Naming a child is an awesome responsibility. 'This be the Verse' by Philip Larkin probably applies much more to little Adolfs than it does to Stevens and Bens. That's not to say all names have to be picked from the Top 10 of course - I was always the only Eve in my school, and it wasn't a bad thing - but there are limits.
One of the most monstrous celebrity names of recent years has been Katie Price and Peter Andre's daughter, 'Princess Tiáamii'. Peter said "I wanted to name her after both our mums and then I just woke up one morning and thought ‘I know! We’ll just put them together!'". I've obviously ruled out Barhris or Chrisra for our new baby, but creativity in child naming doesn't stop with making it up entirely course. A friend of a friend called her son Maxx, yes with two x's, to make it 'different'. It doesn't have the aural thrill of 'Princess Tiáamii' of course, but will create an added frisson of excitement on his cheque book in years to come.
We've been hunting for a suitable name for my growing bump. Having given our son an Irish name (phonetically spelt, not made up!) something that 'matches' would be the ideal. I'd originally wanted Florence, but its quintessential Englishness just doesn't go with T, or to be frank our appalling surname.
Then I found it. OK, I didn't find it myself, it was mentioned in passing on a thread on a baby name forum (yes, there are such things, and great entertainment to be had by reading them!) ... THE name. One of the only suggestions which my husband hasn't instantly dismissed (lets gloss over his ideas, including Clarabelle and Gertrude) it's grown and grown on me and I now have 'the fear' that someone else will somehow 'discover' it and 'steal' it before B-day. Yes, I realise this is ridiculous, but the pregnancy hormones seem to have over-ridden my 'rational' gene.
Then I panicked. What if the name, our name, HER name, had some hideous connotations I'd not previously discovered. What if I am planning to saddle my daughter with the same name as a porn star or brand of feminine hygiene wash? Perfect fodder for schoolyard ridicule. So I googled it of course.
Results included a group of libraries in New Mexico, a blog from a dedicated Australian knitter, photos of a sweet Swedish toddler and a famous sportsman's wife. Nothing too scary, although I suppose in the next 18 years there's plenty of time for that to change!
Sunday, 12 July 2009
Thursday, 9 July 2009
Co-sleeping, toddler style
Way back in the beginning I posted about how much I loved co-sleeping. The power that came from having my little boy snuggled in close to his Mummy, the ultimate sedative. Well things have changed a bit since then.
We've all grown of course, T both upwards and outwards, me mainly outwards and in my need for a full night of uninterrupted sleep. So last night when I heard T wake as I listened to my Rainbow Relaxation (more on how the hypnobirthing is going coming very soon), I didn't mind too much when my husband brought him into bed with us, as I knew we'd all get more rest that way. How wrong could I be?!
There is no fun to be had in lying up against the bedside table, nose squished into the wood, as two boys, naked from the waist up, bellies rising and falling in synchronisation as they snore gently and (husband) not so gently, spreadeagle next to you, stealing all the pillows.
I got up and went to sleep in T's bed (I realise it's sounding a little Goldilocks now) where the matress was too thin to get comfy. I lay awake for almost an hour feeling very cross that we sprung for an, erm, sprung one and it's Not Very Comfy At All, before realising my pregnancy weight is probably equivalent to 10 toddlers, which might explain it. I was just drifting off when I remembered I'd left my mobile phone on charge, the handset under my pillow to deaden the sound of the morning alarm, stopping it travelling through the wall and waking T before I get my precious few minutes of morning to myself. Toddlers and wires don't mix of course. I had visions of T becoming tangled, hurting himself, and had to get up and remove it before I could settle.
My husband woke me at 4 am as he got up for work. His side of the bed vacated, I staggered into our bedroom again, grateful at last to be able to stretch out full length. T was still snoring. I fell into a much needed sleep, mobile (now fully charged) back under my pillow for the 7 am wake-up.
It never came of course. I came to when the light was still cold enough to indicate the hour was barely past six am. Something small pinged my face, and again, and again. I groaned and opened one eye. T had found my ipod on the bedside table, where I'd abandoned it at the end of the Rainbow Relaxation what felt like days ago. The pings were the earphones, being swung like a lassoo.
