My technology Sabbath

No more Hi5. No more Myspace.
I've trimmed down my linklists. Stops me from wishing and wanting and hoping.
I'm sticking to a maximum of ten feeds on my Googlereader, so I'm not mindlessly blog-hopping everyday.
I've emptied my inbox. I had over 400 facebook,myspace and HI5 notification messages!

Facebook, Flickr, Etsy, my google applications and of course my blog, are my sneaky exceptions for 2010.

Now alls I gotta do is stick to it.
Despite not losing all the babyweight, I feel lighter already!

Another bowl

done very quickly. With happy colours to brighten up my day.
Abit like a certain someone.

For those who celebrate

this particular time of the year, I wish you a very merry Christmas filled with lots of happy thoughts, happy food and happy people.
I woke up this morning to a kitchen full of dirty dishes from last nights festive dinner with Antonios family. The healing powers of a dishwasher and a cup of coffee coming to the rescue! All whilst the little boy and the big boy sleep upstairs. The little boy slept through the entire shindig! Whilst the big boy did a grand job of cooking, with his brothers (grilled salted codfish with roast potatoes and turnip...)I didn't lift a finger. He got me some wonderful gifts too.I didn't get him anything. Do I deserve this man??? I hope so.

I had some terrible news a couple of days ago. My dear grandmother passed away. Ten years without seeing her. I very much regret that.
Stay close to the ones you love. Hug them, just a little tighter. Try not to let the years roll by. No matter how many times you've felt let down, or hurt, or hard done by. Families are never perfect. Keep in touch.It's all worth it in the end.

Happy Christmas.

Baby it's cold outside!

Mr Hubster, don't you think he's abit too young for that cup of Joe??



I'm going to take an eensy weensy blogging break.
Have a lovely week with all the festivities. Thankyou for stopping by, for reading my thoughts, for making my ramblings feel like they're not just being thrown into the void, for spurring me on in my creative meanderings, and above all (there has to be an above all) thank you for getting me through it. You know what I mean.
Lots more to come next year (like my new obsession with papier mache sculpture, knitting and recycled art!)and my continued documentation of how humungous Isaac is getting.

cheerio!

My gut instincts are trying to tell me something

I just don't know what.
It's about work. I am terrified of going back in February. I love my job, and the five years Ive been there but I have no idea how we are going to manage with me teaching every evening. Ive started this lovely daily rhythm with Isaac. He's like me. He loves the comfort of home and its warm layers of predictable fuzziness. He's sleeping like a trooper-up to ten hours a night from 7pm until 5am, which is when I feed him, put him straight back in his cot beside our bed, and he sleeps another two hours or so, or just lies there talking to his Winnie the Pooh mobile. Long enough to feel like he's letting us have a lovely snooze until 8am at least. Then, I lay him down on our bed, he plays with his dad, (who's still getting used to the early morning wake up call - not easy for a semi-imsomniac jazz piano player) whilst I get in the shower and get dressed for the day. After that my wonderful husband drags himself out of bed and goes down to make me breakfast whilst I spend the rest of the morning playing with Isaac until its time to feed him and put him down for his mini morning nap. He doesn't sleep again until midday for a couple of hours. That's when I can potter around the house, and get whatever I can remember done. By six, hes ready to say good night and me and the other half have the rest of the evening to chill out.
Its been lovely. Ever since my parents left, when he was six weeks old, he just tranformed into such an easy baby. I feel so fortunate. That's why going back to work is scaring me so much. The total change in rhythm for all of us and more so for Isaac. He's so happy being nursed too. So far he has absolutely refused to take any pacifiers or bottles which is going to be a huge problem. It just goes against every motherly bone in my body to be away from him, particularly in the evening and to force him into doing something for our convenience. The thought of leaving him with a nanny (something we can't afford anyway) or worse, leaving him at a nursery when hes still so little terrifies me. I know it can be done, and that mothers have to make these kinds of decisions all the time, but I always go back to that same sad thought. Here it comes.
If only I was back in London. If only my parents were here. They are the only people I would happily have him stay with, and the only people who would be willing to do the job. The week they came was just the best. Hearing them potter around the house in the morning, hearing the sound of the kettle and the clink of cups and spoons as tea was being made. I miss hearing that sound. The sound of home. Now all I hear is the telly, and my little boy squealing with laughter. Being his usual cheerful self.
Some very important decisions ahead.

Bowl me over!

It's starting to get abit nippy out here after an unseasonal hot spell this winter. So I spent the weekend making this bowl with the help of youtube and some fond memories of my art classes at school. Bringing both inspiration and information of the present and the past. This, alongside some knitting tutorials too.
I just don't know when to stop do I? I think Isaac is the only work of art I patiently waited for without any other tempting distraction. And of course, the one I'm most proud of. He's definately not for sale.

This time round..

