Swimming

For the most part, I am very happy living in England. I am also glad to have grown up in California because it means that I notice everyday life. I notice the good stuff, like proper tea, pubs, and greenery. I notice oddities, like pantomime, and cold toast. There are a few things I notice that can only be described as lame, like customer service, dentistry, and...swimming. I never heard the expression "strong swimmer," until I was being contrasted to my English peers.

Without California sunshine and backyard pools, an effort needs to be made in order to raise a "strong swimmer." For the last month, Foxy has been having lessons at Little Dippers. I've enjoyed watching Foxy's personality unfold in the water. In his class, he has been the most nervous, but put on a brave face. When he's meant to be reaching or kicking, or back floating, be mostly tries to flirt with whoever's eye he can catch. All in all, he has been bottom of the class, and teacher's pet. What a charmer.

All that changed this past week because Nearest & Dearest and I decided to join the Brighton Health and Racquets Club. I took Foxy swimming twice before his lesson this week, and voila! He is now super confident and top of the class. Still charming, but not looking nearly so distressed when plunged under water. (Is it wrong to have found it adorable when he was clearly floundering?) Sadly, we are not allowed to take photos. But watch this space, professional underwater photos should be available by summer's end.

Cutie Pie

Photos, just coz he's so damn cute:

Loving Granddad

Time for a bit of a catch up. We've been having a good, busy time this month. Dad came for a visit a couple of weeks ago, and he and Foxy got on like a house on fire. I've never seen him take to someone so well & quickly:




Not sure when the next reunion will be, but Foxy's looking forward to it already.

Kindness of Strangers

This morning I went into town to buy some clothes. I decided that I needed to accept my size, at least for now, and stop dressing like Britney Spears on a bad day. I picked up a shed load of stuff from GAP without trying on, so hopefully some of it will be alright. I'll post some pics later if there is any improvement to my appearance.

Anyway. We travelled home on the bus, and Harry was not a happy camper, screaming, crying, and carrying on. When he does that it doesn't make me feel SO bad like if he cries in a cafe, because I figure there really is nothing I can do, and this is public transport afterall. Still, it wasn't pleasant, and maneuvering round people to get off the bus was no easy feat. I was glad to be off, and sorting out my bags, etc, when a woman said to me, "Nice calm Mummy. Well done." It was so nice to hear, it made me cry.

Guilt

It's a well known fact that guilt & motherhood go hand in hand. What surprises me is that I don't feel guilty about a lot of things that I thought I would feel guilty about (e.g., creche - no guilt whatever, LOVELY middle-aged sensible women and not too many babies seemingly having a nice time; letting Foxy watch some telly & eat some things with sugar).

So why, oh why, so I feel so damn guilty about stopping breastfeeding? I HATE the breastfeeding mafia - hate them, hate them, hate them. I am sure that they are responsible for my very sore bb's, 4 whole days after the last feed. I have seen the work of the mafia, turning lovely sane women into self-depricating shells of their former selves. I vowed never to let the mafia get hold of me, and have been vigilant in protecting others from their evil ways. Still, I hear their voices in my head, taunting me that I should have tried harder.

Luckily, Foxy battles no such demons and is very happily thriving.

The Gift of Time

I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. I usually pick Foxy up from the creche at 4:30, but they rang at 4:15 today to say that he had been cross, so they tried putting him down for a nap, and voila! He is sleeping. So I have some unexpected time. Just enough for some blogging, but not enough for working, me thinks.

We've been having a grand time, Foxy is on good form. We started him on solids about 10 days ago, and it's pretty hilarious. He's not tidy, but certainly enjoying himself. He is bulking out, and down to 4 milk feeds per day now. I *thought* that Tuesday (5 month birthday) was going to be my last breastfeed, but it wasn't to be. I keep waking up with HUGE sore bazookas, so I am letting the boy feed a little (down to 4 mins per side) for my sake, not his. I don't want another bout of mastitis.

Anyway, this also meant that I had my first lie-in yesterday! I woke up at 7:30, so not exactly late, but it was nice to wake up naturally.

Last weekend my Dad was in town, and we had a great visit. It was quite remarkable how well Foxy took to his Granddad. They are peas in a pod in terms of energy level. Live wires the both of them. Foxy's character is coming out more and more, the bathroom and everyone in it gets completely soaked at bath time because he squeals and splashes A LOT. He is desperately trying to crawl, and looks like an upturned beetle. His arms and legs thrash around, but his belly is stuck on the floor. He also manages to turn 180 degrees in his cot by morning. It's a little unnerving.

Home improvements are also well underway. This is my 5th house, and I have gotten good at making decisions and getting work done sooner rather than later. The bathroom is finished, and the painter/decorator has about 8 days of work left. I'll post pics soon...

His majesty has just woken up. Off I go.

Stop Press

Yesterday was a Red Letter day for Foxy. He discovered his willy. Boy was he ever pleased with the world & himself. I think we need not buy any more toys.

Shorts and Boys!

Lucky little Foxy. Yesterday was his first day in shorts, and we spent the day in the park with two BOYS, which doesn't happen very often. These lovely boys now live in Australia, and we miss them. They also brought a great camera: