Heads, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes...

I think in some ways I am the complete opposite to a lot of mums. Other mums tend to constantly brag about how great their child is and reel off lists of what little Johnny has achieved, that afternoon.

I on the other hand can never quite believe how surprising my daughter can be when it comes to new found abilities. I find myself blinking my eyes in amazement and doing a double take. It takes her doing the same thing a few times before I'll even let myself believe what she has actually achieved. I try and eliminate all external influences – did she just do that because of this, was it a co-incidence simply because that was going on at the same time?

For example, I decided to play a little game with her whilst she was lying on her changing mat recently. I said to her 'where's your head' and she put her little hand to her head. I thought, hang on a minute, I didn't actually expect her to do that. But rather than trumpeting off to anyone who would listen that my daughter understood what I had said to her, and most importantly could distinguish her head from all of her other body parts, I waited and tried it out again later.

'Where's your head?' I asked her whilst we were playing on the living room floor with her toys. Again she put her hand to her head. OK I thought, is there any kind of co-incidence going on here. Perhaps she had already been holding her head before I asked her. If she had that would be cheating, but I knew that hadn't been the case, she'd been busy playing with her building blocks. Perhaps her head had been hurting and she had put her hand up to it, or she had just been stretching her arm. Twice, I reasoned with myself, at exactly the same time as I just happened to say 'where's your head'.

I tried another. 'Where's your mouth?' Tentatively her hand went up to her mouth. Blimey I thought, we're really on to something here. My daughter was now chewing on her finger. Well it was so temptingly near her mouth, why not put it straight in there.

'Where's your eye?' I asked. My daughter's hand went to her ear. Close enough for me. It begins with the same letter. “Where's your head” I say just to confirm. The little hand goes to her head again. Genius. Absolute genius. My daughter is a genius. Did you hear me, GENIUS!

Having children isn't clever - apparently

British historian and curator Dr Lucy Worsley says she has been educated out of the natural reproductive function.

Basically she is saying she is too clever to have children.

By implication she is saying mums cannot be clever.

Now, I am a mum, obviously, and I guess I am clever (well I have a degree and rose to a high position in my career).

Therefore I am hardly going to support Dr Worsley in her claims am I? Of course not. However, in order for people not to think I'm just saying this because I am affronted by her comments – which by the way I am – I will have to come up with a reasoned argument about why I think Dr Worsley is incorrect to say what she has. And I can give a reasoned argument.

I'm surprised at Dr Worsley as no doubt about it she is a well-educated individual. However, some how she has managed to express herself in a misleading way. She is actually touching on a very important point which affects a lot of women in today's society. There comes a point in a career woman's life when she does have to make a decision about whether she wants children.

It is a fact that whilst it is possible for women to have children and hold down a career, it is unlikely these women will be able to be as successful in their job as they would have been without children. A part of a mother's mind will always be on her child even when she is at the office. There are also the practical demands such as having to leave work ahead of colleagues to pick up children from school or nursery.

This does not mean that in the future when her children are a little older she cannot throw herself wholeheartedly back into her career but she may feel unable to make up for the time she has lost.

What Dr Worsley is really touching on therefore is the fact there are some women who simply do not want to jeopardise their successful careers to have children.

At the same time, these women are obviously not feeling the same call to have children as others. They possibly feel fulfilled by their career and don't need children to complete their lives.

I think this is how Dr Worsley feels. It is not that she is too clever to have children, which let's face it is highly-offensive to all mums, but that her career is completely fulfilling her life at the moment and she doesn't feel the need for anything else to satisfy her.

Dr Worsley is in her late 30s so she is approaching that time where she really does need to decide once and for all whether she is going to have children or not. She is obviously thinking her career is far too important to sacrifice for years of changing nappies and wiping up pear purée.

At the same time, Dr Worsley had best search deep down in her heart about whether she means what she says, as so many women these days are having children much later in life and often are having to rely on fertility treatment, because biologically they are past the optimum age to have children.

This suggests there is a significant proportion of women who put their career first and then change their minds and realise they want children after all.

The vehement way in which Dr Worsley has expressed her opinion is either evidence of a particularly nasty character who doesn't care about offending or she is covering up her own uncertainty on the issue.

Come on Dr Worsley, what better way can you use your knowledge then to pass it on to your children? In my opinion, a mother armed with intelligence to assist her in bringing up her child is the best kind of mother to be. More clever women should be having children, not less, in order to pass on the clever genes to the next generation.

Well that really does take the biscuit – or should that be Rusk?!

I feel for the poor taxi driver who had a mother give birth in the back of his cab this week. And what a way for little baby Lucas to enter into the world.

Faye Branighan flagged down taxi driver Peter Wakefield as he dropped off her mother at her house.

