So, I Started a Business

 

Nearly 10 years ago, I started blogging as a way to work out whether I wanted to make the UK or US my permanent residence (still having commitment issues there!). Five years into it, the blog expanded to include brand collaborations, hotel and restaurant reviews, and more. After the birth of our eldest son two years ago, I began to work earnestly on my Instagram grid - making it a warm, inclusive, and (hopefully) beautiful place for people all over the world to drop in and participate in an admittedly curated slice of my life. I played around with product styling in my collaborations with small businesses and brands and received huge joy in documenting the ever-evolving decoration of our son's nursery. All the while, I continued to write for myself and for other online (and off-line) publications - even after I returned to my job in publishing after a year's maternity leave. 

At some point in between, I dreamed of making my love for creative styling and photography into a living. But I also suffered from deep imposter syndrome: I looked at other "creatives" in the same industry online and thought my self-taught skills weren't up to standard; amateur at best, a joke at the worst. 

I lay awake at night after 3 a.m. feeds, hatching up a business plan - which I managed to pick apart by sunrise, my heart sinking again. 

And so, I pushed my plans onto the back burner, always finding excuses for why they wouldn't (and wouldn't ever) work. 

But then, a conversation with my best friend jolted me into reality, and I realized there was only ONE person standing in the way of my dream: me. 

I shot out of bed that morning and put together the post you'll find on the Services page of this blog. I didn't think too much; I didn't draft it and think about it for a few days before hitting 'publish'. 

I just did it. 

The next day, I launched my product styling, photography, and kids' interior design business on Instagram. I did it between slathering peanut butter onto my toddler's piece of toast and stopping a twin from licking the stroller wheels. 

And then the first message landed in my inbox, asking what my availability was to take on a project. And then another. And another. 

Then I checked my emails. Three more messages. 

I cried. I sobbed, in fact. 

When I believed in myself, others did too. And it felt incredible. 

I'm still on cloud nine. I have my first client meeting this week, and I can't wait.

Top 5 Life Hacks For Living With 3 Kids Under 3

 

Someone reposted this image on Instagram yesterday and kindly described it as a "lived-in" room, rather than the chaos it actually is! But yep, accurate representation of what my toddler's room often looks like, although I actually unearthed these books from under his bed when I changed the sheets, so they were sort of "put away". Sort of. 

Anyway, the recurring refrain I hear these days when people find out I have a 2.5-year-old toddler and 7-month-old twins is, "Wow! YOU must have your hands full!" Ha. Ha. Ha. Like I haven't heard THAT ONE before. 

Yes, we often quite literally and figuratively have our hands full. But on the whole? It's not too bad. And that's partly down to the routines we have in place (and also because our eldest is with his nanny and her son during the day - a critical mention!). I thought I'd share some of them here, since I get asked about how we "manage" a lot! 

So, here are my top 5 life hacks for surviving - I mean, living with - 3 kids under 3:

Cook dinner in the morning - this is my favorite tip and one that I invoked when my eldest was a tiny baby. When I was on mat leave and my husband was working during the day (as is our respective roles now), I found it easiest to prepare dinner first thing in the morning, then re-heat it at night, as the evening inevitably always signalled cranky kids, fussy bed and bath times, etc. Ordinarily, my husband would cook dinner after work (since he's working from home at the moment) while I do bath time with the twins, but this way, he gets to spend some quality time in the evenings with our toddler (or I do, if we switch) and we aren't tempted by the Uber Eats or Deliveroo apps on our phones. So yeah, it's a little weird, but I tend to make dinner as soon as I bring the twins down after their first feed in the morning, which is usually around 6:30 a.m./7:00 a.m. 

Have strict morning and evening routines in place - everything runs like clockwork at our house, because we keep an eye on the, well, clock and ensure that we're not more than +/-5 minutes off of schedule. For example, in the evenings, we have sole parental responsibility for our eldest after our nanny leaves (soon-to-be-nursery!) at 5:30 pm, which means we play and catch up with him together when one of us gets the bottles ready for the twins. The twins are fed at 6 p.m., in the bath by 6:30 p.m., upstairs having stories read to them by 6:45 p.m., and asleep by 7:15 p.m. in their cots. Dinner is ready by 7:15 p.m. and John, our toddler, and I will eat together then, before our eldest has potty time for 15-20 minutes in front of his favorite TV show (currently Blippi on YouTube - "I'm an excavatorrrrrr!"). Bathtime for him is at 8:15 p.m. and he's in bed by 8:30 p.m, down between 8:45 - 9:00 p.m. (he typically wakes at 7:30 in the morning).