Here I go again, talking about my baby.
But that's all I can do these days. Besides my crocheted balls, dolls and papier mache bowls that is.
I keep going back to it, to him, to how much of an impact it has made in my life.
I can't be all choosy about the way my its all happening. It just is. Theres no chance to try things on for size, give it back if I don't like it. I'm on board and doing what I have to do, to make things right for myself, and this time round, for my family. I don't even know if what I'm doing is right, but the point is, I have to do it anyway.
He's 10 weeks old, and he has grown before my very eyes into this human being that I would happily die for if I had to. How in the world he did this,made me feel like this for someone, when I started off crying pretty much every day for the first six weeks or so, I don't know. But he did it. And in doing it, he's teaching me how to do it too. To grow. To get on with things as best I can. And I guess that's what I'm doing now. Or at least trying to.
I'm saying all of this because my dearest dearest friend Yasmine, recently had a little baby girl. She lives in London, in my hometown. Her little one has the flu, poor thing, but luckily she has her mum on hand, and just up the road, my brother, who happens to be a doctor, popping round to check on the baby. If I had heard about this, lets say three to four weeks ago, I would have felt that much lonelier, that much hurt and a whole lot more depressed basically. I would have asked myself 'What if Isaac gets sick??? What can I do in this bloody Godforsaken country where I don't have a doctor for a brother up the road and I don't have my mum to help me out??' I did ask myself those questions without it having to be triggered off by Yasmins situation.
When he was three weeks old I came down with a fever brought on by not taking care of myself properly. I couldn't carry him or nurse him. It was like my body was giving up on me. I had put it in a corner and beaten the life out of it. My bitterness at myself, for ever wanting to come to Portugal in the first place, fuelling each blow. This time, and yes I can't quite believe it myself that there can be a this time, after all that, but this time, I feel so overwhelmingly grateful that Yasmine has her mum with her right now, and that she has the support of my brother too. Because I know, how as a mum, you want to feel that the people around you, have your baby's best interest at heart. And that you're not alone. Knowing this somehow makes me feel less alone. Of course, I know I have my husband, as does she, but it's at times like these, especially in those early days of parenting, that family and community help. I don't have my in-laws here or my parents, or a sense of community in my neighbourhood. I had a crap time at with the birth, and an even crappier time trying to put plaster over a wound that isnt ready to be covered up yet. I'm not saying that I have it harder than everybody else because I know I most certainly don't. But I'm not going to disappear into the universe of motherhood as one of millions of mothers who hide their true feelings behind the 'busy mum' parade. Busy busy busy. No time to feel sad, lonely or angry. What an inconvenience that would be. How does talking about your feelings help get the house clean and the kids fed? Nope. I'm not going down that road, I'll wear my sadness with pride, no matter how unattractive it may seem to some. That is what being present is all about.

And that's what having a baby has done to me.

Isaac has given me no other alternative but to turn the telly off, put the Doritos away, and get on with living. And to show to the world what it is that I care about deeply. What matters to me and what doesn't. Pronto. In other words, I can't hide from anything anymore. I can't have one of those days where I just want to switch off. I have to celebrate his presence,feel what a true blessing he is for me.
He's my multivitamin.He's good for me. He's my little comedian. He makes me laugh. Hes my litle warrior.He fights for me.

I'm starting to believe that I'm good for him too.

Saturday speaks to me

in the form of some papier mache action and some quiet time spent crocheting whilst Isaac does what he knows best-eat!
I'm slowly starting to find some rhythm to my days spent at home. Can you tell? It's all still abit of a juggling act but I'm getting there. The weekend will always be alot more enjoyable than the week because I have the hubby with me, so sometimes, when I think Ive got it in the bag, this baby gig, I realise its because Mr T has been singing to him in the baby bjorn whilst simultaneously walking up and down the livingroom, giving me that extended bit of time to zone out abit. Whilst it is still hard at times, there is the major factor of missing my mum and dad and getting all teary eyed when I think about how much cuteness theyre missing out on (he's getting so big!) I focus on him and the immeasurable joy that he brings us, and just try to keep going. I've been reading this and keeping in touch with my blogging pals. It all helps a great deal. Thankyou!

Its a start

A crocheted ball fashioned out of some old granny squares that had been lying around, waiting to be part of a blanket that would never be. I stuffed it with plastic bags (being the eco warrior that I am these days) so it makes a nice crinkly sound. Perfect for indoor football, minus the broken windows.

And a new doll. Sitting next to her much older, wiser sister.

He's not keen on the doll.

Or the ball!

He'll come round eventually.

Monkey sees!..when he has his goggles on that is.

In between trying to get my monkey to poop and barely being alive at 7am on Sunday mornings, I haven't put alot of thought into this post. Most of it went into my last one for which I get a comment written in Chinese. Surprisingly enough, I don't speak Chinese. Surprisingly enough, I'm not going to start learning it anytime this century. So I will continue to do the glaringly obvious, and that is to post more sickenly cute pictures of my poor little constipated monkey. Even with the mayhem thats going on his belly, he still manages to entertain. Awww bless.

What 2010 holds in store for me.

