So heres the thing...

Given the fact that I don't come round here too often, I'm back to that age old question again 'To blog or not to blog?'
I can't say I've been rushed off my feet or anything. I've simply decided to get through my to do list for 2011, most of which focuses on a clear-up operation after Hurricane Beinganewmama. Thankfully, I've managed to rescue the most important person amongst all this, that is, me. I may have survived it, but man did I make a big mess of getting myself back together again or what. Like doing a jigsaw puzzle with the lights out. I've kinda ignored the way i look, ignored a lot of people in my life, gone on the defensive, given up on me in a way thats just totally unforgivable, and just been abit crap to the world really. Incase you were wondering. I had a close run in with those ghastly post natal depression goblins. They didn't quite suceed in taking up residence here, but they certainly left me with a hell of a lot to clear up. I kinda see them as the extended family of the last lot of goblins that came into my life when i was 17. Those ones stayed so long i was practically the landlord of a goblin B and B.

so, I'm still wondering..to blog or not to blog?
I hate being such a lame blogger.

Clinique mascara and Coffee...

...are a girls best friend. Because those are the two things I have been abusing excessively before getting out to work each day-Isaac has been waking up in the middle of the night, every night over the last two weeks,at the kind of time most bars and clubs across Lisbon are closing. It takes almost two hours for him to settle, in between us, whilst I, semi-conscious but still retaining some use of my limbs, attempt to nurse him to sleep. To put it mildly, He's been a pain in the arse. Oh-and when I say pain in the arse, I actually mean it quite literally, because he's got some funky nappy rash due to a nasty combination of a food reaction with the wretched teething phase.

But other than this life is treating us well. Antonios on his third day of not smoking. I'm hugely proud of him. Despite him wanting to strangle me everytime I ask him if he's alright.
I've pretty much planned my year in terms of vacations and the days I'll need to take off work. Just knowing what I'll be doing in September makes the year itself seem so small. I don't think I've ever been this organised before. On top of my attempt at weekly menu planning (it's chicken soup today) I'm getting all this extra space in my head to think about things I like to think about,instead of having all these worries and that constant feeling of remembering something that I can't remember. I finally treated myself to a Moleskine diary, a new purse and got back into listening to my ipod again. It feels like bits of me are coming back to life again after having Isaac. I'm feeling things physically and mentally that were completely switched off over the last year. It's good to be back. And, in contrast to the warnings of how difficult Isaac would be once he started walking, I've actually found him much easier to manage. It's lovely seeing him walk around observing, picking up toys and just trying out new things. He's chatting a lot more too. I've found that I don't need to play with him so much, he's quite happy doing his own thing. It's great.
I just hope his sleeping pattern improves otherwise I'm going to end up looking like Dolly Partons make-up artist went psycho on me.

Moving on

He's an extension of me. An extra chunk of Khairun.My love, my soul, embodied in his fat squishy legs and big sad eyes.
Leaving him for those few hours everyday makes me feel as though I've forgotten my doorkeys, my umbrella, my mobile phone. All these things at once (which incidentally, has happened.)
Something always feels missing.
We spent the whole morning talking. In between us in our bed,trying to master the art of conversation. I swear I thought he was telling me to not leave. But I think that must have been my imagination. He probably wants me to get a move on. Yeah yeah, you love me...GO TO WORK!I've already taken two sickies this week. But I'm going back today. I HAVE to go back today. Even though it's pouring with rain outside. Even though I still have the sniffles. Even though I'll always feel like somethings missing. Because I'm so busy missing him.
I have to move on.

I want to look and feel glowy again!.

Like I did here.

Isaac's naps are a rarity these days. He prefers me to entertain him, no matter how many toys I put around him. I've devoted my time towards making those big cheeks of his, get even bigger with each beaming smile.

So I haven't started anything crafty. I've watched this week slip through my fingers. I worked and reworked the last papier mache piece which for me, was a telltale sign of my pesky need for perfectionism. I know that when I do this I stop enjoying the process. Like reading a bad book till the end in the hope it will get better. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn't. But regardless of the outcome, I come out feeling a little bit dejected by the process, to the point where I lose the inspiration and discipline to get back to a book or a new painting again.
So I let this week go. I made a mental note to do so. Normally I would be in a really foul mood for going off track yet again, as I've done many times before. But instead of being crabby about it, I'm seeing it as a 'creative vacation'. I'm learning to be comfortable with the idea of actually doing nothing for a little while. I have my 'maps' around me. My calendar, my post its, my journals. Once I come back from my vacation, all glowing and well rested, I can easily go back to where I left off. That's what I didn't do before. So when I did stop my artwork or writing for a while, going back to it felt like I had to undergo a creative lobotomy.
I can't do that any more. With a baby and work commitments coming up, I need my maps to stop me from feeling overwhelmed by so many needs, interests, wants, hopes....