Do 10 things at once - okay, maybe not 10. But at least three. While dinner's cooking, I also throw on a load of laundry, put something in the oven that I can batch freeze for the twins' baby-led weaning journey (yes, I just referred to their feeding as a "journey" - no idea why), and prepare our toddler's breakfast before he wakes so that it's ready when he comes downstairs and I don't hear, "READY YET, READY YETTTT?"

Prepare for the evening in the morning - as soon as the twins finish their morning feed, I make the bed and prepare their cots for the evening, ensuring that their sleeping bags and pacifiers are in each cot, the curtains are drawn, and that their towels are set out for bath time. It may seem a little OTT, but it is an amazing time saver at night and makes life just that little bit easier.

Bring in the troops - sometimes, it all gets a bit too much. And without family nearby to occasionally lend a hand, we can easily feel overwhelmed. There have been times when John's had to work late, and so, rather than try to be a "hero" (and invariably be faced with three separate meltdowns from three separate kids all at once), we've asked our nanny to stay later to help keep an eye on our eldest while I wrestle the twins out of the bath or drafted in a neighbor to babysit for a couple of hours. 

So, those are the best tips I've found that have helped our family so far. If you have 3 under 3 (or even 2 under 3), how do you survive? I'd love to know!

Mother's Day With TK Maxx

Pre-kids, and when my trips home were a little more frequent than just once (or less!) per year, my mom and I would spend hours combing our local TJ Maxx and Marshall's stores for treasures. In fact, it'd been a favorite past-time of ours for years - dating back to my high school and, indeed, even junior high school years: nothing beat the feeling of emerging from the store triumphant, with a pair of designer sneakers or dress (I found my prom dress on the floor of a Marshall's store, dropped under a rack!) at a fraction of the price I'd usually see them for.

So, when TK Maxx reached out to collaborate with me this (UK) Mother's Day, it was a no-brainer - I have so many wonderful memories of shopping with my mom at the US version of the store, and I'm often at our local branches in East London searching for new books for my toddler, adorable sleepsuits for the babies, or chic storage solutions for our home.

There are so many lovely items to choose from both online and in store (I shopped online!) but here's what I bought my mom with my £100 TK Maxx gift card:

This beautiful designer scarf. My mom has quite the impressive scarf collection - and by impressive, I mean, giant tupperware-boxes-full type of collection. From Hermes to bargain market purchases, she almost always accessorizes with a scarf artfully tied around her neck, particularly when she's judging a piano competition or attending one of her students' recitals. When I spotted this delicate designer floral number at TK Maxx online, it immediately reminded me of my mother. I love the two-toned aspect of this gauzy scarf, and the fact that it works equally well in the Spring as it does in the Fall. We always love perusing the scarves at TK Maxx when she's over, so I think my mom will be pleasantly surprised with my find this time!

These gorgeous scented candles with tongue-in-cheek exclamations. I love going home, walking in the door, and smelling the gorgeous scent of whatever candle my mom has lit in our cavernous living room. It gives the house an incredible sense of warmth, especially in the winter months, and I think my mom would love these two soy wax candles. Plus, the glass votives are so pretty, they'll look great as small storage jars long after the candle's been exhausted. TK Maxx is the first place I go to for candles, as they stock some of my favorite brands and scents.

This stunning photo frame. When my parents were visiting earlier in the year, I hired a professional photographer to come and take some natural, un-posed family photos, as I knew my mom would love to have some with her grandsons. TK Maxx always has an excellent selection of photo frames, and I think this one will take pride of place in our living room back home in Washington state.

