Since having a new baby in the house, things have slipped. Our daily doses of fresh air, nature walks, home cooking, creativity and brain fodder have given way to sofa slobbing, CBeebies, chip shop Fridays (I never thought I'd be on first name terms with the local chipmonger) and chicklit (three Jane Green's in a row anyone?).

Poor Blod's had a few too many 'no walk' days; I've stuck G in front of a DVD when I've needed 20 minutes to tidy up; bean and cheese toasties have featured on the lunch menu more than once; my underwear isn't even close to being matching; and the house can often smell a bit like pets (eek!).

But now the newborn isn't a newborn anymore, I've given myself a good old outdoor, eco, frugal clonk on the head and I'm starting to get my groove back.

This weekend, I cooked and baked so our fridge is filled with yummy, healthy(ish) home-made treats. I made:

Pizzas
Pumpkin pie
Spinach and Squash lasagne
Leek and potato soup
Lentil Shepherd's pie
Banana pancakes

We've had friends over for dinner. I walked up the mountain (mountain, not hill - and my wobbly legs are all the proof I need). I've read a poetry book (oo, get me). I've knitted Gwen a sparkly scarf. I made my first ever pumpkin lantern. Mr Meep and I are even going out for dinner this week.

OK, so there's still too much chocolate being munched and the washing pile is taking over the house, but I'm getting there.

In other news, I'm tackling potty training with G. We've had a 90% success rate at home, culminating in her rushing into the dining room while we had friends round last night with a full potty, excitedly exclaiming "Look mama, I done a wee" then promptly spilling the whole lot all over the floor. Next up, daring to go out and about with a nappy-free toddler and a new(ish)baby at the same time. Eeek.

Confessions of a Meep

OK, deep breath for confession time... My name is Emma and I am a chocoholic.

I didn't even used to like chocolate. In fact, I was all about the savoury. My hangover junk food of choice in my student days would have been a nice bag of salt 'n' vinegar Discos.

I blame Mr Meep, who has an impressive capacity for gobbling huge quantities of chocolate completely unnoticed (until I find the wrappers poking out of his jean pockets in the washing basket). His love of the brown stuff has gradually seeped into my consciousness and I've now become a fellow secret choc scoffer.

It used to be only the best stuff - just a square or two of dark, bitter organic. Then I moved on to milk chocolate - still the posh stuff and not much of it, so didn't feel too guilty. Then came the event that changed everything: the day that Mr Meep bought a bag of Giant Buttons for the cinema. One go of holding a giant disc in my mouth until it melted into sweet, creamy gorgeousness and I was hooked.

It's now reached a crisis point. These days, I find myself searching the cupboards for a little mid-morning fix. I invent excuses to go the village shop so I can grab a little after lunch pick-me-up.

And the worst thing? I'm hiding my habit from my family. All the while, I'm telling off Mr Meep when I discover Yorkie wrappers in the car and steering the snail towards a healthy diet of smoothies and fruit and veggies and all the good stuff. But she's not stupid, and for a two-and-a-half-year-old, her speech is pretty good, so there's no more getting away with it.

Just this morning, we were making bread. I went into the pantry to get some flour, and surreptitiously popped a bit of chocolate into my mouth. The snail immediately notices something's up.

"What you eating mama?"
"Er... nothing Gwen. Let's start kneading the dough."

Up on the kitchen counter...

"What's that chocolate smell, mama? You eating chocolate?"
"Um, no sweetie... Oh look out of the window - there's a squirrel."

What I should have really said is well, yes, actually - and it's your chocolate. The little bags of buttons I keep for those times when you fall over and are completely inconsolable. You are allowed one very occasionally, but when you're not looking, I shovel a bag full down my neck. Oh, the shame.

It's not just chocolate either - it's all kinds of sugary treats. Today's cavity-inducing itinerary involved:

One yummy home-made flapjack
The said chocolate buttons
Another flapjack
About 8 squares of Green and Blacks Maya Gold
Hot chocolate

Blimey, it looks even worse written down. I feel dirty inside.

Tomorrow, it's green smoothies, mung bean casserole and wheatgrass shots all round. Better go and finish those last few squares of G&B though - you know, to get them out of the way.

Four months

Dear Molly,
You've been earthside for almost four months. Time is flying by and I can't believe the squishy squashy newborn stage has already passed and you're becoming a smiling, laughing, wiggling, peaceful little person.

As babies go, you're a pretty easy-going one. You only seem to cry when you need to sleep or eat. You're happy to sit on my lap or in the sling and watch the world go by. And for the last two nights, you have slept for 11 hours straight. Not that I go in for this whole thing about 'sleeping through' being the holy grail of modern parenting, but oh how a couple of full night's sleep have made me feel like a new woman.