My word for this year: RHYTHM.
I need a rhythm to my day. To help me settle down. To help me wake up. To stop me from feeling overwhelmed. To get whatever needs to be done without feeling like I HAVE to get it done.

We interviewed a nanny yesterday and it looks like we've found the right candidate for the job. I've been feeling alot more comfortable in the idea of going back to work now, after paying my colleagues a visit a couple of weeks ago. It felt like I was visiting an old friend again. The old me included. Reminded me of how much there is of me 'outthere' from the classes that I teach, to the people who value my time. A sign of my presence outside of my newly acquired mummy status. It felt validating.

Antonio took the morning off work to be with Isaac so I could go out for the first time without him. I had breakfast at our local coffeeshop. I went to the local supermarket to buy some apples. It was a dreary Wednesday morning. But feeling the wind against my face felt like a splash of cold water it worked wonders.

So we are going to ask our new nanny to stay with Isaac at somepoint next week, just for him to get used to a new face, and for us to go out and do something fun together. We really seriously need it!

I can hear my hips clanging. Not good.

Heres what I've been doing this afternoon. Singing.

Up like a rocket!
Down like a plane!
Back and forth like a choo-choo train
I can fly here, I can fly there
I can fly everywhere!

With me lying down on the floor and Isaac resting on top of me, I sang this little song whilst lifting him up and lowering him down again.He loved it, but man oh man, he is one heavy bubba! Got myself working up a sweat.
Word of warning: Don't do this just after feeding your baby.
He almost threw up in my face. Hit my shoulder instead.
Classic first time mum mistake.

He had a longer nap than usual, which allowed me to finish this piece, as part of my January Papier Mache Project Extraodinaire.
I just came up with that title now. I might not have made it very obvious, but that means next month it will be a different creative project.
CROCHET!

I'm counting down the days before I go back to work. And start learning how to be away from the bubba. Which leads me to my confession: I haven't been apart from him since he was born. Nope. Not one second. I haven't stepped out of the house unless it was with him in tow. And I can count how many times I've done that without Mr T. I'm not going to tell you how many. It's embarassing. I'm turning my son into a hermit! Which is not good. At all.
Am I a bad mother for not going out with him more often? I'm just scared tis' all. The only car that I might be able to drive, would be this and my neighbourhood is not very 'stroller-friendly'.
But I need to go out with him. I don't know why I'm scared. I think I'm still getting over the whole experience of having a baby altogether. I feel like the hospital stole my body after the birth and loaned me this one whilst they repair it. I don't feel at home in my skin is what I'm trying to say. They haven't given back my body yet. So I'm stuck with this old clanger.

I wonder when I'm going to get back to being myself physically I mean.
A weekend spa should do it.
With bubba in tow of course! I can't live without him!

All in good time I suppose.

Look into my eyes, look into my eyes

Three,two,one....Your'e back in the room.

It was twelve hours of 'Operation Diaper Rash Control'.The poor fella was not in a good mood at all whatsoever. It was one of my worst days alone with him.
Makes me wonder really. There will be more episodes like these in store for me, in a future inextricably tied to parenting. How do my personal objectives factor into this lifelong commitment? I felt so guilty whilst writing yesterday evening, after getting him to sleep finally. It just didn't feel right. Am I not supposed to be sitting in a rocking chair, in a white dressing gown, by his bed with a candle in a silver candle holder, flickering in the dark, watching over him?
Sorry, got carried away with the Victorian imagery there.
I just felt I had to be by his side. It was our fault for not being more scrupulent with the diaper cream. He was suffering from our laziness. I wasn't proud of myself for making my otherwise cheerful bubba, a not so cheerful Mr Magoo. Nothing consoled him, not even when I pulled out the box of flashing colours.
Television.
Thankfully today, as I'm writing this, he has happily settled himself to sleep with a fist in his mouth.

I've written 700 words! But I won't reveal about what just yet. It's still very very early days on my novel writing attempt.
Still at work with my papier mache. I've made a wonky turquoise coloured plate. Hopefully, I'll get it done tonight.

My positive attitude is tinted by anxiety because I'll be going back to work soon. I don't know how I'll be able to keep up with the creative work. I fear that I may get a big slap in the face by the reality of this.
I guess it's all about accepting certain things. Without giving up altogether.

Wishing you a lovely weekend.

btw, for the few lovely lovelies that stop by and leave a comment from time to time, I've had to start moderating my comments because of a recent onslaught of Chinese spam.
I know. It's ridiculous isn't it? There is a very tragic individual out there who goes out of their way to start a blog, just so they can spam me in another language.

Now you know why. I still like getting comments so do stop by everynow and then.

Have a lovely weekend!

2009. A year of procrastinating

And not knowing how to be kind to myself.
Thought I'd share this with you. I wrote it before i found out I was pregnant.

