The reading house

Reading is incredibly important in our house, to all of us (well, maybe not the dog, though he did like eating books when he was puppy). We estimate (it would take a bit too long to count, though I may do it one day) that we have about 2000 books. Rosemary has over 100 just herself, and more if you count all those teeny little board books that are in a box in the basement, waiting to released when her baby brother or sister arrives. We have read to her since she was born and she has (almost – there was a period of a few months where she only let her Granny read to her, not us, which was a bit sad) always loved reading.

A lot of our books are waiting for proper homes at the moment, as they were lined up under our bed (all the way round, so we could see them), but then the bed broke and we are back to sleeping on a mattress on the floor, with a few hundred books piled up on the edges of the room instead. There are also a couple of boxes of books in the basement that we should really take to a charity shop. But we find giving books away, or selling them, really very difficult.

We have been planning a set of shelves in the other alcove in the living room (the one to the right of the fireplace has a set already). But we have come to realise that we need more, so there are going to be three or four shelves going the full width of one of the walls, as well. There are many people who would balk at such an invasion of books into a living space. People who would think it looked cluttered (Chris’ parents, for example, find it difficult to understand our need to have so many books) and would worry about the dust. We, on the other hand, cannot wait and will find our living room even more of a comforting space where we want to sit, when it has more books decorating it.

Since needing to become more frugal, we have been making more use of the library. We went with Rosemary at least once a week, usually twice, already, but didn’t always borrow books ourselves. Recently, though I’m reading about one book week, helped along by the library’s Fast Track system (new bestsellers that you can only have out for a week) and their Richard and Judy selection (which is also on a one-week loan). I’m quite a slow reader these days, compared to Chris (he can read often read one or two books a night and at least three or four a week). If I didn’t have anything else to do, I could get through a book a day. That would be a luxury indeed.

Here are some of the books I’ve been reading over the last few weeks:

Rosemary usually gets nine or ten books out a week, sometimes swapping a few of them in the middle of the week. These days, we go for bedtime reading books, usually a largish format and paperback, with big bright pictures and fun and interesting stories. Sometimes, she’ll also pick out a counting or alphabet book or a lift-the-flap book. She gets very excited when she has new library books to read at bedtime, though she’ll usually insist on reading two or three of her own books, as well. By the end of the week, we end up with a towering pile of books by the side of her bed and I have to tidy them back into their bookshelves. Her two favourite books at the moment (both from the library) are:

I can’t keep up with what Chris is reading, as he gets through so much, but I know he got this out of the library on Monday:

Is yours a reading house? What are you reading at the moment? Do your children have favourite books? Do you use your library or just buy books? Where do you buy books from? (I could talk for hours about reading and buying books, but I’d better go and do some work instead, as Rosemary has just gone off to my mum’s.)

[You may have noticed that I have given up on the whole initial thing. R = Rosemary; C = Chris; I’m Tasha, which you probably know already!]

Moving the goalposts

In my last post, Me time, I talked about how my definitions of Me Time have changed during my first few years of motherhood. I’ve been thinking about that and it struck me that I change other things in order to feel happy about them, or to make something work.

When I became a mum, I became much more efficient, work-wise. Before motherhood (BM), I would frequently work 15-hour days and much of the weekend. Somehow, I managed to keep earning roughly the same amount of money, but cut back to between 4 and 8 hours a day, with at least one non-work day a week, sometimes two. Some of this has been making a concerted effort to cultivate contacts who send better-paid work (generally design-oriented things pay better). But most of it has been changing my working practices, so that I don’t check an Internet forum (or blogroll) every 15 minutes. At first, when the vast majority of my work had to be done while R slept, this meant I limited myself to about half an hour internet a day. As I was able to find more time, I could allow myself a ten-minute browse at the end of a specific (big) chunk of work (e.g. a chapter edited, 100 images cropped, all links checked, etc.). And since getting my little netbook, I’ve been able to do most of my internetting, in five-minute breaks between housework and childcare.

Even without the internet rationing, I think I became more efficient in other ways. Switching Outlook off for two-hour chunks. Making efficient To-Do lists. Better estimating how long something would take. And, most importantly, being fresh for work most of the time, because I had had breaks to play, do housework, walk round town or the park, rather than just spending every second of my waking hours in front of the computer.

Since finding out I was pregnant, this time, I have had to start making changes again. Fortunately, in some ways, I had lapsed into some of my old habits, so will be able to gain some actual time and some invisible time by getting back to the good ways. My internetting has migrated to the office a bit again, especially since my delving into blogging. Outlook is on all day and emails are responded to immediately. So inefficient! And my organisation, scheduling and estimating skills have lapsed somewhat, as well, and could do with a good kick up the butt.

But I have also found myself changing the goalposts. In the same way that I redefined Me Time, I am redefining what I need to get out of a day, a week, a month… One thing I have changed is giving up ironing. Being pregnant has given me the excuse to occasionally sit on the sofa and watch TV without doing anything at the same time. I don’t need to iron. Never used to. If there’s a party or a business meeting to go to, I’ll iron for that. Otherwise, no.

