Mother at large

Our beautiful girl has arrived!!!!!

Sat, 26 Jul 2008 20:22:45 +0100

Well, she kept us waiting ten days past her due date, perhaps because she's a girl who knows all about the importance of being fashionably late, but earlier this week our second daughter arrived in this world in a straightforward delivery at the local hospital. Husband and I euphoric at her safe arrival. Our girl lies contentedly in her Moses basket at the foot of the bed as I type, wrapped in the blanket I knitted her. Beanie proving a loving and supportive older sister, who lavishes kisses on her sibling. Thanks to all who left comments on my previous posting. You might not realise this, but your kind words helped keep me going through the last weeks of pregnancy.

Toodle pip

Fri, 27 Jun 2008 15:58:43 +0100

Less than two weeks to go until the baby's due date, and I'm taking a short break from blogging. It's so I can concentrate on the essential stuff - like lying here on the sofa, knitting teddy bears, going through Beanie's wardrobe to sort out clothes for the new baby, working on my husband to persuade him of my choice of baby names, drinking tea and annoying friends at work by phoning up for long chats. The outside world has become a scary and exotic place, since I'm more or less house-bound these days. Even a trip to the end of the road has become quite an undertaking. Husband gets worried if I suggest going out on my own, after I collapsed outside our local library last week and had to be rescued by Beanie's granny, who scooped me up in a taxi to take me home. Then I ended up in hospital on a drip a few days ago, where the medics advised rest. So, I'm trying to scale back commitments wherever I can. Blogging's become a bit of an addiction, so it'll probably do me good anyway to take a break for a while. It's not for ever; I plan on being back in the autumn, when things should be getting back to normal. Any other new or expectant mums reading this, best of luck to you all. I'll be thinking of you. And I'll ask my husband to post about developments with me and our baby as and when they happen.

Blankety blank

Wed, 25 Jun 2008 15:10:18 +0100

Last Friday's arrival of the birth pool wasn't quite what I had hoped. Husband lugged semi-circles of yellowing plastic, hosepipe, filters, tap attachments, bolts, screws, sheets of blue plastic and boxes containing waterproof instructions and a book of birth stories up the stairs in several separate trips. He was dripping with sweat - though whether through nerves or physical effort, it was hard to tell. Within an hour, piles of disinfected plastic were strewn around the spare room like one of Beanie's jigsaw puzzles. The flat has since acquired a faint, though not unpleasant, aroma of local swimming pool.

"Is that it?" I wanted to ask my husband, looking at the assorted bits and pieces, wondering what had happened to the scented water sanctuary of my imagination. But I managed to refrain, since it seemed ungrateful to diss the pool after all his work. "Errr, where's the bottom of the pool?" I said, instead. "Here, I think," he said, rubbing sweat out of his eyes and pointing at a tarpaulin bag, with zips running along three sides. "I think it's made of foam. You put that on the floor, then you put the plastic liners on top. They said you can put a bean bag between the liners to sit on, if you like." He made it sound like having a bean bag would be a big consolation. A bean bag. A f***ing bean bag. Like we used to have in gym class at school. Not much to combat labour pain. Wouldn't a couple of paracetamol help as much? If not more?

I have become resentful of husband, though he does his utmost to be supportive of me. Seems unfair that I am the one who has to push 10lbs-odd of baby out through vagina, which I used to consider as private place only for pleasure, even though the possibility is obviously not open to him. Even worse is that I am under intense pressure from active childbirth lobby and competitive middle-class mums to do so without any drugs. All while facing humiliation of husband and group of complete strangers witnessing me struggle in pain, and, possibly, perform intimate bodily functions. And what happens to him? Nothing. He still has same lean, unblemished body as when we married. I am three stone heavier, forgetful, scared, have permanent black bags under eyes, am half-crippled by pelvic pain, earn a fraction of what I did pre-marriage and was hospitalised earlier this week with a gastro-intestinal upset that my midwife tentatively attributes to nerves over the home/water birth.

