Tuesday, December 3, 2019

To My Toddler: About To Become a Big Brother


Dear A,

In a short while, your world will change - my world will change - in ways we couldn't have imagined. And that makes me both happy and sad: happy that you'll (hopefully) gaining two healthy siblings but sad that our time together, just the two of us, is coming to an end.

Every morning, when you stir around 6 or so, and I try to get you to stay a little longer in your cot, telling you softly, "Down down, please", while fishing for your dummy or handing you some water, I chide myself under my breath for relenting too easily, too quickly, and picking you up - hefting your legs over my 33-week-pregnant-with-twins belly and carrying you to the guest room, where we both cuddle for half an hour or so in bed. As you immediately turn into me and run your little hand up and down my arm, or tuck it into my robe for comfort, I worry, "How will I do this when the twins arrive? How will I do this when I'm recovering from birth?" And I feel your small, warm feet dig into the tops of my legs and I think, 'I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.'

Because right then, right there, I don't care. Whatever the future brings in tantrums and tears and screaming fits, it's worth it: those precious 28, 29, 30 minutes I get to spend with you in the darkness of early dawn; the stillness.

On Saturday, you climbed up into your Montessori learning tower and helped me make sweet potato casserole for Thanksgiving dinner. I handed you marshmallows, one by one, and you carefully placed them on top of the mixture, exclaiming, "Oooh!" each time. I never imagined I'd have a child one day to share my Thanksgiving traditions with - and the sudden realization that it was actually happening shook me to my core.

On Sunday, I was tired from cooking, and I got down on the floor with you to watch Carl's Car Wash on YouTube, which I had never done before. You love that show, with its catchy tune, friendly characters, and assortment of vehicles going through the car wash. I laid on my side and felt the babies stretch, then kick and punch - the walls of their world getting smaller and smaller as they grow. I nestled my head into your side and wrapped my arms around your waist, expecting you to be too mesmerized by your show to notice. But you leaned into me: your head gently resting on my arm, your cheek collapsing into the crook of my elbow. Tears pricked my eyes then, because I knew you loved me too.

My firstborn: I love you so fiercely, it hurts. There isn't a moment from your childhood so far that I don't want to claw back: your gurgles, your first carrot puree, your first smile, your first steps, your first haircut, your first, your first, your first. You first.

I will understand in the coming months if you sleep worse, eat worse, act worse - want/need me more. You won't understand why I can't lift you as much or cuddle with you in the dark or lie on the floor to watch Carl's with you. At least, not immediately. But I promise you, we will have one-on-one time together each day, whether it's for 5, 10, 20 or 60 minutes - because I can't bear not to.

You are going to make the most wonderful big brother; we know it.

And we love you. To the moon and back.

Love,
Mama x
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Tuesday, November 26, 2019

Gestational Diabetes


When I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes in this pregnancy, I was relieved - then resentful. I had suspected undiagnosed gestational diabetes as the underlying cause of my son's premature birth (and his abnormally large birth weight, plus low blood sugar and jaundice), despite the fact that I'd been tested at 28 weeks and told by my midwives that the outcome was "normal". Looking back, I had so many classic symptoms of diabetes - symptoms that I repeatedly reported to hospital consultants, GP, and midwives, with each one dismissing them as "normal" in pregnancy.

This time, at a different hospital and with a monochorionic (identical, two babies sharing one placenta) twin pregnancy, I pushed the consultant to test me sooner for GD. She said it was unusual to test so early, but agreed to at 21 weeks.

And my blood sugar readings were raised - to everyone's surprise but mine.

From there, the diabetes team moved quickly: scheduling a meeting with the diabetes nurse, who gave me a blood glucose testing kit to use once in the morning and one hour after every meal, and another meeting with the hospital dietician, who helped come up with a meal plan in an attempt to lower my blood sugar levels.

Initially, we tried to control my GD through diet and exercise. But despite being extremely restrictive (at one point, I was eating zero carbs, which was neither healthy nor sustainable) and going out for a walk immediately after every meal (not the easiest when you're pregnant with twins, especially as the pregnancy progresses), my glucose levels remained high - and I felt like such a failure. Like I hadn't tried hard enough.

