Category: Life

And no, I am not talking about anything dirty.

At least, not today.

Tonight, Amy was happily eating her dinner while I sat in front of her (in a death defying stunt, risking thrown food and a plate to the head) in the beanbag, reading.

She started to whine.

‘Nose Mummy! Nose!’

I got up (I’m well trained) grabbed a tissue and had her blow her nose. Happiness reigned, at least for 2 minutes.

Until she started again.

‘Nose! Mummy, nose hurts!’

I thought about it. I hoped that it was just a cold, but I suspected otherwise. You see, Amy had been sitting behind me eating the last of her dinner. A dinner that had peas in it.

You see where this is going, don’t you.

I picked her up and promptly tipped her upside down so I could see inside her nose. Sure enough, there it was. A bright green pea, wedged into her tiny nasal cavity.

I sat her upright (just in case the forces of gravity could possibly pull the pea into her brain, just by me thinking about it) and grabbed a tissue.

Wheedling and coercing her, I got her to blow her nose. No luck getting rid of the pea, but she did hand me a good deal of snot from the other nostril.

Cue the crying. Her, not me.

‘Hurts! hurtshurtshurts!’

By this stage, Nathan was sitting next to us, using his awesome powers of Daddy to try and get the pea out as Amy used her toddler powers of nose picking to shove the pea in deeper.

[IE: he was trying to get her to blow her nose while she was showing her fingers up there instead]

I rang Mum to find out if we, as children, had ever stuck anything up our noses. No luck.

I rang the doctor (on Mum’s suggestion) to see what he had to say.

He suggested tweezers to mush the pea. Luckily the pea in question was a cooked pea and therefore mushable. His reasoning was if I mushed it, she would either sneeze it out, or sniff it back [ewww].

Which was exactly what Nathan had suggested to me before I made any phone calls. Kudos to Nathan for having brains while a crisis was happening. Me? I just wanted to laugh in disbelief.

Amy was laid back on Nathans chest and he held her arms and head [nicely of course]. I prepped my tweezers by making sure I had the blunt pair in my hands and squeezing them in the hope that they would fit in her nose.

I shone a torch up her nose and she relaxed back into Daddy.

And thank fuck, but the pea was easily removed with tweezers and Amy didn’t even wiggle. I was dreading any poking I might have to do to turn a pea into mush. Not to mention the pea snot that I was likely to get covered in.

So now I say to Amy.

Baby? Some things are only meant to be exit holes. Your nose is one of these things.

Shamelessy Sassy has just written a letter to herself at 18 and I am shamelessly stealing her idea. (She won’t mind).

Dear 18 Year Old Self,

You need to remember that Vitamin E cream is probably the best thing for your episiotomy scar. I know that you gave birth 10 weeks ago, but by my count you will probably spend the next 3 weeks in a good amount of pain. Also, buy Nathan some porn and a box of tissues, because sex is going to be painful (and boring because your libido has run away with the fairies) for at least another 6 months.

I want you to try really really hard to not get uptight about trying to conceive another baby. Trust me, it does happen eventually, although not without alot of stressing on your behalf. Maybe just lay back, take it easy and grab as many orgasms as you can in the meantime.

You daughter doesn’t sleep. Don’t worry, she won’t sleep ever. I still know exactly how you feel, athough giving a 10 week old a boob is much easier than having to reason with an almost 2 year old about WHY it is still night time. Revel in the silence giving boobs.

Shortly you will move closer to your parents. Don’t give yourself any ideas about days without a baby attached to you though, you still have another 10 months before she will consent to leave your presence without a meltdown. I know colic/clinginess/general amyiness is hard but just power through it, because eventually? Amy does turn into a pretty easy going toddler.

[Then she loses that easy goingness to the toddler terrors of two, but hey, we don’t need to scare you yet]

As much as you don’t sleep (and never will) and feel like you have no time for yourself, don’t worry. You do end being happy. You also don’t strangle Nathan at any point, despite the both of you having trying moments. Eventually he realises that staying home with a baby is hard work. Eventually.