I stopped setting concrete goals for myself a couple of years ago after realising that the failure to meet those goals were just making me miserable. I think goals can only work if you feel that your life needs abit of a pick-me-up or renewed spirit. In my case, I had to learn to appreciate more of what I had around me and what I had accomplished so far in my life. Goals were just pulling me away from seeing this and instead, made me feel that I hadn't done enough. This might motivate somebody. It only depressed me even more.
So for 2010 its all about getting to know myself in the way things are for me now. That is, with a baby on board, with the prospect of major career changes as a result of that, and with a new perspective on how I make time for myself in between rigid daily routines. There are things Id like to do of course, but I want to be able to fit it into pockets of my life without overfilling them. And they are the kind of things Ive always known I'd do sooner or later, somewhere down the road. The things Id like to do more in 2010 are things that Ive been waiting to do, rather than hoping or wanting to do, or wondering what it would be like if I did them. Does that make any sense at all?
So here's what 2010 has in store for me
1. More creativity at home. I ordered this book recently and can't wait to get stuck into it. Its been a dream of mine to have a family that really enjoys making stuff and having a home that welcomes this.
2.Be more assertive. Motherhood has left me no option.
3.Be more giving. It's something that everyone should do, but it helps when you're doing it from a 'good place' in your life. In other words, when you're able to put what is in your own interests aside for a moment, in order to help somebody else. In the end, a magical thing happens: that is in your own interest.
4. Have little daily habits to avoid feeling lost. If there is any goal-setting going on in my life, this would be the closest thing to it. I'm trying to spread out basic housechores like washing dishes, to a specific time of day that doesn't get in the way of more enjoyable activities. I wash dishes, put dirty laundry in, and put away baby toys each night before I go to bed. It then avoids me from ever turning down an invitation to go out because I have to clean the house. Soulcrushing indeed.
5. Get to know myself abit more. Quit fiddling about with the way I am. Work on what I can do rather than what I can't do.

What are your resolutions, if any, for 2010?

I've seen the light!

Taking advantage of Isaacs afternoon naps by painting rather than doing housechores. Because Ive discovered that doing housechores is soulcrushing. As long as I don't resort to using my bathtub for dirty dishes, burpcloths for napkins and diapercream for face moisturiser.
All of which have happened, because of my flurry to get things done whenever I get the chance. There's no point in me even trying. When I do, its all in a caffeine-fuelled haze of randomness. I never get anything done properly, and Id rather get one thing done properly and leave everything else for another day. Laundry can wait. Getting out of my pyjamas and dressed for the day maybe not. It's all a question of priority.

Do I have a story to tell?

I do, as Im sure everyone does, even if they don't quite know how to tell it. Or who to tell it to.
My story is in the questions I constantly feel the need to ask because I cant help being curious.
It's in my unfinished projects
It's in the guilt I feel for not being giving enough.
It's in the daily efforts to try and not take a peek into the future and focus on the present. And the present is best when it involves generous servings of tea and biscuits, books ordered from Amazon, and a line up of artsy projects waiting, anticipating...
It's in my growing acceptance that I might not necessarily be liked or understood by every person I meet.
And that I might not necessarily like or understand every person I meet either.
Everyday for me is a draft of a chapter, of a story, of a book. Of my life. Out of the millions of books outthere, theres a little space on a shelf for me, perhaps in a sunny spot, next to a window overlooking a pretty garden with climbing roses and giant azaleas.
And it wouldnt matter if nobody read it.Or knew of its existence. Nobody goes to libraries these days anyway.
It would be dedicated to Isaac. Because ultimately, he is the story i have to tell.

Light! Colour! Action!

With the right light I can look like I've slept really well. Plus it makes Isaacs head fuzz look like hair.

Last Sunday, we were invited by friends to go to Lisbon Contemporary Art fair. My first gut reaction was to pee in my pants with fear. Isaac did the peeing for me. On my pants. But thankfully the fear part was shortlived. Apart from this blog, it had been the first really interesting thing I had done since Isaac came into our lives.
There were allsorts of wierd and wonderful stuff on show and Im sure my babymaking antics have irreversibly changed the way I look at art. First off, I spent more time trying to find anything with lots of bright colours because that was what Isaac got a kick out of. Secondly I didnt find myself thinking about any of it in the way that I would have done before. My ability to think has been drastically reduced to the contents of my childs diaper and what time I last 'boobed' him (my new word for nursing) But as terrible as it may seem, I actually enjoyed my time more. We didnt get to see everything, which I would have exhausted myself into doing before. Instead I felt happy just knowing that I was there, regardless of not being able to process it all and regardless of how little I saw. The friends that came with us, brought their one year old son and it felt good to be able to share our interests with like minded people. It felt reassuring to me too, that going out doesn't necessarily have to be confined to Mcdonalds, parks with too much dog poop and family restaurants with screaming children.
In the end Isaac enjoyed looking at so many lovely bold colours. And we both enjoyed getting out of the house for a change too.

Papas got a brand new baby

In all the hullabaloo of happy sad tears, exploding diapers at three in the morning (followed by leaking boobs that would make the fountains of Trafalgar Square look like a lame trickle), I may have lost sight of a certain husband of mine. Antonio (aka Mr T)did what could only be just about the most natural thing any new pappy in his situation would do; go to work each day whilst secretly hoping his insane wife with the insane hair and the mismatched socks would start to smile again. Not the deranged googly eyed please-somebody-help-me-I'm-going-insane smile, but the smile that made him fall in love with her seven years ago. And last week, he finally got it. And now I've finally started to notice him as the man I fell in love with seven years ago too. Even amongst the projectile puke/pyrotechnic show of a smiling baby, and the aforementioned exploding diapers (which I really didn't need to mention again but that's all my brain seems to want to think about these days)he never lets a day go by without telling me what a cracking looking bird I am. Maybe not in those words exactly seeing as he's Portuguese and not a fruitseller from South London, but I thought I'd be creative.In other words, he still thinks I'm beautiful. Which is something I feel every mama should hear from their partners, particularly when they feel like crap in those early post-partum days and let's face it, look abit crap too.
It hasn't just been this though that has helped me so much. And it hasn't just been the support of friends and family that I've mentioned previously. It's the realisation that Mr T and Isaac are also my rock, my backbone, my source of everlasting support too. I might not have my mum and dad nearby, but I have husband and I have my son, and now that my maternal instinct is starting to kick in, I'm starting to trust my own abilities too. It took about six weeks, but I made it. I'm not as clueless as I thought I was. But even if I was, I'm okay with it. And that just feels superduper.

