The Mum Reviews

Chocolate Date Bread recipe

This is a bread loaf recipe that I use whenever I find myself with some dates. You can chop up your own, or score some candied nuggets as I’ve pictured. I can usually find these boxes of date nuggets at the grocery store around Christmas time, and I stock up. You can find dried dates year round, and this recipe is just as delicious with the food processor dicing up the fruit and adding a little extra sugar.

My family love this for pudding, breakfast, snack and elevensies; it’s not just a Christmas pud, even if it’s perfect for the holidays as well. I’ve often gifted a loaf of this bread to new mums or for parties, because it stays moist for ages if you store it in a ziplock bag before slicing to serve. My daughter calls this my figgy pudding, mostly because it’s always around for tree decorating and accompanied with warm drinks. It’s simply the easiest bread I’ve ever made, and it always garners rave reviews.

I like that this bread requires I put the kettle on. I call it my cuppa tea bread; it starts with making a cuppa, and is usually in the oven by the time I’ve finished it. Strictly speaking, it’s best to let the dates soak for up 45 minutes, until they’re nice and soft, but I usually get away with 20 minutes with the nuggets, and it leaves larger chunks of fruit. If I’ve diced whole, dried dates, I usually make sure I let the dates soak a little longer before I get started with the rest of the dough. That way I’ve softened the skins as much as possible before adding in to bake. Both methods are here, and both are easy, quick and delicious! Happy baking!

You’ll Need:

¾ cup diced dates
1 1/8 cup boiling water
1 ½ tsp baking soda
1 cup white granulated sugar (3/4 cup if using candied date nuggets)
1 ½ TB butter, softened
1 med egg
½ tsp salt
½+ tsp vanilla (up to 1 tsp, to taste)
2 ¼ cup plain white flour (not self-raising)
1 cup chocolate chips
Optional 1/2 cup chopped walnuts

The Method:

Put the kettle on with enough for your cuppa and the cup of water to soak the dates. If you’re using the nuggets, you won’t need to prepare the dates first, but if you’re dicing yourself, have the bits ready for the boiling water. I usually have the food processor whizz up the dates if I’m starting with whole, but you can easily hand chop rough bits. Nuggets are usually candied with sugar, so I reduce the amount of sugar I add to the dough.

Preheat your oven to 300F/150C and grease a loaf pan, 9 x 5 inches is best.

Add the boiling water to the dates and baking soda in a heatproof container, and allow all three to fizz away for about 20-40 minutes. You want the dates to be soft and fluffy, and the water to cool before you add it to the dough.

While your dates soften, cream together the butter and white sugar before beating in the egg.

Check the temperature of the dates after they’ve soaked for 20 minutes, and add to the mixture once you’re happy the dates are soft. Add the salt and vanilla and stir together well with a rubber spatula or wooden spoon.

Add the flour in gradually in three or four batches, ensuring the batter is well mixed.

Add the chocolate chips, and walnuts if you like, and mix in with a few strokes. Try not to over stir and allow the flour to get too stretchy, it’ll make it a bit dense. The chocolate chips may melt a bit while you stir, so not over doing it at this stage will also help keep chips.

Pour the batter into your greased loaf tin and set it in the middle of the oven for one hour.

Once a toothpick slides out clean from the middle, it’s done. I almost never need more than the 1 hour exactly, but all ovens vary.

Allow to cool before removing from the tin and serve in slices. Enjoy!

‘You are my son. You are mine and I am yours, regardless.’

*Trigger warning: stillbirth/baby loss*

This beautifully written and heartbreaking piece is a guest post by Natalie Louise Oldham. You can read more of her writing on her blog, AfterOtis.

It was 7 November 2015 when we saw those two pink lines on the pregnancy test. As soon as I saw them I loved you. The second I knew you existed, I knew I would die for you … but I was scared! I didn’t know what people would think about me having three children at 22. I just knew, in that moment, that I wanted you.

I started telling family and friends pretty much right away, because if something had happened to you then I didn’t want to ‘do it’ alone – I knew I would need their support to get through it. I told your big sisters a few days after finding out too. I cannot begin to tell you how excited they were to have a baby brother or sister! Cora and Maisie pretty much had your future planned out by the time I was 7 weeks pregnant with you. Cora wanted you to be a girl, so she could call you Rapunzel and dress you up. Maisie wanted you to be a boy so she had someone to play Spiderman with (she is seriously obsessed!).

Everything went amazingly well. I did have a small bleed when I was around 9 weeks pregnant with you, but a scan showed your strong heartbeat! Fast forward a few weeks and I had a dating scan confirming that we were 14 weeks pregnant; you were perfectly formed, perfectly healthy. I had no reason to worry. We were SAFE.

We reached 18 weeks and curiosity got the better of me (I say I wanted to be prepared, but I just really wanted to know who you were). So I had a gender scan and found out that we were expecting a little boy – you are my first son! I cannot tell you how happy it made me, knowing my family was going to be complete. I had my princesses, and now I had my prince. We started thinking of names for you. We had Hughie, Lennox, Otis and Alfie on our list. For a while, you were Phoenix, but after a close friend named their baby Phoenix, I changed my mind.

I’m not a very decisive person at all, so I didn’t choose your name for a while after. I wanted to be sure that it was perfect for you; that it was YOUR name; that, when you were born, I couldn’t imagine you having a different name. I completely believe, in hindsight, that I made the perfect choice.

At 20 weeks, I attended our anomaly scan. I wanted to wait until we had this one to make sure everything was okay before spoiling you rotten. You passed with flying colours! Perfect in every single way, growing well, nothing at all wrong with you. How lucky am I?! I was definitely safe at this point.

