From baby steps to giant steps

Being a parent is a tough job. Some days, I think you'd have to be crazy to sign up for it.
I'm not complaining about the sleepless nights, the terrible twos, the fevers and worries. Oh no. TV, books, stand-up comedians - the whole world prepares us for that. But really, the difficulty in parenting is that even when you do it right, when everything goes according to plan, it's bloody heartbreaking.

When you have a baby, the first few weeks are a sweet-smelling haze of unusual hours, nappies, feeds, cuddles and secret smiles shared with your partner about the magical being you have created. About six weeks in, you get your first 'First'. That smile. The one you're certain wasn't wind. Baby has reached a milestone, and you bask in the pride of the moment.

Soon, you're excitedly waiting for signs of a first tooth. With Little Man, we waited ten and a half months for a tooth! The eventual arrival was greeted with celebrations of the highest order. Once again, our clever boy had achieved a wondrous thing, a step towards being a proper person.

There are first sounds, first words, first tentative steps. Each one a moment that you look forward to, that you cherish.

And then it hits you. Those perfect pearly teeth mean no more gummy smiles. When they're older, the changes are bigger and faster than you expect. Dressing themselves, using the toilet, saying 'please' and 'thank you' without being prompted. Each of these is a sign that you have done your job well. As a parent, you have created and nurtured a person who can survive in the big wide world, a person who will be liked and accepted in that world. A person who each day is growing further away from you.

Pride and heartbreak have a strange symbiotic relationship for a mother. Our job is to make our children independent of us. We shoulder this burden, we know it from the moment we feel the first flutters in the womb, those are the first strainings towards autonomy. We just know that the journey is what we've got to look forward to. That all of those firsts, and seconds, along the way are ours to enjoy and encourage.

But sometimes, a step towards the future feels too big, too sudden, too unexpected. My Little Lady had her first haircut at the weekend. She has a layered bob now, with a side fringe. She looks gorgeous - like a proper Little Lady indeed. Somehow, it makes me want to cry. Those blonde-tinged curls, that unruly mess of hair, that was the hair of my baby. She's two-and-a-half now. Of course, I knew she wasn't really a baby anymore. In fact, she loves nothing more than to mind babies herself! Little Mammy would probably be a better name for her. But those curls, they made her mine, my tiny baby who needs me more than anything in the world. And now, they are discarded on the barber's floor. And my Little Lady is a little girl. Not even really a toddler anymore.

So, I'm feeling slightly in shock. Amazed at where the last two-and-a-half years have gone - where the last four years have gone since her big brother was still nestled safely inside me. But with the tears sparkling in my eyes, I'm still smiling. Because they have been the best four years ever. Because that serious Little Man and kind-hearted Little Lady are just as I would like them to be. Funny, charming and strong, alternating between fierce independence and a desperate need for affection. I know that if we continue to do our job right as parents, our children won't need us around anymore, but if we do it really, really right, they'll still want us around. For now, I'm going to keep enjoying the journey, and for every secret tear I shed when I feel them moving from my reach, there are a hundred kisses, a thousand smiles and a million memories that make it all worthwhile.

The unbearable lightness of being... a redhead.

You’ve pretty much all seen my red hair, my new cropped style. Most people complimented it. I really liked how it looked myself actually, unexpectedly.

But, my red hair was not long for this world. Why? Well, it just didn’t feel like 'me'.

Having met numerous new people since Shave or Dye, I found myself telling them about it. Trying to 'explain' my red hair. It took a while before it clicked with me what the problem was. I was trying to let them down gently.

My red hair was cool, it was funky, exciting even. I am none of those things. This was a rather depressing realisation, and at first I kept my hair red, thinking perhaps it would boost my self esteem or something.

But I was still self-conscious. Everywhere I went, I felt like a fraud. That at any moment I could be found out, and ridiculed.

Finally, the answer came to me. I don’t WANT to be cool. I’ve been desperately uncool for thirty years and now is not the time to change. I have no idea how one becomes funky, but it seems like it would take a lot of effort. Exciting? That’s a day when you get three loads of washing dry, right?

So, I am once again a brunette. It’s still not my natural colour, but it’s closer, and I’ll get my natural colour back in time.  

I am a fairly boring person. I like to knit, and read, and sit on the couch watching House and Bones and How I Met Your Mother with my husband. I jump in muddy puddles with my kids, sing nursery rhymes and made-up songs from morning till night (even in the office), and sometimes I mop my way out of the house in the morning.

And, like my natural hair colour, that suits me just fine!