Is it possible to write and paint, take pleasure and invest in both? It feels like I'm taking too much on board, like I'm indulging in too many hermit-type activities. Far too self absorbed in myself. But I love both of them you see. I'm not quite sure why I have wanted to write for so long because I don't have a book in me as such and the thought of writing one seems such a monumental task. I´m plagued by the lack of knowledge, intellect even. Punctuation and badly written sentences haunt me. Even though I've kept diaries since I was a kid, written poetry,albeit awful ones since then too,and an equally awful dissertation on Seamus Heaney for my degree. I have a love for reading and researching. I'm a geek. I'm coming out of the geek closet. But I'm not going to any geekpride parade because of it. That's my problem. I just don't like myself enough.
The same goes for my artwork. At most I can enjoy it on a personal level but to showcase my work more seriously seems to me a strange concept to grasp. I almost feel like I'd have to take on another persona entirely in order to be an 'artist' or a 'writer'. I don't know where the Khairun that i feel used to, would fit in. My question I guess is- How do you know you're not deluding yourself? I honestly don't want to pin my hopes onto a pursuit that in the end wastes both my energy and my time.

Wow. I sure know how to procrastinate the life out of living don't I? I wrote that during my intermittent craving for wanting to write a novel.
I'm sure I did mention my secret desire to be a writer didn't I? I guess my crocheting, doll-making and painting distracted me from that particular fantasy of mine.

2009 was a year where I wanted to be fully present in all the good things that were happening, particularly on being pregnant with our first child. But I didn't realise how much of a bully I could be towards myself. My quest towards being happy was a very unsucessful boxing match, with the part of me that wants to get everything right, fighting the part of me that wanted to cut myself some slack and take things easy. I was so disappointed for not being happy when Isaac was born. For waking up in the morning and watching the day slip away in a fog of tears. For not being more organised, for not just getting on with things. For being homesick. For wanting to just stay in bed and not shower.
Then there were days, where I was viciously protective of these tears. They were valid tears. It made sense to cry. I wasn't going to pretend. The quest to be happy was a quest to be truly, deeply, happy with the person I was and the person I was becoming. Not to put on a happy face, and get out of the house with make up slapped on. I didn't want to go out alone with Isaac, in the first month. Or the second month. And even now I find it hard to get out of the house. I haven't been away from him since he was born. But whereas before I felt abnormal for feeling like that, now, I'm okay with wanting to be at home with him. I go out at weekends with Mr T, and that is as much as I can do. The weather will get warmer. Isaac will get bigger. I'll get more comfortable in my role as a mother. And eventually, I will be out and about with him more often.
As 2009 drew to a close, I saw the true blessing that being at home has given me. I was able to take stock and really think about all the things I have wanted to do in my life without going into a goalmaking frenzy followed by my usual demise into a procrastinating mess. I took my time to do things, and in doing so, felt more of a sense of achievement than I have ever felt for a long time. I know where my strengths lie. it's in writing and drawing and learning about new things. The writing comes in so many forms, one of them being this blog. So the one thing I can be sure about, is that I love writing. 2010 will be my year to fully appreciate that.That is where my heart is. As for my drawing, again, I'm discovering what I like to do creatively and what I don't. I've stopped pressuring myself to do large scale oil paintings. They take too long, are too expensive to do, and bring out the perfectionist in me which I don't want. I'm making a series of papier mache bowls which are fun to make, whilst teasing out an ever evolving thought process of visual ideas.
I wouldn't have known this if I hadn't spent this time at home recovering, resting, and raising my child. I would have spent the entire year procrastinating again, getting stressed out by so much I want to do and ought to do, and striving to improve myself all the time.
2010 is all about doing it. Not too much. Not too little. Just enjoy it and experience the thrill of it.
Here are a few things I plan on starting the year with.
1. Complete a creative piece each week, whether that be a papier mache bowl,a watercolour sketch or doll.
2. Write everyday
3. Get up earlier. Having a three month old for an alarm clock helps immensely towards meeting this particular goal
4. Enjoy being a homebody and make my home a reflection of who I am and what I enjoy rather than who I want to be and what I ought to do.
5. Google Calendar GTD and Zen Habits are my new friends
5. Budget, budget budget. Less eating out. This was the first and the last expensive toy we are going to splash out on. He's more interested in sticking his fingers into his mouth.
6. Declutter. Around the home, my clothes, and more importantly, the contents of my head.
7. Get myself some king sized journals. One for a diary, one for my creative ideas, and one for my writing.
8. Less T.V. Do I need to explain why???
9. Less electronic baggage. Already made a headstart on that by cancelling my HI5 and Myspace accounts.
10. Revel in the love I feel for the two most important, most amazing people in my life.


That's my scary list for 2010. Scary because it's out there now, and it makes me feel like I need to be accountable. These are the things that I would most like to spend all my time doing.Except no.9 that is.
So I've got to do it. Isaac will grow and make some of those goals harder to do and I'll be going back to work but it's still doable and there are plenty of mums who are doing it. Following their dreams without any unrealistic expectations.
Now's the time to join them.

Wishing you a wonderful start to the new year.
Happy 2010!

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.

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.

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.