I started shopping straight away. I bought your cot, your pram, a LOT of clothes, a breastfeeding cushion, decorations for your nursery (for which your older sisters chose a ‘jungle’ theme) …

On April 11th, at 27 weeks pregnant, you decided to give us a scare and you wanted to come Earthside, but it was way too early. The doctors managed, after 3 weeks of continuous trying and constant contractions, to stop my labour completely. You had some more growing to do yet. I had a scan a couple of days before leaving hospital on May 11th and you were still perfectly healthy. It was amazing! I loved seeing you grow, and watching you thrive.

I went home. On May 12th, I moved house – I needed somewhere bigger so there was room for you. The first thing I did that day was organise your nursery. As I said earlier, the girls had picked a ‘Jungle’ nursery theme for you and I couldn’t wait to see it completed. I decorated your walls with animals, I put up your cot, I put up your wardrobe and your chest of drawers, I put up your moses basket and laid down your rug – your nursery was ready for you to come home to. It’s such a cute nursery.

On May 15th, mummy got poorly and I was admitted to hospital. JUST to be on the safe side, and after orders from my consultant prior to being discharged a few days prior, we had a growth scan to make sure you were coping okay. It was scheduled for the day after, on May 16th.

I loved seeing you on that screen again. I couldn’t wait to hold you in my arms but I had NO idea that it would be only a couple of weeks later …

You arrived Earthside on June the 3rd, 2016. You had the most beautiful little button nose, perfect little toes, quirky elf ears and your daddy’s lips. You weighed 5lbs, 1oz, and you measured 54cm long. You were, and are, pure perfection. I had spent weeks growing to love you, getting to know you. The second I laid eyes on you, I fell in love with you all over again …

There was just me, your daddy and our midwife Nicola present in the room when you arrived. Your Grandad Anthony waited in the room next door, excited to finally put a face to your name – Otis. You were born, as the sun was rising, at 4:19am. We spent the morning cuddling in the hospital bed in the delivery room, before being moved into a different room next door. Your Grandad Anthony came in the room to take pictures of us and to give you a massive cuddle – he held you just as he held your big sisters. I saw the love he has for you in his eyes. He is so proud to have another Grandchild.

Later that day, your two big sisters, Cora and Maisie, came to meet you. They were SO excited. They had felt you kick, they had helped choose your name, they had decided on your nursery theme and had been shopping for clothes – they could not wait to have their baby brother home. The second they saw you they fell completely in love with you. They held you, they kissed you, they poked your teeny toes and stroked your perfect little hands.

A photographer came the day you were born, to take pictures of you, your daddy and myself. They are AMAZING! You look so beautiful in each and every single one. Mummy looks a little rough, but that’s to be expected I suppose!

Your aunts Zoe and Jayde, your Godmummy Mel, Grandma Sam, Grandma Thelma and Grandad Bernard came to visit you, too. They all held you; they all kissed you; they all fell in love with you. You are SO loved!

The night you were born I slept with you beside me. I sang to you the same lullaby that I sang to your big sisters the night they were born; I read you a story – the same one I read to you for the 35 weeks you grew inside me; I held you to my chest, your skin on mine, as I nuzzled your perfect head of fuzzy, black hair.

We spent 3 days in the hospital together. Your daddy came up every day, all day, to stay with us. He waited on mummy hand and foot! I had food when I wanted, I had drinks when I wanted … I truly relished every single second I had alone with you, though. I treasured every moment because I knew I would never get that back once we were home.

Then it was time for us to go home! It was about 10am that your Grandad came to get us ready, to help me dress you and to put everything in the car. It took me an hour to dress you into your coming home outfit. You were so fragile and I didn’t want to hurt you. Your Grandad placed you on the bed in front of me, I gently unwrapped you from your blanket and slowly took off your baby grow. I took in every last inch of your beautiful skin. I tried to remember every last tiny detailed feature of your perfect body, from the shape of your eyebrows to the creases on your feet, because I knew you wouldn’t stay that way forever.

You were such a teeny newborn, but so perfectly formed.

Daddy arrived. We were ready. I wrapped you up tightly in your blanket and I held you to my chest. I cuddled you and gave you a kiss on your forehead, before telling you I love you and laying you down.

Grandad picked you up and he carried you out of the room, down the hall past the nurses station, out of the doors, in to the lift, down to the door. He placed you, so delicately, in to the back of the car.

I looked around me and saw all the windows. I knew that, behind those windows there were new babies everywhere. I knew that people were also celebrating the arrival of their bundles.

Everything was perfect. YOU were, and are, perfect. But taking you home that day, it broke my heart.

It broke my heart because you had just been placed in to the back of a car that would take you to a different home than the one I was going to. I was going to MY home, and you were going to YOUR home, at the Chapel of Rest.

You see, my sweet boy, you were born into the arms of angels. You were born without a heartbeat. You were born forever sleeping.

Instead of registering your birth, I registered your death.

Instead of bringing you home in a car seat, I brought you home in a moses basket in the back of a funeral car.

Instead of organising your Christening, I planned your funeral.

It was as perfect as a funeral could be. I decided to carry your ‘Jungle’ nursery theme through to your forever bed, so your coffin was decorated with animal stickers. Maisie and Cora loved that touch. We sprinkled glitter and stars on your coffin after it was lowered, because you are OUR little star. Your big sisters lit a candle that was placed beside your coffin in the church for you, so they were involved in the day and that was their way of saying goodbye. We had our family and closest friends with us to say hello and goodbye to you, all in the same day.

The silence from people in the church as we walked in, your Daddy carrying your coffin in his arms to Over the Rainbow, was deafening.

I, somehow, managed to stay standing through the service and by your graveside until Otis Redding – ‘Dock of the Bay’, started playing. That’s because it was the song we decided to listen to as your tiny, blue, jungle-decorated coffin was lowered into the ground.

Every single day since has been a struggle. I survive because I have to. You have two big sisters here on Earth who depend on me; who look up to me; who NEED me. I survive because I don’t want them to lose their mother, as well as their baby brother.