T looked inordinately pleased to have woken up with a ready made playmate next to him, just ripe for poking and prodding. He handed me the ipod.
"Mummy, mummy .... YELLOW SUBMARINE"!
My husband, and his mix tapes, have a lot to answer for.
We've all grown of course, T both upwards and outwards, me mainly outwards and in my need for a full night of uninterrupted sleep. So last night when I heard T wake as I listened to my Rainbow Relaxation (more on how the hypnobirthing is going coming very soon), I didn't mind too much when my husband brought him into bed with us, as I knew we'd all get more rest that way. How wrong could I be?!
There is no fun to be had in lying up against the bedside table, nose squished into the wood, as two boys, naked from the waist up, bellies rising and falling in synchronisation as they snore gently and (husband) not so gently, spreadeagle next to you, stealing all the pillows.
I got up and went to sleep in T's bed (I realise it's sounding a little Goldilocks now) where the matress was too thin to get comfy. I lay awake for almost an hour feeling very cross that we sprung for an, erm, sprung one and it's Not Very Comfy At All, before realising my pregnancy weight is probably equivalent to 10 toddlers, which might explain it. I was just drifting off when I remembered I'd left my mobile phone on charge, the handset under my pillow to deaden the sound of the morning alarm, stopping it travelling through the wall and waking T before I get my precious few minutes of morning to myself. Toddlers and wires don't mix of course. I had visions of T becoming tangled, hurting himself, and had to get up and remove it before I could settle.
My husband woke me at 4 am as he got up for work. His side of the bed vacated, I staggered into our bedroom again, grateful at last to be able to stretch out full length. T was still snoring. I fell into a much needed sleep, mobile (now fully charged) back under my pillow for the 7 am wake-up.
It never came of course. I came to when the light was still cold enough to indicate the hour was barely past six am. Something small pinged my face, and again, and again. I groaned and opened one eye. T had found my ipod on the bedside table, where I'd abandoned it at the end of the Rainbow Relaxation what felt like days ago. The pings were the earphones, being swung like a lassoo.
T looked inordinately pleased to have woken up with a ready made playmate next to him, just ripe for poking and prodding. He handed me the ipod.
"Mummy, mummy .... YELLOW SUBMARINE"!
My husband, and his mix tapes, have a lot to answer for.
Tuesday, 7 July 2009
Training
We live in a Lancashire mill town that is full of noise. Surrounded by countryside, the birds begin to tweet at 4.30 am. The clock on the church at the end of the road chimes every hour, albeit five minutes late. In the days BC (Before Children) we'd often be woken at 10 am on Sunday mornings by the first tooting horn of the steam train on the heritage line run lovingly by volunteers and tracing a route through a line of local villages.
These days of course, we're up long before 10 am on Sundays. Despite all of the noise of the house we never miss the tooting though for T is obsessed - properly, utterly, passionately, madly - with trains.
There are worst things to be obsessed with of course. We have residents' passes for the heritage railway, meaning we can travel the entire route for less than half price (free for T) and making it an ideal lazy-idea day out. Standing in the garden and waiting for the toot which tells us a train at our small town station is ready to depart can occupy him for hours (well, half an hour maybe). And then there are the words. How many not-yet two year olds know what a piston, carriage, funnel and level crossing are. Well, I mean apart from the ones I see waving frantically from the vintage British Rail windows as we pause at the flashing lights and wait for the train to cross.
There is only one problem. I cannot bloody stand Thomas The Tank Engine.
I'm not adverse to children's brands entirely of course. We have enough In The Night Garden paraphenalia to open a small shop. I like the programme though. The colours, the pace and tone, the music, even the long unexplained absences of the Wottingers.
TTTE is completely different. The Rev W Awdry had a grand imagination, but the day to day goings on on the island of Sodor (which incidently must, according to accent, be located somewhere off the coast of Liverpool) aren't sufficiently interesting to keep T (or me!) distracted for more than a couple of minutes. Plus the newer TV versions of Awdry's stories are shown on Five as part of their Milkshake children's programming, presented by imbeciles who are at least 10 years younger than me. With adverts. Bah humbug!
