First, there were more of those elf hats that I’m rather in love with. Four more to be precise, in a variety of sizes, to fit the tineiest of newborn heads and the ever-growing head size of small children.

(Ava kindly modelling Ivy’s hat)

And then there was Emi’s birthday, and suddenly a very clear and necessary use for the fabulous Amy Butler fabrics I picked up just a few weeks ago.

(I feel like I’m having just as much fun wrapping things these days)

And then! Then, little Martha decided to come into this world, and thus, Martha’s Sweet Spring Day Quilt was born:

That tiny turqoise elf hat is also for Martha. I named it, ‘Only cool girls wear blue’ (because I’ve decided these things should have names, no?) I knitted it a few weeks before her arrival so I wasn’t sure if I was knitting for a her or a him, but decided that it didn’t matter one bit, and that she/he needed a hat to match all those magical walks to the sea I can imagine her parents taking her on (I cannot think of a more magical and beautiful place to grow up than Cornwall, minutes from the shore)

And a little wool felt cube with bell, for the toy aspect. I did have to use very clever coaxing techniques to part this from Ava. (She already has a few)

And that’s about it. There are a couple more things I can’t yet divulge because they haven’t made their way to their recipients yet, and I have plans to make a pair of the *cutest* trousers on earth for Ava, over the next few days. (I have been eyeing up these trousers ever since I came across SouleMama, and every time she makes a pair, I think, right, time for me to try these with Ava)

But for today? A very pretty little dress for Shirley’s wedding.

on days when it is sunny and clear, or cold and snowing, the sea is always perfect. always a good destination.

I know better, usually, than to read, let alone participate, in comments left after anything (where idiots go to feel like emperors) – youtube, news articles, especially parenting forums, but last night I was overwhelmed by the truly cynical, suspicious views so many people seem to hold about the nature of their children.

One mother said all children are innately self-centered, selfish and out to get what they could, that they had to be taught to be good otherwise they would grow up to be monsters.

Another said that most children are trouble and that punishment is the only way they will learn what they need to in order to fit in.

And as if all that wasn’t enough, yesterday, like so many other days recently, we found ourselves in a toddler play zone with the most dismaying examples of parenting all around us.

There we were in a ball pit with Ava and one other little girl, who was playing quite happily, when all of a sudden her mother passes and shouts in, ‘You stay away from that baby! Be careful! She’s not interested in playing with you and she doesn’t want to be held so behave yourself, I mean it!

The little girl looked somehwat alarmed, as was Ava, as were we.

Every so often, this lady would shout over,’You better be behaving yourself, I’m watching you!’

Now, I can understand such warnings if this little girl happened to be holding a samurai sword with a look of bloodthirsty vengeance in her eyes, but this isn’t ‘Kill Bill’, this is a playzone. You know, where kids are meant to go, to play? Together?

At no point did this child do anything to warrant such assumptions. Whenever she made contact with Ava (or us) she was lovely, clearly wanting nothing more than to play and interact.

At one point, upon seeing her mother put on her coat, she asked her where she was going, and her mother replied, ‘Nowhere, I’m cold, is that okay with you? Yes? Oh good, thank you,’ in such a sarcastic and nasty way that I could feel my blood starting to boil.

And that’s just one example. There are many, alongside the sad fact that, yet again, we were the only parents who actually played with our child.

One child was told to stop being silly for playing. In a play gym. I wonder what kind of behavior his father was hoping his three year old would exhibit in a play gym?

It is very clear to anyone who has spent time with children that children of all ages absolutely love and crave adult attention.

Lawrence Cohen writes about it in one of my favourite parenting books, ‘Playful Parenting’, and whenever we take Ava to any sort of play area, we are almost always the only parents who take off our shoes and play too.

What astounds me is that as soon as we do, everyone else’s kids crowd round us and start pulling us in all directions, shouting, ‘Watch this! Look here! Come and see me do this!’ Every. Single. Time.

I have taken numerous other kids down slides. Howard has rescued a crying little girl from a rather high climbing frame. One little boy, last week, took hold of my hand and insisted on guiding me round. Today, a lovely little girl who stuck by our side for over an hour started to call Howard ‘Daddy’ ( a bit alarming…I don’t know if she was confused or just hopeful…)

Most of the time, their parents are busy chatting in another room or texting or doing something else very time consuming on their phones.