Also, please remember to do your damn pelvic floor exersises. Having to remember them when you already have a baby in utero grinding on your bladder is not the best thing. Clench and HOLD. Clench and HOLD. Repeat 10 times an hour at least. Remind yourself that this will make things better later. You really don’t want to have to get up to pee 10 times a night [although, so far I have managed to avoid peeing on myself].

Take it easy. Lay in the sun. Take time out for yourself. Even 5 minutes will leave you feeling less murderous towards other people who don’t have a baby attached to their front 24/7.

AND… if you really loved me you would buy a large stash of chocolate. At least enough to keep us busy for 3 years. Save it up or something, because nowadays? We don’t live so close to the supermarket, petrol is fucking expensive and I just ran out of the last of my stash. If you could do that for me?

Lovely.

Love, Me.

[***Also, I just noticed and HAD to point out, it is the 8.8.08 today and this post? It’s permalink is #888. Loving the coincidence]

Yes, I am reposting from my (sorely neglected) food blog. Pavlova is an Australian dessert and it is DELICIOUS. Even better? It isn’t that hard to make (if you have an hour free from the short clingy people).

All the photos were taken in my old kitchen a few months back.

Equipment-

Large mixing bowl
Measuring cups and spoons
An oven tray lined with baking paper
An electric mixer

Ingredients-

4 egg whites at room temperature
Pinch of salt
250g castor sugar
2 tspns cornflour
1 tspn white vinegar
A few drops of vanilla
300ml cream, whipped
Fruit. Due to seasonal changes, today I am using kiwifruit and tinned passionfruit. Berries, bananas and peaches all work really well with the recipe too.

Preheat your oven to 180C (350F). Line an oven tray with baking paper and draw a 20cm (8 inch) circle on it.

Separate the eggs by cracking them gently into your fingers and letting the white drip into a bowl. Use a separate bowl from the mixing bowl, because if the yolk breaks and gets into your whites, they won’t whip properly. Similarly, make sure all your equipment is scrupulously clean, because any oil or grease will ruin the egg whites.

Beat the egg whites and salt until satiny peaks form.

Beat in the sugar, a third at a time, until meringue is stiff and shiny.

This should be the end result.

Sprinkle over the cornflour, vinegar and vanilla and fold through very gently. Mound onto the paper covered tray within the circle.

Flatten down the top and sides with a knife, smoothing as you go.

Place in the oven and immediately reduce heat to 150C (300F).

Cook for 30 mins and then reduce heat further to 120C (250F) for 45 mins. Turn off the oven and leave Pavlova inside to cool completely.

Place cooled Pavlova onto a plate. Whip the cream until soft peaks form. Don’t add any sugar to the cream, because the Pavlova is sweet enough without it. You can add a little vanilla if you like.

Peel the kiwifruit by slicing off both ends, and then slicking down between the flesh and the skin. Slice the kiwifruit thinly.

Spread the cream over the top of the Pavlova. The great thing about Pavlova is that once the cream is on, nobody can see any mistakes you may have made.

Place the kiwifruit (or whatever fruit you are using) around the outside of the Pavlova.

Fill the inside with passionfruit pulp and a little bit more kiwifruit.

Slice and enjoy!

I must confess, I am not a coffee drinker. I mean, I USED to be [back when I was working and a caffeine high was the only thing that got me through the service. I can see why alot of kitchen staff end up on amphetamines] but I am not anymore.

I kicked my coffee habit shortly after I quit my job. It was hard, but I ended up pregnant shortly thereafter so it ended up for the best I suppose [plus the smell of coffee when I was pregnant with Amy made me heave].

Lately though, I find myself craving a coffee. Not so much for the caffeine (although sure, a boost would be nice) but for the ritual.

I want to be able to sit and sip and read a paper in peace. I want to feel like I have 10 minutes peace before I have to do anything. Dammit, I want to drink a whole drink without a short person asking for a sip every 30 seconds.

Amy – ‘Sip?’

Me – ‘No sweetheart, it’s coffee’

Amy – ‘Please sip? Please?’

Me – ‘It’s coffee. You can’t have a sip.’

