front of the Internet reading websites on baby sleep sites while crying from exhaustion.

And what we found out from our desperate Internet research is that babies fall into a deep sleep right away when they’re fresh on the scene. They have a lot of catching up to do and that sleep helps them develop. Then at around 3 or 4 months their sleep patterns mature and become like ours – when they first fall asleep it is a light sleep – easily disturbable (not a word but it should be) hence the new difficulty at getting her to stay asleep. They also have sleep cycles like we do – around 45 minutes. So when Eloise would finish a sleep cycle, instead of putting herself back to sleep she would cry, wondering where the giant milk bag that put her to sleep went.

We knew we had to fix this. We couldn’t live with a child who wakes every hour crying. We were also aware that it would probably be painful. I decided to buy two different books on baby sleep from both spectrums – one a tough love, no nonsense approach, the other a fluffy, anti-crying, cotton-wool type. I wanted to get both opinions so I could then make my own. We held off on a course of action and just dealt with the sleepless nights until the books arrived in the post.

When they arrived I made the worse mistake of my young parenting career. I gave the fluffy book to the Frenchman to read and I read the tough-love book. We spent the next week arguing about whose book was right until we finished them and switched. My book actually mentioned his by name saying that the methods were rubbish. After the Frenchman read the first chapter of his book he said he now feels terrible that Eloise has spent a small portion of her life in tears. I believe my response was - well my book says your book is crap. Healthy stuff here people.

By the time I read both books I felt horrible. Eloise’s poor sleep habits were all my fault. I had one book telling me how important a good nights sleep is for the development of my child, statistics about how babies that don’t get enough sleep end up being angry, unintelligent and prone to getting themselves knocked-up, in jail or both by the age of 12. The book said it was my duty as parent to get my child to sleep through the night no matter what amount of crying was involved – a couple of bad night’s for the greater good. The other book told me that I’d be a horrible mother if I let my child shed one single tear that I could have some way prevented.

In the end we went for the middle of the road. Whine-it out we call it. We spent more time on our sleep routine with Eloise and instead of nursing being the last thing I did before she slept, I would pass Eloise to her Father and he would rock her a bit and put in her crib awake, but sleepy. We would let her complain for up to ten minutes before intervening and if her complaints turned into a proper cry we would step in.

So far it’s working. She doesn’t sleep through the entire night, but only wakes up twice for a feed. Which is such an improvement from the 7 or 8 times she was doing before that we are ecstatic.

And more importantly we learned that educating ourselves in different parenting styles is helpful – knowledge is power. But that ultimately we need to come to our own decision on what is best for us as a family. That lesson has been worth all the sleepless nights combined. Ok. Almost worth it.

Septieme mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

2010-02-18T16:53:00.009Z

Eloise –

Do you know that there is not a day that goes by that I do not pause and look at your face and wonder what I did to deserve such a beautiful, funny, and curious daughter? I will admit that those first few weeks of motherhood were difficult. I struggled. Not with the loving you part – loving you came at me so hard and fast that it physically hurt. But I struggled with the drastic change in my life. Struggled with being responsible every second of every minute of every hour for a tiny beautiful being that at first could only poop and cry and suckle the life force out of me. I took advantage of your long naps to go get my haircut or get a massage or get a beer. It was all so overwhelming and I needed a break. Not a break from you, but a break from becoming your mother.

When I would finally get you to sleep around midnight I would feel euphoric at having a few adult hours to myself before you woke up again. My how things have changed since then. Now when I put you to bed it seems too soon to say goodnight. Too soon to end our day full of messy meals, and reading stories, and dancing in your bedroom and building forts.

I miss you when you sleep. I miss you even more when you’re at nursery. You are by far my most favorite person to spend time with in the whole world.

You were a little sick a few weeks ago with what we thought was the chicken pox. To play it safe we stayed home from all of our usual groups and classes so as not to infect any of your little colleagues. Normally a week without adult company save for your father at night would have driven me crazy, but you’re now at an age where you are all the company I need.

We’re becoming more adventurous with food – you heart bagels a whole lot – especially if I splash out on some cream cheese. You make the most adorable grunting sound while mashing the bagel in your mouth, like you’re annoyed that you don’t have the proper tools to get this unbelievable deliciousness in your belly faster. Yeah, still no teeth. But seeing how hard you can gum my nipple when you’re distracted while feeding I’m quite happy for those teeth to stay where they are a while longer.

Speaking of annoyed, even your new friends at nursery noticed how frustrated you get at being a baby. From about the age of 3 months your father and I picked up on how you would seem to get angry at the limitations of your little baby body and the staff at your nursery mentioned the same thing to me when I picked you up the other day. “It’s like she wishes she could do a lot more than she’s physically capable of”.