The diabetes nurse was incredibly kind, and assured me that it had nothing to do with me - typically, GD develops during pregnancy and disappears after birth (though, given my family history of diabetes, it's likely to stick around permanently). It occurs when the body cannot produce enough insulin to support both you and the baby - or, in my case, the babies (apparently, twin pregnancies have a higher rate of developing GD).

The nurse suggested I start on Metformin, a pill, but I asked if I could move directly onto insulin, as I'd heard the Metformin caused stomach upset, which I really couldn't deal with when I was working and looking after a toddler in the evenings. They immediately agreed and prescribed Novorapid before meals and Humulin, before bedtime - so, four injections total, per day.

The resentment came in when I realized that, despite the insulin, I'd still need to follow a strict Keto-like diet, which was the last thing I wanted to do when pregnant. I constantly craved pasta and missed cakes; I was angry that I felt deprived and hungry a lot.  

Now, in my 32nd week of pregnancy, I can honestly say that this diagnosis of gestational diabetes has been a blessing in disguise. I've never felt healthier and better in myself: less sluggish, more fit, and just generally healthier.

Of course, I have moments where I'm annoyed because I would love to have a slice of cake for dessert instead of Skyr, a handful of raspberries and one square of 90% dark chocolate, but once I got used to the diet, I found that I stopped craving a lot of sweet things (though I find myself missing carbohydrates, for sure).

What surprised me was how many misconceptions people have about diabetes. A lot of friends volunteered to bring me "vegan cake" or "savoury muffins", which was very sweet and well-intentioned, but vegan cake still has sugar (natural or refined) and is high in carbs, and savoury muffins are (unless made with a flour alternative), also a total carb-fest.

I did have a few dreams where I was stuffing my face with bread and endless bowls of pasta (oh, how I miss pho and ramen! AND WHITE RICE!), but ... at the end of the day, I want to give these twins the best chance of being healthy at (and after) birth.

And the fact that I feel better for it all after this lifestyle change is the figurative icing on the cake.
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Friday, September 20, 2019

Frankly, I'm Terrified



The first thing the midwife said to me when she read my file and saw that I was expecting identical twins (and that I had an 18-month-old at home) was: "You'll need to let some things go."

She was kind, but firm in her advice. And what she meant was: I won't always have a clean home. I won't always have time to put my son to bed and massage his legs after bath time and read three stories after dinner. I won't always be able to head out into the world with a full face of makeup and a chic, put-together outfit (not that there's much of that these days anyway, unless I'm heading into work!).

John has been gently reminding (read: nagging) me to start by letting some things "go" now - for example, stop making separate meals for our son (one weekend morning, I found myself simultaneously stewing apple, oranges, prunes and cinnamon to help with his constipation and preparing a slow-cooker chicken soup with four different types of veggies so I could freeze it and ask his nanny to give it to him for lunch).

"Your perfectionism will destroy you - or us," he said.

And he's right.

At the very root of the anxiety and depression I've struggled with for years is this obsession with "being enough". Doing enough.

And after the recurrent miscarriages I experienced, together with my son's difficult birth and subsequent hospital stays, the way I dealt with the trauma was to do my best to provide the best for my child.

To me, this meant breastfeeding him exclusively for nearly a year (until his interest naturally waned and he became fully weaned), even if it meant I was waking up at 3 or 4 a.m. to pump when he was asleep; even if it meant I bled from over-pumping; or that I couldn't get my hair cut for months because I was so anxious about getting back in time for a feed.

And when he transitioned onto solid foods, it meant preparing meals from scratch for him (luckily, his nanny does the lion's share of this now and she is an excellent cook), ensuring he had a fresh supply of whole fruit replenished every week, and that I was baking sugar-free cakes and waffles that I knew he'd love as snacks.

It meant creating the perfect nursery for him: with perfect Scandi-inspired decor, the perfect breathable pillow to rest his head on, the perfect sheepskin mattress topper to "keep him cool in the summer and warm in the winter", the perfect organic cotton cot sheets, and the perfect hand-knit doll that I felt would best comfort him at night if he were to wake.

He doesn't need any of these things - I know that. I know it. (Though - can I just say - his bed looks insanely comfy?)

And I know I've been doing all these things for myself, more than I've perhaps been doing them for him. Reassurance. Insurance. An apology for those terrible first days and weeks. Because somehow I still see it as my fault.

Because each four-layered muslin blanket and soft toy is a whispered, "I'm sorry."