Here's a song me and Antonio listened to alot back when we lived together in the U.K. We still listen to it in the car. i thought I'd share it with you. It's the kind of ditty that rocks our boat. And my little wonderboy doesn't think it's too bad either. Eventhough I do still worry about his sudden liking for Kate Bush (courtesy of VH1 during tummy time)

Enjoy.

The rock in the storm

I got a phonecall from Natalie the other day. She told me after visiting my blog that she was starting to get worried. I told her that perhaps my posts were starting to veer towards the suicidal and we both laughed. She told me, I had to let it out one way or another. So true.
And that got me thinking. About letting things out. And about having friends who care. About finding a soft place to fall into when feeling like crap and and climb out of when you want to put up a fight and say "I've just about had enough of this depression malarky". I put myself out there, i admitted to my own weaknesses, because i wanted to know how much people care. And they do. They help in whatever small way they can. despite the distance,the busy schedule despite the uncertainty of not knowing how to. I didnt have to ask for it. But if i did it was welcomed as an invitation to get together rather than a quick exchange of "call me if you need anything" which usually means "I know shes not gonna call, but she cant say I didnt tell her, and at least I'll go to heaven for being such a lovely friend". What a load of pants. And thank God I dont have friends who do that. Anyway,I think all of this stems from the crash course in Motherhood for Dummies over the last seven weeks and how it has brought home a truth thats both beautiful and downright ugly as hell. The beautiful part is seeing my dysfunctional family becoming somewhat functional again, all because of Isaac. Its amazing how a baby can heal old wounds. After years and years of bitterness, I finally let my mum do what she has wanted to do for so long and that is to take care of me and guide me. That one precious week that they were here, was chicken soup for my frazzled soul. I let my mum be my mum and she did a grand job.It wasnt just my family though that came out of the woodworks to lift me out of the headfog. Having people who I wouldnt have considered as close friends, turning up at our door with bags of grocery shopping, and minestrone soup. Thats what did it for me. Thats what I call a beautiful thing. I didnt need to prove anything to them or to myself. That is where the ugly part lies.
Ive felt at times that, as a new mother, Ive had to prove that I can manage because its my bed and I have to lie in it. Its like somebody has awarded me with a badge of invisibility which Im supposed to wear with pride, when in reality i want to throw it back in their face and say " Who says that just because Ive had a baby I cant still be vulnerable and afraid and well...normal?" Those that have helped, the friends that have stood by me, that have called and emailed and commented on my blog, and my functional one of a kind family, theyve all allowed me to winge, moan , complain, get it all wrong without a condescending bone in their collective bodies. The ugly part is when I can't be normal in front of certain people.Particularly other mothers. Because of that bloody badge of invisibility stamped on my backside. The unspoken amendment that says all new mothers must endure being ignored, being judged and being spoken down to. They must accept that all kind offers for help without any intention whatsoever of actually helping, is all a completely normal part of being a new mum. Thats the ugly truth. And for me, its downright hideous because I dont even come from this country. And believe me, its one thing being a foreigner in a foreign land, but a mother? The invisibility badge is more like a brown paper bag over my head. Theres no honour in that.
Well. Im here to tell you, that I want to quit focusing on the ugly and start paying more attention to the beautiful. Where I can winge, moan, laugh, cry and be human, because there is nothing that has prepared me to be more human than when I brought this child into the world. I have to be myself ultimately. It would be a disservice to my son, to turn into a not so super, supermum. I'd rather just be Khairun.

Despite my insane lack of mummy skills

for which my mum has given me hell for, he's coming along quite nicely. In fact, I think even he likes me.
And that feels great.
My parents have stayed with us for the last week. They're leaving tomorrow. That is pretty much why I haven't been blogging of late. That and just about managing to stumble through the day with a beautiful baby that I'm totally petrified of messing up. A major mental distraction to say the least. My mum has helped me hugely, with all the intuition of a woman who has raised five children. On top of that she looked after me too, letting me sleep that much needed extra hour or so, cooking and cleaning. Its been great.
I dont think theyll come back again though. The cultural differences make them feel really uncomfortable and out of place. Hopefully I'll visit them as soon as Isaac is big enough.
Theres alot more I want to write but I think I'll leave it for now. My mums watching the national geographic channel, dubbed over in Portuguese, so she keeps asking me what they're saying. My dad's having a siesta after a stroll around the town.
I'm gonna miss them. But I'm going to do all I can to hang in there.

