mothers on the verge

Nothing more to say.

Spanish lessons on Monday. Piano Tuesday. Tap Wednesday. Gymnastics Thursday. Acting classes Friday. Today, kids after school activities sound like a barrage of programs and classes that rival what I even did in college . Parents tell me their kids love it, ask for the sessions, even as the mom (it's almost always the mom) sits there with dark circles and a slow, drooped smile saying how much she loves it too. I always found the scheduling hilarious. But now I'm wondering if the joke is on me. The Rabbit takes tap and piano classes two days a week -- one for each. I'm the one that found the ceramic course, the karate classes and mused about starting a science club until she put a kabbash on my frantic plans. "Mama, I want some time to just play." Sigh. It's hard when your 7-year-old is more sane than you. But I do worry (I live in New York surrounded by other helicopter parents, how could I not worry?) that with every other kid in classes 4 to 5 times a ...

Clearly brain mites are spreading across Manhattan today because nearly unanimously I'm encountering static -- in some cases real static on my phone -- but in other cases where people are behaving as if I've thrown acid in the face of a beloved dog and then announced I planned to roast it with Sunday dinner. I suppose in polite corners we might call this "miscommunication." But where I'm sitting I just call it -- people behaving like donkeys.

So, everything is still kind of crazy Chez YLM. Tiddler is coming up to three months now and sleeping a miraculous five hour stretch every night, but somehow I'm still firmly entrenched in the baby bubble. My world has shrunk to an obsessive interest in baby poo and sleep cycles with no hope of parole. I thought I was different, that this being my third nipper I was past the baby bore stage. I was confident that giving birth would shift me effortlessly back into Me mode... I was so wrong. Why is it that when you give birth some of your brain seems to be delivered along with that 7lb-something bundle of joy?  Right now I'm operating somewhere left of Planet Idiot so fingers crossed I find my way back to Normal sometime this century. Ordinary conversation is beyond me. My mind (what's left of it) is stuffed full of fat baby thighs and the aroma of newborn poo. There isn't much room for anything else beyond remembering to buy milk and what day homework is due in. I ke...

Does anyone hate exercise as much as I do? While not calling myself a couch potato, if I have to think about exercising it's not going to happen. Living in New York means that I exercise just by going outside. Picking the Rabbit up from school and walking her home is already a 20-25 minute walk. And considering I'm always late I practically run to the school -- more aerobic exercise for me! But if it means I have to go to a studio, a workout room, or please -- a class? -- it's not going to happen. I've tried yoga classes which I love. But working from a home office, when I have a hard fast stop time in the middle of my day (it's called a child) means I am very reluctant to don the workout clothes, walk to a class, come home, shower and restart. That's 2 hours out of my day -- and honestly? I don't feel I have that. Yes, I have tapes, and barbells, and those stretching bands that I'm supposed to use for resistance. And no I don't run ever since ...

image courtesy of Jessica Diamond. you know you are! ;)

Today I am instituting a new task. When confronted with something or with (borrowing reader Sarah's fab phrase) "The Crazy" I am going to do a small positive. At the least it might dispel some of that itch to rant insanely to others. At the best it might actually dispel some of that itch to think about it all day long. 11:26 am and already needed a fix. So I sent a thank you email, made a donation, and have managed to avoid the jelly beans and the urge to call The Prince and have him tell me how right I am. (He never does though....anyone else have significant others who just won't tell you what you're begging to hear?? Infuriating.) Back to the mill.

I hate conflict. Odd that I would then choose journalism as a profession, yes? But truthfully where I come into most conflict? As a mother. Before The Kid was born I had learned to navigate potential minefields by spotting them miles ahead. I had a conflict radar eons wide and if I so much smelled a problem, I would dart the other way. I perfected a wide smile, a small laugh, was expert at changing subjects in group environments, and surgical with quips designed to deflect tension. Then The Kid was born and I discovered that her very existence attracted conflict like shark to chum. Having a child means engaging with other parents. And get a group of parents together and the needs that radiate from them are vibrant: Is my son reading level lower than his best friend? Will her teacher like her? How did their daughter get into that college? Do her parents like me ? These are often not topics that are dispelled with "Can you believe what Snooki did?" I find all of it dram...

Tiddler arrived safely on 5th July, weighing in at a respectable 3.39kg and measuring 53cm long. Been in a baby fog for the past three weeks but hoping to return to the blog soon. In the meantime, here are a couple of snaps of my newest and smallest bundle of poo, er... I mean... joy:

Due to go in to hospital for the c-section on Monday. Now I'm really starting to feel the fear...

Been baking like a fiend, some produced with good excuse and some just for the fun of it. Here is my favorite, a load of cup cake faces which Firstborn begged for to take to school to share with her school mates on her birthday. The icing went a bit crinkly from being left in the fridge but let's just call that reality, shall we?

Been alternating between being an exhausted heap of lard and a bundle of energy this week. Hosted book club on Sunday night, which turned out not to be book club at all but another secret surprise baby shower, complete with fab games, super gifts and a fantastic nappy 'cake'! This shower was thrown by my girlfriends who are mums but not the school-gate-mums (in fact most of them don't have their kids in the same school as mine) who threw the shower for me last week. I guess if a distinction needs to be made at all it is that this is the group of friends I drink complicated cocktails with on proper grown-up nights out (or at least, did before I recklessly got myself knocked up) and embark upon other debauched/ restorative/ fun stuff with. Anyway, it just got me thinking how lucky I am.