And I know what he wants more than anything else - more than any green garbage truck replica (his current favorite) - is for me to play with him; to hold and cuddle him. Which I do. As much as I can.

And so, I'm scared. I'm scared that I won't know how to cope when the twins arrive and I literally can't "do it all".

Because doing it all - or attempting to do it all - is what keeps me sane, even when it's driving me to madness.

My goal in the next few weeks and months is to try to gradually begin to find a balance in all of this ... and to find time for myself and my husband too.

But it may be the biggest challenge I've ever faced, and I'm terrified of this journey.
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Monday, August 5, 2019

Freddie's Flowers: Beautiful, Lasting Blooms


One of my favorite luxuries is having fresh flowers in the house. They brighten up any room, but I especially love having a bouquet standing smack dab in the middle of our dining room table. It's one of the first things I see when I come through the door, and it brings a little bit of the outside "in". Even when it's dreary outside. Even when I'm feeling under the weather.

And I used to treat myself to fresh flowers at the flower stand outside the tube station after work every few weeks or so: a small bunch of fluffy peonies here; a handful of blush-pink roses there. But now that I'm rushing home to a small child, every second counts - and my floral habit was the first to go.

I'd seen Freddie's Flowers, a floral delivery service, advertised before. But, can I be honest? I never tried it because my previous experiences with similar fresh flower deliveries resulted in  disappointingly sparse and droopy bouquets that didn't last longer than a day or two.

But not my deliveries from Freddie's Flowers. I woke to my first box on Monday morning. They'd been delivered to my doorstep when I was fast asleep, around 5:45 a.m. or so. I opened the box to the heaping pile of beautiful blooms above, carefully selected for their subtle but complementary colors - nothing stiff or old-fashioned about this bouquet. 

No - this was modern, fresh, and felt so very me. They instantly looked like they belonged in my home; something I would have chosen if I'd had time to peruse a flower shop for half an hour.

The plus side? This stunning bouquet stayed strong for over a week and a half before it began to show any signs of fading.


My second delivery from Freddie's Flowers arrived exactly one week later. This time, I knew whatever was in the box was bound to be fabulous, so I eagerly anticipated it all day (our nanny kindly took them in and arranged them for me, but you don't have to be home when the box is delivered!).

When I got home, I saw the most impressive bouquet of gladioli waiting for me. All Freddie's Flowers' arrangements arrive in bud and slowly bloom over a few days, so you can fully appreciate the flowers (and they last so much longer).

These gladioli were a magnificent statement piece in our house for several days (again, lasting well over a week) - especially when the bright pink, purple, and red reached their peaks.

I especially love that each delivery comes with detailed information about each variety featured in your bouquet that week, along with a sweet "snapshot" of how it looks when it's displayed. Plus, there are helpful, detailed instructions showing you exactly how to arrange them in a vase (raise your hand if you've been completely flummoxed before, and ending up hastily arranging the flowers in a way that resembles nothing close to what they were intended to look like!).



I have to say, as a former skeptic of flower deliveries, Freddie's Flowers has totally changed my mind. Their premium yet affordable bouquets are worth the treat - especially since they last for quite a while and the deliveries fit seamlessly into my busy lifestyle as a working mom. It's made me realize that maybe I can indulge in one of my favorite little luxuries once again.

Great news! Freddie's Flowers is offering Angloyankophile readers their first two boxes of fresh flowers delivered to their door for £12 each (saving £24!) with the code 'JAIMEFF' . Treat yourself! 

(I received my beautiful blooms as gifts from Freddie's Flowers. All opinions are my own.)
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Friday, July 26, 2019

18 Months



Dear A,

Last night, you had a coughing fit. I went to your room and you were sitting up, crying - feeling very sorry for yourself. I picked you up and smoothed your hair back and held you in my lap until your eyes rolled back and your lids began to flutter closed. It was then that I noticed your feet were propped up against Goodnight Moon on the sofa. When did your legs get long enough to do that? I marvelled at this new discovery. As hard as I tried, I couldn't remember a time when your feet barely extended past my side - hovering mid-air, as I nursed you to sleep. I closed my eyes, partly through exhaustion, but partly because I wanted - so badly - to remember that time. 

I couldn't. 

You have grown again.