I’ve been on autopilot since I was sat in the office of a neurosurgeon at 34 weeks pregnant being told, after a pretty problem-free pregnancy, that you weren’t going to survive beyond birth; that, as soon as you were disconnected from my oxygen supply, you would suffocate and die, in front of me. You wouldn’t be able to breathe by yourself. It was inevitable that you were going to pass away and the chances of you making it beyond the next few days was next to nil.

I spent the next few days in turmoil. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to make the most of having you, alive, with me. But, I knew that you would soon be ‘gone’ … You gave us 7 more days of love before you grew your wings. Your little heart stopped beating, after the most courageous fight, at 35 weeks gestation.

During those 7 days, I had ordered your burial outfit. It got delivered on the 28th of May, while you were living and kicking inside me. I received your memory box on that day, too. The pain I felt in my chest when opening the door to those deliveries is a feeling beyond comprehension. Knowing that you were alive and I was here, partially planning life after your death; I felt like an awful mum.

I WANTED to remain hopeful that you would survive, but there was no chance, Otis. Over 3/4 of your brain tissue had already been destroyed because of a nasty tumour and several haemorrhages, and you had just been diagnosed with a blood condition that, even if the tumour and haemorrhages didn’t result in your death, meant you were incompatible with life. There was absolutely nothing anyone could have done.

It’s hard. I keep trying to put into words how I feel, but nothing justifies this pain of having to live without you.

Instead of reading you bedtime stories in a cosy chair, I read bedtime stories for you sat at your graveside.

Instead of buying you toys, I buy you flowers for your grave.

Instead of cuddling you to sleep, I cuddle the blanket you were wrapped in from birth until the day of your funeral to sleep.

Instead of watching your big sisters dote on you, I watch them cry over missing you.

Instead of kissing you goodnight, I kissed you goodbye.

People have often asked what they can do to help me since you passed away. The truth is that there is nothing anyone can really do to make this better, but simply be there. There aren’t any words to console me, or to justify what has happened. There isn’t anything anyone can to do ‘cheer me up’ … but the presence of those who care is beyond appreciated.

One thing that DOES help my heart is when people acknowledge you – when people write your name in birthday cards, Christmas cards, invites; when people write your name in the sand when they travel, so a part of you is travelling with them; when people talk about you and the fact that you LIVED; when people sit beside me in silence, and just hold me; when people ask to see your special things – your babygrow, your pictures, your hospital band; when people have turned up with food, with face masks and bath salts to try to help me relax; when friends have offered to sit and have a night in, and they spent the night talking about you …

It has been 7 months since you left. We will soon approach your 1st birthday, and I hope that people acknowledge you that day; I hope that people honour you on your special day.

You fought SO hard. I am so, so proud to be your mummy. I am beyond honoured to have carried you and I am blessed that you chose me.

Please, let it be known, sweet boy, that if I could choose you – if choosing you then losing you meant having the chance to KNOW you and to LOVE you – then I would choose you again in a heartbeat.

You are my son. You are mine and I am yours, regardless.

Otis Dominic Anthony Cullen: you are missed beyond words and loved beyond measure. I hope you’re sleeping peacefully, sweet boy.

Love, Mummy x

****

Natalie is generously sharing her story here and on her blog because, in her words, “Miscarriage, stillbirth & infant loss should NOT be a stigma, should NOT be a taboo – those precious babies should be more than just a statistic”.

If you know someone who has experienced stillbirth/baby loss, you may like to also read Natalie’s piece, ‘What not to say to a bereaved parent‘.

If you have experienced a loss and need support, you may find the SANDS charity’s resources useful.

Am I rocking motherhood?

I’ve been tagged by the lovely Angela at Life, Motherhood and Everything to participate in White Camellia’s #RockingMotherhood tag. The concept of it is that us busy mums are so focussed on just taking care of business that we forget how great we really are. It’s easy to spend lots of time criticising ourselves or trying to improve, but sometimes it’s good to just take a minute to remind ourselves what we’re doing right. So for this, I’m meant to list 10 ways that I’m “rocking” motherhood.

I have to say that this is not something I would have volunteered for! It is definitely a difficult exercise, but I can see the value in it. You may not agree that the things I do to “rock it” are actually good things! But oh well, here we go…

1. I read a ridiculous amount of stories

Every night, me or their dad read a total of 7 stories. Four for the 4yo and 3 for the slightly more restless 2yo. I’m given to understand that reading so many stories before bed is slightly unusual. But they love it. They love the stories and the attention. And I can see it’s paid off for my 4yo, who is really doing well at learning to read on his own now he’s started school.

2. I also sing a lot of songs

Each boy gets around 3 songs after their story bonanza every night. The 4yo prefers pop music, jazz standards and musical theatre soundtracks. The 2yo always has the same three: Twinkle Star, Black Sheep and Row Your Boat. Like with the reading, I think it’s really benefiting them to learn different songs that constitute part of our culture and to begin taking an interest in music generally.

3. My kids love fruit and vegetables

I don’t know how I did it, but I’m going to go ahead and take the credit. They love their fruit and veg. Both of them will eat broccoli until the cows come home (weird expression – do cows really take a long time to get home?). The eldest often prefers to eat cucumbers and tomatoes to a burger, and will always, always eat fruit. He still thinks it counts as a pudding!

4. The lounge belongs to them

While I can totally understand that some parents prefer to keep the lounge as an adult space, I take the opposite strategy. My lounge is completely covered in toys, and I think that’s a good thing. It is only a very short time that my kids will have loads of toys that they will want to play with in the same room as me. There will be many years when they prefer to hide away in their rooms. So for now, we will all be together in the lounge.

5. I always have time to explain things

It’s a stereotypical story that kids will ask endless questions and parents might just say “I don’t know, leave me alone”. You know, questions like “Why is the sky blue”. I never fob off my kids when they have questions about how the world works. I try to explain what I know, and if I have no idea, we google it together. It’s a great way to spend time together.