This high-end body lotion, facial moisturiser, and body creme. My mom has amazing skin for her age - with hardly a wrinkle in sight! I'm always excited to see some of my favorite beauty brands at TK Maxx and thought my mom would love these moisturisers for some serious TLC, seeing as how she always pampers me with haircuts and manicures when I'm at home. I'm hoping this trio of skincare will inspire my mom to indulge in some self-care more often.

I can't wait to give my mom these gifts for Mother's Day - for now, I might have to arrange this over a WhatsApp video call until our next visit, but I'm most excited to tell her that I chose these lovely presents for her at the UK version of our favorite store, TK Maxx.

All items gifted by TK Maxx. All opinions are my own.

Twins

Oh, it's been a while.

But for good reason: our darling identical boys were born on December 30th, and arrived home at a quarter to midnight on December 31st to a spectacular display of fireworks.

We've taken our sweet time getting to know them but even so, in the blink of an eye, the so-called "fourth trimester" has flown by and I've found myself putting away size 0-3 month sleepsuits and vest tops - forever.

The bony toes and ankles you see above have filled out into deliciously plump feet that I kiss every time I change their diapers; their saggy knees no longer the sharp obtrusions that jutted out below my ribcage but now round little mounds that dig into my postpartum belly when I lift them up to burp.

Although our house has remained inexplicably calm since their arrival (quiet, except for the indignant screams of hunger when I'm a second too slow in providing breast or bottle), for weeks I operated in a robotic survival mode: methodically changing diapers, feeding, and burping before gently laying them back down in their cot to sleep without so much as a cuddle.

"Don't!" I shouted at my parents who held them for a minute too long after burping. "They'll get too used to falling asleep on you!"

My mother obeyed me but looked forlorn putting Twin 1 into the cot; my dad almost always succeeded in making them fall asleep on him with his gentle, rhythmic pats.

I had trouble accepting them into our family life at first - it was an adjustment for us all. Their arrival was almost disruptive - a breaking of the bond between me and our eldest. At least, it felt like that to me. I wept as I watched my son play contentedly with his new fire engine, a "gift" from the twins, which felt deceptive and merely a tool to distract him from the fact that I was hobbling around the house, trying to stay on top of painkillers and night feeds.

And I worried. Oh, how I worried: that our eldest was having too much screen time; that we still hadn't been referred to the tongue-tie clinic and it had been nearly two weeks since we were discharged from the hospital (both boys were found to have severe ties, as was the case with my first); that my husband was fatigued and wrought with worry over work; that my c-section scar hadn't healed properly; that I wasn't bonding properly with the twins.

Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

And then, one day, I opened my eyes, and they opened their eyes and looked back at me, and in that moment, I knew, I knew. Suddenly, it clicked into place and they fit into me in this outside world just as they did inside. Our bond was complete.

They were born with heads full of jet black hair: a pair of little ravens, with cries that filled the operating room like squawks and sharp, pointed little fingernails that bewildered and freaked me out.

Our eldest took an immediate interest in them, gently stroking their hair and kissing their knees. That's changed a little now: the hair-stroking is interspersed with violent rocking of the bouncers when he thinks we aren't watching, and blankets snatched from their laps, followed by a cackle of laughter, especially after seeing our stern expressions and hearing our exclamations of, "No, gentle!"

But, here we are: a family of five.

And we just fit. Like so.

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

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.

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.

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.)

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. 

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).

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!).

Firsts

Last weekend, I drove with my baby in the car for the first time.

It was terrifying.

We were on our way to a first birthday party (there have been lots of those lately!) just an 11-minute drive away. And though there were no meltdowns from either of us (thank goodness) and though I successfully navigated two incidences of cars playing chicken with me on narrow roads (one of which was a police car with sirens on full blast), I was still shaking when I reached my destination and close to tears when I asked my friend to check that where I parked was okay.

But, I did it, and I talked to A in the car the whole time - trying to keep myself calm while listening to his sweet babbling.

On our way home, my GPS didn't take me the back the way I came for some reason, and I ended up on the roundabout of my nightmares, plus the freeway! Instead of panicking, I just laughed. Much like my first solo trip to IKEA (where I took a wrong turn and ended up on an industrial estate before going the wrong way down a one-way street while a bemused driver watched as I reversed onto a busy road), I took it as a sign from the universe that I could handle the unexpected.