Mums don't cry

But this one did. Alot. So if you want to read something to put a spring in your step then I suggest you quit here, because I am having one of those days.
My crankiness starts to creep in as the evening approaches, when the sky turns a beautiful shade of grapefruit pink and the apartment cools down after four hours of penetrating sunrays beating down on our hardwood floors. At this time of the day, everyday, Isaac shows me what a mystery he is. He is the most angelic, beautiful, peaceful and charming little thing, with eyes that I want to swim about in and legs that I could bite off. But towards the end of the day, he cries so beautifully that I panic at how huge the responsibility is to be needed by something so small and so helpless. In all of my 29 years on this earth, nothing has prepared me for the magnitude of love that I feel for him. I'm drowning in it, in it's sheer immensity and unforgiving force. To the extent that I wish I didn't love him so much. My body doesn't feel designed for it, let alone prepared. I want to divide some of that love up, like a cake. For my mum, my dad, my sisters and brothers.For anyone who will willingly take him in their arms and have a taste of what this love is. Just so I can go out, take a deep breath, and get back to a more predictable, calm and solid place inside my head.A place inside my head where I know what love is and its a much easier love to understand. Just to take the weight of this force that drives me to tears. But I'm at home with him. Very much alone, yet trying to keep my chin up. Take it like a mum. At some point Im supposedly going to see the light of day when, by the miracle of the gods, im going to get used to it. Those magic words get used to it havent quite convinced me of their powers yet. Perhaps because, i dont want to get used to it. Or that I should have to get used to it. I dont want to get used to the loneliness part. Or to the part where I come down with the flu and I can't hold my baby because Im feeling so sick and I don't know who to ask for help or how, so Mr T ends up taking the afternoon off work just so I can sleep. Or the part where I feel guilty for not being a supermum. Or the part where I feel totally and utterly devestated by the notion that I can't get the help I need from family, or the part where I have to resign myself to a life where I cant follow my dreams because of that one fateful day when I played around with the idea of how nice it might be to have a baby and then before you know it, here I am, 2.30pm in the afternoon and wishing Isaac would wake up from his nap because I can't stand how silent the apartment is, and I can't stand not knowing what to do.
Tomorrow my mum and dad are coming from London to see their grandson for the first time. They'll only be staying for four days. Four days After not seeing them in over a year. I should quit complaining and try to enjoy the time that I'll have with them, right? This is what I'm supposed to get used to right?
Take it like a mum.

Tomorrow

Clean out the fridge.

Vitamin C from the pharmacy.

Listen to Bob Marley with Isaac.

Croissants for breakfast.

Wash the dishes.

Cuddle up on the sofa.

Call Mum.

Make it a good day.

Its official.

My son has a big bald head. Very buddha. Very right wing skinhead. Whichever way I look at it, its still disturbingly cute to me. As for the triple chin, the farts he makes like an old man who eats too many rich tea biscuits, and the rear end rumblings that reach 7.5 on the poop-richter scale, well, it just makes me smile.
And dry-heave all at the same glorious time.)

 

too tired to even think of a title for this post.

My baby adventures have included: going to the post office, the bank, and a couple of shops

Oh bugger.

Isaac is crying, after about the 100th round of feeding, burping and rocking.

You know what? Im just going to post this. Just to post for postings sake.

A hard week

I have been in a whirlwind of constant nappy changing, feeding and rocking to sleep that I don't know what planet I'm on, let alone what day it is. I have never watched so much daytime tv in my life. What's even more disturbing is that I have been watching Eastenders (a British soap incase some of you don't know) everyday, not realising that the same episode is repeated throughout the week. Let me reiterate what I've just said to you here- the SAME programme over and over again and NOT even realise it. That's sleep deprivation for you, messing with my brain. Even today, whilst I partially snapping out of this postpartum vegetation, I'm still watching repeats, not just of Eastenders but other programmes too! And what's more, i don't even mind it. Oh dear,maybe I shouldn't have confessed to that. Oh well, too late.
I should be trying to sleep, but I find the idea of sleeping during the day abit icky. Especially because it is 90 degrees in our apartment right now. Hot October weather driving me cuckoo. I want to go out with Isaac, I really really do, but the heat is not the inviting kind of sunny happiness. It is truly out of sync, in the same way that my hormones are. All I want to do, is take showers, one after the other. Nursing and all that it entails, has left me with the rather attractive scent of eau de spit-up which no amount of showering can take out. I have also been chained to the washing machine. Milk stained clothes, onesies, bedsheets, baby, mummy, soul. I am currently residing in a milk stained universe. As happy as I am to be able to exclusively breastfeed the little guy and see him thriving, it is still very hard work and I am still trying to master the art of whipping out the boob with abit more class and sophistication. Now though, I'm just 'boob-butting' my poor baby's head all the time whilst making sure I've got burp cloth, mobile phone, remote and water within hands reach.
As you can probably guess,there have been alot more to this mummy stint than I have been blessed in knowing, despite all that I have read and have been told about from other mothers. None of it has prepared me for just how hard it all is. Amidst all the conversations about how much it will change my life, how important it will be for me to sleep when the baby sleeps and to say goodbye to lie ins, none of it prepared me, for the heaviness that I would feel in my heart, because of the loneliness of it all. It doesn't help that I miss my family back in London, in Abu Dhabi and in Florida. They are everywhere but here where I could really do with their company and guidance. Back in the days when I was very much enjoying the independence and exhileration of moving out, living abroad, following my dreams despite the air of cultural animosity,I had no qualms about being so far from family and friends. In fact it actually improved my relationship with them. But now, I am the total antithesis of this independant woman. Being an independant mother is a whole different ball game, and one that i dont feel ready to play. Not in a foreign country. Not when I don't have a driving licence. Not when I can't speak the language very well. Not when I don't have my family for support. It's all abit too much responsibility for somebody who really didn't have a clue what responsibility was.
Sometimes, when I listen to a song on my ipod, or read back to pre baby blog entries, I get a little jolt of the energy and spirit of how I defined myself. It brings tears to my eyes, because as fast as it comes, it disappears back into the computer screen, into the lyrics, into the mirror, in lightening speed. The baby, and the marks that this has left me with physically and emotionally, have as of now, taken over in defining my thoughts, actions and feelings.
So that's where I am right now. Today, I got a phonecall from a friend, inviting me out to the park, in an attempt to get me out of the apartment with the baby. I am very grateful for the support that I have had from the friends I have here. I know that things will get better. Everytime I look at Isaac, I can't believe just how precious and beautiful he is, and that i am actually his mother. The love that I feel for him leaves me totally speechless. I hope that I can live up to taking care of this gift that I have been blessed with.