6. I try to give them choices when I can

This is something I’m working on and I don’t always excel at. Instead of just dictating things to them, I try to give them viable choices so they can feel like they exert some control over their lives. I’m hoping this is the root to teaching them some autonomy and independence and to making them into confident people.

7. I spend a lot of time teaching them life skills

This is sort of connected to the previous point. I spend loads of time teaching them things like swimming, riding scooters/bikes, cooking, turn taking, climbing. These are things I think they need to know to be well-rounded individuals.

8. I teach them about culture

Be it high or low, I like exposing my kids to things that will expand their horizons. This includes watching lots of different films and TV, listening to pop music, as well as days out to museums, stately homes, etc.

9. I spend time away from them

I am a big believer that absence makes the heart grow fonder. This is as true for parenting as it is for other relationships. A bit of me-time (even if that so-called me time is actually working) makes me a happier, more patient parent when I’m with them.

10. I am honest with them

Okay – mostly honest. When it’s important, I always try to explain the truth to them in a way they will understand. And I try to never make promises that I’m not sure I can keep. I may, however, be guilty of telling minor porkie pies about whether or not there are any biscuits left in the tin.

I’m tagging the following lovely bloggers to join in with this tag next, if they want to:

http://sparklymummy.com/
https://meyoubabytoo.wordpress.com/
http://adventuresofmummyandme.com/
http://www.belledubrighton.co.uk/

Tips for a perfect, portable Lemon Drizzle Cake

My mate who usually does the recipes for this blog has had the typical run of awful winter bugs this week, so hasn’t had time to write anything up for us. I’m not the cook that she is, but I occasionally excel at a bit of baking, when I apply myself. Serendipitously, this week I had the need (and by need, I mean the need to show off) to bake something for an event with my work colleagues.

The challenge I faced was that I needed to travel into London with whatever I baked, and there was a train strike on. So I needed something that I could carry on a taxi, a bus, two trains, and for a long walk, without it turning into an inedible lump of crumbs by the time I arrived at my destination.

The solution I found was this Lemon Drizzle Traybake with a lovely crunchy topping, which I found on Mary Berry’s website. That website has weird rules that you have to ask permission to link to it, so I won’t link to it, but I’m sure you can find it using our friend Google (as the BBC would say, other search engines are available) (but not really).

I’m also reliably informed that lists of ingredients cannot be copyrighted, so I’m cool to list them here, plus I’ve added all the equipment you need so there are no surprises if, like me, you don’t read the method until it’s too late. The method has been adapted to suit my own skills – in other words, I’ve tried to make it idiot-proof. I’m happy to report that not only did it travel well, but all of my colleagues ate more than one piece, so it must have been good.

You’ll need:

225g (8 oz) butter, softened
225g (8 oz) caster sugar
275g (10 oz) self-raising flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
4 eggs
4 tablespoons milk
2 small unwaxed lemons
175g (6 oz) granulated sugar
a big mixing bowl
30 x 23 x 4 cm (12 x 9 x 1 ½ inches) metal baking tray
cooking spray oil
non-stick baking parchment
Scissors
electric mixer or wooden spoon coupled with strong mixing arm
rubber spatula
a wire cooling rack

The method:

One thing to consider: this cake tastes a lot better if you make it the day before you want to eat it.

At least 3 hours before baking, put your butter out on the worktop to soften. If you cut it into smaller pieces, it will soften faster.

When your butter is soft, preheat your oven to 180C/160C Fan/Gas 4. Then, rummage around and find your baking tin. The tin I used is a tray I would normally use for making fish fingers and chips. It is a very shallow baking tray and I think you need to make sure you have the right depth of tin to get this right (see dimensions above).

Measure out a rectangle of baking parchment so it is the same size as the tin (including the sides, not just the base), and cut it with the scissors. If you try to rip it on the crap ripping thing on the edge of the box, it will go all crooked and Mary Berry will have bad dreams.

Baking equipment.jpg — Can you tell I didn’t take any pictures of the actual baking process?

Spray the tin with your cooking spray and then stick the baking parchment onto it neatly as possible, pushing it down so it sticks to the spray.

Now it’s time to grate your the rinds of your 2 lemons into your big mixing bowl. Do use a fine grater, like one you’d use to grate parmesan cheese. If you use a proper lemon zester, the pieces will be too big and might be a bit chewy in the cake.

A grater.jpg — Be careful not to grate your knuckles like I did.

Once you’ve done your lemon rind grating, put your naked lemons aside for later. Then stick your softened butter, caster sugar, self-raising flour, level teaspoons of baking powder, eggs and milk into your mixing bowl.

Use your electric mixer now to mix the mixture for about 2 minutes, until smooth. You could stir it with a spoon if you don’t have a mixer, but your arm will get tired.

Then, dump the mixture into your lined tin, using your rubber spatula to get all the mixture out of the bowl and then to smooth out the mixture in the tin. Try not to drop the bowl like I did. It got heavy after a minute of holding and scraping!

Stick your tray of goodness into the oven and bake for 35-40 minutes, or until the cake springs back when touched lightly with a finger.

When it’s finished, remove it from the oven and leave to cool in the tin for just a few minutes. Then lift it out onto a wire rack with the baking parchment still attached. Place your tray underneath the wire rack to catch the drips of the topping you’re going to make. When it cools enough so you won’t burn your hands, extremely carefully remove the baking parchment. I found ripping it in strips worked for me, but you might find a more clever method.

Now, juice your two naked lemons and add the granulated sugar to the juice. It should have a runny consistency but enough sugar so that every spoon has lemony sugary-ness. You may need to add extra sugar for it to be right. While the cake it still warm, spoon this topping onto the cake, one teaspoon at a time, and spread it out evenly across the cake.