I know you’re frustrated, but don’t be in such a hurry to grow up. I’d miss you too much.

Je t’aime

Maman

Still under Mickey's thumb...

...but we're ready to take him down.

And they say romance is dead

2010-02-15T11:02:00.004Z

This Valentine's Day I wore black lacies. The black lacies which barely covered a very thorough brazilian. We drank champagne and ate chocolates.

The black lacies? My usual white cotton attire was in the laundry. The bikini wax? We're starting swimming lessons next week and I didn't want to frighten the other mothers at Aquababies.

The champagne? We were out of wine so decided to open one of the many bottles of bubbly I received after having Eloise. The chocolates? Well come on - it is Valentine's Day after all.

smitten kitten

2010-02-12T16:57:00.004Z

Her eyelashes are darker today. More curled. Her cheeks a rosy pink from our walk. Just when I thought she could not be any more beautiful than she already is. She is in a great mood and I could spend the rest of my life flirting with my baby.

Adorable two-headed monster

2010-02-10T19:09:00.005Z

It's been pretty cold here these past few months. No, not snowmaggedon cold, but cold enough that I haven't used the baby carrier in ages because Eloise would be too exposed to the elements.

And just when I was thinking about how I missed wearing my baby and wanting to give the old Bugaboo a break I received this in the mail from my so-awesome-it-hurts Godmother in Denver (and people from Denver who have 3 kids KNOW about keeping little baby toes warm):

I don't know if it was the novelty of being in the carrier after such a long absence or if she was just having a really good day - but kid was so happy strapped in with me. I plonked a hat on her pretty little head and went into town.

Let me tell you, people get pretty smiley when you have a little cherubic face poking out of your chest. And it was so nice to have my hands free and not have the pushchair in the way that I went into the little jewelry shop and treated myself to a new pair of earrings.

At least the house is clean

2010-02-09T20:10:00.001Z

We dropped her off together. I was nervous. We showed them her change of clothes and said there was an extra sweater in her bag in case she got cold. They nodded and politely but firmly took her out of our hands and sent us on our way. I called out a quick “ Have fun sweetie” over my shoulder as we scurried out the door.

I dropped the Frenchman off at the bus stop and I went to a café for breakfast. The same café I often go with Eloise. I read the paper. I ate eggs on toast. I drank two big cups of coffee. I checked my phone no less than 6 times to make sure the nursery hadn’t called me to say there was a problem.

I went to a singing group with a friend with twins. Helping her with one of her daughters who is only two days older than Eloise. I felt like I was cheating on my kid.

I went home, passing the street where her nursery is. I was convinced that I could hear her crying. I kept walking. Pulling my coat closer around me against the cold and wiping a tear from my eye.

I cleaned the house. Vacuumed her room, our room, the bed. I washed her clothes. I did the dishes. Instead of eating lunch I kept on cleaning. Vacuuming the downstairs. I constantly checked my watch and my phone.

I gathered her library books, put my coat on and went out to drop them off at the library. I rushed back to her nursery school. Heart racing as I opened the gate. And then I heard the sound I was dreading. Before I even made it to the door. I could hear my child screaming from within the building. I rang the doorbell.

“She wasn’t like this all day!” They put her in my arms and she quickly stopped crying and instead of burrowing her head against my neck like I expected, she looked around at everyone in the nursery and smiled.

Her face had traces of dried vegetables on it. Her clothes stained. Her face happy. They gave me a sheet detailing her day. When she slept (they got her to nap! Twice!) What she ate (Wheetabix and Roast vegetables – so grown-up!) and at the bottom of the page it said.

Today I enjoyed playing with: Cornflower and Musical Toys.

And despite her tears I felt sure that I had made the right choice.

So this is the payback for coming home past curfew all those times.

2010-02-07T23:19:00.002Z

Ever since I became a mother I am surrounded by accidents waiting to happen. Life-changing accidents that knock the soul straight out of your throat. I notice the cables under the coffee table and see an 8 month old Eloise in a mass of tangles. I think of the huge house plant in the dinning room and see Eloise at 14 months attempting to climb it, ending in a pile of rocks and dirt. I think of her bedroom window to which we have no lock and see her hanging over the decrepit BBQ screaming for us to save her.

Is this normal? Will this be how I view the world for the rest of my life – as potential death traps for my off spring? As soon as you become a mother are you doomed to be overly sensitive to any potential danger to your young? Because this is beyond stressful.

Often instead of gazing at my sleepy daughter as she nurses her last few mouthfuls of milk before bed and being filled with warm delicious wonderment I have my heart in the back of my mouth racing with the frantic images of how my daughter could potentially come to harm.

This motherhood job sure ain’t no walk in the park. Oh God. The Park. What could happen there? Please tell me this uber vigilant over protective mama fear ends at some point.