She had been experiencing pains since 4am that morning but she had not thought they were contractions as it felt different to when she had her first child.

She said by 8am, however, she could not stand the pain any longer and that is when she commandeered the taxi which had just arrived at her home, begging the cabbie to take her to the hospital.

Ms Branighan said she felt the need to lie down as soon as she got in the back of the cab and minutes into the journey she called out that she could feel the head.

Poor Mr Wakefield turned round and could not believe his eyes. He said his own wife had been in labour for 12 hours so had not expected it all to happen so quick.

The midwives were all on standby at the hospital and ran out when the taxi pulled up. It was far too late to transport Ms Branighan into the hospital and so she gave birth right there in the back of the cab with Mr Wakefield looking on.

He said he had seen all sorts of things in the back of his taxi but this really took the biscuit. He said his fellow taxi drivers didn't believe him when he told them about it later.

Ms Branighan meanwhile said she lost all sense of dignity and she just kept on apologising to the taxi driver. Lucas Jake was born weighting 6 pounds 10 ounces.

Ms Branighan was discharged from hospital just seven hours later. It seems her whole experience giving birth second time round was an easy ride – excuse the pun. I suppose that's if you ignore the fact she was forced to lie there legs akimbo in a taxi in the middle of the hospital car park.

I just hope they gave taxi driver Mr Wakefield a decent tip. He'll be thinking twice next time he is asked to pick up another pregnant woman in his cab.

The blog hijack - explained

And I'm back. My regular readers may have wondered what was going on with my blog yesterday. Why, you were thinking, was I talking about Yale locks - hardly anything to do with babies or being a mum. More importantly, why had I come over all Americanised, using adjectives like 'wild'?
I'll tell you. I decided to loan my blog space to advertisers for the day.
I have to say I felt a little uncomfortable about having my carefully crafted blog taken over in this manner but it is all for a greater cause - a bit of cash for my daughter's piggy bank.
Hopefully, there will be more entries like yesterday's in the future, so next time don't panic, I've not lost my sense of purpose, or even my mind. Sharing is after all a quality we all like to encourage in our youngsters and I'm merely showing the way by sharing my writing space.
Please read these advertising blogs as you would do my own and click on the links.
Also please click on some of the adverts you see dotted around my blog. It will all help build up my daughter's coffers.
A big thank you in advance
Mummy's Daily Telegraph
(More baby news tomorrow)

Lost keys? No problem!

I saw something pretty interesting while exploring some home improvement options today. A feature that seems to be standard in all cars today, is now available for your home! Unless you own a pretty old vehicle I really know almost no one who uses their actual key to unlock their cars. Almost everyone has the key-less “clicker” that unlocks the doors from a distance. Many people even have a key-less start to their car now, which I think is really pretty wild. Apparently Yale doors now makes key-less locks for your home's front door! I know that I very frequently have to fumble around to unlock my front door, especially when I have my hands full of things like groceries, or when it is dark out and I forget to leave the front porch light on. Having to only press a button on a remote could definitely come in “handy” in situations like these were dexterity is limited. I don't know why I never really thought that there might be something like that out there on the market, considering how prevalent it is in cars now. Still the idea of a key-less entry to your home seems so novel! The best part of the whole thing is that you have two options for unlocking your door once you get this installed. You can use the remote, just like you would to unlock your car, or there is a key pad that is installed at the same time, which allows you to unlock your door using a pin code of your choosing. This is perfect for someone like me, who is constantly losing all of my important belongings, especially things like keys. It can take me sometimes upwards of 10-15 minutes just to locate my keys in my purse, even when I am only carrying a clutch which is so small that you have trouble fitting everything, let alone losing things in it! I used to have to make many embarrassing trips to my landlords house to pick up the spare key because I locked myself out, and eliminating trips like those and/or never having to fumble for my keys again certainly seems worthwhile to me!

I'm a Barbie girl...

The woman who boasts having the most plastic surgery in the country is going all out to inflict her unhealthy obsession on the next generation.

Sarah Burge, who is known as the 'human Barbie' is organising pageant parties for young girls in a salon where botox injections and breast enhancement procedures are performed.

The 51-year-old, who gave her six-year-old daughter a boob job voucher for her birthday, says young girls are no longer interested in Snow White and want beauty treatments instead.

Children as young as seven will be given spray tans, hair extensions and manicures at these parties.

Mrs Burge, who has spent £500,000 on surgery, says the makeovers are designed to give girls the “wow factor”.

Her little girl has already had a pageant party at the clinic along with her friends. They dressed up with fake tattoos, drank pretend champagne and ate a designer cake costing £250.

Mrs Burge said children wanted to be WAGS these days and be famous like Cheryl Cole and Lady Gaga. But why is this do you think Mrs Burge?