I love the way you smile and cringe when I start to undress you, because you think I'm going to tickle under your arms. I love that your bottom lip wobbles and you look genuinely sad when you hear your sister crying. I love the way you still snuggle in to me all scrunched up like a teeny tiny newborn.

I could spend hours just staring at you and sniffing your sweet milky mouth - and some days, I do. No wonder the cleaning never gets done.

Every Friday night, I get into bed and drift off to sleep remembering how you were born right here however many Friday nights ago - my beautiful, home-grown, babe in arms.

We all love you so much (apart from maybe Blod, who gets even less belly tickles now there's another baby in the house - but once you start flinging food off the edge of your high chair in a few months, she'll forgive you).

Love,
Mama
x

Go On, Wear Your Baby

Self-portrait of me wearing Molly in the fisheye mirror.

Been on holiday in the beautiful Yorkshire Dales, so missed International Babywearing Week. Although, of course, spent most of the week wearing my baby.

Here's why babywearing rocks.

1. Because cwtching is what babies were invented for.

2. Your baby gets to see what really goes on in the world. Molly thinks that life is just one long round of baking, sitting around drinking tea, pegging out washing and going to the park. Oh, it is.

3. You can snuzzle your little wuzzle all day long, but still have your hands free for important stuff like making cakes and pushing swings and throwing balls for your dog.

4. People always, always talk to you when you have a baby in a sling - "Oo, is there a baby in there?", "Ooo, that looks cosy", "My daughter/wife/friend is pregnant - I must get her one of those".

5. Your baby gets more kisses on the bonce than the average baby.

So for happy, cwtchy babies and hands-free mamas, check out this cheesy promo vid and get yourself a sling.

But, be warned, slings are addictive. At the last count, I had just one baby but - gulp - five slings.

Days Like These

My days at home are filled with finger painting, messy crafts, even messier baking, walking the dog, reading stories, washing blowing on the line, going to the library, going to the park, stopping at cafes for carrot cake or toast, visiting friends, hanging out with family, cooking up a storm, books and roibos tea while the babies nap, taking photographs, eating cake, chalking on the patio, watering the plants, snuggling under blankets with apple juice and iPlayer, dancing round the kitchen to Feist and Crazy Nights.

The house is on the dirty side, our clothes are usually creased, we don't have lots of money for expensive clothes and treats. Sometimes when there's a baby screaming, a toddler tantruming AND a dog barking all at the same time, I can feel ever-so-slightly frazzled, but I wouldn't swap these days of simple freedom and chaotic domestic bliss for anything.

Now if only I could hatch a plan so I didn't have to return to work in March.

Lovely Things

Summer came back today - hurrah.

Gwen saying "Look, the moon is open" when she spotted the fading moon in this morning's blue sky.

Pesto made from the veg box swiss chard - who'd have known that could be so scrum-diddly-umptious?

Getting my photography groove back with a 365 project.

Sing-a-long-a Lily Allen on the Ipod.

Molly having a bed-time of 7.30pm, so I can start swimming and running and cinema-going and photography course again. Woo-hoo.

On Babies and Boobs (and Cake)

I know breastfeeding is fab for lots of reasons - great for bonding, boosts the immune system, the greenest option, etc. But if the NHS really want to boost the appalling breastfeeding rates in the UK, they just need to change their health promotion campaign to reflect the hidden benefit.

You can eat cake. Every single day. Sometimes (well, make that more often than not) more then one slice. And still lose weight.

I weighed myself this morning and am half a stone lighter than I was pre-pregnancy. And I'm eating all day long. In fact, my humongous birthday cake disappeared embarrassingly quickly.

In other news, despite having a 10-week-old baby, I am - gulp - exceptionally broody. Here's the evidence.

Went to Roath Park in the sunshine and saw the most beautiful, heavily pregnant woman, dressed in a green cut off trousers, a floaty top and a straw hat - looking the vision of summery pregnant glowing gorgeousness. I turned to Mr Meep and said wistfully, "I've got bump envy." He went a bit white.

One of my oldest friends text me last Saturday to say she was in labour. Me: "Oh, I'm so jealous - she gets to give birth today and have a snuggly newborn to cwtch up with tonight." Mr Meep: "Oh my god, you're actually insane."

I can't help it. I love babies. I love their fat bracelets and their fuzzy heads and the sweet smell of their milky mouths. And I just want more, more, more! And I am 34 now, so the clock is a-tick-tock-ticking.