The toys are hugely expensive. We have a small plastic helicopter with a rotating blade, it was a couple of quid. Paint him white, add eyes and call him Harold and he's suddenly a tenner. And have you tried the books? Yawn. I should have been suspicious when the library versions were still remarkably new looking, despite having been on the loan circuit for a couple of years.
All of this is surmountable of course. If T loved Thomas ('he's the cheeky one ...' - don't get me started on that theme tune) I'd be gritting my teeth and learning how to properly pronounce Skarloey. He doesn't though. Despite many generous gifts from Grandma and Grandpa - branded clothing, toys and DVDs - he's utterly unfussed with the whole thing, which (lets be honest) is quite alright with me.
Shaky amateur videos on Youtube though, with a close up of that piston on a wobbly zoom, clouds of steam enveloping the Handycam as the videographer coughs in the background. Those he can watch for hours.
These days of course, we're up long before 10 am on Sundays. Despite all of the noise of the house we never miss the tooting though for T is obsessed - properly, utterly, passionately, madly - with trains.
There are worst things to be obsessed with of course. We have residents' passes for the heritage railway, meaning we can travel the entire route for less than half price (free for T) and making it an ideal lazy-idea day out. Standing in the garden and waiting for the toot which tells us a train at our small town station is ready to depart can occupy him for hours (well, half an hour maybe). And then there are the words. How many not-yet two year olds know what a piston, carriage, funnel and level crossing are. Well, I mean apart from the ones I see waving frantically from the vintage British Rail windows as we pause at the flashing lights and wait for the train to cross.
There is only one problem. I cannot bloody stand Thomas The Tank Engine.
I'm not adverse to children's brands entirely of course. We have enough In The Night Garden paraphenalia to open a small shop. I like the programme though. The colours, the pace and tone, the music, even the long unexplained absences of the Wottingers.
TTTE is completely different. The Rev W Awdry had a grand imagination, but the day to day goings on on the island of Sodor (which incidently must, according to accent, be located somewhere off the coast of Liverpool) aren't sufficiently interesting to keep T (or me!) distracted for more than a couple of minutes. Plus the newer TV versions of Awdry's stories are shown on Five as part of their Milkshake children's programming, presented by imbeciles who are at least 10 years younger than me. With adverts. Bah humbug!
The toys are hugely expensive. We have a small plastic helicopter with a rotating blade, it was a couple of quid. Paint him white, add eyes and call him Harold and he's suddenly a tenner. And have you tried the books? Yawn. I should have been suspicious when the library versions were still remarkably new looking, despite having been on the loan circuit for a couple of years.
All of this is surmountable of course. If T loved Thomas ('he's the cheeky one ...' - don't get me started on that theme tune) I'd be gritting my teeth and learning how to properly pronounce Skarloey. He doesn't though. Despite many generous gifts from Grandma and Grandpa - branded clothing, toys and DVDs - he's utterly unfussed with the whole thing, which (lets be honest) is quite alright with me.
Shaky amateur videos on Youtube though, with a close up of that piston on a wobbly zoom, clouds of steam enveloping the Handycam as the videographer coughs in the background. Those he can watch for hours.
Monday, 6 July 2009
Eating my words
Ahem, given my moany post a couple of days ago I should probably be typing this with my head down in shame, but despite being convinced otherwise, I GOT THE JOB!
My new boss called on Friday to offer me the position, and apologised for the delay which had been caused by some negotiation over how to work round my pregnancy. They're v keen to have me on board, which is a good job as I'll only work for 10 weeks or so in the role before going off to have my baby. In fact they'll probably have to advertise for my maternity cover before I've even started!
The whole thing is nerve wracking. I have do actually do the job now, rather than just persuading them I can, and of course I want to repay the faith they've put in me. How to balance my increasing pregnancy and making my mark in a new role is going to be a challenge, but hey, I'm going to be a Mummy to two. How hard can it be?!
My new boss called on Friday to offer me the position, and apologised for the delay which had been caused by some negotiation over how to work round my pregnancy. They're v keen to have me on board, which is a good job as I'll only work for 10 weeks or so in the role before going off to have my baby. In fact they'll probably have to advertise for my maternity cover before I've even started!