And I know, I know, I’m meant to be all, ‘Each to their own, everyone knows best for their kids,’, but honestly, I just don’t believe that.

A lot of the time, when we are out, I see parents treat their kids with nothing but disrespect, coldness and even downright nastiness. Whether or not this is ever intended or rather, used as a way of finding common ground with other parents, the comfort of being a part of that majority of voices who like to complain to each other about their annoying kids, their little money and time and attention-suckers…and more often than not, in the presence of their children.

I do know that if I felt that children were this much of a burden I would certainly not bother having them. And I also know, at this stage, that I am just not someone who can water down my opinions, or worry about offending exactly the kind of people who offend me with their ignorance and their lack of empathy towards their children.

Each time I encounter this kind of mistreatment I really feel sad. And annoyed that I can’t be more Zen about it, more accepting of situations that I can’t change.

So I came home today to finish making a little something for my good friend who has just had a baby and who happened to have sent through some photos of their lovely little girl. And it made me feel just a bit more hopeful to think of how lucky that little girl is.

And then, I got to thinking of all the good ones (and there are so many good ones, even if they are still the minority) and really, how lucky I am to know these amazing, kind Mamas. It is thoughts of them that give me hope. It is thinking about what they might be doing with their Littles, at that exact moment, that makes me feel like all is not lost.

And one, in particular, comes to mind in such moments – one who I was lucky enough to get to know shortly before leaving York – Ms Emi Ralph, whose birthday happens to be today.

I often think of Emi and what she might be doing with her two amazing children. I often find myself thankful for her support, asking her advice or being completely inspired by her creativity and her motivation.

I get the feeling that Emi is the kind of person who is going to be very important in my life. I wish, often, that she was still living close by but I am so thankful that she is fierce and intelligent and loving and articulate on a daily basis because she gives me hope in moments where I feel…deflated. So happy birthday Emi Ralph. I am so very glad you were born.

Next Time

Next time what I’d do is look at the earth before saying anything. I’d stop just before going into a house and be an emperor for a minute and listen better to the wind or to the air being still.

When anyone talked to me, whether blame or praise or just passing time, I’d watch the face, how the mouth has to work, and see any strain, any sign of what lifted the voice.

And for all, I’d know more — the earth bracing itself and soaring, the air finding every leaf and feather over forest and water, and for every person the body glowing inside the clothes like a light.

Mary Oliver

for those of us left, nostalgia junkies, addicts of the past
we develop a certain philosophy of heartbreak
a way to deal with Loss in terms of beauty, nostalgia and melancholy

whilst the day to day agonies go untethered.
I do not know what to do with those I have lost

constantly trying to figure that one out
at the same time weaving the certain waywardness
of Time into the whole thing.

Yes, I am a harbinger of the past and I am here to say
It is coming fast.

Each of those gone, in one way or another
cast shadows over

songs films conversations
the ways we have lost ourselves over the years

Let’s say for a minute
that I am not still seduced
by the memory of closeness
to all of them

that I am able to hang up those
particular thoughts
when they appear, and they do

what would I say now to
any of them
when they pretend to be
part of the present

‘look closer, distance is an easy disguise
even within ourselves.’

I missed York yesterday and woke up with a taste of it in my mouth today

I don’t know why – a series of small things colliding -

the sense of it all at once, somehow,

and the longing again to be bound by community

-a library I can go to everyday with Ava, friends who live on every street you pass

on the way to town, play dates, toddler groups, coffee shops

today I went swimming again

at one point only me in the pool

and I love to swim, or be in the water in some way

(once the owner of the astrology shop in Covent Gardens told me to be in the water

as much as possible. he said good things would happen in the water

and I laughed and thought it a bit hokey but believed him nonetheless)

so there I am today, and after a few lengths,

I find my rhythm, forget about time, body takes over,

and I am swimming floating pushing

under the water without surfacing

but today I was bound by thoughts that wouldn’t go away

nothing to do but swim with them

tire myself out, breathe deeper and longer

come home and hug the Little and go about the day as usual

things are different here, in this in between time

and I know the power that being in between can bring

the middle ground

the turning point

but I can feel myself reaching out for one side or another

a before or an after

something to steady myself

until I have solid ground beneath my feet again to call my own.