Life these days

Lots of this.
Not enough of that

and its all because of this.


Everythings abit of a blur at the moment, the life that I have recognised as being uniquely mine has come to a very loud halt. What I believe in, what I feel, what I think has absolutely no relevance to the needs of our baby. I am at his beck and call when it comes to feeding him, rocking him to sleep, changing his diapers and simply staring at him. I feel I have been brought back down to the realities of life with every step he makes to survive. He depends on me and I have never known how huge a responsibility this would be until now. The knowledge that no matter how much I feel Im not mother material, Ive still got to step up and be his mother anyway.Because that is who I am. His mother. I cant wait to feel more comfortable in this new role. I see mothers carrying their babies with so much confidence and independance, and i hope I can start feeling like this soon.
One day at a time.

This took nine months to make

On the 24th of September, at 6.35pm I gave birth to a healthy baby boy after a not so easy delivery.I'll be taking a break from my blogging for obvious reasons. Bringing this little one into the world has been the most challenging experience I have ever had, yet I know theres so much to be thankful. Anyway, before I start bawling my eyes out thanks to the hormonal hurricane Im being subjected to, Im trying now, with each step, to make my way into the world not just as Khairun, but as Isaacs mama.

Eid Mubarak

I'm not sure if I have ever mentioned this before, but I was born and raised a muslim alongside my four siblings. I didn't have the easiest time with it, what with being born in London and seeing how different my family was to those of my friends. I grew up under alot of traditional rules of behaviour, a combination of cultural and religious practice. On top of it my mother was very keen to enforce a frugal way of life. So that is, as you can imagine, a hell of alot for a 14 year-old whose life existed around wanting to have friends and fit in. I never had birthday parties, never went to the cinema, never wore jeans, never went out at night. Saturdays were spent studying the Koranic scriptures, visiting random family relatives, staying at home with my siblings and reading books from the local library. I never brought friends round because at the time, the area where we were growing up, racism and zenophobia pervaded the air with nasty comments and anti-social behaviour by groups of teenagers in the area. So my parents stuck to socialising with people from within the asian community because it just felt more comfortable and welcoming, and in a way , they probably felt like it was better all round to stay on their own turf, so to speak. Obviously, I went to a school that didn't allow such selective segregation, which of course, was great, so I had friends from all sorts of backgrounds. But as soon as the school day ended, I was back into the world that my friends were not allowed to penetrate. Alot of it because of their parents conservative attitudes, but also because of my familys decision to not be more inclusive. I wasn't strong enough at the time to be truly proud of my upbringing and had no clue that perhaps my friends would have liked to have been included in this other part of my life. So, out of my own insecurities, I found myself literally leading a double life. By not merging one into the other, i thought I was avoiding potential disaster. It just seemed like the right thing to do, for my family to not know too much about who I hung out with, what I really wanted to do with my life (be an artist, travel, not have an arranged marriage) and for my friends to not know too much about how I was brought up (not wearing the traditional clothes when I was around them, not inviting them to my house etc). The day I moved out to go to university, I cooked a traditional meal, went to my tiny student hall bedroom and ate with my right hand, some rice with lentils and vegetables. I was 19 and didnt know how to use a knife and fork because every meal that I had eaten up until that day had always been with my right hand. But because I had lead this double life for so long, I just couldnt bring myself to show this.
Ten years on, I've gone back to that lonely image of myself sitting on my bed, eating alone and I think to myself now, NEVER AGAIN am I going to keep that side of me a secret. And so I didn't. I didnt have an arranged marriage, but I had a muslim wedding. I kept Antonio out of my parents life for several years. Now i make it a point to make sure they speak to each other over the phone, and let bygones be by gones. I cook traditional food alot more and share recipes with friends. And I plan on making sure that this baby has not only a loving upbringing but a colourful one too, filled with stories about his great grandmother who to this day has never taken one step outside her village in Bangladesh, about Antonios grandfather who was a professional basketball player in the mid forties, about summers spent on Portuguese beaches, and on the otherside of the world looking out at the endless paddy fields near my mothers village. I want my little man to experience two vastly different worlds, seemingly impossible to bring together, but brought together nonetheless, down to the simple act of love between two people. There will be Christmas presents shared between him and his Portuguese cousins, and the celebration of Eid with his Bengali cousins. This will be my gift to him.
It's Eid today. I'm not with my family as much as I would like to be, but I'm wishing them well as I write this. The difference between this year and last year is that for the first time, Im talking more about it with my friends, with Antonios family and to those who have made it to the end of this very long post!

