This is life

Touch my bum, relish the imperfections

Makes hair smell nice

This post is brought to you from my back garden, overlooking the washing line. My mother, when she last visited, was so thrilled that I’d managed to put up a washing line since her last visit, that she almost forgot about her new grandchild. Oh, how we laughed about the different things that thrill different people.

I’m wearing sunglasses and have ditched my sweater; the bulbs Joab and I planted in September are now in full bloom; every now and then I can hear a lawnmower. One word, whispered so we don’t scare it away: spring.

The highs of the last seven days, in no particular order

Eating homemade cake once, sometimes twice a day, without fail. My friend baked me an apple cake before I had Ray, and I froze half of it. I’m still eating delicious slithers, often with double cream, sometimes as pudding after supper, but more often than not as a second breakfast. Another friend does a cake drop every week, after she goes to get her bread. Today’s delivery was some kind of frangipane delight with a couple of slices of plum on top which looked pleasingly like a Georgia O’Keefe flower/vagina.

Sitting in the garden with my sister and Ray. We only live 2 miles from one another, and yet I still feel like we don’t meet up enough.

Going out for a walk in Brockwell Park with Ray and my friend. Ray cried, I carried him, my friend pushed the pram. It’s so nice to have an extra pair of hands, but more than anything, it was gorgeous to see my friend. Part of feeling so low and in pain recently has meant I’ve kept visitors at bay - but it’s clear that seeing certain people is better than medicine.

My mum messaging me every day. I love the back and forths with her, about the programmes on tele we’re watching, or our favourite knickers and whether we can still buy them online, or a song we’ve heard, and love. Without fail, my mum ends every message thread with “How’s your tit?”.

Watching Ray change day by day. And watching his older siblings falling in love with him. He really reminds me of Baby Yoda. Sometimes he looks so startingly like Joab. Other times, he reminds me of my other children, which just goes to show that DNA isn’t everything.

LOWS

Spilling 70ml of breast milk on the kitchen counter. I pump from my left breast (still hurts like a bitch) several times a day, in order to keep up Ray’s feeds, so this felt like a disaster. Until I remembered the meagre emergency store I have frozen in an ice-cube tray. Still, I was hoping that these little 15ml milk portions (6 in total) would buy me an evening out sans le bebe and not just be used for a standard Wednesday lunchtime feed.

Crying (me) nearly every evening, without fail. I get to 8pm, squeal as I peel my bra that has stuck to my bleeding nipple away from my skin, and think, very self-piteously: WHY? I’m usually much better by 9pm, when Joab has talked me down from my teetering-on-the-edge-of-life thoughts. He always has a good suggestion that manages to not be annoying. Last night, he said he’d do the midnight bottle feed so I could sleep for 4 hours, uninterrupted. It was bliss.

Burning my hand on an empty saucepan that had been sitting on the hob. It had absorbed all of the heat from a nearby pan. I spent most of Sunday with my palm submerged in a bowl of water, whimpering in pain, wondering what hurt more. My palm, or my nipple?

Writing thank you cards, posting them, then having a vague recollection of signing some of them with my ex-husband’s name, rather than Joab’s. Joab thought this was funny, but I was mortified. If you’ve received one of these one-of-a-kind mistakenly signed cards, please do the right thing and put it in the bin. I told you I was tired.

The lack of sleep. Ray wakes every hour and a half at night. Torture. Still, it’s a phase.

BEST PRESENTS FOR NEW MUMS – AS CHOSEN BY MOI

I haven’t consulted any other new mums. I prefer it to this Guardian list, though, which felt a bit basic:

FOOD

OK, so I have friends who can cook, or friends who know exactly what to buy from the grocery store.

Most recent edible gifts have included:

· Cake. Frangipane little tarts with plum topping (see above), freshly baked bread from what I think is the best bakery in south London, orange, ricotta and chocolate loaf, apple cake (like the Jewish apple cake they used to sell at Coram’s Fields cafe). Fat rascals sent by my cousin from Betty’s. Brownies made by my aunt, with the unbeatable Nigel Slater recipe. Toad bakery pastries, from my sister Eve. The cheese straws are unmatched.

