My heart: Sonny Jim and me
It’s a man’s world… so the saying goes.
And nowhere is that patriarchy more apparent than when it comes to fertility.
For all the strides that have been made over the last century. For all the hard-fought rights (to vote, to own our own homes, to smash those glass ceilings) when it comes to having children, nature has us pegged at a real disadvantage.
Women get maybe a 20-year window in which to have their babies. And that’s it.
However we dress it up. Whatever advances that have been made by science, no one has really found a viable, risk-free way for women to put off children well into their forties.
At 35 women’s fertility goes off a cliff – conceiving gets harder and the risks to baby and mama go up too.
Fellas though? Well there’s absolutely nothing stopping them having little ones into their dotage. Continue reading
Running wild: My Sonny Jim making the most of the road being closed
FOR a few hours on Saturday afternoon I felt like I’d stepped back in time.
Our road was closed for a royal wedding street party. There was bunting. Chalk drawings on the floor. Kids running wild up and down the avenue. Neighbours sitting on curbs in the sunshine, sipping beers and prosecco.
It was blooming lovely.
I was never allowed to play out as a child. But even if I had been, it wouldn’t have been as charming in the Nineties as it was for my Sonny Jim on Saturday. He literally had the time of his life. He ate his tea in the street, chased his aunties (and his football) up and down the road for hours and by the time bedtime came around, he had two grazed knees, dirt all over his face and was a sweaty, sticky mess of sunshine in toddler form. Continue reading
Multi-tasking: Typing while saving Sonny Jim from stunts like this…
BEING a mummy is a job like no other.
I mean, in what other role would you be prepared to be on call 24/7, get literally pooped on, get screamed at for hours at a time and your only reward be an occasional wobbly smile and a tiny hand wrapped around your finger?
But two years down the line of mummying and I have to concede that I’ve definitely picked up a few new skills.
Here are some of the most utilised:
- Mum-versations: The ability to chat to another parent, break off to shout/pick-up/wipe down your child, and then pick up the conversation again without missing a stride. Continue reading
Child-free… and enjoying the fizz
It’s not often I get a whole toddler-free Saturday afternoon.
So when I do, I really, really want them to be fun. Which is why I was delighted to be invited along to Pink Vanilla Events’ first ever tipsy tea party.
Held at the Rayleigh Club, the afternoon is the brainchild of creative director, Amy Langmead.
And, Oh My God, was it a fun few hours.
When we arrived at 2pm we were greeted by a couple of butlers in the buff (*blushes*) and handed a glass (the first of many) of prosecco. (NB if you’re given a glass of prosecco with a puff of blue candyfloss on the top, eat it, don’t push it into your glass. It’ll turn your fizz blue and you’ll end up looking like you’ve got a flute of WKD blue in your hand. Classy.) Continue reading
Not quite as put together as the duchess: Our first night at home with our boy
Unless you’ve been living under a rock this past week, it won’t have escaped your notice that we have a new baby prince – little Louis Arthur Charles.
And on Monday, the Duchess of Cambridge, appeared mere hours after giving birth to her third child, at the hospital entrance looking like she’d been on a relaxing spa weekend or something.
She looked absolutely immaculate… which is a little awe-inspiring when just seven hours earlier she’d been reaching the end of a five-hour labour.
But, somewhat depressingly, her post-partum appearance now appears to be something to be criticised, with some claiming it puts pressure on all new mums to look that put together.
Can we just all take a minute and get a bit of perspective? Continue reading
Just how important are siblings? My Sonny Jim
We’ve just had International Sibling Day and it got me thinking…
Just how important are sisters and brothers?
I’m one of four (the elder sister of triplets. Yes, triplets. I knoooow.) Sonny Jim’s daddy is one of three (a big brother to two sisters.)
Growing up, both our homes were noisy, busy, at times raucous, places. As the eldest, we both looked out for the littles that followed us. Learnt to share, to row, to compromise. To love – even when they stole your hair straighteners (yes, Clair, I’m talking about you) or left the milk out before your breakfast (warm milk…yuuuuk. Thanks for that Luke and Sam.) Continue reading
Yum, yum: ‘That snail is not a snack, Sonny!’
Do you ever hear yourself say something, and then have to laugh at the ridiculousness of what has just come out of your mouth?
I’ve found having a toddler, this happens more often than the pre-child me could ever have imagined possible.
I was pottering a bit in the garden the other day, with Sonny Jim. The weather has been so blooming dire that as soon as even the smallest ray of sunshine can be seen, I bung his wellies on and we’re outside.
Anyway, all was well, until I heard the unmistakable “yum, yum, yum” coming from my two-year-old. Continue reading