On the day a baby is born, muslim parents say a special prayer, whispered into the ear of their newborn, which protects them from harm. I may not be the most religious person in the world, but I think this is such a beautiful gesture and I am very proud to have been brought up surrounded by these intricate, delicate gestures of faith.
So I wish you all a very Happy Eid, regardless of your background. I hope that you have a lovely peaceful day with your family and friends and more importantly, that you are being kind to yourself in the best way you know how. Share something about yourself that you haven't shared before. Let people get to know you better. That's the biggest lesson I am taking from today.

Here are a few photos of that muslim wedding I fought to have. Who was the person telling me not to do it? It was me. I was my own worst enemy at the time, listening to the voice that kept saying it wasn't the right thing to do because Antonio wouldn't be accepted and it would be too difficult to do such a thing. I'm glad I didn't listen because seeing my parents meet my husband for the first time, was the happiest day of my life.

My mum would never believe I made this :)

With the most atrocious hand sewing skills that you could possibly imagine, I managed to come up with this lumpy but very squishable toy for my baby. It's called a grab ball.It's supposed to be good for developing the 'grabbing' instinct because of all the different segments that are small enough to hold on to, unlike a standard soft ball.I never once thought in a million years, that I would be able to do something like this. Despite my mother being an expert seamstress, whipping up dresses and skirts for me and my sisters as we were growing up, I just never picked up the sewing bug. We had a monster of a sewing machine at home, the big industrial kind. My mum must have used the constant whirring sounds to put me to sleep when I was a baby, and I remember being a little girl and getting totally peed off because I couldn't hear anything on the telly due to the sheer noise. I kinda feel bad now that I hadn't taken an interest in it back then, because I could have learnt so much. And not just sewing, but knitting and embroidery too. My mum did it all, whilst raising 5 kids!
Looking back and having this quiet time to think about all of this does make me feel closer to her and to my family in general. I think this is all part of the current hormonal rollercoaster ride that I'm on right now. I have been going through alot lately, in between the joyful moments of this pregnancy, Ive had my fairshare of frustration and sadness, which I probably don't let on too much as I like to hide behind my art work and general busybee self. I think I'll dedicate a future post to this subject, in the hope that it may be read by somebody else out there in the blogosphere,a new mummy or not, who may benefit from reading it. For now though, I'm off for a cheerful cup of tea and another doll making session.
Have a lovely weekend peeps!

It's oh so quiet..

Because theres no baby yet!
Having all this time at home, all this free time to do whatever I please, is abit like having Disneyland to yourself but without any of your friends to share the fun and games with.I absolutely love the time that I'm having now, I really do. I haven't had this much time from work for ages,so it feels like I'm learning the skills of being at home. It sounds strange to say that there are skills involved but i really think there are. When you go from working day in day out, and only ever getting to see your couch, your T.V your bedroom at a certain time of the day, its a real joy in knowing that there is a light that floods the livingroom around late afternoonish, that my neighbour listens to Billie Holiday on a record player in his garden which I had never known before, and that I get to sit outside on my balcony whilst it's still light which I had never done before either. I also notice how tempting housework can be, just to feel more productive. For me to feel like this in particular is a highly disturbing revelation!
But theres a downside to all this. The house is so quiet, and as much as I enjoy my time, it's a time that spreads out into an unknown point which scares me a little. It's not as if I can't go out or meet people. I can and I do. (Well maybe not quite so much now because I am after all more than 9 months pregnant and carrying quite a hefty load!)I'm starting to learn alot of things about myself, like how I communicate with my friends and how truly important creativity plays its part in keeping me sane. I never knew it before, because working took me away from all that.
The house won't be quiet for very long though, I definately don't need anybody to tell me that! So, as an example of how I have made the most of this temporary quiet time at home all by myself, I've successfully diverted my nesting instincts to the creative side of me. I have finished my second doll! She was looking like she had a fake tan. Very orange in otherwords. So I rectified it, and finished off painting her arms and the back too.


Heres how I made her:
1.I used the ruby doll pattern from oneredrobin and changed the legs. But i used it strictly for the purpose of learning how to make a basic doll shape.
2. Once I had made the doll, I applied white gesso, and sanded it down.
3. I pencil sketched the face and floral design on to the doll. Sanding it down really made it easier to draw on the cloth. I didn't know that before.
4. I then got stuck in with my acrylic paints.
5. That's it. I wanted to blanket stitch a little pocket at the back to slip in a card or something cute but I don't know how to do it. I could have embellished it with sequins and such. The possibilities are endless really. I have a hard time putting a rein on 'prettifying' things!

I should really give her a varnish but I need to find out what kind. Any ideas on this?
She will be one of my first pieces for my future future etsy shop. :)


I'm off to watch this
Have a lovely Thursday!

A new friend

waiting in the wings. She's coming along nicely, and look how lovely she looks in the morning sunlight.



And this is a little pencil drawing I made on a whim, last night. She has promptly been put on my inspiration board. There's no hiding in my studio! No more drawers of the long and forgotten!

I might be a mama today! I have an appointment with my OB later on so please forgive me if I don't blog for a few days.I may be in a very compromised position, holding a baby no less!!!
Wish me luck and a 'small hour' as they say here in Portugal.
They're a funny bunch, the Portuguese. Wonder what in the world they're talking about when they say that, eh??