Last week, I took you to a play centre: a little town designed for babies and toddlers, with mini garages and a mini store and mini Bentleys and mini ice-cream vans and mini everythings. You always go for the cars. But halfway into the session, it was carnage: older kids commandeered wheelbarrows, shoving them into unsuspecting bare ankles while their moms chatted and ignored; smaller babies threw soft vegetables. A fabric eggplant landed by my feet. You'd wandered off - probably in search of a car to steal - but I was watching you across the room. As soft oranges flew and a wooden London bus was mounted, I saw you looking. Searching. You weren't scared - I wouldn't let you be. Just looking: tummy poking out, feet slightly turned in, arms in T-rex position. And then: you saw me. And the smile that crossed your face - oh, my darling. A thousand cliches come true. In that instant, my heart had never felt fuller. Until you reached me - over the fake grass, past the ice-cream van with the wooden cones now discarded on the floor - then it nearly burst. 

Last month, we took you to the beach for the first time. The pastel beach huts, lining the neat semicircle of the promenade, were shut for the morning. No one was visiting, except for the early-rising dog walkers, because high tide was just an hour away and the beach would disappear soon. The clock was ticking. Yet, time somehow slowed. I remember it being very bright - the sun was already fairly high, and your father slathered sun cream on your legs and face as I fastened your hat below your chin. You'd never even seen the ocean before. But somehow, you just knew: charging ahead with delight, curling your toes around the sand beneath your feet. You aimed straight for the water. I held your hands as the first tiny wave lapped towards us, covering your ankles. You shrieked with joy. You wanted to go further in. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I laughed, holding you back. The second wave caught your bloomers and soaked the edges. Again, you laughed. And I felt the happiest I'd been for a very long time. 

Because I remembered: we met in the ocean. 

An hour after you were born, I was wheeled - drugged and half asleep - to the maternity ward while you travelled by incubator upstairs to SCBU. In my post-labor/post-birth daze, I had a vision: we were both submerged, deep in the inky blue darkness of a vast sea. I saw you first, paddling towards me, gently pawing your way to me as I held my arms outstretched. Waiting. Ready. Your face had a curious, but certain, expression. 

You knew. So did I. 

You were not wrenched from me with forceps 18 months ago in an operating room with bright lights and doctors in scrubs and masks. You did not meet me for the first time wrapped in a white towel stained with both our blood, my finger shakily grazing your left cheek. You did not leave the hospital with notes that read, "born in poor condition". I did not weep for hours for you in the shower when we were apart. 

No, that is not how we met. We met before - in this brilliant blue ocean, surrounded by the force of love pulled from another dimension. I knew you, and you knew me, already. 
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Sunday, May 5, 2019

5 Tiny Changes I'm Making to Protect the Environment


Shopping more mindfully. I love, love, love new clothes. Love them. Nothing excites me more than walking into Zara, or COS, or & Other Stories or Mango and picking up the newest midi skirt or blazer or perfectly cropped culottes. But. I tire of trendy pieces easily, and they often end up in the donation pile with only one (!) or two wears - which is terrible. A lot of these items are cheaply made in factories from polyester or other synthetic fibres and I've started to think about how these items will impact the environment long after I'm gone. So, in an age where the latest trends on Instagram rule, I've scaled back my fast-fashion purchases and am focusing instead on beautifully made clothing from independent makers, like the linen top and trousers I'm wearing in the photo above from notPERFEECTLINEN and my favorite new purchase, a chunky cotton-knit cardigan from The Knotty Ones, who employ full-time mamas living in rural Lithuania.

Buying second-hand kids' clothing and toys. Where possible, I try to buy second-hand clothes and toys for my little boy, or else clothes that are ethically-made using sustainable and natural fabrics. The latter can be tricky as these quality items are usually higher in price, so it's tempting to order mass-produced goods when he's outgrown his latest sleep suit, for example. But for clothing and toys, we have a wonderful local "sell or swap" group on Facebook, where I've found brand new Clarks sandals for him for £4 (!!!) and a selection of beautiful wooden cars that he currently enjoys pushing around the house. eBay is terrific for second-hand kids' clothing - I bought a nearly-new Polarn O Pyret fleece jacket for A a few weeks ago.