Husband might have known how low I was feeling because he said: "Here, look, you might enjoy this," and handed me the polythene-wrapped book of birth stories that came with the pool. But it didn't have the desired effect. Inside was only a handful of stories, despite the first entry being dated October 2006. One woman had no time to use the pool, her labour happened so quickly and husband took so long to put the kit together. One new father used the opportunity to bemoan the shortcomings of his hot water system. "Top tip from dad: make sure your boiler is in full working order; ours wasn't. Be prepared for a lot of topping up to get the temperature right in the final stages." I shuddered at the thought of this birth being about battles with combi boilers and water pressure, while I lay on the hall floor, wracked by pain. Midwives asked one woman to get out of the pool to examine her. And found - instead of the expected head - a tiny foot poking down at them. That story ended with the woman having to explain to her husband how to call an ambulance. Most pages were blank. I've done lots of thinking over the past few days. It's a shame we went to so much effort to organise a home birth, when it's not going to happen after all. But, as my midwife said, maybe we had to jump through all the hoops of structural survey, pool hire, interviewing doulas and so on to arrive at the right decision. My home water birth is going to be another blank in the book.

Paddington's Birthday

Fri, 20 Jun 2008 13:50:46 +0100

Any Edinburgh residents among you might be interested to know The Children's Bookshop is celebrating Paddington Bear's 50th birthday in the shop tomorrow. I am told there will be discounts on all Paddington books and free marmalade sandwiches available all day (bearing that in mind, we'll be taking some of these with us). There is also to be a colouring competition, the winner of which will receive a free copy of the brand new Paddington: My Book of Marmalade. written by 83-year-old author Michael Bond. If you get the chance, why not pop along and help celebrate a milestone in the life of a bear who must be Britain's best-loved illegal immigrant.

Home truths

Thu, 19 Jun 2008 10:20:50 +0100

Not off the hook after all for the home water birth. Not just yet, anyway. Structural engineer got back in touch to veto bedroom for the birth pool. But said our smallest room - the hall - looks like it will take the weight. Husband due to pick up pool, pipes, bleach, colander, heating pad tomorrow evening. Will buy waterproof torch, anglepoise lamp, waterproof sheeting at weekend. Scared? Me?

Unsure about giving birth in hallway. Doesn't feel quite right somehow. Will it be sufficiently private? Can't even remember how much privacy matters in childbirth. Is it a big issue? When was having Beanie, midwife got concerned about daughter's heart rate. Army of green-suited doctors, anaethetists and paediatricians entered through flowery curtain.

"Hello. Where have you all come from?" I asked.

"Did you not see your midwife press the emergency button?" one of them replied.

"Errr... no," I mumbled.

"Don't push," said the midwife, looking up from her notes. "Whatever you do, don't push."

"I'm not pushing!" I said, feeling like small child.

Funny the things you do remember; many of them were wearing clogs. But seemed fine with that. Not embarrassed, the way I would have been. There were phone calls, booking a place in the resuscitation unit, asking if theatre was free. No, we'd have to stay put. They brought out the forceps (I didn't look at that bit). Hauled daughter out of me as fast as they could. Beanie shrieked with displeasure as she emerged. I was a bit sore afterwards. Relief on face of clog-clad paediatrician posted down bottom end to greet Beanie. "Baby can go straight to mum," she said.

After that drama, I liked idea of giving birth in tranquillity of own bedroom, where, ahem, this whole project started back in October. But do not want to become stupid and obstinate about home birth.

Read cautionary tale about woman who broke down in jealous hysteria when she got text message saying sister-in-law had 'achieved' a home birth. This woman described herself - no, defined herself - as HWBA3C. Yes, my thoughts exactly. Stands for 'home water birth after three Caesareans'. She claimed the Caesareans were violations 'inflicted on her in the name of medical science'.

Spoke to my midwife, whom I trust. Asked if true NHS does unnecessary interventions. "Look at it from a practical point of view," she said. "The NHS is careful with its resources. It has to be. There's not a lot of money available and funding is always being squeezed. Nobody likes to make things more complicated than they need to be. It's expensive to do a section. It's a question of beds and staff time. We only intervene when necessary."

Friend whose wife had their second child last year said: "It's the head count at the end that matters."

