The Daphne Tree

Well, the ballerina trend continues... Crikey, I tried so hard to dress her in everything other than pink, I'm all about equality between boys and girls, I encourage her to play with dinosaurs and lego, and am secretly a bit pleased that she shuns her baby dolls. HOWEVER, she is getting girlier by the day. She may only be two, but she already loves trashy pop songs, twirling around like a ballerina, sparkley things and make up. Nooooooooo! I think parents have little hope really, these are little people with actual opinions! How very dare they?! So ballerinas are IN, and I admit the thought of Daph doing ballet is very cute indeed. But I might make her wear "alternative" tutus. In the name of making and sewing her things to ease my maternal unrelenting and possibly unecessary guilt, I thought I'd get her a tutu. Then I remembered we're on a strict budget at the moment, so what can I make one out of? I found a load of patterned chiffon material in the stash an...

It occurred to me last night, as I turned away to giggle silently, watching Daphne lick her DVDs, that my attitude as a mum has changed significantly. When she was a tiny newborn, my approach was mostly "I'm terrified, how do I keep this alive?". Every little thing was a threat to her little delicate life, and the world entirely revolved around her. Doctor on speed dial. Phrases to describe our life in the first year were: "Better to be safe than sorry" "You can't be too careful" "Why risk anything" "Fear the worst" Into the second year, we chilled out slightly, she could escape the cat (although actively chose to engage in combat) and didn't appear to be allergic to anything. She'd had a few falls, a few illnesses, and bounced back, sometimes literally. Attitudes changed to: "She has to learn for herself" "A bit of dirt won't hurt" " Let's see how she is in the morning...

OFFENSIVE. What is offensive? That which is offensive to you is different to that which is offensive to moi. Or so they might say. They probably wouldn't say that as it sounds weird. I am somewhat confusicated this week. I made a request on a Facebook group page of local people for a hitman. Not a bunk bed, not a local antenatal class, and not a dildo. I can't help but think the dildo would have offended less... Just in case it needs clarifying, it was a comedic, sarcastic, immature joke. I live in a rather well-to-do, slightly racist, middle class town with twenty too many old people's homes and it's the kind of place where the introduction of a new Lidl store causes heart attacks. It's very pleasant here, but locals actually get a kick out of queueing at the post office, it's like a hobby. I'm pretty sure the "tut" originated in this neck of the woods. ANYWAY. My joke "distressed" a lot of people and I was virtually spanked an...