Maya starts big school in September and I’m shitting it a bit. There’s nothing wrong with the place. It’s meant to be amazing and the parents love it. But nursery. My heart weighs heavy with grief just thinking about losing those amazing people. They’ve nurtured, encouraged and stretched my child since I first left her there with a leaky nose and old man’s hairline at … Continue reading Back off, big school. I want nursery forever…
Maya is hard to disgust. It’s another one I think she got from her mum. I am mildly disgusting myself and I guess she assumes I’m normal. My own disgust mechanism is a bit faulty. I’m not a big fan of blood and gore. I don’t like documentaries where chimps eat monkeys and even thinking about a caterpillar being consumed from within by wasps that have hatched … Continue reading You lovely undisgustable thing
This cool post by Jess at Wonderoak got me thinking about the things I’ve taught my own daughter without meaning to. Maya thinks and does all manner of stuff that I’m pretty sure she picked up from me when my guard was down (any time outside enthusiastic coffee hour). It’s textbook copycat business. Here is some of her wonky and undesigned learning, good and bad and in no particular order: … Continue reading Leading by shoddy example
This morning, the bathroom mirror informed me that I had a moustache. ‘Yeah, you’ve got a moustache, man. You’ve had it for ages,’ it said. Eeeew. I haven’t noticed people sneaking glances at my upper lip mid-chat. But there it was. They must’ve been wrestling their instincts to the ground: ‘Look at her moustache!’ ‘I’m not looking, you mean bastard.’ ‘You’re gonna look. You’re definitely gonna look.’ ‘Ggggggh. You can’t … Continue reading Why didn’t you tell me I had a moustache?
Dear Paul, I’ve just rediscovered painting and I love it. I never had your talent or your instinctive artist’s eye. But I watched you and learned the basics and what you could do inspired me. Without you, I might still have drawn that shoe made of dots with a 2B pencil under Miss Leigh’s tutelage. I would have had a good crack at the colour wheel in Mr Deacon’s class and I might … Continue reading Thank you for the art, Paul (a note to my incredible brother)
How often does a four year old need to wash? More often than my daughter, I’d imagine. Maya does not like getting clean. She used to look forward to baths. Showers were a real novelty for about a week. And then, all of a sudden, the love affair ended and Maya and hygiene went their separate ways. I realised things had got bad when she went for a week … Continue reading My daughter is a grubby little soap dodger (and I think she gets it from me)
Oh my God, I didn’t know this could happen indoors. I feel like I’ve wasted my life. We toasted marshmallows over our fire pit when we were camping in Dorset last week and it was a-may-zing. We’ve had half a pack of big juicy ones in our cupboard ever since. Maya spotted them the other night when I reached in for some boring oatcakes. She pleaded with … Continue reading Look what I did when my daughter was out
I’m lucky. I feel lucky. I’ve got the most beautiful daughter in the whole world (apart from yours, of course, if you’ve got one). She brings me joy every day. I would love her to have a sibling, though. A hundred per cent of my childhood memories involve my brother. We argued, we wrestled (literally – Granny Breakwell rang the bell to mark the start … Continue reading Mummy’s not sharing – the secret bitterness of secondary infertility