Hot water

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 15:53:52 +0100

Bad news, I'm afraid. Looks like home birth could be in jeopardy. Husband has decided we can't risk having birth pool in flat without first getting engineer to check on wisdom of placing seventy seven gallons of water and pregnant wife on 200-year-old Georgian floorboards in second-floor flat. Such a spoilsport. Husband spent couple of hours yesterday afternoon taking up fitted bedroom carpet, prising off floorboard in the corner where I was hoping to site pool and discussing - in agitated manner - benefits of hand versus electric saws. I watched, worried, offered tea, felt guilty about causing him worry, tried (and failed) to think of something useful to say about the saws (knowing little of such matters) and did my best not to wince at the mess. When the structural engineer arrived, we tried to have laugh with her about the birth pool; but she just rolled her eyes and said she does this type of work a lot. They've seen it all, these people. Walk-in safes - for people who don't like banks. Hot tubs. What's a birth pool to her? She knelt down, donned big gloves and, after borrowing one of Beanie's plastic spoons, used it to scrape away at the layer of ashes under the floorboards placed there 200 years ago to 'deaden' noise between flats. They do a good job. We never hear a thing from downstairs. Fear, though, even ashes might not stop neighbours hearing me crashing through floor, chanting mantras learnt at pre-natal yoga, breathing imaginary gold ribbon in through the nose, out through the mouth, as taught in classes, and meditating. Husband, midwife and doula peering down from hole in ceiling. Would not be neighbourly thing to do.

This 'investigation' was meant to be a formality. To satisfy the insurance people. But it seems we may have miscalculated. The engineer put down Beanie's spoon. Looked serious. Said something that sounded like it should have been said by Scottie the Engineer on Startrek: "The floor joists can't take it." She would send us a full report today, but wasn't optimistic. Mostly, I was disappointed. But part of me felt something else - relief. Now I have to work out if I can handle a home birth without the pool....

Double trouble

Mon, 16 Jun 2008 11:49:28 +0100

Can anyone reading this blog advise on double buggies? I'm thinking of buying this fellow (the Nipper Double 360, pictured left) but I'd welcome any comments on what's worked well for other people. It's a contentious area. People spend as much on buggies nowadays as they would on a second-hand car. They've become a status symbol by which new parents define themselves. I'll never dare show my face at playground again if I don't get this decision right. And it's a tricky area; views on double buggies seems to divide like the Red Sea.

The main political fault lines are between people who favour:

a) double decker buggies (Phil and Ted) that stack one kid on top of the other.

and those who insist on the superior benefits of:

b) side-by-side models (like the Nipper 360).

It's a bit like the difference between people who like eating olives - and those who can't stand them. There's no middle ground. You have to belong to one camp or the other. You either like them, or you don't. Superficially, you know it shouldn't matter, but deep down you can't help forming judgements about a person on the basis of things like their taste in olives and double buggies.

Personally, I'm not keen on the Phil and Ted approach. There, I've said it. A paediatrician friend warned me she'd treated lots of children who got their hands stuck in the wheels of double-decker models. She's seen gruesome things, that girl. Also, she has four kids of her own. So knows a thing or two about twin buggies.

Plus, I can't imagine it does much for sibling harmony if one child spends her formative years in the lower bunk. The view ahead an outline of older child's backside.

But then, the side-by-sides aren't the solution to everything either. I can remember years of petty bickering with my sister (thirteen - yes, just thirteen - months' age difference between us) in one of them.

I've also become horribly superstitious. When we do decide on a buggy I'm going to ask the pram company to send the chosen vehicle to my mum's. Until the baby arrives. Still can't believe this is happening. Despite the kicks in my stomach as I type. Felt this same way with Beanie. Was only when the midwife wheeled a plastic cot into the delivery room it sank in properly - my God, there was going to be a baby. Now I look back at the years before she arrived, and think, "Where was she then? Who was looking after her if she wasn't with me?"

Are older dads better fathers?

Sun, 15 Jun 2008 17:17:23 +0100

Entertaining piece here from a man who has just become a dad again - aged 54. One in ten babies is now born to a dad over 40 in the UK - and one in a hundred to a father over 50. So it's not just us 'older' mums whose numbers are on the increase. The writer, John Preston, is less apologetic about his status than many 'older' new mums, perhaps because society views older dads with more tolerance than it does mums.

Preston even suggests that older dads might make better parents than younger men. He cites research suggesting that older guys are less likely to do a runner on their family, more likely to 'help' with the housework (as if it's a woman's natural responsibility to work, look after the house and care for the children; and the man is doing her a favour by loading the dishwasher). He also suggests the wrinkly dads are more confident, affectionate, mature and responsible. Older dads are also apparently less driven by something called 'provider fever' - perhaps because they've made their moolah and so can relax.

But he is also honest enough to wonder whether younger men would suffer from what he calls "the exhaustion factor; the way in which my fuse has shrunk to the size of a gnat's tail, prompting me to froth up in helpless hysteria if anyone so much as dares to hoot their horn at me." I was glad he mentioned that. It struck quite a chord with how I've been feeling for a while now.