Leave the cake to cool completely, then cut it into little squares and store in an airtight container. Eat with tea and friends. Or hide in a cupboard so you don’t have to share it with your kids.

Living with postnatal anxiety

This is a guest post by Tina from Adventures of Mummy and Me. Please check out her blog and follow her on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook and/or Pinterest.

It’s 4am, and I’m laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. I’m physically exhausted, my head hurts, and my eyes sting – but I can’t sleep. I haven’t actually been to sleep yet tonight. Or is it this morning now? I don’t even know what day it is anymore.

I’ve just got up for possibly the 4th time in the last hour to check on Chase. Each time I’ve got up, it’s taken me around 6 minutes to walk the three steps back into bed. And now I’m back in bed, I’m worrying again.

Why might you ask? Because I suffer from postnatal depression and anxiety (PND/PNA).

These invisible illnesses make doing even the simplest things, such as checking on my 18-month-old son only a few feet away from me – seem as difficult as climbing Mount Everest.

I want to start out by saying that this has been a really tough post to write. Generally speaking, when I’m writing, the words just flow out of me. But this one post has taken over a month of writing, editing, erasing; then back again full circle. Namely because, if I’m honest, it’s a subject I don’t like to talk about out loud. I guess I have this naive conception that if nobody knows, then it can’t be true. I wish that were the case. When in reality, it’s a fear of perception and acceptance that stops me speaking. So I’ve decided it’s time to open up, and to share my story with you today.

Meeting the midwife

Scroll back to two years ago, and I’m sitting at my dining room table meeting my midwife for the first time. She’s just finished completing my 16-week pregnancy health assessment, and is giving me “the talk” after the results flag me as high risk for postnatal depression and anxiety.

At the time, I remember thinking to myself: perfect. Once again, another healthcare professional looking at my history of depression and anxiety, and immediately thinking I’m unstable. My “history” spans out over 15 years, and generally speaking, I self-manage my mental health pretty well. But on the few occasions I’ve needed extra help, I’ve asked for it.

Although any new mother can develop postnatal anxiety, it’s been found that those with a personal or family history of either depression or obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) are particularly vulnerable. Which is why those with a history, like myself, are flagged up during the pregnancy health assessments as someone to keep an eye on during pregnancy and initial postnatal care.

Giving birth & going back to work

Following quite a traumatic birth experience, I was surprised to find that I didn’t have any issues bonding with Chase. If anything, the only problem was my lack of mobility due to having an emergency c-section. After about four months, when I was fully mobile again, I started to feel a bit alienated being at home all day alone with my baby. I’ve never been girly, or one to have a lot of female friends, so I found the mum groups I attended overly feminine and cliquey. I realised I was struggling when some of my depression tendencies starting rearing their ugly heads. This prompted a long discussion with my husband, which resulted in me returning to work sooner than planned at six months post-birth.

At first, this all went really well, but after a few months in the office I started to struggle again. Whilst I was on maternity leave, there were some significant changes made within my company. Changes which, in the end, affected both my job role and the way I had been accustomed to working for the past few years. I trudged through for a long time, believing that it was just an adjustment period because I’d been away for so long. What I didn’t realise was that by compartmentalising the stress and anxiety I had at work, I was actually increasing my anxiety levels in other areas of my life. The main one being in relation to Chase.

Noticing a problem

It was around five months after I went back to work that I realised I wasn’t getting better. If anything, I was getting worse. Chase was coming up to a year old, and I would constantly worry about him at night – getting up multiple times to check on him to ensure he was still breathing. My usual hobbies such as reading and watching films just bored me, and the closest I came to exercise was walking downstairs to the coffee machine and back again. I sought advice from my GP, who referred me to a local counselling service.

Despite numerous prompts from my husband, I had no intention of moving Chase from our bedroom. Everyone I spoke to told me I was being silly – a typical first-time parent overthinking it. But I genuinely felt terrified about his wellbeing if he wasn’t in the same room as me. During the day, when I was occupied with work, and he was with my husband (he’s a SAHP), I was completely fine. However as soon as nighttime came, and it was time for me to relax and sleep, the silence would kill me.

By the time I eventually saw a counsellor, I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Anxiety overdrive

Every time I get into bed, I have flashes of Chase becoming ill or involved in an accident of some sort. I know now that these thoughts are common concerns that parents have. The only difference being that most parents have these thoughts as a fleeting moment. An errant thought, gone before it can be fully processed. But my over-anxious brain doesn’t work that way. It overcompensates, analyses, and looks for ways to make sense of the flashes. Even when they are, in reality, highly unlikely situations.

It’s then, when my brain can’t put the pieces together of “How?” and “Why”, that it overthinks the situation. And that’s when the thoughts of “Did I put him into that compromising position?” come to play.

Which is crazy. I would NEVER do anything to put my son into harm’s way.

But that’s not how the brain of someone with PND/PNA works.

It actively LOOKS for ways to make sense of the thoughts, and therefore puts the only “logical” response into your head. That you must have done something to cause it. And this feeling opens up a whole can of worms for me. Most notably, I have obsessive-compulsive (OCD) tendencies. Meaning that I have to do specific things, in a specific order – with the fear that if I don’t, something bad will happen.

All time low

That nervous breakdown I mentioned? Yea it happened. But in a way, it was a good thing. It made me realise that in order to get better, I needed to take action, and focus on me and my family.

My GP signed me off work with immediate effect, and my intention was to do my counselling sessions, and spend more time doing everyday things with my family – like going for a walk, playing in the garden, or building bricks in the playroom. This was actually a lot harder than I thought it would be. The colder and wetter weather didn’t help, but the main issue was my sleep. I had insomnia due to the anxiety, and would often have panic attacks in the middle of the night because of the OCD. My GP prescribed sleeping tablets, but unfortunately they didn’t help in sending me to sleep any earlier – they just made me sleep until midday the following day, and then sit on the sofa in a dazed state for the rest of the afternoon.