And, thankfully, although I got into the wrong lane for the 20th time at yet another roundabout while exiting the freeway, I managed to get us home and through the door in one piece.

I know I need to practice more and I know my confidence drops the less I drive here.

But.

Oh, how I miss the wide lanes and generous parking spaces in the US!

Stay tuned for more driving adventures ...

p.s. how sweet is this hanger from Red Hand Gang - and this Tobias & The Bear tee (a gift from a friend!)?

To My Son, On His First Birthday

Dear A,

I got a paper cut the other day when I was opening a box of party decorations for your birthday. It was one of those stiff, cardboard Amazon envelopes and it sliced into the crease of my middle finger and palm, just as I tore it open. I yelped, but forgot all about it until I went to wash my hands later and felt a sharp sting: ah, that paper cut.

Just like how, after twelve months of getting to know you (of loving you), I've forgotten how much it stung to hear the words, "I'm so sorry, but the embryo stopped growing some time ago," in a darkened ultrasound room. The tears I cried when I saw the pregnancy test read 'negative' again. And again, and again. How I felt ripped in half when you were taken from me in the delivery room and whisked straight to the Special Care Baby Unit in an incubator your Daddy called, "the little fire engine".

Those paper cuts were cuts on my heart, but you healed them.

You know, your Gung Gung wrote me the nicest note when I told him about my miscarriages (note: your Gung Gung is one of the kindest, funniest human beings in the world, and you are too lucky to have a Gung Gung like him). He said: "Jaime, don't feel too sad about it, because it was not meant to be. Take good care of yourself, and a real healthy little person who is truly belong to you will come along [sic]."

And he couldn't have been more right: you truly belong to me, and to your Daddy, and you to us. You, with your expressive eyebrows and your mischievous grin; you, with your long lashes and perpetually flexed feet; you, who loves to explore your surroundings safely from atop the "Mommy Perch" i.e. in my arms.

My darling: on your first birthday, I want you to know just how loved you are, and how your Daddy and I wanted you - you - in our lives so very, very much. You have brought us more joy and laughter than we could have ever imagined and you make me, your mom, so happy every minute of the day.

Even when you sneeze oatmeal on my work clothes. Even when you bust out of your sleeping bag after I tell you not to. Even when you flip on your stomach and push the bear nightlight off the changing table when I'm getting you dressed in the morning. Even when I wake up with your feet firmly wedged between my eye and my nose, your big toe occasionally twitching (btw, sleep training officially resumes after your party. Sorry, mister!).

All these things make me smile.

And I hope we make you happy too: when Daddy blows raspberries on your tummy in the morning; when we take you to the park and push you on the swings; when I make cinnamon apple waffles for your snack.

I love you, A, always and forever. Thank you for making these past twelve months the most wonderous days and nights of my life.

Love,
Your Mommy xxx

The Juggle Is Real

I stole this line from an Instagram friend (@anglopologie), but it sums up my first week as a working mama pretty darn well.

I mean, it was a shock to the system!

I'm currently working four days per week: Monday - Wednesday in the office and Thursday from home. On Monday morning, I anxiously woke before my alarm went off, peered at my little one's sleeping face, crept out of bed, and proceeded to dress in the dark (I plan my outfit the night before now!). Gone are the days I'd change 5-6 times before leaving the house because I was unhappy with my original outfit. And buh-bye rolling-out-of bed-at-the-very-last-minute!

I did my make-up in a flash and scooped up the baby, who looked as bewildered as me to be up at this time of the morning. I changed him ("No, really, stop - STOP - wriggling. Mama does NOT have time for - STOP. STOP IT!") before plonking him in his high chair downstairs and proceeding to run around like a chicken with its head cut off in the kitchen, defrosting frozen cubes of food I'd prepared the day before for his lunch, while making peanut butter toast fingers for his breakfast and periodically feeding him spoonfuls of oatmeal.

Before I knew it, I heard a key turn in the door and our nanny arrived with her baby in tow (who's three months younger than mine), shouting a cheerful, "Good morning!". I threw on my coat and babbled, "He's not finished with his breakfast. He's due a poo today. He can have a yogurt as a snack and the porridge fingers I made last night. OH. I accidentally left his snowsuit in the washing machine, so you'll need to put him in the back-up-snowsuit if you take them outside. THANK YOU!"