Appearing at Edinburgh Book Festival

Wed, 11 Jun 2008 15:29:04 +0100

All confirmed for my appearance at the Edinburgh International Book Festival on Friday, August 15 from 2pm to 3.30pm. An advance copy of the brochure arrived by post this morning. Here is the blurb about the event:

Books, Blogging and the Internet

How can writers best use the internet to produce and promote their work? Ex-Sunday Times journalist Helen Fowler, who secured her first book deal after publishers stumbled on her popular blog (you're reading it now) guides you through social networking, turning blogs into books and the benefits of an online presence.

Tickets (£12, £10 concession) go on sale to the public from 20 June and the brochure is available from tomorrow, 12 June. Please come along if you're in the vicinity.

Summer holiday

Wed, 04 Jun 2008 23:21:29 +0100

Earlier this week two-year-old daughter went on her first proper trip anywhere without me or her dad. I wanted so much to be cool about this; after all, in the scale of things, the trip wasn't that big a deal. I used to hate feeling smothered by my well-meaning - but over-protective - parents.

As trips go, this looked pretty innocuous. Beanie's nursery was hiring a bus to take all the children to a seaside town about thirty miles away from where we live. The most hazardous part of the expedition would involve a journey along the nearby motorway in a mini-van, but the driver was the same man who drives all the toddlers to swimming every week. The town in question is a bastion of stone villas, cafes and golf courses, interspersed with hotels that host conferences and weddings.

But this was her first parent-free jaunt - and I couldn't help worrying. (The picture above is of Beanie at the seaside earlier this year - under the watchful gaze of her father.)

The nursery staff were excited about the trip for days beforehand. So much so that voicing my terrors to them seemed a bit rude. They're always kind and cheery with me, Beanie, her granny and her dad. Beanie loves it there - and I wasn't keen to say anything that might rock the boat. Like questioning their ability to look after her for a single day.

"I'm a bit nervous," I finally confessed to one of the nursery assistants last week.

"Why's that? What is it you're worried about," she asked kindly.

I gulped. Might as well be honest "I'm worried you're going to lose her," I replied. I should stop reading the news, all those stories about missing children just frighten me.

She laughed. In a nice way.

"We've got strict staff/child ratios," she said. "And we've been doing this trip for years. It's well organised. We're not going to lose her. We've not lost one yet. Don't worry about that."

I believed what she said. But, even so, spent most of the night beforehand unable to sleep. On the one hand, I didn't want Beanie to miss out on the fun of a seaside trip. And on the other? I couldn't get over my fear of some mishap. I just didn't know what to do for the best.

Eventually I decided I'd tell the staff she couldn't go - no shame in that. They'd understand. What with the pregnancy (five weeks to go, by the way) and everything.

The morning of the expedition dawned. I was hollow-eyed from lack of sleep, pelvic pain, pregnancy weariness and (although I didn't know it at the time) a kidney infection. My husband brought me a cup of tea in bed.

"So, have you made your mind up?" he asked me. "Is she going or not? You'll need to ring nursery and let them know."

I rang nursery, where the woman who answered the phone sounded giddy and excited, making me feel churlish not to enter into the spirit of things.

"If Beanie doesn't go on the trip, will there be anyone left in the nursery to look after her?" I asked.

"No, I'm sorry, there won't be. We're closing the nursery until 4.30pm," she said.

"Well, in that case," I started, trying to keep panic out of my voice, thinking of the work deadlines stacking up ahead of me, the midwives' advice to go to hospital for an emergency check-up, the stomach pains that could be signs of early labour (but thankfully weren't). "Well, in that case," I repeated. "I guess she'd better go."

I'd love to say I let Beanie go because I got over my nerves. But, truth be told, in the end, it was expediency that won out.

When she returned later that day, with sand in her shoes, socks and trousers, tired and happy, she looked puzzled as to why I hugged her so tightly.

Daddy dearest

Mon, 02 Jun 2008 18:28:36 +0100

Good to see it's not just older mums getting stick. The poor old dads come in for some flak too in this article, which reveals why starting out life with a dad older than 45 can - allegedly - be bad news for babies' health. Dr Jin Liang Zhu, from the Danish Epidemiology Science Centre, said: "The risks of older fatherhood can be very profound, and it is not something that people are always aware of." Well, no, I guess not. Scientists have been too busy disparaging older mums to have time for the dads. Still, I don't expect the research will put ageing pop stars and business magnates like Mike Oldfield, Rod Stewart and Rupert Murdoch off fathering more youngsters. And I bet they don't get half as much criticism as mums over 40 do.