We’re very busy at the moment so spare time is in short supply. But, in order to keep healthy and sane I will leave the living room in a mess and tidy it up in the morning, with R’s help. I’ll leave the dishes on the side and fill the dishwasher in the morning, so I can get into bed with a book and a cup of tea, instead of rushing around. In blatant defiance of my environmental principles I am putting small loads of washing on and setting the machine to dry them immediately afterwards, instead of hanging half the load around the house or outside.

And no doubt over the next few months I will move the goalposts again. And again. But if it keeps me happy and still able to bring in my half of the lentils, then that’s what I’ll keep doing. Hopefully the field will stay flexible enough to take the reorganisation.

Me time

Mama Baby Bliss conducted a survey recently on how much time mums get for themselves. The elusive Me Time that is much discussed in ante- and post-natal classes, toddler mornings and round the school gate was found to be fairly rare with 93.6% of mums wishing they had more time to pamper themselves.

I remember when I was pregnant with R, reading books and magazines that all emphasised the need for Me Time. My attitude then was wonder at how any mum could be so selfish as to want time away from their children. I couldn’t understand at all how anyone would choose a long bath over a cuddle with their baby, or a massage over a game of hide-and-seek with their toddler. Of course, then I still had plenty of Me Time; more than I’d had before, because I was cutting back on my working hours and C was doing extra housework. I could lie in the bath reading my pregnancy magazines and have leisurely lunches with my sister.

Little did I know what was to come. I still recall my first bath after coming home from hospital, where I had been stuck for a week waiting for SCBU to release R. I lay there, soaking my stitches, reading a book and sipping the hot tea that C had brought me. I stayed there for a whole hour without any interruptions. C was sitting downstairs with R, who wasn’t crying or needing to be fed. What luxury. And it really, really was, because that was the last uninterrupted bath I had for a long, long time.

After that, they were always interrupted by a hungry baby, or a clingy baby, or a tired baby. A baby who would not settle without her mum. Sometimes she would be undressed and handed to me, so I could feed her in the bath (a rather weird experience, as I recall); sometimes I had to get out and feed her back to sleep, still dripping water, then jump back in to rinse the conditioner off my hair; sometimes I had to just get out and give up on the bath altogether.

Over the last nine months or so, I have been able to have more soaks in the bath, especially since R started going to bed at a reasonable time. And over the next seven months, I will make sure I have at least one a week, if not two. Because come October, they will again be a scarce commodity in this house.

As will Me Time of other sorts, I’m sure. But the trick, I have found, is to change your ideas of Me Time:

• Work hours are Me Time now. I quite often manage to watch some DVDs or listen to music while I work, so that it can feel relaxing. And, for the most part, I enjoy my work and it allows me to be creative and have a few hours when I can be someone other than Mummy.
• Ironing is Me Time now. I can watch TV and not feel guilty about it (seems to be a theme, here!).
  
• When R was a baby, breast-feeding was Me Time. I read books or watched TV (again with the TV!).
• Going round to a friend’s house for coffee is and was Me Time. I still have to supervise or had to breastfeed, bounce, tickle… but I get my gossip and chat in.
• Pushing a buggy round the park or the shops was Me Time, especially if R was asleep. Lots of time to think and dream.
• And… I’m just remembering why I didn’t get the broken dishwasher repaired or replaced for a whole year. Washing up was Me Time. I put a CD on loud and danced around the kitchen, losing myself in the music and my dreams and memories. (Though probably won't be breaking this one any time soon!)
  

But if someone wants to pay for me to go and get my hair done, or have a massage or a leg wax, I wouldn’t say no.

And for Mother’s Day? All I want is someone else to get R up and get her dressed and give her breakfast, while I lie in bed reading a book and drinking a cup of tea.

The bumpy road that is early pregnancy

I don’t do pregnancy very well (I’m not brilliant at getting pregnant or giving birth either, but that’s another story, or stories). I’ve had an ectopic pregnancy, a miscarriage, a termination (a story I may tell one day) and just one successful pregnancy, so far. With R, I had had three scans already before my 12-week scan: one to check for ectopic, which I have to have every time I am pregnant; two because of bleeding. I had a number of other bleeds during R’s pregnancy and other scans to check on placenta position, as well as one because of early (non-Braxton Hicks) contractions. I was on crutches for the last month I the pregnancy due pelvic pain. And R was born about 4 weeks early.

This morning I had my second scan of this pregnancy so far. I’m only at 8 weeks. I’ve been feeling very sick since only a few days after peeing on the stick and very tired as well. Fairly standard early pregnancy symptoms, though ones which I’d mostly forgotten about. On Friday I didn’t feel sick at all, and had a fair bit of energy. Cue panic and manic trawling of baby sites to find out when ‘morning’ sickness is supposed to stop. Not yet. I talked myself out of worrying, though. Until the bleeding started on Saturday morning.

I called the maternity unit and a midwife called me back with an appointment for a scan this morning and instructions on what to do if the bleeding got worse (out-of-hours doctor or 999 if it’s life-threatening). Then I spent the weekend in bed, seemingly having been hit by some virus or another. Completely exhausted, weak, achey, shivery, though no temperature. Yet still no nausea. The bleeding continued, though didn’t get worse. When not asleep, I fluctuated between being convinced that I was miscarrying and reminding myself that I had bleeding in early pregnancy with R and she was fine (she had spent much of Saturday morning showing me just how fine by climbing all over me, pulling my hair and so on!).

