Summer lovin

Not content with (a) dealing with 6-month-old M (b) attempting some freelance editing (c) trying to find some spare time to play with nail varnish, we're contemplating moving house. I'm seduced by the idea of somewhere with a garden, so M and I can float around in white dresses picking raspberries in the soft-focus sunshine. Which obviously is what we'll be able to do every day in the summer up here in the frozen north. If anyone can come up with a method of moving Newcastle to California would they please let me know?

The perfect finish

No 7 Stay Perfect Pink a Dink
No 7 Stay Perfect Chiffon
No 7 Stay Perfect Rose Truffle
No 7 Stay Perfect Pearly Pink
No 7 Stay Perfect Elixir
Bourjois Very Vernis Rose Lounge
Botanics Elderberry
NYC Passionata

As every yummy mummy knows, it's important to have a wide range of nail varnish, preferably with ridiculous names (I especially like Pink a Dink). Unfortunately, I've not had time to put any on for months (see yesterday), and in any case I suspect the endless washing up would play havoc with the finish. Darn. Will have to find some other way to boost YM credentials.

Time, gentlemen please

One of the least attractive things about motherhood is the lack of time. Or rather lack of free time. There's no lunch breaks, coffee breaks or sneaky fag breaks allowed. And although time might stretch and sag when M is fractious, it runs at double and triple speed for the rest of the day, especially in the evenings. It feels like there is always something still to be done, no matter how many things are crossed off the list. Saturday's newspaper sits on the side, mostly unread (it seems rather pointless now to trawl through the news section), friends are left untelephoned, floors are left uncleaned. The small things take so long, that it's all too easy to discover that it's 11.30pm, time for bed, and the luxury time to paint your toenails or read that magazine has disappeared.

I sloped off last night, minus M, to sit in Starbucks with a coffee and a trashy magazine and find some of my missing luxury time. It felt like only 10 minutes, but it was wonderful.

Cheapskate

I have become a cheapskate, scouring the charity shops for 'new' clothes for M, who will be leaving the 3-6 month sizings in a matter of days. This week saw the ultimate jackpot - a charity shop with a half-price sale. It's maybe more a reflection on how poor the area of the city is (people can't afford to pay a lot, even in a charity shop) rather than a shop which has found itself with too much stock after Christmas. But no matter. I can clothe M for a fiver (and on my last month of maternity pay that's no bad thing), be environmentally friendly and feel good about donating to charity all in one go. It's a jackpot in more ways than one.

An outing

To the coast today, for a brisk walk along the harbour wall to the lighthouse. Cartwheeling seagulls breezed past as giant ferries rolled through the choppy sea. M slept, while I battled against the wind. Pushchair-makers should bolt on stabilisers for days like these.

Introduction

M is 5 months and 10 days old. Once I used to know her exact age in days, weeks, hours even. Now I have to work it out, counting on my fingers like I used to at school, complicated by the fact that I often no longer know what the date is. Befuddlement is a common state of mind in our house.

Over the past few months we've come to a compromise, she and I. She is the centre of my daytime world. I am the recipient of questioning looks, playful laughter and unfiltered love. It seems a fair return for such a small investment.