And - silly move on my part - as I closed the door behind me, I looked back. What did the movies teach us? TO NEVER LOOK BACK. And I did, and it was THE WORST. My baby's high chair is (foolishly) positioned in view of the front door. So what did I see when I glanced back? The worried and confused expression on his little face; his neck craned to get a better look at me, his brows upturned in two perfect inverted commas. Right before the door clicked shut.

My eyes pricked with tears as I sped-walk to the bus and my emotions were made all the more worse when the bus route took us past the hospital and - I'm not kidding - the actual room I labored in. I mean, crazy, right?

But as soon as I got on the tube, I was in "work mode" again and everything quickly became both strange and familiar: the crush of commuters angling for an empty seat; the passive-aggressive 'tuts' and sighs when someone took up too much room in the doorway or aisle; the rush to get out of the station.

At work, everyone was very lovely and kept exclaiming how glad they were to have me back. I spent my first day or so filing away some papers (and re-reading previous emails I'd sent, surprised at my confident and authoritative tone and wondering if I'd ever achieve that level of assurance again) and scraping the dusty crevices of my brain for answers when co-workers came to ask me questions. They were there - just a little out of reach. I realized I need to re-familiarize myself quickly; like returning to school after summer vacation.

I nervously checked my phone for WhatsApp updates from our nanny (she sent pictures of a smiling baby clutching a balloon, then eating a mini quiche with his hands) and bolted out the door at the end of the day, running - no, sprinting - for the train home.

And he was not happy to see me. He was angry. I opened the door to a furious baby, standing in his Stokke Tripp Trapp chair, flapping his arms and angry-crying with an accusatory look as if to say, 'Where have you BEEN?' But, as soon as I picked him up and we had a cuddle, he forgave me (and when his dad came home from work early, he was even happier - I thought he'd take flight, his arms began flapping so maniacally!). We did his bath-time routine together as a family and put him to bed, before John and I cooked dinner together and caught up on our day.

By the time Friday rolled along, I really, really cherished having the whole day to ourselves - just the two of us. More so, admittedly, than if I were home all week long.

I still feel a little sick to my stomach on Sunday night just thinking of the workload ahead of me (I'm effectively cramming five days into four) and I'm sad that my juggling act has taken a real toll on this blog and my Instagram presence, but - I hope to carve a tiny slice of time out of my schedule to keep writing and creating.

Sending lots of love to working mamas (and SINGLE mamas - how do you do it?) out there. The juggle is very, very real.

One Whole Year

My baby's bedtime routine makes me drowsy. I have, on occasion, settled him in his cot and fallen asleep beside him - only to find when I wake that it's 10 pm and all the lights are off downstairs, with John already in bed upstairs.

Our routine begins with a warm bath, followed by a leg massage and milk straight afterwards, then at least two stories ("Goodnight comb and goodnight brush! Goodnight nobody, goodnight mush.") and then a lot of hand-holding and adjusting of various stuffed animals. It's very sweet, but also incredibly soporific.

Sometimes, he has trouble getting down, and I pick him up and sort of do this bounce thing. His head drops on my shoulder, his hands grip my arms, and slowly, I feel his breathing slow and his weight drop into my hands - that's how I know he's falling asleep, and I gently place him back in his cot.

Last night, I was doing this bouncing thing and staring straight ahead at the felt garland hanging above his bed - white clouds alternating with grey snow-capped mountains. Suddenly, I had a flashback of standing in the same spot, 11 months earlier, staring at a blank wall and just feeling so, so sad that I'd come home from the hospital without our baby.

And that, when I did, I was terrified of him; this small (yet robust!), jaundiced little human asleep in his bedside cot: arms raised by his ears, mouth set in a tiny down-turned line. Every time he looked at me, I felt like I'd been caught out - a fake, a fraud. Not capable of being his mother. Totally clueless. Unworthy.

