The joy of complaining

My recent episode of uncharacteristic behaviour began when out shopping with mr moo (my 2 year old).  Walking past a menswear shop in our local shopping centre I noticed in the window, about 1 metre off the ground, an advert to win a "lads holiday in Ayia Napa" featuring a picture of some large and probably enhanced breasts, with strips of fabric about an inch wide covering them (no face was involved in the picture).  I saw mr moo clock the picture as well, and saw him think about it for a couple of seconds, but I don't think his vocabulary was up to framing the question in his mind.

I felt immediately angry.  Mr moo has seen breasts quite a lot of times, given that I get dressed with him around, and there are a lot of breastfeeding mums in our friendship group at the moment (and that I breastfed him until he was 14 months, but that was a very long time ago in his world).  He has recently felt the need to point out "mummy's boobies" when he sees them, but then he also likes to point out "mummy's drink, daddy's drink, my drink" at the dinner table.  I've been trying, by my actions and words to let him know that breasts are a natural part of a woman, private, but nothing to be ashamed of, and primarily designed for feeding babies (although I don't have much hope that last lesson will last him past puberty.)  I'm not ready for him to see the objectification of women, the lust and sexualisation of our culture that I'm sure will impact him all too soon.

But I kept walking, chuntering to myself in my mind about the irresponsibility of the advert and its placement.  It was on the way back that the uncharacteristic moment came to me.  Why, I wondered, was I internalising this anger and disquiet?  If everyone who was offended by this picture walked past without saying anything, it would just stay there, but it was quite likely that a quick comment to the management would make a difference.

Taking my moment of bravery/insanity/becoming my mother in both hands, and mr moo in both arms so he wouldn't make the encounter worse by running away at the crucial moment, I walked up to the middle aged man rearranging clothes on  the sale rack, and asked for the manager.  It turned out he was the manager, so I turned on my nicest smile and politest manner and explained that as a mum, I found the picture inappropriate and especially its position at children's eye level.  He was unphased, and said "oh yes, we've been told to tone it down a bit when we start getting complaints."  I thanked him and walked away, feeling encouraged that he was open to feedback, but wondering why the shop felt it best to push the boundaries of public "decency" as far as it possibly could, rather than just trying not to offend in the first place.  However, I suppose the obvious answer to that question is ... to sell stuff to men.

Today was the first time I've been back there, and, to my glee, the advert has been moved up the window, and the picture now shows three relatively clothed women, including faces!  However, I'm a bit concerned that the immediate success of my first attempt at this particular brand of complaining will seduce me gradually on down this path.   Maybe by the time mr moo is 15, I'll be the kind of toe-curlingly excruciating mother who complains loudly in public about the manners, morals and grammar of complete strangers, causing him to be traumatised for life.

Perfect Mother of the Day

Think I should definitely have an award for my "performance" today - washing done and hung out, favourite teddies, blankets and cars washed and cleaned ( to eliminate lingering conjunctivitis germs), child offered healthy food including oily fish, porridge and 4 types of fruit and veg so far, child (more surprisingly) ate some of all food, child taken for a walk to post office (exercise, and conversations re letter boxes and diggers en route), child engaged in creative activity (painting), child had refreshing nap, dinner pre-prepared and mortgage payments adjusted.  And it's only 3pm!  Maybe I should stay at home and achieve things more often rather than gadding about seeing friends and going to toddler groups.  Less fights to break up too!

Disclaimer: this post does not represent the normal state of affairs in the doctor/woman household.

Poem for Christmas Service

There's blood on the straw
on my face
on His hair,
my legs won't stop shaking
my belly is an empty wineskin
and pain blurs all the faces
except one.

He lies at my breast
looking at me,
so tiny, so immaculate, so real.
His wide clear eyes fix on mine
and I see eternity.

My heart is full of joy and triumph;
the women cry "a son, a son!"
as if I hadn't always known.
And I long to call Him mine
and I long to say "I made Him,"
but the shadow of Another holds me back.

The little face crumples;
His first cry
melts my heart to milk.
When I said "I am the Lord's servant,"
I thought that with this birth
my task would be complete

...now I realise it's only just begun.

Updates

Despite feeling I haven't got time in my life for even just the jobs that keep the house running, I have managed to find a little time (when I should be going to sleep but mr me is away) to update my blog a little. There has been a rather long pause in my posting, so thought I would list the "headlines" that have changed in my life since 2009.

• Baby blue is not really a baby now - he will be 2 next month! Can't believe how big he is and how much he has changed - of course this is quite predictable, but I still can't believe it. For this reason I shall have to change his name on the blog to either mr moo or the noodle. Mr moo possibly expresses him better, but may be easily confused with mr me? Will maybe try both and see how it goes.

• I finally finished my GP training in May, after much tribulation and stress over the winter. I now work 2 and a half days per week at a practice 12 minutes drive from my house which was one of my training practices. Some days I enjoy all of it, most days I enjoy some of it.