Amy – ‘Please? PLEASE? SIP! Imawannasipnowplease’

Me – ‘Go bug Daddy’

Amy – loses her shit and tantrums.

See how that conversation went? See? That is how all my conversations go with Amy at the moment. Because no matter what I have, she wants it.

Sandwiches? Are all for Amy. I may hold them, until she decides that I am not allowed to. I may *possibly* be allowed to eat the crusts. No matter if I maker her her own IDENTICAL sandwich, she wants mine. Her is ‘yucky’.

Chocolate milk? All Amy’s. If I share one sip I have just consented to having the entire drink drunk.

It’s the same with everything.

And really, I don’t mind all that much. I ration what she can and can’t share, I don’t drink things I can’t share while she is awake and I set all the sandwiches on my plate and let her steal a few. I negotiate.

But some days? I really REALLY crave the ritual of sitting down to sip at a coffee. Unbothered.

Just to have 10 minutes that is completely mine where I don’t feel guilty for not sharing. For not doing something else instead. For not neglecting everything else that needs doing.

[I need to do the dishes. Dammit, they can wait, they won’t multiply. Fuck, I think they multiplied. The toys need picking up. Maybe I can scoot them all into the corner. No, that won’t work, Amy will just scoot them back out. I will do it in 5 minutes. The washing machine just finished. The dryer is beeping at me. We are nearly out of bread. I need to work out what we are having for dinner. The dishes need washing. Amy needs her bum changing. We should go outside later. I need to do….]

And somehow, even if I mange 10 minutes, I emerge feeling like I spent the whole 10 minutes doing stuff anyway.

I feel like I am losing myself.

First you need to decide a few days in advance that making bread doesn’t sound like a half bad idea. Flour is cheap (ish), labour is cheap (mostly) and the bread from the supermarket is starting to taste like crap.

[Is it the cheap ass bread I buy? Or my pregnant taste buds….]

Then you need to shop for ingredients. I may be a whizz in the kitchen, but my speciality lately seems to be roast meat and the occasional soup. Not so much of a baking whizz.

Yeast. Bread flour. Ummmmmm, baking powder maybe? Get home and realise that castor sugar would have been a better option, but whatever. Bygones.

Then you need to actually decide to bake bread on a day when you have most of all your time free.

You do not want to do this the day that your toddler hasn’t had any sleep and is only going to scream [because dammit Mummy, I want to sit in the container with the flour NOW].

You do not want to do this the day after you have a big bleed and have to go to bed early. [Damn pregnancy. Every day is UNLIKE the last!]

You do not want to do this on a day [or a few of them] when your morning sickness may have decided to come back.

But whatever. I said I felt like cooking bread, not that I wasn’t going to be stupid about it.

Somewhere between playing with the yeast and the warm water and actually getting a dough ball to knead, Amy lost her shit. She cried, she screamed, she tantrummed, she even tried to hit me.

I did try [oh lord did I try] to get her to help me knead, but she kept eating my dough. Hmmmph.

Naptime was called for, no matter that she hasn’t napped for nearly 2 months now. Nap time was successful and I thought maybe my head might not explode today.

[Although I still have floury footprints to clean off my kitchen floor. Don’t ask]

Once the bread has been kneaded, you need to stick it into a warm [but not hot] place to rise. Like near the fire, but behind the fire gate. So far? All the animals have tried at least once to eat my damn bread dough.

And then comes the waiting. Waiting waiting waiting. I almost regretted putting the toddler to sleep. At least if she was awake I could spend all my time trying to not let her poke holes in the cling wrap.

Once she woke up however? I regretted wishing that she was asleep. In fact, I would have paid good money for her to go back to sleep.

Eventually the dough was ready to pop into the oven (narrowly missing out on toddler finger holes poked into it).

And the smell? The smell made everything worth it. Even Amy discovering how to get into the flour bin didn’t seem so bad with the smell of fresh baked bread wafting over everything.

Just call me Martha fucking Stewart.

We are going to studiously ignore the mess left in the kitchen and eat warm bread. Mmmmmmm.