Voice Post: Potty training

Voice Post

Smoking

Since I quit smoking, almost exactly three years before Emer was born, as soon as I thought I might be pregnant with Linnea, I have never once regretted my decision. I had, after all, been trying to quit for most of the time I'd been a smoker.

But sometimes I really, really miss them. I watched a woman in the cafe rolling a cigarette from a brand of tobacco I never even liked and I wanted it. The smell of ready-rolled does mostly make me slightly queasy, but even now, after two pregnancies, I sometimes enjoy the smell of real tobacco.

This is presumably the nature of things - when one gives up an enjoyable habit, however sensibly, one wistfully wishes to indulge in it just once more.

But me and smoking are not like that. I can't have just one. If I have just one, I will have many, many more.

But I still want them, sometimes.

Infant artwork

Linnea has produced what I believe is technically termed a metric buttload of artwork. All of it is, naturally, of an exceptionally high quality and shows clear evidence of early genius, but she's bound to outgrow that. We display it on our walls. We shuffled some of it around this weekend, because we finally moved the mirror in the dining room so I can't see myself in it so often, and now have a panel-type display on the chimneybreast.

I actually don't offer Linnea a chance to paint as often as I used to because I'm so bad about throwing the stuff away. There's a huge portfolio behind the piano.

But I should let her at it more often - she deserves it! Her drawings of people now have mouths with teeth, eyes with iris and pupil, hands with fingers - her painting should be encouraged too.

But then I'll have to cull again.

I am a bad, bad mother.

(I realise that the obvious solution is a laminator and a ring-binder, yes, but that would be giving in to my weakness...)

Volunteer: Doing and using

I regularly use a couple of excellent volunteer, charity services, and I give my time and energy to a few, too. The ones I use are Homestart (Mary who comes to visit, goes to the park with us, drinks tea, etc) and the Breastfeeding Network, who are training me as a supporter for free.

I also give my time to the Breastfeeding Network, and to the True Food Co-op (though that's for perks, not just for free). There are others - the NCT, on and off, and the book club, and various other mother-and-baby things, but those are the two fairly regular ones. I'm glad I've gone over to being a real True Food volunteer; I've been doing tiny bits on and off since before Rob and I got married, but now it's real.

Sometimes I feel that I'm not entitled to the help I get from Mary. It's mainly pussikerlogical help, and I am very grateful for it, but part of me feels terribly guilty for not freeing her up to visit someone who really needs it.

Sometimes I feel guilty for not doing more - most recently, for not even considering going to Faslane - because I have such a safe, comfortable life, and I could, really.

Then I remember how ill I was. A recent weekend away made me seriously weak for well over 24 hours after it was over, because it involved a last-minute change of plans (very high stress for me) and late-evening travelling (very tiring). Missing a day's exercise makes me feeble and depressed. Phone calls sometimes paralyse me.

I need to do less, not more, and to work on allowing myself to feel ok with that.

Ethical consumerism: Ecover

I was recently told that Ecover have some products which use enzymes derived from genetically modified plants. Who would you trust to give me accurate information on whether or not this is true? I was already pretty annoyed with them over the non-recyclable recyclables they promote; full disclosure requires more, I feel.

Coffee

I have been unnaturally fond of coffee since I was about 17. I briefly had a job in a specialist cafe in Dublin that stocked over 40 kinds of coffee as a matter of course, and learned to like strong, unsweetened black coffee, Ethiopian for preference. Then I had serious insomnia and a job that required me to leave the house at 6 am and return at 8 or 9. I started off drinking more and more coffee - partially because going to get coffee was a socially acceptable reason to leave one's desk - and changed to drinking no caffeine at all, and minimising my chocolate intake, too. I stayed almost caffeine-free for about a year.

While pregnant with Linnea, and during the very earliest days of her life, I regularly drank lattes and cappucinos in branches of huge international chain type cafes. Then we cut out dairy, and I discovered that it's really hard to find coffee good enough to drink black around here.

Then, more than two years later, during which time I almost never drank coffee, the Workhouse Coffee Shop opened just around the corner, and now I'm a coffee-drinker again. I've reached that stage where I can cheerfully drink bad coffee, even, because my palate is adapted for coffee.

I'm happy about this. I have very few of my adolescent vices left.