I had these romantic notions before I had a baby that nothing, not even a newborn, would stop me from writing this blog… hahahahahaha… ha! How naive you were, pre-mum CiCi. A month into being a slave to my tiny infant overlord, I realise there are some days where she doesn’t give me even a second’s peace to write a single sentence. Other days, like this one, she’s graced me with two hours of sleep of a morning and I could cry with relief. They say ‘sleep when the baby sleeps’ but that is absolute nonsense – when else do you sterilise a million pieces of silicon you need for keeping the kid alive (long story) and, you know, feeding yourself so you can still produce milk for her and also not, you know, die??
They say it’s all worth it in the end… I’m yet to buy into that because she’s at the age where she can’t give anything back. Although she has just started doing what I think are her first real smiles:
But they’re rarer than unicorns, my friends. Sometimes she’ll trick you into thinking it’s a real one before emitting a tremendous moses-basket-shaking fart, and you just feel an old fool… But hey, it’s all you got some days so you’ll take it. So yes, there’s good days and bad days and they’re tipping more in the favour of the bad at this tender age, but then again there’s adorable moments like this:
Bebo has been a bit baffled about what to make of his tiny and very pink new sister, but we think he likes her on account of his tendency to graciously bathe her hands and feet in his slobber, like he does with us. He must wonder why his giant tongue is about x10 the size of them, but it doesn’t deter him. We do have to draw the line at the hair washes he offers, though. She much prefers wetting her hair in her own milky drool, after all (it gets everywhere).
I do – mostly – jest. I know there’ll be a day where she starts interacting a lot more and my poor body will be more recovered and things will be on the up then. But if she could just clear up the baby acne that’s currently ruining every photo, I’d appreciate it… Although if it’s not milk spots it’s an Elvis sneer – babies are hard to take good photos of at this age. So you’ll have to make do with this:
Anyway, enough baby talk. Most of you aren’t here for the baby and you might well have skipped right over the last few paragraphs. I don’t blame you – I was once like you, after all. So to bring it back round to something at the core of this blog – what am I wearing these days? Er, anything my inflated stomach can fit into and any top I can wrench off my chest in a hurry (apologies for that image). It’s a glamorous life. It’s also why I haven’t got an outfit post to share – I don’t actually know what my dress size is right now, and I don’t want to shop for it if it continues to shrink back. It’s a tricky time for dressing oneself.
I have, however, rediscovered my love of giant headscarves and a paired down makeup look. I’ve been admittedly forced to rediscover this, but actually I’m quite enjoying how it looks.
So that’s part one of mum uniform (I mean, if I get the time to do my hair and put some makeup on anyway), and always with my hair up. There’s nothing like trying to breastfeed a baby that has its tiny razor claws wrapped round your hair – you don’t do it twice, put it that way.
Part two is leggings and a loose top, because that’s a) what’s comfy and b) easy to accessorise and c) sort of flattering on a jelly tummy. You get extra points if your hat and shoes not only match each other, but also your pram.
So, there you go. That’s how I’m dressed a lot of the time. Berets, like giant scarves, are an excellent choice for one-minute hair, as ever. If the weather would cool down a little more so I can wear them all the time I’d appreciate it. Just a little.
And now the little monster is stirring, so I better wrap it up! Still hoping to return soon with some more on-topic style posts in the near future…