It took a few weeks being at home to start getting a balance back in my life. To become more involved in day-to-day activities, and to actually WANT to participate in them. After five weeks at home, I opted for a phased return to work. Being honest, I wasn’t completely ready. But with only one income, and minimal savings, that decision was unfortunately taken away from me.

Fighting back

Now, two weeks into my phased return, I’m starting to feel better. I have good days and bad days. Bad days are still tipping the balance, but nowhere near as much as they were before. I’ve started doing housework again – forcing myself actually. I’ve found this can help manage the OCD better than just ignoring it. Think of it as refocusing the thoughts elsewhere – it does help.

The anxiety is still there. Very much so. But I’m not naive to think that it will disappear as quickly as it came. And I think that’s the difference now. I understand my illness better, and know that it is an illness, and not a fault.

I’m still not sleeping great, but on the upside, I’m not checking on Chase half as much as I did before. And I’m even thinking about the idea of moving him into his own room. Maybe. I have however, cleared his room out so that the idea COULD become reality when I’m ready.

I have a few sessions left with my counsellor, which I’m hoping will help me through the first few weeks of the New Year back at work. Then I guess I’m on my own. Well, not really. I have my happy, loving son and my devoted husband at home to help me through this. And at the end of the day, that’s all that matters.

Family dinners aren’t all they’re cracked up to be

Before I had kids, I was adamant that we would always sit down together for family meals. In the typical manner of a person who doesn’t have kids judging actual parents, I thought it was silly to be serving your children a separate meal. I also had this beautiful wholesome image in my head of us all sitting round the table and having a civilised conversation.

But now that I actually have to share my mealtime with my little anklebiters, I understand why some would rather not.

A dramatisation of dinner in our house

Dad: It’s teatime.

There is no response. The TV drones on in the background.

Mum: It’s teatime! Come sit down at the table, please.

4yo: In a high-pitched tone No! PJ Masks is coming up next! I want to watch PJ Masks!

Mum: We’ll record it then. Presses record button on TIVO with intention of surreptitiously deleting PJ Masks after child is in bed. Turns TV off. Okay, now sit down!

4yo slowly and reluctantly walks towards the table. 2yo continues to play with his Ninky Nonk toy. If you don’t know what a Ninky Nonk is, lucky you.

Mum: Come on! It’s teatime.

2yo: NO! Catch the Nonk!

Mum picks up 2yo who does his best imitation of an angry cat in a bag, noises included. She places him in his highchair and attempts to put on his bib as he morphs from cat-in-bag to enraged Kraken. She passes him his food and he merrily starts eating it.

4yo: wiggling around in chair, not eating. MI, MI, MI-MI-MI. I’m being a Pontipine!

If you don’t know what a Pontipine is, lucky you.

Mum: Please be quiet and just eat your food.

4yo: NO! MI!

Mum: If you don’t eat your food, then you can’t have any pudding.

4yo: BUT I WANT PUDDING! MI MI MI!

Mum shrugs, gives up and attempts to eat her own food while 4yo continues to make irritating noises.

4yo: Need the toilet!

Mum: Well, go then.

4yo: But I need you to watch me.

Mum: …

4yo stands there holding himself and refusing to go to the toilet on his own. Mum gives in and follows him to the toilet and watches while he goes, thoroughly losing appetite in the process. After the deed is done, 4yo returns to his chair and starts happily munching his broccoli.

Dad (to 4yo): So who did you play with at school today?

4yo: Everyone.

Mum: And what did you eat for lunch?

4yo: I don’t remember.

Mum: What was your favourite part of the day?

4yo: Everything.

CRASH.

2yo: FINISHED!

2yo had finished eating and so he had launched his cup onto the floor.

Mum: Okay, hun, but you need to wait until the rest of us are finished.

2yo: FINISHED!

2yo picks up his spoon, extends his arm, makes eye contact with Mum, and ever so slowly opens his fingers and lets the spoon fall to the ground. Giggles hysterically. Then, he picks up his plate. Mum grabs it before it ends up on the floor.

2yo: PLAY PLAY PLAY! CATCH THE NONK!

4yo: I CAN’T EAT BECAUSE IT’S TOO NOISY!

4yo suddenly falls off his chair from all the fidgeting. Screams at the top of his lungs.

2yo: PLAY! PLAAAAYYY! AHHHHH!

Dual screaming continues.

Dad quickly serves the children some cake.

Silence. Mum and Dad drink wine.

2yo: dropping cake bowl on floor FINISHED!

Are family dinners civilised in your house? Do your kids respond to your efforts at conversation? Do they always need to take a poo halfway through? Let me know in the comments.

Tortilla Soup recipe

Pretty much any restaurant that serves Mexican food serves a version of Tortilla Soup. It’s brothy, fragrant and delicately spiced. Most recipes ask you to have a bit of shredded chicken on hand to pour the broth over when serving. I don’t usually have baked or boiled chicken laying around, unless I have a leftover roast that hasn’t been picked bare, so my recipe includes cooking the chicken in the broth. As per the name, tortillas are usually grilled and sliced to top the soup, but I’ve found a handful or corn or flour tortilla chips add the texture, flavour and namesake without the fuss of grilling my own.

If you haven’t tried Mexican soups, you haven’t truly embraced the winter warmer. This is a simple dish, but the depth of flavour may surprise you. Many recipes for tortilla soup have as little as four spices, keeping a clear broth to pour over shredded chicken. I like to incorporate as many vegetables as possible when cooking for my family, so I load this one up with onion, carrot, white beans and tomato. I also thinly slice chicken breast whilst still slightly frozen, and then boil it in the soup to keep it moist and tender, and add natural chicken flavour to the soup. This allows the chicken to begin to shred after boiling away for just twenty minutes or so. It’s an all in one pot, midweek meal that smells and tastes amazing.