And then the seasons changed, and the frost melted between us - literally and figuratively. We went to Baby Sensory classes: me sitting cross-legged with him on my lap, both hands clasped protectively around his belly, watching him watching balloons being tossed in the air or stars being projected onto the ceiling. I sang to him: during diaper changes, bath time, car rides ... all the time. I took him along to Baby Cinema, where I ate popcorn and watched Sandra Bullock orchestrate the perfect getaway in Ocean's 8 in a darkened, air conditioned theater, while he gurgled before falling asleep in my arms.

Today, nearly a year has passed and I'm soothing this baby who reaches out to me; who cries when, to his consternation, I've walked out of the room (we're working on this!). Who giggles uncontrollably and chews on a finger when I threaten to "roll him up like a sausage and eat him like a sandwich" while slinging him over my shoulder and burrowing my head into his stomach. Who is settling in with his new nanny before I head back to work next week.

This past year has been the most adrenaline-fuelled and terrifying - but happiest - dream ever.

And I don't ever want to wake up.

Am Sick; Will Travel

We just returned from a two-and-a-half week trip to Hong Kong and Japan ... and it was nothing short of amazing. The sights; reconnecting with family; the food (!!!) - we had a phenomenal time and some jaw-dropping moments.

Except.

All three of us were sick at some point - and I don't mean a little sniffle kind of sick, I mean a high temperature/food poisoning/hacking cough/ear infection kind of sick. 

John was sick for the entire trip (he had four different colds and food poisoning) and had three full days of meetings in Singapore, Hong Kong, and Japan. Our baby was recovering from a upper respiratory infection on our way to Hong Kong, then got the dreaded "spluttering virus" (as John and I called it) followed by an ear infection towards the end of our trip in Japan. I developed a stomach bug on my birthday and was treated to the spluttering virus straight afterwards. 

I'd like to say it didn't affect our trip, but it did. Walking around Tokyo with a fever and a sick baby wasn't fun - when I wasn't attempting to syringe Calpol and Nurofen into his mouth (the UK equivalent of baby Tylenol and ibuprofen), I was either running to the bathroom or shivering with chills and aches. And poor John spent at least a day in bed, but gamely soldiered on and completed all sorts of hikes and even a canoeing excursion (which, I don't know how he completed, feeling as bad as he did!).

One night in Tokyo, it was clear that our baby was super uncomfortable and pulling at his ears ... we contacted our Airbnb host and asked if he knew of any nearby hospitals that would take us, but he couldn't really help, so we called six hospitals, one by one. Out of these six, only two receptionists spoke English and one insisted that we needed an "agent" in order to pay for any treatment (they meant medical insurance, which we had, but something was indeed, lost in translation!). The other, thankfully, was able to give me a number for an English-speaking medical assistance hotline and a very helpful man found a baby clinic less than a 10-minute walk away from our Airbnb, where were able to see a pediatrician who prescribed antibiotics for the ear infection and an expectorant for the cough.

But, my goodness - those two hours we spent calling around the hospitals were so stressful! It felt like we were getting nowhere and meanwhile, our little one was becoming increasingly distressed as his temperature climbed.

I know that tending to sick babies on vacation is part of being a parent (it felt like a rite of passage!) but I was surprised at the deeper, underlying lesson I learned about being sick while travelling: that, instead of "pushing through" the discomfort of being ill, it's okay to accept that you might have to spend a day or two in bed, no matter how much you want to go out and explore the exciting place you're in. Even though there were so many things I didn't want to miss out on in Tokyo, I realized I wouldn't have enjoyed them when I was feeling so sick (and, more importantly, that it wasn't worth making my child feel worse by traipsing around - though he was cozily sleeping in the sling 100% of the time!).

Have you ever been sick on vacation? How did you deal? Let me know!

#ShopSmall Spotlight: Small Bob

When our baby was born four weeks early, I was completely unprepared. I had no clothes for him, let alone any that would accommodate my postpartum, nursing body. I spent the first few days of his life shuttling back and forth between our hospital's Special Care Baby Unit, where he stayed after I'd been discharged. Nothing could have readied me for that feeling of arriving home without our baby. When we finally brought him home five days later, I was overjoyed. But he was readmitted to the hospital just two days after that. Crying, I called my best friend from the hospital room as he slept soundly in a tiny cot, stripped down to his diaper to receive phototherapy treatment for jaundice. I was distraught, recovering from a difficult and traumatic birth, and worried sick about my baby.