Using a KeepCup. I often grab breakfast on my way in to work in the morning, which usually consists of a soy hot chocolate and a pastry of some sort from Pret. I down the hot chocolate when I'm at my desk, then scarf down the pastry around 10 or 11 when I start to feel a dip - not the healthiest, I know, but I do sometimes have eggs or granola instead! One day, the realisation of the impact of my plastic-lid-and-paper-cup usage hit me like a semi-truck and I was not only horrified, but also embarrassed. My dad recently bought me this beautiful glass and cork KeepCup, which I'm looking forward to using when I'm back at work next week.

And on the subject of cups (TMI alert) ...

I'm on the hunt for a comfy but effective menstrual cup. I've read so many reviews and have had so many recommendations, but I have a feeling it's going to be a rather frustrating case of trial and error (though it will be better for the planet in the long run, so ... I'd really ought to try). Do you have any recommendations? I'd love to hear them in the comments below.

Carrying a reusable bag with me wherever I go. I am the worst at forgetting to bring a reusable bag with me when I change handbags, but I really, really must get better at remembering. We almost always bring our own bags when we do a "big shop" at the store, but when I'm grabbing a few things that are too big to be stuffed into my bag or carried loose in the stroller basket, I've shamefully asked for a plastic bag - and the guilt is bad. Must. Do. Better. I have this one that I really like.

What small things do you do everyday that have a huge impact on the environment (whether good or bad)?

p.s. John and I also had a long conversation about cutting back our meat consumption. Stay tuned. We're working on it.

p.p.s. This blog post contains affiliate links, which means that I earn a teeny tiny amount if you click through and make a purchase (and when I mean "tiny", I mean that I have made a whopping £0.46 so far from all the affiliate links on this site - no joke).

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Tuesday, April 30, 2019

A (Baby-Free!) Spanish Feasting Brunch at Aqua Nueva



My best friend likes to say that we live our lives 'in parallel': when I studied abroad in England, she studied abroad in Spain. There, she dated a Juan while I dated John. A few years after I moved to London, my ultimate dream came true and she moved to the city too. We got engaged on the same weekend. And then: our babies were born four months apart. See? 

Sandwiched somewhere between the years above, when I was studying for a Master's degree in Renaissance Literature at York, Udita moved to Huelva, Spain - a little town outside Seville - and taught English to schoolchildren there. John and I flew to Jerez to visit her over Easter weekend and I have vibrant memories of waking groggily to the sounds of a Semana Santa procession; of drinking freshly squeezed orange juice with the scent of jasmine hanging heavily in the air; of shyly ordering a Shandy Cruzcampo at the bar in a terrible attempt at Spanish. Of an everlasting friendship that would ensure distances across oceans, continents, and life changes. 

So, Saturday, we found ourselves at Aqua Nueva on Argyll Street near Oxford Circus, excitedly eyeing the new Saturday Spanish Feasting Brunch menu. 

Neither of us had a drop of alcohol when we were nursing our babies and the temptation of Cava, wine, AND sangria on the menu was all too real. 

We tucked into crispy slices of pan con tomate and delightful little spheres of croquettes, before sharing a bitter leaf avocado salad between us - all the while laughing at our own inside jokes. 



Because that's what brunch is REALLY for, after all: a relaxed, easy way to share food and memories with best friends. 

The tortilla arrived at our table and I was excited - a traditional Spanish recipe I try so hard to get right (and always get so wrong: too egg-y or too potato-y or too bland). This tortilla was delicious: dense yet refined; light, yet packed with flavor. I would have liked more, but then there wouldn't have been room for the seafood paella, which I made the unfortunate mistake of letting go cold as I took it outside to photograph. 




With generous helpings of saffron, this paella deserved to be enjoyed outside on Aqua Nueva's beautiful roof terrace, but the weather that day unfortunately didn't play ball, so we heaped portions onto our plates indoors instead. 

The much-anticipated dessert was a plate of light and airy pistachio churros, served with a tangy mango and passion fruit sauce - not too heavy, which was perfect for us as we slinked off afterwards to check out the homeware and kids' sections of H&M just a stone's throw away, taking advantage of this very rare baby-free opportunity. 

I can't think of a better way to spend a lazy Saturday morning: brunch at Aqua Nueva, followed by a mini shopping spree on Oxford Street. 

We were guests of Aqua Nueva. All opinions are my own. The Spanish Feasting Brunch is available at Aqua Nueva every Saturday from 12:00 pm - 4:00 pm and is priced at £35 per person. (Information correct at the time of publication, but please call ahead if you want to confirm!).
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