You’ll need:

1 teaspoon oil of choice
1 cup chopped onion (I use frozen)
1 teaspoon minced garlic (fresh or dried)
1 cup grated carrot
1 8oz tin diced tomato
1 tin 8oz white/cannellini beans
1 teaspoon coarse salt
1 teaspoon paprika
1 teaspoon cumin powder
1 teaspoon oregano flakes
1 teaspoon chili powder (optional depending on kids’ heat threshold)
2-3 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
4-6 cups of water
2 cups chopped coriander/cilantro (fresh is best)
Salt and white pepper to taste
1 small bag of corn or flour tortilla chips the break up on top when serving
Optional shredded cheese for serving

The method:

It’s easiest to prepare your chicken first, so that you have clean hands for stirring and adding spices. I like to slice chicken breast when it’s slightly frozen, so this dish is perfect for a packet I’ve had out thawing for dinner. Fresh chicken (or no chicken for the vegetarians) is still perfectly wonderful – I just tend to keep small freezer bags with meal-size portions of chicken and minced beef on hand for meal planning. Slice the chicken against the grain in thin strips. I find this works best for the shredding you want to achieve in a short amount of time.

I like to do this in one pot, so I begin with heating the oil, onions and garlic together over a medium high heat in a large soup pot. After a minute or two, the onions should be translucent and the garlic lightly frying.

Add the grated carrot, tomato and salt, and stir into the mixture. Drain and rinse the beans before adding to the pot.

Once the beans are mixed in, add the dry spices and give it a good stir before allowing it to bubble.

Once the tomato and carrots have softened slightly – 5 minutes or so should do the trick – add the chicken slices and just coat with the mixture.

Add the water straight away to avoid frying the chicken, you want the chicken to be submerged to boil.

Allow the water to come to the boil before adding your chopped coriander.

Once the pot is bubbling nicely, the chicken will go white quickly and the beans will begin to break down. I have been known to add only half of the tin of beans to begin with, and save the second half for later to retain texture, but it’s up to you if you want to add this step.

I allow this soup to boil with the cover on for about 15 minutes before reducing the temperature to a simmer and removing the lid. This helps the chicken to soften and absorb the flavours of the soup.

You can let this simmer for ages, but it’ll be ready after 30 minutes if you’re hungry – even sooner if you just make the broth and pour it over leftover chicken or no chicken at all.

To serve, my kids like this ladled over rice, with a few corn chips broken on top. I love a big, steamy bowl as it is, a couple of corn chips and a small handful of shredded cheese on top. My husband just wants a bowl of soup with a few drops of hot sauce and he’s happy. However you take it, this is a family favourite that offers a Mexican flare and isn’t heavy with refried beans and cheese. It’s veggie packed, bursting with flavour and aroma, and is sure to make your family think you slaved for hours to get such succulent chicken. Buen apetito!

Mothers don’t sacrifice themselves. Not even for Sherlock Holmes.

SPOILER ALERT: This article contains a moan about a key plot point of Sherlock, Series 4, Episode 1. If you haven’t caught up on that yet, you might like to come back later. If you’ve seen it or don’t intend on seeing it, read on … you don’t need to watch it to understand my rant.

Right. So in this episode, Watson’s wife Mary, who has just had a baby, takes a bullet for Sherlock and dies. Sherlock is generally a show that I feel has pretty good writing and convincing plots. But this little twist, designed to give us all the feels, just rang false for me. I couldn’t get with the empathy.

After thinking about it for a bit, I realised why. Mary had just had a baby. And Sherlock, though a very close friend, was just this fairly annoying bloke who solves mysteries with her husband. I simply can’t fathom why a woman with a baby would make a decision to put her life at risk to save an arrogant man who was standing there DARING someone to shoot him. Call me a judgey mum if you like, but in my experience, mums don’t take their lives so lightly.

When you have a baby, especially in the early days, that baby is the centre of your universe. They become your reason for getting up in the morning. They might make you forget to eat, but they are also the reason you remember that you need to feed yourself. In the early days, caring for your baby is the rhythm of your existence, and your need to be with them is visceral.

I suffered through some dark times with my babies, including PND, and it was because of them that I didn’t give up on myself. I may have felt hopeless and at times that I was not bonding with my baby, but my thoughts were still all turned on the baby, and I battled through the bad feelings to survive and to make sure my babies were cared for.

I can forgive Mary for trying to “disappear” to get away from the bad guys that were hunting her. But when she sacrifices herself, she was already in the clear from the assassin-types. Then Sherlock was just standing there asking this lady to shoot without moving out of the way. Perhaps he already had a death wish. And she’s all like, “I could push him out of the way, or tackle the shooter, but nope, I’d rather jump in front of the bullet”.

I don’t know if the man who wrote that script is a dad or not, but I just don’t think parents are that slapdash with their lives. And that’s why the plotline is, in my opinion, totally unrealistic.

Perhaps my Sherlock outrage says more about me than anyone else, but it has got me thinking about how loving our children means loving ourselves. I think it’s wrong to unnecessarily expose oneself to danger when you have kids to look after. And that’s a lesson that I should apply to my daily life as well. Obviously I don’t have much opportunity to jump in front of bullets anyway, but there are more mundane things I could do (and maybe you, too, if you feel the same), to look after myself. I should do it just for myself, but looking after myself is good for my kids too!

So here are a few things, serious and less so, that I’m going to be careful about, so that I can look after my kids and myself.

Dangerous holiday destinations

I have a friend who enjoys visiting places that the Foreign & Commonwealth Office would prefer you avoid. More power to him and his sense of adventure. But for me, I have become a total travelling sissy since having kids. I’ve been travelling to utterly rural and random caravan parks in the hopes that no one wants to make a violent statement in those sorts of places. I obviously can’t avoid London, but I don’t see any reason to go somewhere doubtful if I don’t need to.

