Food, Not so Glorious Food…

I hope everyone has had a wonderful, relaxing Christmas.

The Greenhouse festivities were quiet, but great as always & it was so lovely to have Tim’s other children Chloe & Josh with us, along with his Mum & Grandad (who is 93 years young!) sharing Benjamin’s first Christmas with us. I do love cooking the traditional turkey dinner, helped along with a good few glasses of Bucks Fizz of course. I think the best parts for me this year included watching the children all play together & seeing the genuine love they all have for each other, even though they’d never admit it. This was closely followed by Tim giving me a rare afternoon power nap: he took care of our guests & the children (even changed a nappy!) & shock horror, LOADED THE DISHWASHER! This is unheard of in our 1950s-esque household; I wasn’t entirely sure that he knew of the appliance’s location, let alone its use. Anyway, despite my mocking, I am genuinely grateful to my brilliant & kind-hearted husband.

I know it’s been a little while since I last blogged: we’ve been working on something big, specifically introducing Benjamin to solid food. I’m not really sure what I thought weaning would entail if being completely honest. I guess had visions of him sitting beautifully in his highchair, donning a pristine bib & staying immaculately clean, lots of smiles & him devouring anything I offered him. Hmmm…ahh, those rose-tinted glasses of mine strike again, just as they did with bath times in the early days. So it started a few weeks ago now, with the most British of dishes: mashed potato. Well I say mashed potato, but it resembled nothing like my usual go-to comfort dish. I excitedly read my new Ella’s Kitchen ‘baby weaning bible’ for how to prepare baby-stylie…“Reserve some of the cooking water to help with the mashing process.” Blurgh, no milk & butter?! I also didn’t realise how ill prepared I was for this whole feeding malarkey. I quickly improvised on a bowl; dusting off a heart-shaped ramekin from a Valentine’s meal a few years ago, dug out my free Bounty Pack Petits Filous spoon & started to frantically blow on the Maris Piper. Benjamin had no clue as to his role in this unfamiliar situation & I found myself pretending to joyfully chomp on the insipid mush, I mean mash. He wasn’t having any of it & this has continued to be our lunchtime ritual ever since: Benjamin happily lets me put on his bib in his highchair, humours me during the “Chugga, chugga, choo, choo” phase, even lets me put the veg in his mouth, gives the impression that he might be chewing, then pop! Out comes the regurgitated food, complete with dramatic retching sound just for added effect; which in turn sets off my gag-reflex & there we are fake-vomming at the kitchen table together. Joy. I’m genuinely terrified that the boy will never eat: instead opting for his trusty “Bot Bot,” while all his mates are downing pints & scoffing packets of crisps.

And so, what goes in must come out. Even though I originally thought that NOTHING was going in, I was seriously mistaken. I think our most eventful day was after a couple of spoonfuls of crushed avocado, which resulted in seven dirty nappies within 24 hours. SEVEN. The last episode conveniently happened just before I was going to bed myself: the now familiar deep gurgling of his belly, then whoooosh…you have seconds to decide whether to change immediately, or leave a moment or two longer, for the process to completely finish: running the risk of the fibrous & often luminous, nappy contents to soak into his clothes, or worst still, his Grobag &/or bed linen. How can anyone poo upwards for goodness sake?! Just how? Anyway, on this occasion, I went in quickly like a Nappy Ninja: tiptoed, gave no eye contact, no chat. Changed in situ of the boy’s crib, then quickly whispered ‘goodnight’ to Alexa & we were plunged into darkness once again. Benjamin promptly resumed his slumbers & I felt epic, albeit exhausted from the six other ghastly whole outfit changes previously. He on the other hand was still smiling & remarkably upbeat during the cleanup. If I’d pooped that many times in 24 hours I’d be done in, laying in bed feeling very sorry for myself with a hot water bottle on my tummy & glass of Lucozade in hand. (I swear the medicinal value is just not the same since they did away with the glass bottles & orange foil-covered lids.)