Have a lovely Teusday!

It's really hard being pregnant

Fluff, three day old quiche and a mission.

Here's my mission. It's to stick to my lists. The important ones. Since I do so many of them to start off with.I tend to do them in the wee hours of the night, not able to sleep because of disturbing visions of Oprah in a lime green velour tracksuit telling me to get my life sorted out pronto in front of an audience who all look like my mother. I have notebooks in different parts of my home (in other words, I dont know where they are), each assigned with their own mission which is to sort out every possible idea in my brain before it mutates into pointless questions like 'Why do we have drawers filled with pens that don't work?' or a suggestion like "Why don't I inspect some fluff under my bed? It might be fun!"
Kills it there and then.
I might decide that the small pink book given to me by a family friend for Christmas, will be solely for notes related to my art vibes. But then, in the middle of it, I see a list of what I need to pack for the hospital.
The need to make lists seep into my psyche like Oprah does. Like a sudden urge to itch when nobodys looking or a momentary lapse in thinking when I decide that eating three day old quiche whilst 9 months pregnant might suddenly be a very pleasant thing to do.
But my latest list has actually worked. It has risen above the mindnumbing mental chit chat, stood tall in a potential minefield of thoughts that puts precedence on ironing underwear above making pretty stuff.
And now, I can say with conviction; Ive been making the pretty stuff and mentally hauling out the need to inspect fluff.

Heres a picture of my next doll. Can't wait to show you peeps the final result.



I'm tres tres excited about it!

Off to have breakfast now. Strictly no eggs for me. Wonder why eh??
Enjoy your Sunday!

09/09/09 at 9am

Baby might not have popped out yet

but I have given birth to the planner in me. Yes, that's right. Khairun is going start planning her creative routine and no amount of dirty dishes and an empty fridge is going to distract her from this mission. Perhaps it was the Carte d'or chocolate chip icecream with fresh raspberries that I ate last night. Upon revealing this to him, Mr T has confiscated all my icecream for fear that I may give birth to a giant Mars Bar on speed and not our wonderfully gorgeous superboy. And he explained this very passionatly to me whilst licking out the last remaining remnants of heaven from the tub. Torture.
Anyway, heres a list of what I am going to be up to. At least until the baby arrives by which point I'm pretty sure my planning euphoria will boil down to sleep deprived survival techniques.

So here it is. The big plan

1. I'm going to do this. I'm all alone at home with my sewing machine. No excuses this time. I will follow the main pattern but give it a Khairun twist.
Update: I made the doll! I. MADE. THIS. DOLL. I'm so chuffed with myself that I could do a little pregnancy dance. I could but I probably won't.


2. Try to make Flickr like me. Put up all my artwork there, the good the bad and the pants. So far, I have a measly two.
3. Take a self-styled Etsy shop business course. I've even got my own notebook for it. Here it is.



4. Keep updating my blog. Which is what I am doing now so there's one thing on the list I'm doing.

5. Make more quiche for friends because it makes them happy. Did my first one today with the help of a friend's recipe.

6. Save my garden from looking like Death Valley. And currently it is.

7. Take baths. Have massages. Finish reading this. And relax God damn it!


Back to the doll making. BYE!

My voodoo and a story about big knickers

I definately was not intending for my blue lady to look so evil-looking, but hey ho, just gotta go whichever way the wind blows. I've tried to keep in mind the idea of reworking on something until it's just right. So despite the end result of this latest project of mine, I can take it as a learning lesson rather than as absolute failure. Consigned to a drawer labelled 'Things I Will Never Bother Doing Again Because It Turned Out To Be Pants'. Yes, admit it reader(s). You know you have a drawer with the same purpose. So I have decided to cleanse myself of all the creative half hearted efforts this drawer has contained over the last few years and pinned alot of them up on a board right in front of my workspace. Im remindef of a feeling similar to that of hanging out a pair of big old knickers for all to see, flapping away in all its pale pink glory. Now, the obvious matter in this case would be to realise that I really need to buy nice knickers, but at the same time they are still my knickers and I need to own the fact that I do like wearing them. Lots of comfort. 100% cotton. Roomy. Good to do Yoga in. Anyway, What Im trying to say by using my big knickers as a metaphor, is that seeing my creative efforts for what it is, in front of me, really shows me the common thread in my work which is a great insight and a reassurance that I'm not so all over the place creatively as I often think I am. I can see what I can do well and what I need to work on. But I can also see where I should be taking my work. It's all about being true to yourself. And the best way to do this is to open that drawer and bring it all out into the open. Three years of work that I should celebrate, no matter how oddball or dissatisfied I might be with them. It is still me. And I love my oddball tendencies.
Big knickers are cool.

This is a girl

who used to be camera-shy. Not anymore though. You get to a certain age where you just don't give a hoot how ridiculously superficial you become. (Sandra-I hope you don't mind me posting this without your permission, but its such a lovely picture of you that I couldn't resist the temptation)


who, every year, missed the annual village fête near our weekend hideout in Atalaia, a tiny parish situatued along Lisbons coastline.


who used to think that you need to be the best in what you do. But simply being good enough, is a much more realistic goal.

Hope you are having a lovely weekend folks!

I got myself out of the slump

and worked on a small piece, making use of my watercolours and inks. I like the way this has turned out.