Under the wire

Sat, 31 May 2008 10:53:38 +0100

Six weeks until baby due date. Yesterday escaped flat for first time in days. Took daughter and her Granny out for lunch (tapas). Even managed to walk there and back, helped by orthopaedic truss under bump and lessons in this technique. In restaurant, Granny and I leapt back in horror at sight of enormous spider crab sat on counter. Waving its claws at us. Horrified eye meets. Two-year-old daughter unpeturbed.

Hoisted daughter into high chair, grappled with chair straps, slumped down, ordered usual tapas favourites. Spanish waiter made fuss of us all. Rush of pleasure at being back in world. Daughter ordered an apple juice. Looked around room. Surveyed the scene. Pronounced: "Like it."

Images of maternity

Tue, 27 May 2008 12:49:13 +0100

Why do we expect so much of ourselves as mothers? Where do we get the idea we should be martyrs to our children and give up our own identities? This exhibition, called Images of Maternity, running at the local Scottish Gallery of Modern Art might offer some answers. I haven't yet had a chance to see it myself, but works on display include paintings by Sandro Botticelli, Pablo Picasso, George Romney and Christine Borland. I'm intrigued by this exhibition, because so much of female identity is tied up with cultural precepts that seek to define and trap us in our roles as mothers. Cultural precepts set down by music, literature, newspapers and paintings like the ones in this exhibition.

My view is that it's hard to resist the cultural message we can - and should - be perfect mothers to saintly children. And so life becomes even more of a strain for those of us struggling to look after a screaming baby. We expect motherhood to convey us to a state of bliss. Then find ourselves isolated, bored and frustrated. Experiencing something very different to the 'new baby joy' we were expecting. How much of the gap in expectation is to do with the fact women spend their lives bombarded with images of post-natal perfection - like the Botticelli picture above?

We're encouraged to believe that giving birth is the crowning glory in our lives, the moment when we fulfill our biological and cultural destiny, that it will bestow perfect happiness on us in our new roles as mothers. But, of course, despite the brave faces that new mums put on for each other at coffee mornings, it's just not like that.

I'm hoping to get along to the exhibition at the weekend, and it'll be interesting to see if there are any paintings that challenge some of the tired old stereotypes that seek to manoeuvre women into chasing after unattainable dreams of motherhood. Exhibition runs until 22 June.

Order of Parental Honour

Mon, 26 May 2008 10:52:04 +0100

Russia is to honour prolific mothers with a presidential award for their baby-making efforts, according to this story in The Telegraph. The move is an attempt to reverse an alarming decline in Russia's population. The Russian government is spreading the message that it is the patriotic duty of all women to bear at least three children. "Pregnancy is now the height of fashion among wealthy women," says the article.

'Height of fashion', indeed. At seven months pregnant, half-crippled with pelvic pain, gripped by every anxiety under the sun and sleeping with a boudoir's worth of cushions to prop up my aching limbs I do not feel remotely fashionable. My hair is a mess: I haven't dared touch up my greying roots for fear of harming the baby.

I hardly go out any more in the evenings - being sleepy by 9pm. My personal space has expanded to a two-metre exclusion zone around me. Talking to strangers scares me. My mind constantly revolves around how to protect the baby from every difficulty she might face in life. I'm terrified that the birth will be a disaster. The indigestion is getting worse. I would love to have three children, but if I can get through this pregnancy with a healthy baby at the end, and without permanently alienating all those whom I love, I'll count myself lucky.

In any case, The Telegraph quotes some so-called 'experts' on Russia saying the real cause of population decline isn't women shirking reproductive duty but .... rampant alcoholism. Oh dear. The average life expectancy for a Russian male is just 58. Poor bastards. They drink themselves into an early grave. But apparently it's easier in Russia to persuade women to have more children than it is to get the men to stop drinking.

Like a dog, like a dog, like a dog.... the Kipper quiz

Sat, 24 May 2008 21:27:26 +0100

Like many families before us, we have become huge fans of the best-selling Kipper books by Mick Inkpen (by the way, here is good biography of Inkpen, who is also pictured below). This started me thinking - we all know people in real life who are a bit like the characters of Tiger, Kipper, Pig and his cousin Arnold. Have you ever wondered which character you're most like? Here's a little quiz to help you work out who you most ressemble.