I’ve come to the conclusion that my benchmark of deciding whether I’ll scrub & soak starts at ‘an M&S’. Any supermarket labels, white items or even Next outfits are sadly often fated for the wheelie bin. Dear World, I can only apologise. If it has a cool or funky pattern I may consider donning the marigolds. Even then, after much vigorous scrubbing (with ‘Vanish Large Area Carpet Cleaner’, because I stupidly picked up the wrong pink bottle!) more often than not, things are never quite the same as they once were. A faded patch of yellow or green still sometimes lingers in certain lights, even though it was tackled immediately & left to soak for a good half an hour before going in the machine. Although, my silly product mistake is actually one of the best clothes stain removers I’ve ever purchased! And to think I was the woman who, whilst pregnant swore blind that I would only change a nappy with a gloved hand, ha! How naive was I?

Back in June I had high-hopes that by Christmas, Benjamin would be sat with us at the dinner table, eating virtually the same meal & enjoying it. But yet again, my optimistic expectation & reality were totally off. To be fair, he did sit nicely in his highchair & was as sociable as ever, but eating, no, I wasn’t even going to attempt it. Call me a coward, but I just couldn’t face the whole sorry charade & the inevitable aftermath, not on Christmas night. Something to tackle in January methinks. I never would have thought in a million years that one of my new year’s resolutions would be to establish my son’s eating routine. But it’s got to be one of my best ones yet. There will be others, but this is top of my list so far.

So I guess all that’s left to say is that; I wish everyone a happy, healthy & memory-filled 2019.



Feeling Festive!

So in between being a Mumma & wife, I also love to craft. I don’t get to do as much as I used to, but when the boy is napping, I try to indulge in something creative: sewing, knitting & stitching are my top three!

Today, being one month till Christmas, *says in a ‘terribly British’ accent* “where has the year gone?” I decided to change his sensory light bulbs for something a little more seasonal. Also had a go at making a ‘Pat Mat’ to encourage his hands to be flat, rather than curled up & I have also finished his stocking. I’m so pleased with how it turned out in the end, as it’s exactly the same shape & size as Chloe & Josh’s; that I made them seven years ago, for their first Christmas with us. I felt quite emotional making one for Benjamin, as I never thought I would have my own child. So glad that I kept the template too, maybe my subconscious knew deep down that I’d need it again?

So here we are, my first ‘Show & Tell’. Benjamin seems to love his very first Christmas sensory play today. Hope you like my ideas…


Welcome dear readers, thank you for stopping by!

Let me introduce myself & my blog. I am Lucy…I’m 39 & have recently become a Mumma for the first (& definitely the very last!) time in June of this year. My little boy is called Benjamin & we live on the South Coast of England with his Daddy (my husband) Tim, along with a grumpy, elderly cat called Merlin (who is actually a girl). We also share our home with Tim’s two other children, Chloe & Josh, who stay with us regularly. Sounds a bit like a non-traditional version of the Usbourne Book series, “This is Apple Tree Farm. This is Mrs. Boot, the farmer. She has two children Poppy & Sam, & a dog called Rusty.” Don’t panic, I won’t start all my posts like this. I promise.

I guess my idea for the blog name came from my delightful & rather copious pregnancy notes. It was the very first thing that was recorded about me when the doctor saw my age: ‘geriatric mother’ was scrawled across the first page. It stuck with me. Sounds awful doesn’t it? The phrase itself almost shouts, “So why have you left it this late lady?” It’s cold, impersonal & downright rude, as if I’m too old to fulfill my maternal responsibilities & have to be monitored closely; which I wasn’t until the end of my pregnancy. I will talk about my reasons for late motherhood in another post, but for now, my primary intention for this blog is to record my family’s adventures together, as a lasting time capsule if you will, & ultimately for Benjamin to cringe over when he’s older. I initially started detailing some of our escapades on my personal Facebook page, when one of my closest friends suggested I write a book & that she would even consider buying it, well maybe, if it was on a special offer. I was inspired & this is my first step in the process & I hope you like it. Also, I thought the term ‘Mumma’ was much more friendly & fun rather than ‘Mother’, so in my eyes, I created my very own oxymoron by combining the two terms. So now you know the reason behind the name & why I’m doing it. I will always try to keep things light-hearted, often unintentionally funny & hopefully relatable. I’d love to read your comments & feedback of your own adventures in parenting. Essentially, I’d like to know I’m not the only one going through these things alone, regardless of my age. I hope you enjoy a little insight into my life…