Health stuff

If I have the slightest doubt about my health, physical or mental, then I take myself off to the GP. There is no point waiting around and wondering if things will resolve on their own. Better to have peace of mind. And I’m extra mindful of how lucky we are in the UK to have the NHS. I can get peace of mind without emptying my purse!

Looking after myself

I’m giving myself permission to spend time exercising and worrying about what I’m eating. These things take my attention away from my kids but ultimately make me fitter so that I can be around for them in the long term and, in the short term, be healthier to enjoy my time with them.

Doing stupid stuff

Should I try to jump off the back of the Routemaster bus before it has stopped? No I should not. Should I drink an entire bottle of vodka on a rare night out? No I should not. My kids stop me doing those fun things that I might have risked when it was only my arse on the line.

Don’t be a hero?

I often think about what I would do if I found myself in a crisis situation – a crash or a violent incident. While I would like to think of myself as someone who would help others where I can, I know that my biggest priority would be keeping myself safe. Not for me, but because I don’t want my kids to be without their mum.

Going out to meet my problems

I used to be a fatalist about just about everything. I used to think “Oh well. It’s no big deal. If I die, to die would be a great adventure (you know, like in Peter Pan).” Now, instead, I think how to solve my problems without risking my wellbeing. Not that many of my problems involve life and death. But I do think about these things…

And Mary should have too.

If you don’t try, you can’t fail…?

I’m the sort of person who would rather leave things to fate than really try for something. It’s easier to quietly hope for something than to go out there and really try. If I don’t try in the first place, then I can’t fail! So I am doing something that scares me now.

I’m going to go ahead and ask that if you read this blog, could you – pretty please – drop me a little vote in the #tribalchat awards?

Tribal Chat is this awesome community of bloggers of which I’m a part. We have a Twitter chat once a week and all support each other in a Facebook group and across social media. Three times a year, they do a little award ceremony where people can vote for different bloggers who they think are doing well in particular areas.

I started blogging to challenge myself to get out of my comfort zone. Asking for your vote is totally out of that zone!

There are loads of different categories you can write me in for. You can write The Mum Reviews in up to 3 categories, but any more than that and your vote won’t count. I’m happy for you to choose what category you think my blog most fits, but if you want a suggestion, I’d be keen on Rising Star, Kindness or Social Butterfly.

Rising Star because I went from 100 to 2600 Twitter followers in 6 months. I think that’s pretty good going. Kindness because I help other bloggers learn how to do blogging stuff. Social Butterfly because I have a good #tribalchat attendance record and am always up for some wine and a silly GIF.

If you are in the running as well, drop me a comment about what category you’d like me to vote for you in. You see: kindness! 😉

Please CLICK HERE TO VOTE. Remember to vote for me in no more than 3 categories. You don’t have to fill in all the categories if you don’t want to.

THANK YOU! xx

The Slightly Belated Quiz of the Year

Happy New Year!

By way of easing myself into a new year of blogging, I’m completing this quiz tag post thingy that’s going around. My writing muscles (like all of my other muscles) have gotten a little soft and slack during my lovely Christmas break, so I need to give them a bit of warm up before going full speed.

Perhaps most people did this quiz before the end of last year, but I’m sure it’s still relevant, at the start of a new year, to carry on reflecting about the one that has passed. Thanks to Kelly from Nature Mum Blog for tagging me for this.

What was your highlight of 2016?
We built an extension! Right across the back of our house, we built a new kitchen diner, and converted the old kitchen into a downstairs toilet and utility room. It took 5 months and a lot of money and stress, but it was totally worth it. We had been living with a single room for both living and dining and it was a bit of a cramp for a family of 4 – especially since it’s important to us to eat together round the table. Now we have this wonderful family space and room to entertain guests as well. Look for a full post on this topic sometime soon.

Name one thing you are likely to remember about 2016 if asked in five years time?
Obviously, 2016 was the year when some of our favourite stars from our youths started passing away. It’s been a bit of a thing to be incredulous and to blame 2016 for it’s scourge on celebrities, but I have a feeling it’s just part of getting older in a culture far more media-obsessed than the one our parents grew up in. So we need to get used to this.

Sum up 2016 in one word.
Tumultuous.

Name one pearl of wisdom from 2016 that you will carry through 2017.
Take time to breathe! My life got pretty busy in 2016. My eldest started school, I started this blog, I was working 4 days per week, and the building works were stressful. I also had surgery and some other emotionally and physically stressful things happen. I learned if I don’t take time to practice a bit of mindfulness, then I start to have some serious issues with anxiety. So now I take regular breaks just to breathe. My favourite blogger who keeps me on track with this is Mission: Mindfulness. I’ll be guest posting on her blog soon about my mindfulness journey!

Do you have any new year resolutions?
It’s super-duper beyond cliche but I want to lose some more weight. This year, I lost the baby weight from having my youngest (who is now 2!). Now I want to lose what I like to call the “beer and burritos” weight from my 20s. I have my 20-year high school reunion coming up in July and this is good motivation for me. Obviously I will swan in looking healthy and be able to tell people about my incredibly glamourous life. 😉

How did you see in the new year?
Our neighbours from across the street came round with their kids from 3-6pm for the kids to play while we imbibed cava and spicy chicken wings. Party on down, I know! After the neighbours left, my husband and I put the kids to bed and carried on with the cava and junk food in front of some spectacularly awful TV. Did anyone else see Robbie Williams groping himself live on the BBC?? At least we managed to stay up until midnight.

What would you most like to do in 2017?
Just live normal life and appreciate the little things.

What are your main goals for 2017?

Be a fab blogger – with all the right stats – but to keep on keeping it real.
Stop looking at my phone when I’m supposed to be playing with my kids.
Do something new that scares me – I’m not sure what yet.

I tag Sparkly Mummy and Me, You, Baby Too to take part, if they want to and they don’t reckon it’s too late!