Happy 30th Birthday To Me… The Prologue

My birthday celebrations last year were strung out over a week. The Kiwi binned me off on my actual B-Day for a stag do. Such was his guilt at this abandonment that I managed to prosper – he treated me to a two night stay at Chateau Marmont in Los Angeles. Yes, the very same place where Led Zeppelin threw their TVs out the window and rode Harleys through the lobby; Jim Morrison scaled the drainpipe instead of taking the lift into his suite; John Belushi died of an overdose; Britney Spears reportedly got kicked out of at the height of her lunacy and Lindsay Lohan used to live.

With Harry Cohn’s words “If you must get in trouble, do it at the Chateau Marmont” ringing in my ears I did my best to channel my inner rock chick. But we actually had a pretty chilled time, sitting opposite Nicole Richie in the lounge bar, chatting to Jerry Stiller and eyeing up Milo Ventimiglia on the patio. We swam in the pool overhung with jasmine blossom and eucalyptus leaves alongside Californian models (never have I felt more like a mozzarella-coloured blimp alongside these long-limbed bronze goddesses) and strolled up Sunset Boulevard to Hollywood.

Imagine my devastation when just two days after we left, Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson had a very public break up at the Chateau, screaming at each other out of the hotel windows and the police being called to eject La Lohan. Bah.

So anyhoo, on March 21^st as the Kiwi was Go-Karting his way around Stagsville, I was hanging out with my best girls at Champneys in Tring. A blissful time was had by all as we swam in pools, lounged outside by the Jacuzzi in our fluffy white robes and free slippers (yep, still got ‘em), gossiped in the lounge rooms, spotted Eastenders stars over a macrobiotic lunch, water aerobic’d, yoga’d, had facials and drank mint tea.

This year I'm having just one party to rock the party... A Sunday afternoon gathering of my nearest and dearest in a quaint old pub in Hampstead. Babies welcome, of course.

TBC...

Sleep, Glorious Sleep

Hurrah hooray, kaloo kalay! Babysaurus Rex is FINALLY sleeping through the night from 7pm until 7am! I am so hyperactive with joy I hardly know what to do with myself. And I have so much energy I feel like I could run a marathon (no idea why this comes to mind – I was crap at running, even before I was pregnant). On the first night there were a few early morning grizzles from the direction of her cot at 2.45am and 4.45am but she just whinged herself right back to the land of nod. I feel like displaying her at the circus, such is my level of pride (“Roll up, roll up! All witness! The miraculous… the phantasmagorical… the incredible SLEEPING BABY!”) but I content myself with penning a blog entry about it instead.
I, on the other hand, despite being ecstatic about the fact that I had had my first 5-hour chunk of blissfully uninterrupted sleep since before she was born, lay awake from 2.45-3.45 boiling hot under the covers but too scared to take off my socks in case the rustling of covers woke up KR and she suddenly realised she was hungry. And between 4.45 and 5.45 I lay awake wondering if I should feed her anyway – Is she ill? Is that why she’s not hungry? Should I wake her up to feed her? Is she even conscious!?!? But again I was too frightened to get up and check in case I woke her up.
Long may this slumber pattern continue.

Things that made me joyful last year – Christian Louboutins, press passes to London Fashion Week and fitting size 8 dresses.

Things that gave me energy last year – Pro Plus, Caramel Macchiatos and power yoga

Things that made me scared last year – Saw IV, C-list celebrities and being seen without eyeliner.

Music To My Ears

This time last year I was krumping around the living room to Beyonce’s Put A Ring On It, in the style of Justin Timberlake and Paul Rudd. These days, Bootylicious B’s lyrics of “All the single ladies” have been replaced with “All the yummy mummies” and my prancing around takes the form of actions to correspond with Do-Re-Mi from The Sound Of Music.

I used to rock out to Juliet and the Licks while stuck in traffic on the North Circular, my favourite song (Death Of a Whore) sounding something like “F*** f*** f*** f*** you and f*** you and f*** you some more, F*** you and f*** you and f*** you some more, F*** you and f*** you and f*** you some more, F*** you and f*** you and f*** you some more, F*** you and f*** you and f*** you some more, F*** you, f*** you, f*** you, f*** you, f*** you, f*** you, f*** you some more.”

(Please excuse the explicit nature of this post, but if you have ever been gridlocked on the A406 during rush hour, you will know how easily even a nun could be reduced to such a sing-a-long).

The only CD in the car today is Jewel’s Lullaby. And instead of downloading Lady Gaga’s new hit from iTunes, I spend my £0.79s on Shirley Temple’s version of The Good Ship Lollipop.

Rather than going out until the wee hours, dancing around to Britney Spears’ Womanizer (“Womanizer woman-womanizer, you’re a womanizer OH womanizer OH you’re a womanizer baby…”) I am awake, in bed, after the 3am feed with the following lyrics whirling through my over-exhausted brain: “The wonderful thing about Tiggers! Is tiggers are wonderful things! Their tops are made out of rubber! Their bottoms are made out of springs!”

The tune is so hyper that I'm buzzing long ofter baby has dropped off. Forget Princess Chubby Thighs - maybe I should be the one listening to lullabies...

In Response To Nana J...

Aaaahhh, the Banks Peninsula trek - one of my happiest memories. What a special trip. And how could we forget Pear Tree Cottage? I freakin' loved that place. Remember this tribute?