The problem with even beginning to argue with this woman is she says she laughs at any criticism levelled at her. She believes we live in a society where children want to be more grown-up and we all should be looking our best.

However, Mrs Burge is wearing her fake Barbie doll looks like a neon sign which reads, I am incredibly insecure about myself. No one confident within themselves would feel the need to alter their appearance so much. Mrs Burge would claim she is trying to look good but the terrible irony is this fake look does not look good at all. There is nothing more appealing than natural beauty.

So this is where Mrs Burge is going wrong. I don't think she is setting out to over-sexualise children as many critics fear. I think Mrs Burge has her sights on, in her opinion, making these little girls look good. This of course does not prevent other people in society viewing these girls in a sexualised way.

Mrs Burge's own warped perception on what is attractive and also how important looks should be, is in danger of encouraging young girls down the wrong road.

She is right, young girls are now only interested in being beautiful and famous like their pop star idols but that is because society is telling them to be this way. It is down to the parents to show these girls another route.

Girls should be shown that whilst it is good to take pride in your appearance in this now highly visual world, this should not be to the detriment of developing other qualities and talents. These children are being encouraged down the road of wanting these pageant parties because they are not being given an alternative.

Children are ultimately influenced by what their parents do. If they see their parents over-consumed by their looks and investing in fake tan, botox injections and plastic surgery, they are going to follow suit. If their parents embrace their natural beauty and refuse to book these pageant parties, beauty companies will slowly stop targeting children because there will be no market.

Then we will be living in a much more genuinely beautiful society and we will have even more reason to laugh at the likes of you, Mrs Burge.

Mummy Proof

So the house is now mummy proof. That wasn't quite the intention. The idea was to baby proof the house but it doesn't seem to have worked out that way.

Some months ago we began putting measures in place to prevent my daughter from going where she shouldn't and generally getting herself into a pickle. This included safety gates, little plastic covers on the plug sockets and table corners and one solitary cupboard door catch.

But as my daughter's curiosity has notched up and mummy's patience has worn thin we have had to take further measures.

The safety gate which prevented my daughter getting into the kitchen has been moved. This was proving rather a fruitless place to put it as when she realised the one entrance to the kitchen was blocked she would simply crawl round into the hallway and through the door into the kitchen instead, which rather frustratingly doesn't close properly. Not the best thing in a house with a toddler.

So that gate has been moved to the bottom of the stairs. This became somewhat of an emergency mission. The gate removal and repositioning took place in the dead of night – well shortly after my daughter went to bed at 7pm – to prevent what had happened only hours before happening ever again. The event which we barely dare speak of was my daughter climbed the stairs. I'm not talking about just one step up. She has done that a few times, but three or four steps up. My husband came to the top of the stairs to see our little girl coming towards him. There was a moment of panic when he called out to me before tentatively moving down the stairs towards her, hoping that in the time it took him to reach her, my daughter wouldn't tumble down the stairs.

Now that we have safety gates at both the top and the bottom of the stairs, negotiating that staircase is something of a mission. You have to make sure you squeeze through the opening in the gate without knocking your hip or elbow – I have the bruises to prove that this is not always so easy – especially when you're carrying something. At the same time you have to step over the bar which forms the base of the gate and then close the gate behind you while doing a little pirouette turn on the stairs. Once at the bottom I almost always somehow try and open the gate towards me so it hits the stairs rather than opening it outwards.

But the area which is really getting to me is the kitchen cupboards. After reaching the end of my tether with my daughter's endeavours to empty the entire contents of the bottom kitchen cupboards onto the kitchen floor, I practically begged my husband to fit the safety catches we had bought onto the cupboards. Now they are in place my daughter can't get into the cupboards and neither can I.

The trouble is the catches are hidden on the inside. You can open the cupboard a little way before it jams and you then have to poke your finger behind the door to release the catch inside.

I think without fail every time I have gone to open one of these cupboards I have forgotten these catches are there. I have merrily come along and pulled at the cupboard handle and nearly been sent flying as the cupboard jams. After a lot of tutting and faffing around inside the door I'll get the blasted thing open, until next time when I make the same mistake again.

Even my daughter has worked out about the safety catches. After a few attempts and some tears she has stopped even bothering to try and open the cupboard doors. In my defence I have been opening cupboards without catches on them much longer than she has, so my habit could take a little longer to break, but I'm not sure that is a defence really.

And don't even start me on the little plastic devices that slot on top of the main doors in the house so they cannot be shut fully. I think the idea is this prevents little fingers getting trapped in the hinges but if I try and shut that bathroom door again, forgetting to take the plastic door stopping thing off the top, I may blow my top. At least its good to see the house is mummy proofed.