The whole thing is nerve wracking. I have do actually do the job now, rather than just persuading them I can, and of course I want to repay the faith they've put in me. How to balance my increasing pregnancy and making my mark in a new role is going to be a challenge, but hey, I'm going to be a Mummy to two. How hard can it be?!
Thursday, 2 July 2009
Melting
I apologise for having been awol for the last week or so. It has been officially Too Hot To Blog. As an added bonus I had a job interview earlier this week, which threw up the whole question of what to wear as the temperature crawled towards 30 degrees. I settled on black maternity trousers, a smart maternity vest top and funky necklace and a much too small jacket over the top. I managed around 3 minutes, clutching a bottle of water, in the interview room, listening wiltedly (what do you mean that's not a word?!) as the panel introduced themselves before I asked whether they'd mind if I lost the jacket. They took pity on this tomato-faced lightly sweating lump and told me to 'take off whatever I wanted'. I stopped at the jacket, this being an interview for a senior management post, and was marginally less pink for the rest of the hour long ordeal, including, rather cruelly, a presentation to be delivered 'without visual aides'. Waffle aside, I came out thinking I'd done quite well. There were no surprise questions. I managed to shoe-horn almost all of my pre-prepared practical work examples ('tell me about a time when you were particularly creative') into my answers and definitely didn't feel like I'd embarrassed myself.
I'm not sure what the elephant thought though.
What elephant?
Well the one up my maternity vest top of course.
Before applying for the role I spoke informally to the team manager and told him I'm pregnant. I could almost hear him rustling the pages in the 'Book of Appropriate Things to Say' before finding the page which said 'of course you should apply, finding the right candidate, irrespective of circumstances, is the most important thing'. I did believe him, I'm very lucky to work for an organisation that's as family friendly and committed to staff development as the BBC. I knew though that the interview might be a challenge. The panel were unable to refer to my pregnancy. In the interests of fair selection, all candidates must be treated equally and asked the same questions. I felt ridiculous talking about how I'd approach my first six months in the job, knowing I have only three and a bit before starting maternity leave. But what's the alternative? At least the current set up prevents women being unfairly prejudiced. It did feel odd to say the least though.
I haven't heard anything from the panel, or HR, and the interview was Tuesday. This isn't a good sign, as the successful candidate is always told before the unsuccessful ones. I know realistically that changing jobs a few short weeks before going on leave for what I hope will be a full year would have been a strain, especially making a strong start during the period I should be winding down and handing over. But I'm also a little torn. At any other time this would have been my perfect job, I'd be on tenterhooks waiting for the phone to ring, clinging on to the slim hope that no news is good news. Why should this baby make me feel any different? I will have to go back to work, eventually putting two children in childcare for at least a couple of days a week, so why not to a job I am passionate about?
A kick from the elephant reminds me where my priorities lie. Timing is everything, and I have plenty of time to worry about promotion once my next major production is out of the way.
I'm not sure what the elephant thought though.
What elephant?
Well the one up my maternity vest top of course.
Before applying for the role I spoke informally to the team manager and told him I'm pregnant. I could almost hear him rustling the pages in the 'Book of Appropriate Things to Say' before finding the page which said 'of course you should apply, finding the right candidate, irrespective of circumstances, is the most important thing'. I did believe him, I'm very lucky to work for an organisation that's as family friendly and committed to staff development as the BBC. I knew though that the interview might be a challenge. The panel were unable to refer to my pregnancy. In the interests of fair selection, all candidates must be treated equally and asked the same questions. I felt ridiculous talking about how I'd approach my first six months in the job, knowing I have only three and a bit before starting maternity leave. But what's the alternative? At least the current set up prevents women being unfairly prejudiced. It did feel odd to say the least though.
I haven't heard anything from the panel, or HR, and the interview was Tuesday. This isn't a good sign, as the successful candidate is always told before the unsuccessful ones. I know realistically that changing jobs a few short weeks before going on leave for what I hope will be a full year would have been a strain, especially making a strong start during the period I should be winding down and handing over. But I'm also a little torn. At any other time this would have been my perfect job, I'd be on tenterhooks waiting for the phone to ring, clinging on to the slim hope that no news is good news. Why should this baby make me feel any different? I will have to go back to work, eventually putting two children in childcare for at least a couple of days a week, so why not to a job I am passionate about?