· A chicken and mushroom pie with an Atora pastry lid. I had this at my friend’s house a while back, she shared the recipe, I made a slightly less delicious version, and then she delivered a freshly made one that rekindled the joy of that first pie. She also is a girl who understands the importance of a good side, and made a potato, green bean and olive salad for extra health points and extra deliciousness.

· Beef and cheese pie, made by a Kiwi friend who has just told me he might be starting a supper club very soon with someone from Rochelle Canteen. You heard it here first. This was close to the best pie I’ve ever eaten.

· Mac ‘n’ cheese, made with all the best types of dairy. I still can’t master this, which is surely one of the easiest dishes to make? I always seem to get the white sauce to pasta ratio wrong, and end up with a pasta pie.

· Two lasagnes in the post. My mother-in-law is very good at cooking, and excellent at packaging up food so that it arrives in its original state, and not as some reconstructed number. One for immediate consumption, one for the freezer. What could be better?

SILVER NIPPLE CUPS

My mother-in-law sent me these in the post and I hadn’t heard of them before. They protect nipples from fabric. Fabric is not known for its cruel qualities, nor something to be feared. However, my cracked skin sitch has changed all of that for me, and these little bits of armour, slipped over the nipple like a hub cap on a wheel, keep all sorts of pain at bay.

PHOTOGRAPHS

Honestly, if everyone forgot to take pics of new mothers and their babies, none would exist. I’m not a selfie person, so the photos my son/daughter/friends have taken of me and Ray in the past couple of weeks are so precious to me. Also, any photographs of the reality of these early, chaotic days are my favourite. I don’t think I’ve ever felt less vain. My bra is undone in most of the shots, my crows’ feet are more visible than ever, and my house looks… Well, like no-one has ever been arsed to plump a single cushion. And yet I love the photos that show all of the messiness. This is life. Touch my bum.

DELICIOUS SMELLING OILS

I want things that fragrance the air or my skin, but that are not overpowering. Obviously one person’s ‘gorgeous’ will be another’s ‘heinous’ when it comes to fragrance, but I feel you can get some things right if the notes are not too sweet, not too heavy, not to Oud-y. Recently, my friend gave me a multi-use oil for face/body/hair from NUXE. I spray a bit into my palms every morning, then smoothe it over the ends of my hair because a) my hair is frizz-tastic and needs all the help it can get and b) I only wash my hair once every 10 days because it’s like taking a toddler to the supermarket. You only do it when you really have no other option not to. This nice-smelling oil means I’m not offending other people with what my daughter calls the whiff of ‘Caucasian scalp’. If you know, you know.

This is also a bargain, and smells amazing. I rub it onto my stomach after a shower or bath, and before bed. It makes bed feel a bit more luxurious before the nightshift, and feels like I’m oiling up bread dough when I rub it into my skin, in a good way.

MUSIC

Ray’s oldest brother wrote him a beautiful, classical lullaby which he is going to professionally record at his music school. This just sounds like I’m showing off about my son’s musical abilities and I kind of am. But how lucky is Ray to get that kind of gift? Very.

I will be back next week, hopefully. Writing is as good as a nap for my serotonin levels right now. I recently read Emma Barnett’s Maternity Service and really related to her saying how most things felt out of reach when you’ve just had a baby. For me, it’s the glass of water that I’ve left in the kitchen when I’m sitting, breastfeeding, in the living room; it’s also the conversation I really want to have with a good friend because I know it’ll bring me back to life. And yet, there never seems time. Tiny babies require big things. Long hours of the day just disappear, and yield nothing much more than a feeling of: “I finally got them to sleep.”

Today I have put writing before the washing up, and the laundry, and the question that Joab and I always ask each other at about 3pm, every day: “What are you thinking for dinner?” that then prompts some kind of dash to the shops, or the chopping of an onion and some garlic. I do love cooking, but right now I’d rather not have to.

Here’s a photo of my daughter, Violet, supporting Lola Young at Kentish Town Forum. I couldn’t be there, because, well, newborn, but my mum and dad went, along with Violet’s siblings, and loads of my friends. I got sent endless photos and videos which almost made me feel as if I was thre. Violet was incredible and I am one helluva proud mother.

Stay well, enjoy the sun, and please, if you’ve enjoyed reading this post give it a like.