"What can I do for you?" she asked gently.

"I have nothing to wear," I sobbed. John had been running back and forth between the hospital and our house to bring me his oversized t-shirts and sweatpants, as nothing fit. I spent most of the time in the hospital topless as I had no nursing-friendly tops, but I didn't care what the doctors or nurses thought as I was completely focused on feeding my baby (plus, I was like a zombie!).

My friend showed up just three hours later with a bag bulging full of nursing tops and bras, the softest sweatpants I'd ever felt, and maternity tops in Breton stripes. Plus a packet of gummy bears and two glossy magazines.

I cried again.

Because sometimes, after birth, all the focus is on the baby, and not necessarily on the mother (if at all). I'd labored for 42 hours and endured a forceps delivery, plus an episiotomy. All I cared about was my child, but in that moment - when my friend brought over that huge bag of gifts - it felt so nice to be taken care of too.

And that's what I love about Small Bob, a company founded by Mica Martino in 2017 that sells thoughtfully curated gift sets for babies and mamas. From wonderfully soft Organic Zoo onesies to gorgeously scented rose and patchouli bath salts, these sets make the perfect gift for first-time (or repeat) mamas. Because - speaking from experience - self-care was the last thing on my mind hours after I delivered. But I also quickly learned that I had to have food, sleep, and relaxation in order to provide the nourishment my baby needed.

You can build your own gift set with Small Bob or purchase one of their stunning existing sets. I'd love to build a bespoke set for a friend - I'd throw in some hand cream (because you're washing your hands all the time with a newborn), a BIBS pacifier, and some baby milestone cards.

Small Bob also carries a range of their own nursery art - simple yet impactful prints in pretty pastels that would look sweet in any nursery (we've stuck ours up with some washi tape).

I'm thrilled to be sharing this wonderful brand with you and I hope you love it as much as I do. I'm running an exciting giveaway over on Instagram, if you're interested - the winner will take home a piece of Small Bob wall art of his/her choosing!

My gift set was provided courtesy of Small Bob, an independent brand I love. All opinions are my own. Purchase your own unique gift sets here.

Mama Talk: Mat Leave

The other day, I came downstairs and John had placed our baby on his playmat sitting in an upright position, where he (the baby, not John) played with the dangling toys he'd only previously looked up at while lying down. John was in the kitchen making tea.

I freaked.

"How long has he been sitting like that?" I asked. "How could you leave him like that? What if he falls?"

John shrugged. "He's been sitting like that since I put him there 15 minutes ago. And it doesn't matter if he falls - there's padding all around him," he pointed out, gesturing at his strategically placed pillows around the (already padded) playmat.

I approached the baby cautiously with my arms open, ready to catch him at any sign of toppling. He smiled a big, gummy grin and stuck a maraca in his mouth (his latest obsession) - still happily sitting with his legs splayed out in front of him.

I suppose I freaked because it's the first time I've seen him sitting unsupported like that, without the safety of a garish inflatable play nest around him, or my hands poised behind the small of his back - millimeters away, in case he fell over (which he did in music class last week, missing the mats and hitting his head on the wooden floor instead - which made me feel like a terrible mother).

I suppose I freaked because we're interviewing nannies for when I return to work in January and almost nine months have passed since he was born and how did that happen?

I suppose I freaked because - although we've enjoyed a fair of blue skies and sunny days despite it being mid-October - the chill in the air and the encroaching darkness is bringing me back to the dim memory of those cold, dark days I experienced at the beginning of his life, when I was discharged from the hospital without him.

Because my maternity leave hasn't felt like a "leave" at all. More like an arrival.

Like a train pulling into a station, these nine months have felt like the arrival into motherhood I have long been (impatiently) waiting for.

And so, I find the term "leave" so fascinating. Although technically, yes, I've taken a "leave" from my day job, I haven't been absent; I've been present in every single other aspect of my life.

I've been right here.