You might have heard,
"It's raining cats and dogs",
You might have heard,
Of a plague of frogs.
But in Stoney Bay we became aware,
Of the dreaded curse of the falling pear...
The wind changed direction,
The rain came down,
Pears crashed from branches,
With a hell of a sound.
The hail began pelting,
The wind swirled in rage,
The pears, they kept falling,
For what seemed like an age.
A trip to the dunny was too risky to take -
Would these pears ever stop? For heaven's sake!
Dodging the pears from bashing our noggins,
(lest they hammer our heads,
'til our brains become scroggin)
Julie arrived in her bright purple tights,
Avoiding the fruit fall (she got a wee fright)
We put on the tea and sat down for dinner,
(saussies and mash - a bloody winner)
Then snug in our sleeping bags,
We curled up to sleep,
The candles burnt down,
The pears seemed to retreat.
But throughout the night,
The storm kept on roaring,
Until a carpet of pears,
Was laid out for the morning.

Musings From Nana J...

JULIE COLOMBUS SAYS:

One year ago, we were almost (or were) on the Banks Peninsula Track - fighting storms of falling pears, rain and hail plus much sun.
I was also begining my final year of study - Diploma of Counselling. Today I passed my final assignment!!!!
Nan moved house during the year and I've book my trip to northern hemisphere for Sept/Oct...

Saturday March 13th:

This time last year on a Saturday morning I was probably still in bed.

But today I am congratulating myself on a major scale. I have achieved so much in such a short space of time. I have:

• Arisen at 7am
• Dressed myself
• Dressed Babysaurus Rex
• Fed Baby
• Fed myself
• Changed three nappies
• Swept the floor
• Done some post-natal Pilates
• Washed my hair
• Baked a mixed berry upside down cake
• Done the washing up
• Put Babysaurus down for two successful naps
• Finished knitting a hat

- and all before 12noon! I might even put my make-up on! I am so proud of myself for all my morning’s accomplishments that I almost update Facebook with a glowing status. I feel like a domestic goddess. However I log on to see a friend’s post that reads: “I now realise that I am middle aged. It's not that I have a house/kid, it's that practically everyone I know does or is going to soon. Going through my news feed, at least half have updates about children or profile pics featuring their offspring. Hence the change of profile pic. Mid-life crisis here I come!!”

I back away from the keyboard, have a word with myself, and try to remember the days when hair washing was an every day occurrence and not a luxury treat…

As Hard As Iron

CAROLINE HALSE SAYS:

March last year - the start of Autumn in New Zealand – a time to reflect on a summer passed, an off road marathon complete and another winter in Queenstown. And for the first time in my history of life in New Zealand – no season pass to keep me entertained all winter! Was I not one of those people who had previously mocked other locals for not having a season pass? Those people that don’t make use of the two ski fields right on our door step? Had I not sneered at them? Wondered what they did on those long, dark winter weekends? Yes. That was me. So now, as the last of the summer BBQs came around, I was at a slight loss with myself. Not only having no ski pass, but having completed the marathon that had seemed so impossible the year before, I was at a loose end. I needed a goal! And so it unfolded…

At one of these last summer BBQs I came across a conversation about the famous Wanaka Challenge – the Ironman Triathlon of the South. "Hmmm..." I thought. ABSOLUTE UTTER MAD PEOPLE! I was just about to wander off in search of more chips and dips when I heard mention of the Half Iron Man distance, and how two lovely caring young men had entered their girlfriends as their birthday presents! All of a sudden I was sucked into talk of training sessions, road bikes, new wetsuits, open water swimming and endurance – could I do this? Surely not. That was for OTHER people. But then…. These guys were doing it… Were they not the same age? Same size (ish!)? Same fitness… as me? The thought stayed with me and when they had left to go home I approached my laptop, typed in the web address and found the page on the race site that said ‘Enter Here’. And I did! Then I downloaded a training program and I was away. My weeks became full of training, the winter went by way too quickly and by spring it was time to start open water swimming. This is not as easy as you’d think. I considered myself a total water baby, but leaping into a murky lake gave me a feeling of panic and exposure that I had never experienced! This was supposed to be my best discipline. And it rapidly became my worst fear. Starting at the edge of a lake and swimming straight out into the middle is actually pretty scary.

Time has a habit of speeding up when you want it to slow down and by the time Christmas rolled around it seemed like we were on fast track to race day. Two weeks later I stood on the start line. The water was 13 degrees (not the 16 – 20 degrees we had been expecting!), there was snow on the mountains and Lake Wanaka glistened mystically in the early morning light. I was going to be half an iron woman by the end of the day! First things first though…. We plunged in to the icy water to warm up and in no time at all it was time to get on the start line. Numb feet, chattering teeth, all the normal signs of pre-race jitters! Then the hooter blared into the sky – we were off. I swam, it was like being in a blender, arms, legs, hands, faces everywhere. Just keep swimming, breathe, swim, breathe, look up for the buoy, swim, breathe… and so it continued. After 37 mins and 1.9kms under my belt I dragged my numb feet out of the water, stripped off my wetsuit, ran over the bridge and onto my bike. 90kms, endless hills, never ending roads and 3.5 hours later and it was back to the transition to dump the bike and start running. The feeling of overwhelming tiredness was unreal – but this was no time to think about that. All I had to do was follow the river, the sun was pounding down, my stomach was churning and my legs were like lead - the aid stations with cheering supporters every 3kms were a life saver – as were the few trees I stopped to have a little lean on once in a while… Finally, I was on the home straight. Hearing the loud speaker at the finish line kept me going that last few hundred metres and having friends cheering me down the finishing chute was magical. It turns out I managed to put on weight on the way round according to the scales at the end. This would only happen to me - typical! A medal was placed around my neck and I was off to the recovery tent to reflect on my day before facing my public – and of course I had to collect the all important 'FINISHER' t-shirt! I was Half an Iron Woman and I had done it in 6.45 hours.

So, that was my big change for the year. Making something that was for ‘other people’ into something that was for me. Who knows what the next year will bring! And no, I don’t think I’ll take on the full Iron Man. I think I’ll definitely leave that to the ‘other people’ for now… :)