Monday, October 19
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
About 8 squares of Green and Blacks Maya Gold
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.
Sunday, October 18
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).