So, when friends ask, "How do you feel about going back to work?" I'm not really sure what to say. The truth is, I'm excited and looking forward to it, and I know that our baby will be in good hands with whoever we hire, but the real answer is ... mixed.

It's not leaving him behind that I struggle with, but rather, leaving these moments behind: the moment when nursing became enjoyable and one of my favorite bonding experiences with my baby; the moment when he sat up for the first time, completely unsupported and without toppling over; the moment he tried a satsuma segment and found it hilariously icky.

To savor these moments is not enough; it's that I have an inability to let them go.

I have loved every moment of my maternity leave - even the scary, dark, and uncertain ones. I've steered this ship through a storm, and I'll see it through many more.

But for now, I just want to soak up every cuddle, every feed, and every music class.

A - I'm so lucky to be your mama.

Interior Inspiration: The Baby Shelfie

As the end to our kitchen renovations draws tantalizingly near, I've shifted my focus to the nursery, where I'm hoping to move our little one imminently (though every night of sleeping next to him in his co-sleeping crib, I think to myself, 'Just one more night!').

It's pretty blank, save for a changing table, a single sofa bed, a rug, and a toy box, but we've ordered his "big boy cot" (a present from Granny, my mother-in-law) and I'm hoping to replace the framed poster on the wall where his cot will go (so not baby-friendly!) with wallpaper and some kind of soft wall-hanging (I've been trawling Etsy, but if you have any links, send them my way!).

So, I was super excited to get this bookshelf from Great Little Trading Company, which I'd pined after for quite a while. 

I built it myself (which basically involved putting a few screws in and using an Allen key once) and basically felt like Rosie the Riveter (though I waited for John to get home and mount it on the wall because I don't trust myself with a drill).

Annoyingly, one of the rods arrived warped, but I've rotated it in such a way that it doesn't show too much (I don't think). I wrote to Great Little Trading Company and asked for a replacement, but since they didn't have spares, they gave me the option of picking out the part I needed from a new set (and then returning that set to them - yawn, who has time for that?!) or opting for a £10 gift card ... I took the easy option, as I can see myself buying something else from them down the line (I love their toy boxes - we have a little pull along one).

Which leads me to the question ... what was your favorite book as a child? We've been reading 'Goodnight Moon' every single night (which my mom and dad read to me when I was small) ... and I keep skipping the same page every single night ('Goodnight nobody, goodnight mush.').

Let me know in the comments below!

The End of Summer

It was the kind of end to summer that felt unreal.

The kind where we sat out on the deck and ate watermelon chunks so cold and sweet, they hurt my teeth. The kind where crickets began to sing as the sun descended into the horizon, like an orchestra reacting to dipped lights in the theater.

It was the kind of end that saw us driving miles to Anacortes, stopping at Five Guys for milkshakes and burgers along the way. We packed our car onto a ferry to Friday Harbor; drivers turning their side-mirrors in before meandering up the metal stairs in search of stale pretzels and views of the Puget Sound. Some just slept.

California's wildfires brought a haze to the island that made everything grey and muted. Even the sun. I squinted and looked up, but didn't see blue for days. It was the end of the summer, but could it be the end of the world?

Because if it was, we were enjoying the best of the best: orca sightings just a few feet from where we stood; dolphins teasing us with their fins at sunset; seals doggy paddling to shore. Oysters so creamy, they tasted like nuggets of sweet butter; sandwiches that cost a fortune but were worth every penny. Birthday cake ice cream and spot shrimp and seafood Cobb salad with Ranch dressing and excellent table service.

Mornings spent watching the sun rise outside with a coffee in hand and a baby asleep in my lap, both of us wrapped in a blanket. Afternoons spent casting fishing lines into the water over and over again without success and crabs caught instead. Evenings spent marooned in front of the TV watching Jurassic Park and Disney films.

And because it was the kind of end to summer where I looked up one day and saw a baby I'd never met before - one who rolled from his back to front before looking to me for praise and approval - and I saw parents who looked older and a dad who just looked more tired ... because it was that kind of end, my heart seemed to escape its place in my chest and shoot through my throat, because it had nowhere else to go.

It hurt.

A lot.

But it was also exciting, and lovely, and bittersweet.

And it was the kind of end I wouldn't forget.