Granted, it was a pretty easy pattern, and it took me about 3 hours from start to finish, but I’m still pretty pleased with it.

So much so I’m planning to knit a whole range of them for Little A, and her friends too.

Knitting is so much fun. I love that you can carry it anywhere, that it can be done whilst talking or watching a film, that it seems to bring about a meditative calm and most of all, for an instant gratification kind of lady like myself, you can finish a lovely project in no time at all. Perfection.

Picnic Spots

I love being over you. I can’t think
when I’ve been happier. Being with you
was like the thrill of tightroping

over Niagra. To which compare
life on the other side – a solid bank,
wide grass, picnic spots. Truth is

I barely know who I am now I’m no longer
waiting for you. I only know
one more day would have done it.

Helen Farish

Like most stories, a birthing story gives us the feeling of being both somebody and everybody. Afterwards, we talk about it with other Mamas, openly, in secret, sharing this magic and weaving into our own story. And we need this. We need to bring it out of ourselves, for moments at a time, and make it foreign. We watch the words hold in the air just long enough to give us some glimpse of the whole event that is not our own.

it was not a dream, it was not one long, red dream. it happened. it happened to me.

Perspective here, is difficult. We are always the same character. We want to see it a little differently, as if the film can be slowed down and studied, but we only have the impression, however clear, that something huge has happened and that it has happened to us.

My birth story, for the sake of the NCT magazine, is focused primarily on explaining the benefits of hypnobirthing, but it is, of course, not so simple, and I have been considering the whole process and thinking about what I might do differently next time, and what I would try to do the same.

Like homebirthing, which I was not allowed to do last time for several reasons, but which I would absolutely do next time and anytime after if I could. And birthing pools – how I couldn’t imagine, now, birthing a baby and not being in the water, remembering those few contractions outside of the pool, how much more painful they were, how natural it felt to be in the warm water, how calm and peaceful Ava looked surfacing, how even now she is calm and happy in the water.

And yes, hypnobirthing, which I am sure I would do all the way throughout my pregnancy next time, since now I really know just how helpful it is.

Then the other things, like, do more yoga, swim more, relax more, eat more kale (this should perhaps be a life mantra though, no?) and I would find it so much easier to be confident in my decisions next time around, to absolutely refuse any form of induction unless it was really necessary (I refused last time, but she came on the day I was due to be induced so I didn’t have to dig my heels in too much)

I would keep that next little baby in bed with me all the time, from the start. When I think of the Moses basket that sat hopefully at the side of our bed (always empty), the swinging crib at the end of our bed (always empty) and the cot we had bought for Ava (which now is attached to our giant bed for even more room), I laugh. That just didn’t happen, and although I tried, for a while at least, I wish I had not even bothered. I do so love our Family Bed. I do so believe in bedsharing and the incredible benefits for everyone involved.

But perhaps the most important difference would be that time after birth – that hazy, crazy time of near-constant feeds – I think I would cherish that so much more and be far more protective of it, keeping at least two whole weeks just for us, just to snuggle up and absorb the loveliness of newborns. A babymoon indeed.

A good friend said to me recently that she is excitedly anticipating the birth of her second child because she knows what to expect and is up for the challenge. I get that. I only hope that I feel so calm about it in future, and that I am lucky enough to have the kind of more or less amazing labour that I did with Ava (oh, I might try to circumvent the occasional throwing up because that was definitely the most unpleasant part of it for me, and perhaps the back labour, or the 36 hours, if I’m being picky)

I do hope that we can have any future births in the comfort and normalcy of our own home, with Ava present, in a tub full of water, whilst some nice music is playing and a little low level lighting is on. And I hope that no matter how big my babies get (eeesht) I can have the kind of natural and calm experience I had with Ava. I know how lucky I was, and I know that sometimes things don’t always go that way, but I also believe that most of the time, the way you approach labour and birthing affects it dramatically, which is why I was excited to be writing this article on hypnobirthing.

But all these thoughts on birthing make me think about how that first birth of mine, like all I may have in the future, was such a transformative experience, so essentially life-changing, that it seemed like the most appropriate start to parenting a Little. And then I think about how far I have come since then, how much my thoughts have changed or solidified, how clear we are on matters I wouldn’t have even acknowledged before, and again it seems pretty clear why birthing a baby is the way it is, the way it can be, because nothing has the power to change you as much as being a parent.