Facebook Baby

One of the things I’ve appreciated most in the last 6 months is Facebook.  It really has helped me feel connected to the world.  That’s what happens when most of the people who care about you and the human you’ve made live 40 to 4,000 miles away.

Here’s a run-down on what’s been happening around here for the past few months, as told through Facebook status updates and posts:

June 27th – Isla Madelyn born 11:52, 27th June 2014, 7 pounds, 2 1/2 ounces – happy, healthy and beautiful. Mother and baby both doing well!

June 28th – Mummy’s having her first coffee in almost 9 months …

July 2nd – We got home yesterday and all is right with the world. Everything really is awesome.

July 3rd – Isla at large and watching us eat hotdogs,

July 4th – Registered Isla’s birth and got her a library card!

July 12th – Isla’s first road-trip to Skye

July 14th – Testing the theory that all babies look like Winston Churchill.

July 22nd


July 23rd – Isla is 2 ounces off 8 pounds. Yay, boob juice

July 26th – Isla will be accepting visitors from Friday August 1st.

August 3rd – Isla took a cloth and wiped her face today. Now, if she could just change her bum…Self-cleaning baby

August 4th – Started wearing purple. Of course my child looks good in purple. Keyword: mychild.

August 11th


August 14th – After a gold-star check up, sleeping diagonally, in purple, with a penguin. Daddy AND Mama’s girl.

August 28th – Smisla!

September 17th – Kisses!


Videos, videos, videos … more videos…

November 8th


November 27th – I want to wish all my American family and friends a happy, safe and loving Thanksgiving. I’ve missed you all, especially this year. I’m thankful for you, and for Facebook. To all my local people, thanks for being there for me, and for us. To my daughter, thanks for choosing me to be your mother. To Neil thanks for keeping me in love and books. And I wish we could take a giant trip to meet all of the friends reading this who we have yet to meet! xox

… more videos …

December 19th – Our family Christmas Card without the actual card. We made a person, but saved a tree. You’re welcome.


December 22nd – Mama got all verkelmpt.


December 27th – This time six months ago, I was waiting impatiently to meet Zerbert. All gowned up and ready for the sunroof. She was born to the tune of The Divine Comedy and it’s kinda been like that ever since. Happy half a year to my Isla. Thank you for letting my heart dance outside my body.

January 3rd – I’m trying to write. Isla is Tarzan-yelling, happily. Neil is putting together Isla’s new walker-thingy. Pretty good deal.

January 6th – If anyone is wondering how I still have time to read, my daytime reading is actually listening. I have discovered audiobooks. And I’m only 28 minutes in to Yes, Please. One of the best things I’ve ever heard.

January 6th, again – And so. After jiggling and running in place for a few days, Isla took some steps forward in her walker today. I’m proud of her and mixed emotional myself.

… more videos …

… musical interlude …

January 11th – The baby just gave me a kiss. And then headbutted me. It’s how she shows love.

Happy New Year, Baby

Dear Isla,

You are six months and a bit. You are my Monkey, my Strumpet, My Favourite Baby.

We love you, too, Isla.
We love you, too, Isla.

The first time I held you, I told you you’d been here before. And there’s an old soul shining out of your bright blue-grey-silver eyes.

On a somewhat related note, I’m sorry for thinking that milk-blister made you look like a tiny version of Nanny McPhee for your first few days. I take it back. And I promise that wasn’t the reason I cried a lot.

I cried because you are beautiful. And because I’ve loved you forever, and I recognised your face from my dreams.

I cried because you have elbows.

I really can’t remember my life before you. And your last two weeks of baking really were a different kind of forever.

But you’re here now. We’re here. And your Dad still has all his hair. You have his eyes and my mouth. Make of that what you will.

You look just like you.

Your favourite thing to do is pull my hair. And dance. Sometimes at the same time. I still love you.

You like pears. And shrieking. You seem to prefer me without my glasses on. And if you’re pretending to like country music because it makes me happy, keep doing it. Humour me, I’m your mother.

Right now, your spirit animals seem to be giraffes and sheep. Your Dad is still working on the penguin thing. Humour him, he’s your father.

You don’t like squash. Or socks.

You eat books. Your favourite is Sheep In A Jeep.

You like to turn things upside down. Keep doing that.

And I’ll keep prying my hair from your amazing little hands. Hands which aren’t very far from your groovy little elbows.


Mama xox

How Mama Rolls

Hi, my name is (still) Lorna. My kid is just over six months old, and I don’t know how the hell that happened. No, I don’t need a Biology lesson. I need a drink.

This happens.
This happens.

I haven’t written anything longer than a Facebook update in well, six months. But yet, here I am.

Today, I found myself in a bookshop, wiping a booger off Isla’s face and then smearing it on my jeans. Is that some sort of parent achievement unlocked? Because, y’know, I didn’t have a cloth. And wiping a booger on the books would have been too gross.

As I write this, Isla is Tarzan-yelling, happily. Neil is putting together her new walker-thingy. I know I have a good deal. And for that, I’m grateful. (That doesn’t even cover it.) But I’m also tired. And hungry. And I really need to brush my hair. (That doesn’t even cover it.)

Back in the bookshop, we’re ready to pay, and then Isla starts Tarzan-yelling, unhappily. Usually, I kinda yell back until she gets confused and laughs. However, I know when this tactic won’t work. And this afternoon was one of those times.

Picture it, Isla there in her carrier, strapped to my front. Protesting like we stole her. I’m humming and jiggling. Almost dancing in my chair. And I don’t even need to pee. Instead, I’m mumbling, ‘Oh, Strumpet’ while hoping the line would freaking move already, and getting looks from people on it.

Yes, I’m the mother. No, she’s a girl. Yes, I know she’s wearing dinosaurs. No, please don’t touch my kid. Or pat me on the head.

We contemplate leaving the shop, and I’m near tears now, too. Because I feel bad for my kid. And because all I want to do is use book vouchers for books to read late at night, sandwiched between my husband and my child, who is really very patient. Until she isn’t.

I may have done laps around the place while Neil stood in line. And then, he’s there. With the books, and the promise of coffee. Like a beacon.

Isla is a fresh air freak like her mother; she slept on the stroll to coffee, but fired up again when we got inside. I made eye contact with another mother, who smiled at me.

‘Hi,’ I said. I wanted to ask for a hug.

Neil and I had coffee. The baby had some milk. All was quiet with the world.

And then I’m blowing zerberts on Isla’s face. Because it makes her laugh. And laughing is good. Laughing is gold.

I started writing this post a few hours ago. As of now, there’s a teething ring chilling in the fridge and the baby is asleep.

Maybe I should read a book. Or brush my hair.

This happens, too.