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  • A Month in Our New Home

    On the fourth weekend after we move to Folkestone, my friend Sofia invites me to swim. Sofia is the reason that we moved here rather than to Margate; we think of her as the fairy godmother of our relocation to the coast and have benefitted from her wisdom and her kindness almost daily since we became friends in January. We leave early, before the weight of our children’s needs and expectations and love settle upon us for the day, when they are still too sleepy to protest too hard to us leaving. And I am almost giddy with anticipation of the water, of swimming at last in a sea that I may call home. The sky is forgetmenot blue and the water is as smooth and as clear as ice. “You just have to go for it,” Sofia tells me, when she turns around waist-deep and catches me, hesitating, as…

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    Embla and Olympia: Now You are Three

    Dear little girls, Three years old. I must admit that your third birthday past virtually unnoticed; we moved house two days later, and three years to the minute of your birth I was already in the office for the day, doing my best to work ahead in preparation for taking a few days off for the move, and your mummy was packing up the kitchen, one of the last of the rooms to tackle. I didn’t think hard about that day; about how I felt on the morning of your birth, consumed with awe and wonder and the niggling fear of a near-miss. Nor about how we spent our first night apart; how I slept alone in a private room, my consultant bustling and jolly and kind, midwives patient, Bounty saleswoman frankly disapproving: “But where is your baby?” We had a tricky start. You were the most beautiful babies. You…

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    Indulging a Kids’ Clothing Habit on a Budget

    Somebody asked me the other day how to dress children in a similar style as mine on a budget, and I thought it would make an interesting post. Firstly – I want to point out that childrens’ clothing isn’t worth putting yourself into debt for, as somebody who has been there. And secondly, shopping was – for me – a symptom of PND, and if your relationship with baby-related purchases is starting to feel a bit out of control or you find that you’re feeling dependent on the high of shopping as an emotional crutch, please talk to your GP. And I’ll also point out that sometimes I’m given clothes to photograph for my insta/blog or for other people’s and I get to keep them – so my kids’ clothing habit isn’t entirely from my own pocket (if an image features a clothing that was given to me in lieu…

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    Rhubarb from the Garden

    Earlier this month, we said goodbye to our rented house in South-East London and moved to the seaside town of Folkestone, to a home of our own. There is a home tour on my YouTube if you’d like to see our house in its raw state, before we get started on decorating it. Our vendors are the loveliest people, and as well as messaging advice about the care and keeping of the houseplants that we were fortunate to inherit, they also let me know that a) the sprawling plant in the garden was rhubarb and b) it makes a delicious pie. I couldn’t stop thinking of this pie, and I thought it would be a lovely experience for our children – to harvest rhubarb from our garden and turn it into something edible. So we did that – and was, indeed, the loveliest experience! Kirsty and I kept asking each…

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    Dreaming of Centaurs

    When the weather breaks, I dream of the horses.  In my dreams I am ageless; the horses are a dream of my past and of the future.  Petrichor fills the air and when I run my hand down her withers she is reassuringly solid beneath my touch.  I know that my mind is healing because when I ride in my dreams, my balance, my communication with the horse is no longer fractured; my body flows into her body as though we have been melded, as though we are one. Mornings these days begin at an hour that Kirsty and I used to consider bedtime; the world is bathed in blue light and the birds are optimistic.  When the children tumble down the stairs, the baby is still sleeping beside me.  She stirs as I pull her back into my arms, her mouth opens like a baby bird.  My breastfeeding relationship with…

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