On Sunday, after a lie-in, courtesy of C, the bleeding stopped and I started feeling sick again. I don’t think I have ever felt so relieved to feel sick. It’s a quite debilitating symptom of early pregnancy that no-one enjoys having, but I practically jumped for joy. I felt much better in myself and the nausea was kept at bay by intermittent glugs of fizzy water and handfuls of Kettle Chips (Sea Salt and Balsamic Vinegar are the only ones that do the trick). I allowed myself to hope and even voiced those hopes to C (usually I keep my fears bottled up and rarely share them with anyone else).

This morning, after R had given me my first full night’s sleep in I don’t remember how long, I trundled off to the train station with a skip in my step. The chill winds of early spring blew the cobwebs away and I thought that maybe, just maybe, all would be well.

It was. Baby still there. Heartbeat still there. Dating at least 8 weeks (12-week scan will be more definitive). The midwife booking-in appointment is fixed for this coming Sunday and it looks like we might make it. I should probably fill in my notes, now.

Review: My Bump and Me by Myleene Klass

When I received this book to review, I had absolutely no idea who Myleene Klass was (singer, musician, radio and TV presenter, model; and now mum). I am not a celebrity follower (except a few best-selling authors) and my idea of hell would be being made to watch hour after of hour reality TV, with particular torture coming from those featuring celebrities. (Myleene Klass was on I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here). I was therefore not very hopeful of enjoying reading it.

However, I hadn’t realised that I would find out that I was also pregnant, shortly before starting to read it. And when I am pregnant or for about a year afterwards (my experience of having one child obviously making an expert) I cannot get enough stories about pregnancy and babies. So be warned, my opinions are based on my hormones as well as (maybe even instead of) my head.

I found the book a very easy read, though would by no means consider it well-written in linguistic and literary terms. Much of what Myleene was going through is familiar to anyone who is or has been pregnant. From hormonal mood-swings, to feeling part of a new club of mums, to feeling you have permission to eat as much as you want, to worrying about things that could go wrong, to having difficulty moving about towards the end, to being unsure what contractions feel like (all anyone ever told me about them was ‘You’ll know when you’re having them.’), she suffered many of the common pregnancy problems. And, just as reading blog posts about these things and thinking ‘Oh yes, I felt like that,’ the familiarity was comforting and pleasant.

On the other hand, a lot of what Myleene was going through was far removed from what most pregnant mums are going through. From flying all over the world doing photo shoots for Marks and Spencers, to being given freebies by company after company (how many buggies does any one baby need, really), to having total strangers talk about all the things she was doing wrong (and not just well-meaning friends and relatives), to being able to run off to a private doctor after one (really very) bad NHS GP experience, her pregnancy was being played out in the midst of a whirlwind of celebrity, following her time on that reality show.

For the most part I found Myleene sympathetic and, from what I’ve seen in the book, I think she’s probably a pretty good mum (since this is the paperback, I imagine the baby must be approaching toddlerhood by now, though don’t know) struggling through all the things we do and having the same moments of utter love and pride for our children. But there were a few things that I wasn’t happy about.

One of these was the flying off to the private sector, rather than sticking with the NHS a bit longer. She did have a horrible experience (actually, more than one in the end), but most mums have at least one of these. I don’t think it’s just sour grapes that makes me feel this way, though there’s probably an element of it.

The other thing that I was concerned about was her advocating bottle-feeding. Or, more accurately telling readers not to be pressured into breast-feeding if they didn’t want to. Interestingly she did end up breast-feeding and took to it with sickening ease compared to the difficulties many of us have. Having a celebrity seem to endorse bottle-feeding is quite a dangerous thing, I feel, as there are many people out there who will be inclined to follow the lead of their favoured celebrities.

As yet, I’ve only mentioned Myleene’s story, but the book also contains titbits from her partner’s diaries, tips and ‘What’s happening to your body’ sidebars. The sidebars are just standard information about what’s happening to you and your baby, week by week. Her partner’s little diary excerpts were interesting, if only because it’s nice to have a male perspective. Her tips range from useful to a bit odd and the occasional one that was a bit worrying (breast-feeding vs. bottle-feeding again).

Would I recommend this book to a friend embarking on motherhood? Only if she was a bit of a celebrity follower I think and, even then, with a warning to make sure she reads around elsewhere for proper information. Possibly I might recommend it to someone who was having any of the same pregnancy problems as Myleene did, so that she could see that she was not alone and that even celebrities suffer from pregnancy brain. But for the most part, I would be more inclined to recommend picking up a proper pregnancy or parenting book. These are ones I got good use out of (and will probably be digging out again shortly, to check on what’s happening inside my body) last time:

But if you’re just after a quick, easy read about another mum going through her first pregnancy, with the added glamour of George Clooney and Brad Pitt bump-touching, then you might enjoy Myleene Klass’ book.