I knew there was something I should have mentioned at my six week check-up yesterday. I think I have baby-stupor.
I haven't actually had time to google the condition, but then that's part of the problem. My mind seems to be several steps behind my actions (or is it the other way round?). Anyway, as I reach for the laptop in a moment of snuffly calm, I instantly forget what it was I earnestly planned to research/write/send.
Um, ah yes, the parasol for the buggy, now I'm sure I ordered that more than 14 working days ago; no that's right, my finances, must check them very soon, as soon as I have googled this very important issue which I just can't quite remember....
Somehow I always end up on Top Shop online, as a comfort default, hoping that the 'new in' page will jog my memory.
Nice jacket! Oh yes, my blog, must...hang on, what colour is that top? ooh perfect.
Or maybe it's not 'baby-stupor', maybe it's a new condition linked to amnesia - a post-natal case of 'jamais-vu' absent mindedness. Or perhaps early Alzheimer's.
Write a list, you cry. Well yes, good point, however I seem to have started several, and keep finding the wrong one for the moment. The other day I purposefully pulled out my list in the middle of Sainsbury's and came to a bit of a standstill.
Thank you cards - must write before people forget what we're thanking them for, and in fact, who we are.
Clean toilets
Return emails
Cut Iris's nails..again
Write shopping list
Turning up at the surgery yesterday, I tried to remind myself of the various symptoms and medical idiosyncrasies I had saved up for the occasion:
eggs
tissues
bread
WINE
CHOCOLATE
On the plus side (for some future anthropological study that I'll forget to take part in) I do now understand the success of daytime TV (10am, strangely drawn to Jeremy Kyle's rough charm; 11am, Fern and Philip, not so bad after all, quite nice really....ah, at last, a question I know the answer to, albeit a multiple choice one; 1pm, lunchtime news, bit taxing; 1.40pm, hoorah! Neighbours, my favourite..).
Oh dear, I have officially self dumbed-down. Must try my hardest to retrieve some of my previous mental substance. Will add that to a new list, along with fizzy water and nappy sacks.
Now, where was I? Oh yes, www.topsh......
Wednesday, 30 May 2007
Thursday, 17 May 2007
Baby Bootcamp
Whilst Iris was putting me through my paces this morning, as she does every morning, it occurred to me that the only other place where you could expect such harsh training conditions might be on joining the armed forces.
I've never seen myself as a potential Sandhurst cadet, and on the basis of my progress so far, that is probably just as well.
Although I'd like to think I react well to constructive criticism, under the fire of screamed and incoherent orders I seem to be a sorry 'yes' woman, in danger of turning into a quivering wreck as I struggle to keep up.
Pick me up, NO NOT LIKE THAT; put me DOWN, no over THERE, stupid!
FEEEED me; Enough! can't you see I'm full??!
Change me, haha now change me again while I wee on you.
WAKE UP LAZY, time for night manoeuvres - NOOOOH, leave me alone, CANT YOU SEE I'm trying to SLEEP?!
OK, 1 minute to get ready and make the bed; nope too late time for ME again!
Hold it RIGHT there or I'll unleash my weaponry on you.....
And it's no mean arsenal either; projectile vomit (ok it's only milk but pooled in your bra? not good), piercing screams at eardrum level, sleep deprivation, favouritism (bestowed then quickly withdrawn!) toxic bottom bombs; not to mention the more subtle but scary ones like holding her breath, turning puce and impersonating a gargoyle for no apparent reason, and trying to convince the neighbours that we actually run a small torture camp in the back of the house.
I did manage a small rebellion yesterday though - on the premise of filling up her top and tail bowl I snuck off and spent 5 minutes straightening my hair and eating chocolate while shouting soothing words of reassurance across the landing (water's nearly hot, coming sweetheart...).
I can see what she's doing. She's trying to break me so she can rebuild me into the kind of person she'd like to see representing her as a mother. Tough job but I've signed up now and desertion is not an option.
I've never seen myself as a potential Sandhurst cadet, and on the basis of my progress so far, that is probably just as well.
Although I'd like to think I react well to constructive criticism, under the fire of screamed and incoherent orders I seem to be a sorry 'yes' woman, in danger of turning into a quivering wreck as I struggle to keep up.
Pick me up, NO NOT LIKE THAT; put me DOWN, no over THERE, stupid!
FEEEED me; Enough! can't you see I'm full??!
Change me, haha now change me again while I wee on you.
WAKE UP LAZY, time for night manoeuvres - NOOOOH, leave me alone, CANT YOU SEE I'm trying to SLEEP?!
OK, 1 minute to get ready and make the bed; nope too late time for ME again!
Hold it RIGHT there or I'll unleash my weaponry on you.....
And it's no mean arsenal either; projectile vomit (ok it's only milk but pooled in your bra? not good), piercing screams at eardrum level, sleep deprivation, favouritism (bestowed then quickly withdrawn!) toxic bottom bombs; not to mention the more subtle but scary ones like holding her breath, turning puce and impersonating a gargoyle for no apparent reason, and trying to convince the neighbours that we actually run a small torture camp in the back of the house.
I did manage a small rebellion yesterday though - on the premise of filling up her top and tail bowl I snuck off and spent 5 minutes straightening my hair and eating chocolate while shouting soothing words of reassurance across the landing (water's nearly hot, coming sweetheart...).
I can see what she's doing. She's trying to break me so she can rebuild me into the kind of person she'd like to see representing her as a mother. Tough job but I've signed up now and desertion is not an option.
Friday, 4 May 2007
All hail Iris!
My beautiful baby girl Iris is 3 weeks old today - she insisted on hanging on a week extra to make her grand appearance on Friday 13th, heralded by a suitable amount of horror film-style pain and gore (ok, I exaggerate, although I can only assume the beauty of childbirth referred to by various supermums must allude to the relief of it finally being over!).
Amazing how fast time whizzes by in a blur of poo, sleep deprivation and bad tv - I feel like a newborn party-goer, tip-toeing home each morning at dawn smelling like baby milk instead of too many cocktails, and boosting myself into each new day with a strong peppermint tea instead of a double espresso/redbull.
Seems like a lifetime ago since my last post, and those bored last days on the sofa - an Iris atheist then, I still worshipped at the alter of Desperate Housewives box sets and Top Shop options - ah the young naive me! Now I have been fully baptised into my new faith of All Things Iris.
And I am suitably in awe. Just this lunchtime a package arrived from baby Top Shop, addressed to her, with no card or sender details. I can only assume she has learnt to log on and order online, and am immensely impressed both by her taste in dresses and digital dexterity.
All hail, Iris.
Amazing how fast time whizzes by in a blur of poo, sleep deprivation and bad tv - I feel like a newborn party-goer, tip-toeing home each morning at dawn smelling like baby milk instead of too many cocktails, and boosting myself into each new day with a strong peppermint tea instead of a double espresso/redbull.
Seems like a lifetime ago since my last post, and those bored last days on the sofa - an Iris atheist then, I still worshipped at the alter of Desperate Housewives box sets and Top Shop options - ah the young naive me! Now I have been fully baptised into my new faith of All Things Iris.
And I am suitably in awe. Just this lunchtime a package arrived from baby Top Shop, addressed to her, with no card or sender details. I can only assume she has learnt to log on and order online, and am immensely impressed both by her taste in dresses and digital dexterity.
All hail, Iris.
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