A kick from the elephant reminds me where my priorities lie. Timing is everything, and I have plenty of time to worry about promotion once my next major production is out of the way.
Thursday, 25 June 2009
Eight Things ...
Thanks to Muddling Along Mummy and All Grown Up for the tags. As with all these meme things, my disorganisation means I might be the last person in the blogging universe to complete this. I hope my eight things are still worth a read!
1. Sleep all night without having to get up to go to the loo
2. Reach the plate cupboards in our kitchen, instead of having to ask my husband to put away the crockery
3. Work closer to home. A 100 mile round trip commute is wearing me down physically, emotionally and financially
4. Increase the size of our house by 50%, leaving it in the same position, so we wouldn't have to move
5. Pop round to see my sister (who lives in Madrid) for a long overdue catch-up
6. Cook more creative vegetarian food for my husband. I just can't seem to get excited about non-meat dishes!
7. Start a craft project and finish it before starting another
8. Think before I speak, all of the time
1. Raspberries
2. Blueberries
3. Strawberries (only perfectly ripe British ones though)
4. Nectarines
5. Cherries
6. Pears (especially what my Grandma used to call 'slaverchop' ones, the really juicy type that dribble down your chin!)
7. Plums
8. Apples
1. Cornwall
2. The deep Irish countryside
3. Barcelona (a city break with beach access and good weather, my perfect destination!)
4. Orlando (tacky but fabulous)
5. New York (to repeat the trip we took using our wedding vouchers, only this time without hideous early pregnancy sickness!)
6. Pembrokeshire
7. Australia (somewhere I've never been)
8. China
2. Stretford (shabby suburb of Manchester, centre of my teen universe)
3. Sheffield
4. Prestwich
5. Chorlton-cum-Hardy
6. Withington
7. West Didsbury
8. Ramsbottom
Everyone I'd like to tag has already completed this, so I am going to be a chain breaker, sorry! I do love reading lists like this though, and hope I haven't bored you too much.
8 Things I'm looking forward to
1. Picking up T from nursery tonight and hearing about his day, even if much of his conversation still doesn't make sense
2. Catching up with friends and their children and getting sticky at McGuinness's ice-cream farm in Bolton tomorrow
1. Picking up T from nursery tonight and hearing about his day, even if much of his conversation still doesn't make sense
2. Catching up with friends and their children and getting sticky at McGuinness's ice-cream farm in Bolton tomorrow
3. My Alexander Henry bird seed fabric arriving, so I can get started on Amy Karol's Swing Swing Smock for the baby (I can't get in trouble for making clothes, right?)
4. Watching the new series of Ugly Betty on Sky+ (10 pm is way past my bedtime, especially on a school night)
5. Smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwiches for lunch
6. And looking further ahead, my sister's Hen Night (albeit a sober one for me) ...
7. ... the wedding, especially meeting my new Spanish extended family,
8. and a late August camping trip to the Lakes with good friends and their families
4. Watching the new series of Ugly Betty on Sky+ (10 pm is way past my bedtime, especially on a school night)
5. Smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwiches for lunch
6. And looking further ahead, my sister's Hen Night (albeit a sober one for me) ...
7. ... the wedding, especially meeting my new Spanish extended family,
8. and a late August camping trip to the Lakes with good friends and their families
8 Things I did yesterday
1. Brushed up on some old skills at work, and realised I'm not quite as rusty as I thought I was. This is a very good feeling!
2. Emailed a friend I don't see often enough to arrange to meet up
3. Received lots of compliments on my dress (Topshop Maternity, via ebay, and a godsend for hot summer days)
4. Walked to the work carpark and realised I'd lost my car key
5. Walked back to the office (hot and bothered) to find someone had handed it in, and gave thanks!
6. Froze a couple of Mars Bars for the grown ups to chomp on after tea. Please Mr Dentist forgive me!
7. Chair danced (normal for me, highchair for T) along to 'Pet Sounds' as we ate our tea with the windows open and summer music on the stereo
8. Watched T 'read' one of his favourite books (Peace at Last) and make the correct sounds for each page, including snoring, aeroplane sounds, a ticking clock, a dripping tap and a hooting owl. It's like living with a Sound Effects CD!