1. An overnight camping trip to Big Hill is suggested. It is your first night in a tent. You are the one who:

a) insisted on bringing toys from home

b) had the idea for the trip. But got scared and went home early

c) said little, but gritted it out until morning

d) stayed at home.

2. It is your birthday. You decide to celebrate by:

a) making a cake and inviting friends round. Co-ordinating the two events proves harder than anticipated.

b) asking for the latest, fanciest gadget. Which you find impossible to make work.

c) adding a new pet to your already extensive menagerie.

d) feeding the ducks.

3. Somebody gives you a pair of rollerblades. You respond by:

a) trying hard to master this new skill. With mixed results.

b) boasting to anyone who'll listen about how fantastic you are at rollerblading. Before falling into a bush.

c) practising, practising, practising. Until you get really good.

d) watching your older cousin and learning from his example

4. Your attitude towards your toys is to:

a) love, cherish and respect them. Life wouldn't be the same without old friends around.

b) put them in a rocket and fire them at the moon.

c) love them, but appraise them shrewdly.

d) who needs toys when you've got a cardboard box?

5. You are working on a project requiring great ingenuity. Something goes wrong. You respond by:

a) feeling a bit thrown but persevering in finding a solution

b) moaning and complaining amid great melodrama

c) your projects don't go wrong, you spend so much time beforehand preparing.

d) taking time out, then pulling off a piece of lateral thinking

6. You have done yourself a minor injury. You respond by:

a) applying a sticking plaster and moving on

b) insisting on sticking plaster, ointment, sling, painkillers and emergency trip to hospital. And, of course, moaning.

c) being grateful you were wearing safety kit that prevented the injury being any worse

d) sucking your thumb

7. You have made an error of judgement. Do you:

a) acknowledge your mistake, feel embarrassed and apologise

b) bluster and pretend it wasn't your fault

c) arrange an inventive win-win compromise that minimises the impact of your mistake.

d) approach someone else for advice

8. You are going for a day at the beach. Would you:

a) immediately start building a sandcastle

b) insist on setting up an elaborate base camp. With inappropriate kit

c) stun your friends by revealing hitherto unsuspected skills as a water skier

d) stand on your head. Perfectly.

9. As a friend you are mostly:

a) Popular with everyone. You are prepared to take the rough with the smooth and see good in most people, even the annoying ones.

b) Sometimes demanding and grandiose, but good-hearted and lovable.

c) A bit of an enigma. Not aloof, but you like to keep some distance between yourself and others.

d) Unobtrusive and loyal.

How you scored:

Mostly a) - you are Kipper. Popular and well-loved, hard-working and down-to-earth, you are able to see the cheery side of life, even amid disaster. Everyone wants to be your friend. Everyone wants to be you. Tell us your secret, please Kipper?

Mostly b) - you are Tiger. Sorry, but are you just a teeny bit full of your own importance? Come on, admit it! No? Not just a little bit? And you're not really as competent as you make out, are you? Don't worry, all your friends still love you. They know what a good sort you are underneath all that bluster. And you are often the one who comes up with the idea for adventures. Life wouldn't be as much fun without you around. Perhaps, though, you might try to rein in that grandiosity? A simpler life can often be more satisfying than pursuing complex ambitions.

Mostly c) - you are Pig. Savvy and secretive, you are the dark horse of the group. Although supportive to those around you, you tend to prefer to operate on your own, away from group restrictions. You have a highly developed sense of self-reliance and your tenacity allows you to succeed where others might give up. Few people understand you well and you are often lonely. You might consider trusting others a little bit more.

Mostly d) - you are Arnold. What a sweetie you are! And how did you learn to stand on your head so well? We wish we could do that too! The ducks cheer when they see you heading over to their pond. The only advice we could offer would be to have more faith in your own judgement. You don't need to rely on Pig for everything.

With thanks to these good people, who sent us a stack of Kipper books.

While on the subject of children's books, Edinburgh residents among you may be interested to hear that The Children's Bookshop at Holy Corner, Bruntsfield, will be holding a weekly story-telling session every Tuesday at 10.30am from 3 June for the under-fives. The bookshop has a great range of books - with a well-chosen selection for grown-ups too - and a lovely atmosphere. It also runs regular author events for children and adults (you can sign up to an email subscription on their website informing you about upcoming readings). So do pay a visit if you haven't already.