• I am busy. Busy, busy, busy. I spend a lot of time trying to streamline my life so I save time for myself. But better not talk too much about this or I'll start whingeing.

• I have developed an addiction to charity and vintage shopping. My favourite recent purchase was a vintage dark blue chiffon evening dress with hand beading around waist and hips. I wore it to our church ball recently and felt fabulous.

• I have discovered how much fun having a toddler can be. Before having mr moo, I worried that I only really wanted a tiny baby and then would want to give it back.

• I have also discovered how draining having a toddler can be. Sometimes I feel like an expert diplomat combined with a disciplinarian. Spend a lot of time not managing to finish a sentence without having to break up a scuffle, wipe a nose, prevent an injury or perform "bumping along on the little red tractor" again.

Well that's all the news I can think of right now. I'd better go to bed, as mr moo is still on British Summer Time.

The first cut is the deepest

Today I took baby blue for his first haircut. He's not so much of a baby any more now that he's nearly 2, and I was afraid that this day would make him even less of one. I have in fact been putting it off for weeks, or rather months while mr me periodically said "he really needs a haircut now." This week I finally promised I would go, after baby blue had been mistaken for a girl several times.

I spent yesterday evening frantically taking photos, trying to capture the head of golden spiralling slightly out-of-control curls. Woke up today with a feeling of dread that I'd end the day with a short haired grown up boy. I was grateful to find the hairdressers was a small salon with only one stylist and no other customers. I was even more grateful when the kind young mum-of-two salon owner said "oh...look at his hair! you don't want it too short do you?"

Baby blue decided that nestled against my chest was the optimum position for a haircut, I was OK with that, and the wispy curls didn't take long to trim. Having thought I would have to lie down and take sedatives for the rest of the day, I was pleasantly surprised by the results. He still looks like a toddler, but slightly tidier and more male. I do miss the curls, but have kept a couple for sentimental purposes.

Back to School

You probably know the feeling. It's a very specific, nostalgic, optimistic feeling that only happened on one day per year. I'm certain the retail industry know the feeling, and use it perenially to advertise something or other. The type of weather we've been having lately - still sunny but with a slight chilly edge to it - always brings it back to me so powerfully.

You wake up earlier than usual to the sound of your alarm (or your mum calling you). The air feels a bit colder than the day before, maybe there's some dew on the cars and grass outside. Your new unspoilt uniform is hanging up waiting (instead of on the floor where you usually keep your clothes). Your bag is already packed, containing pencils with unbroken leads, fresh virgin notebooks, maybe a new textbook, a new pen, set of compasses, a clean rubber. You leave the house knowing that you are on time, tidy, and haven't forgotten anything at all. You will have a new teacher, maybe new classmates, no-one will remember how sad and stupid you were last term, or how much you got into trouble, or the pointless argument you had. In fact you can feel yourself morphing into a whole new person... Everything will be different this year...

A few weeks ago I was feeling quite disillusioned with myself. I fairly often wish I was the type of person who got things done, followed things through, and stuck to the high standards I set myself. (This is despite the fact that I have met a few of these types of people and generally they are not any happier than me - probably the reverse, because their standards are even higher.) In the practical world of keeping the house clean, getting DIY done and doing my tax return, and also in the spiritual world of staying close to God, praying regularly, fixing my mind on things that are not of this world, I fall short so often.

As I was praying about this I remembered something which is one of the most beautiful and releasing things about the Christian faith - whenever we ask, God can give us a new beginning. Through Jesus death, which paid for all of our messes, sins, mistakes and hurts, we can have a fresh start a thousand times a day if we need it. When we are forgiven, God looks at us and sees the righteousness of His Son. The tricky bit is remembering to use this amazing freedom. When I do, it's like every day is the first day of term...

I can't sleep and...

i am wishing that i didn't have to live life in chronological order. imagine if you woke up every day not knowing what part of your life that day would come from. i could wake up with butterflies in my stomach and think "fantastic - i must be just falling in love with mr me - there will be some perfect kissing today." one day i might have lost the use of my legs, and the next day discover i was 9 again, and spend the whole day running and dancing around. i might spend a day caring for baby blue through the chicken pox and be up all night with him, and the next day be 15 again and i could give my mum a big hug of appreciation for all the time she spent caring for me instead of wishing she wouldn't embarrass me. i might work a 12 hour shift in A+E and the next day wake up to find i had retired, and spend the whole day resting, reading, walking by a lake. i might be one day a widow, and the next be back with mr me, and greet him as if we'd been separated by death for years. any day i woke up and baby blue was still a baby i would be so thrilled to hold him in my arms as he was my tiny baby again, and no matter how hard the day and night were i would treasure every second.

I suppose this idea is a little like the concept behind "The Time Traveller's Wife" - and shows the sheer joy and privilege of a single day with our loved ones. Somehow it is very hard to live in that joy when you know that tomorrow will be "just the same". But it never is exactly the same. Living in time is the enemy of valuing the moment. Anybody else fancy my idea of a mixed up life? i suppose it might be a little bit hard to ever get anything done...