I’ve traded in my black business suits for shorts and maxi dresses.
My shiny patent high heels for flip flops and mama Crocs.
My chic over-the-shoulder handbag for a very practical, industrially-designed khaki backpack.
My sleek updo for whatever hair arrangement is quickest to achieve, all the while accompanied by a halo of frizz framing my usually flustered face.
I’ve traded in 10.30am cappuccino breaks with intellectual colleagues for a cracker and watermelon food fight with an energetic and gleefully squealing toddler.
My 20-minute, quick-fix, power lunches for lengthy negotiations with a curly-haired little girl as to which non-carbohydrate items on her plate she will begrudgingly consume.
My after-work conversations with my husband about current events and challenges I’m facing in the office for a rambling update as to how long the baby napped that day, the contents of her diapers, how tired I am, how sore my back is and seeking his take on whether oven pizzas would be okay for dinner.
My billable-hour targets for hopes as to how many hours straight my child will sleep through the night.
My evolution into a stay-at-home-mom was not an evolution at all. It was an abrupt shift from one life to another. There was no lead-in, no transition; it was like suddenly a part of me that I had known so well, for so long, had disappeared. Instead, here I was, cradling a newborn in my arms on a Tuesday morning, wondering where on earth I was supposed to start. Continue reading
It’s cookie o’clock, folks.
I know, I know, two blog posts in the space of less than two days: it’s a little ambitious for me, but hey. We’re stuck indoors again thanks to It Which Shall Not Be Named and Mama’s feeling like doing some [more] baking.
Today we’re baking one of my absolute favourites: white chocolate and cranberry cookies. Yum.
Let me just put this out there right now: these are not sugar free; in fact, they contain two different kinds of sugar. These are not fat free. These are not low-carb, nor are they packed with any trendy ingredients like chia seeds or kale. I mean, they’ve got dried cranberries in them, so if you want to feel virtuous and buy the “Reduced Sugar” Craisins then you go right on ahead and do that.
But gosh, just look at them. Aren’t they pretty? These turned out so yummy that I’m baking a second batch this afternoon once Her Highness awakens from her middle-of-the-day slumber.
It’s time for us to have a heart-to-heart. I have a few things to literally get off my chest, not limited to your nasty little PM2.5 particles that I can feel invading my respiratory system.
You know, when I first heard about you in June 2013, I wasn’t too fazed, Haze. You were no biggie. I was on a business trip in gorgeous Auckland, New Zealand, breathing in crisp, cool, fresh air. I was newly pregnant, but didn’t know it yet. My husband would tell me over the phone how bad it was and while I tried to sympathise, I thought everything was getting just a little too OTT. Come on guys. It’s a little pollution. We’ll get through it.
Clearly, I underestimated just how bad you really are.
Haze, you are straight up irritating. In every sense of the word.
I do not appreciate the 2-month-long nasal tap you have bestowed upon my 19-month-old. We were getting to a good place sleep-wise, and you’re really messing things up for us. I miss wearing clothes sans the snot stains. The cost of tissues is going to bankrupt us.
I am not a fan of the fact that you have kept us indoors for so long. Cabin fever has been redefined. Right now, The Bunny Hop song is on for the twenty-seventh time this morning. I do not want to hop like a bunny, jump like a joey or leap like a froggie, any. more. Continue reading
No, I haven’t gone into [very] premature labour and then accelerated time. However, today is my other baby’s (not Tuna, just her Chronicles) two-month blogoversary! Hurray!
I can’t believe how quickly the time has gone by, how much I’ve already learned, how many fabulous people I’ve met through blogging and how exciting the world of opportunities that has opened up to me is turning out to be!
And today, dear reader, I’d like to thank you. Thank you for reading my posts, whether you’re just lurking in the distance anonymously or actively engaging and adding onto my rants with your comments: sometimes I get a little sarcastic, sometimes I get a little complain-y, sometimes I get a little too unfiltered, but your support is part of what keeps me writing. Continue reading
It’s been a big week for Tuna.
She’s exactly 19.5 months old today, which for me, is uncomfortably close to the toddler twenties. I feel like once they hit 20 months, they’re pretty much two-year-olds, which means they’re pretty much starting school and pretty much about to pack their luggage to go off to university. Big leap, but hey. A mother’s mind will go where it goes.
I’m starting to understand why some people still refer to their three-year-olds as their “42-month-olds”. There is something still cute and baby-like about having the word “month” in your age. But as much as I am loath to admit it, our days of referring to Tuna’s age in months are numbered. We are headed very much into big girl territory. Continue reading
You start off thinking you’re going to be the perfect parent.
You’ll never lose your patience. You’ll never raise your voice. You’ll never let your child see that – yes – they’ve gotten to you and that you’re essentially about to lose it.
I certainly started off that way.
I had grand visions of myself as the ever-calm, always-smiling and never-scary mama who would patiently and lovingly deal with everything my child threw my way. I mean, how hard can it be? They’re children, for heaven’s sake. All you have to do is make them feel “heard” and explain the rationale behind all of your parenting tactics, and they will obligingly and dutifully be the perfect child.
And then there comes the first time your 3-week-old just. won’t. sleep. Continue reading
I’ve always been a pro-efficiency kinda gal.
The type that walks quickly even when there’s no rush to get anywhere. My darling husband A always makes fun of the fact that I’m “racing” him whenever we’re out for a walk, while I feel like I’m merely sauntering at a leisurely pace. I like ordering my Starbucks coffee by specifying every possible variable I would like in order to minimise the number of questions the barista has to ask me – I even stipulate whether or not I require a receipt. I will group all of my grocery items according to category on the conveyor belt so that the checkout operator can get them packed properly quick fast. So essentially, it would seem apparent that I also like imposing my efficiency on others.
Being accompanied by a toddler for approximately 97% of your errands does not make for an efficient use of time. This staggering truth horrified me upon becoming a new mother. Continue reading