6. Froze a couple of Mars Bars for the grown ups to chomp on after tea. Please Mr Dentist forgive me!
7. Chair danced (normal for me, highchair for T) along to 'Pet Sounds' as we ate our tea with the windows open and summer music on the stereo
8. Watched T 'read' one of his favourite books (Peace at Last) and make the correct sounds for each page, including snoring, aeroplane sounds, a ticking clock, a dripping tap and a hooting owl. It's like living with a Sound Effects CD!
8 Things I wish I could do
2. Reach the plate cupboards in our kitchen, instead of having to ask my husband to put away the crockery
3. Work closer to home. A 100 mile round trip commute is wearing me down physically, emotionally and financially
4. Increase the size of our house by 50%, leaving it in the same position, so we wouldn't have to move
5. Pop round to see my sister (who lives in Madrid) for a long overdue catch-up
6. Cook more creative vegetarian food for my husband. I just can't seem to get excited about non-meat dishes!
7. Start a craft project and finish it before starting another
8. Think before I speak, all of the time
8 Favourite fruits
1. Raspberries
2. Blueberries
3. Strawberries (only perfectly ripe British ones though)
4. Nectarines
5. Cherries
6. Pears (especially what my Grandma used to call 'slaverchop' ones, the really juicy type that dribble down your chin!)
7. Plums
8. Apples
8 Places I'd like to travel to
1. Cornwall
2. The deep Irish countryside
3. Barcelona (a city break with beach access and good weather, my perfect destination!)
4. Orlando (tacky but fabulous)
5. New York (to repeat the trip we took using our wedding vouchers, only this time without hideous early pregnancy sickness!)
6. Pembrokeshire
7. Australia (somewhere I've never been)
8. China
8 places I've lived
(Writing this makes me realise how provincial I am! Excepting my University years, I've always lived a maximum of 30 miles from my childhood birthplace)
1. Urmston (made famous-ish by Victoria Wood's fabulous Dinnerladies, as home to the erm, challenging, Babs)
(Writing this makes me realise how provincial I am! Excepting my University years, I've always lived a maximum of 30 miles from my childhood birthplace)
1. Urmston (made famous-ish by Victoria Wood's fabulous Dinnerladies, as home to the erm, challenging, Babs)
2. Stretford (shabby suburb of Manchester, centre of my teen universe)
3. Sheffield
4. Prestwich
5. Chorlton-cum-Hardy
6. Withington
7. West Didsbury
8. Ramsbottom
Everyone I'd like to tag has already completed this, so I am going to be a chain breaker, sorry! I do love reading lists like this though, and hope I haven't bored you too much.
Tuesday, 23 June 2009
Shopping
OK, I admit I might have a teensy bit of a problem. Over excited by the thought of having a small pink one in the house come October, I've done a little bit of shopping. My husband frogmarched me up the stairs earlier, and forced me, tail between my legs, to open the drawer where my ebay bargains have been squirreled away, waiting to be rewashed and hung on the line as we get nearer the time. The current total stands at ...
One pair of dungarees (Boden, very sweet, and cheap!)
Seven dresses (the small type represents how ashamed I am of this one)
Three pairs of trousers
Three tops
Three bodysuits
Two pairs of tights
There also might be a few things on order from the Boden Autumn preview (20% off with free delivery and free returns, Johnnie I think I love you) too, not figured in the above calculations. Oh, and the silky top and bloomer outfit I picked up in a Parisian sale, before we knew the sex, just in case we had a girl.
My husband was not impressed with my plan to buy T some lovely new things to 'even it up a bit'.
Oh dear.
One pair of dungarees (Boden, very sweet, and cheap!)
Seven dresses (the small type represents how ashamed I am of this one)
Three pairs of trousers
Three tops
Three bodysuits
Two pairs of tights
There also might be a few things on order from the Boden Autumn preview (20% off with free delivery and free returns, Johnnie I think I love you) too, not figured in the above calculations. Oh, and the silky top and bloomer outfit I picked up in a Parisian sale, before we knew the sex, just in case we had a girl.
My husband was not impressed with my plan to buy T some lovely new things to 'even it up a bit'.
Oh dear.
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