Six days to go before the arrival of #3. Now have ankles to rival Shrek and a waddle like Jemima Puddleduck. Neither v glamorous. Enough already, it's time. With D-day fast approaching, I've been thinking back to the misty months following the births of Firstborn and the Small(er) One and trying to give myself some good advice for this time round. There's nothing quite like hindsight, after all. 1. Give yourself a break . The world will not end if the house is a mess for the first couple of months or if you stay in your PJs all day for the first couple of weeks (try to change and shower once a day, though - there is a difference between being a tired new mom and a dirty slob-out). If hubby has the nerve to complain that the house is more shanty town than Martha Stewart, tell him he's a schmuck who needs to shut up and cough up the moolah for maid service. If he bitches that you don't look like Heidi Klum two weeks after birth, present hi...

Last week of term so lots of presentations to teachers and goodbyes to those not coming back in September. Got school reports today, no surprises except for the Small(er) One being heartbroken as her class is being split up and she will be parted from her best friend (Quote: "My heart is broken, she is my one true love, sob" - too many Disney movies perchance??)... am filing this one away to deal with later when I have built up adequate emotional reserves. Firstborn's birthday tomorrow. She insisted on me making 30 fairy cakes all with piped faces and smartie eyes to take in to school for her class; they're not going to win any prizes but it made the girls laugh so I guess I did good. Sweaty stuff though, baking when it's 40C outside and my air conditioning is less than useless. Book club tonight at mine, thank God I don't have to leave the house. Thought I'd make a cake since I'd already made bloody fairy cakes but obviously my luck ran out with t...

Swollen ankles? Tick. Sausage fingers? Tick. Double chinny chin chin? Tick. Pincheable chubber cheeks? Tick. Backside so expanded it could qualify as a dwarf planet? Tick. Boobs large enough to make Dolly Parton retch? Tick. Stomach like a helium balloon? Tick. Mood so foul it could sour the milk of every cow on the planet? Tick tock. Enough already. Let's get this bloody show on the road.

Yesterday a bunch of mums in Firstborn's class lured me to one of their houses under false pretenses and threw me... a surprise baby shower! Doofus here didn't twig until it was spelled out clearly to me that the whole event was entirely in my honour, that no it wasn't really a coffee morning (as I had been led to believe) and yes, the pink balloons were also for me (I thought they were leftovers from a kiddie birthday party, er dur). Being the shy and retiring type I was initially quite pink of cheek and bashful but I soon got over it. But I can't quite get over the sweetness of it. Here are a group of school mums who I've only known for just over a year and yet they go to all the trouble and expense of throwing me a baby shower. I really am very touched. In contrast, I didn't even get a good-bye card from the witches at the old London school when we left for Dubai - although in all fairness this was probably because they were extremely pleased to see t...

Firstborn had a birthday party yesterday which was held jointly with one of her classmates - thank God because 9 months pregnant + sole responsibility for 15 hysterical pre-pubescents does not a happy partnership make. It was about all I could do to bake a cake, decorate it (looked like the culinary equivalent of Dolly Parton but what the heck, the kids practically inhaled it anyway) and throw a few favours in some party bags. Oh, and drive to the venue with two excited children leaping about like cocker spaniels. Even this small stuff had me waddling about feeling like a Victorian lady having a fit of the vapours. I got even more cross every time I peered down and caught a glimpse of my fat ankles and sausage toes. Plus I was also momentarily majorly p'eed with poor Alpha, who spent the day permanently attached to the loo with a bad case of gastro-flu, just in case he was doing a job on me and trying to duck out of daddy-party-duties. As if he would (dare) bu...

OK. Enough already. No fair . Yes, it is true that Dubai has (at best) a rudimentary postal service in which packages appear to be subject to the whims of fate and the cycles of the moon (possibly). Special impromptu 'taxes' are sometimes needed to be handed over in order to release one's package from secrethideyplaceparcellimbo. Things have been known to languish in hidden corners, gathering dust for weeks, because the recipient of said package is ignorant of its very existence (notification system? Hahaha. Receiving a parcel is often down to nothing more than pure dumb luck). Be grateful, Western peeps, be very grateful that you are unlikely ever to have to experience the Kafka-esque joys of trying to spring a parcel from the steel jaws of Dubai's central post office building. It's the sort of experience that sorts the men out from the boys.   But all this aside, my big gripe is that this little quirk in what is otherwise an amazing city means that ...

I thought I was beyond feeling lustful about anything in this advanced stage of pregnancy (except perhaps for contraband chocolate cake) but that was before I stumbled over this site, a cheeky little online boutique by name of Little Beau. I can only describe it as babystuff shopping porn (sorry Alpha, possibly our finances won't be looking too healthy this month... put it down to pregnant craziness and let's move swiftly on). Here's what's got me frothing at the mouth: Taggies in organic and silk : I love Taggies. Having lost far too many favorite silky scarves and other soft items to the comfort blankie cause over the years (my big girls still sleep with two sarongs I picked up a decade ago in Thailand), Taggies are great option if you're fond of the contents of your wardrobe. The new Naturals range in organic cotton and silk are positively covetable. Top of the wish list? You betcha. Fabulous wigwam : I have very fond memories of buildin...

So far this week I've pulled the spare-room cupboards apart and reorganised them, sorted through mounds of baby clothes (really hope the baby does turn out to be a girl, there's a hell of a lot of pink in there), made a fairly complicated cheesecake with chocolate and butterscotch swirly bits, cooked a rather good chicken curry, ticked off the headmaster for his lily-livered stance on the Starbucks debacle (a few strident complaints does not a consensus make), went on a school trip to the rather excellent Cite des Enfants , and am currently engaged in what promises to be an epic saga in trying to track down my very nice (if I ever get my hands on it) New Zealand-made baby hammock , currently gathering dust in a post room somewhere in Dubai. I've also taken a heap of pictures in to be framed (a long overdue task), delivered material to the tailor to make summer dresses for the big girls, packed (and repacked) my hospital bag, bought baby essentials like nappies and wipes,...