Let's all embrace imaginary friends

Mother Jackie Cosh has written a frank article in the Daily Mail this week about her son Darrell's imaginary friends. Rather than be concerned about the fact he has so many imaginary people, and animals, in his life, Jackie finds it fascinating to be given such an insight into a child's mind and embraces Darrell's vivid imagination.

Child psychologists over the years have scaremongered on this topic. The general consensus amongst these so-called child experts is if a child is still insisting they have imaginary friends by the age of four they should be taken to a child psychologist to see what is going on in their minds.

Darrell is five and still believes in his imaginary horse William Wallace, his three dogs, Nathan the Blackbird and his criminal friend Laymar. His mum Jackie has no plans to ship him off to a child psychologist any time soon and is confident that over time Darrell's imaginary friends will disappear one by one. They will always be remembered in family chats in years to come however.

I think I am with Jackie Cosh on this one. I think it is a good sign that a child's imagination is so well-developed that they are able to construct a whole character in their head, name him and create a back story. This is a skill many an author can struggle with at times. It is fascinating where children come up with these ideas and shows just how much they are absorbing from the world without us even realising.

I am quite taken aback by the complexity of little Darrell's friends. He hasn't just got a friend called Bob who is a little boy like him. One of his imaginary friends is called Laymar – I mean where has he got a name like that from? It could be seen as a little worrying that this Laymar is a criminal. According to Darrell, Laymar has been sent away twice now, once for arson and once for murder. I don't think it is too alarming for a child to be exploring such topics in this way at a young age. It probably helps them grow in understanding and work through these complex issues in their own way. It certainly doesn't mean Darrell is going to turn into a fully-fledged criminal. Just the opposite. He seems a lovely boy who would be really entertaining to be around.

I think imaginary friends would only be a cause for concern if they led to a child completely withdrawing from society. If they refused to make real-life friends or failed to interact with their family properly then there would be reason to have a look at what was going on there. Otherwise, I think it is something to embrace. I don't remember having an imaginary friend and feel perhaps I missed out. I certainly wouldn't mind if my daughter had an imaginary friend, it would be a great game for us to share together.

Jackie Cosh tells the tale of how Darrell insisted on being lifted up onto his imaginary horse whilst they were walking through the park one day. Apparently the episode caused some curious looks from passers-by but Jackie didn't care. That's the kind of attitude I like. I think we should all embrace our inner child when we have our own children and enjoy life down at their level while it lasts. It's much more fun.

When mummy says no she means no – or does she?

I'm finding I'm having to say 'no' so often to my daughter at the moment that it doesn't surprise me she has learnt to say the word herself.

Her taste for mischievousness seems on non-ending supply. One minute she is diving into the kitchen cupboard where all the pots and pans are kept. 'No', I will reprimand her sternly. She will look up at me for a moment and then carry on regardless, dragging a colander off the shelf and proceeding to play it like a drum. 'No', I will repeat taking the colander from her and putting it back on the shelf with a warning clang.

When my daughter sees this cupboard door closed on her she will simply move onto the next where all the household cleaning products are kept. Here I am trying to desperately cook her lunch for her and I will turn around to see her with the furniture polish in hand. 'No' I will cry with a certain note of astonishment in my voice as I see the polish nozzle only centimetres from her mouth. She will look at me again as if deciding just how serious I am. She will reach into the cupboard again for the bottle of bleach, watching me the whole time as if to say 'are you going to stop me if I make a grab for this'? And so on we go until I have started to sound like a broken record. 'No, no, no.'

Worse still is when she will simply laugh in my face. Quite why she finds my angry tone of voice funny I have no idea but the problem is when she giggles it completely ruins my persona as the big bad angry mummy and I find a smile creeping around my own lips. How on earth am I meant to discipline this child?!

I can either conclude that my daughter has no idea what I am saying to her and thinks it is some kind of game or she is simply flying in the face of authority and is determined to have her own way.

It becomes even more complex when I find myself being forced to tell her off in scenarios which I find a little confusing myself. For instance I tell her off when she goes into her own kitchen cupboard where all her bowls, cups and spoons are kept. I will repeatedly have to prise a cup or spoon out of her hand but then how does this actually make sense when at meal times I am encouraging her to grasp hold of these items. Similarly when I find her sitting there steadily munching her way through a page she has ripped from a book she is using exactly the same skills as she does when I give her a biscuit or a bit of fruit to nibble on. No wonder at the moment the 'no' message is failing to get through. She must be thinking, come on mummy make up your mind, is it no or yes.

The word 'no' has certainly been drummed into my daughter's head in one form or another. I can't say I was surprised when she was sat in her high chair the other day when out of no where she thrust her arm out and pointed at me and said 'no'.

I was quite delighted she had learnt a new word but also a little stunned. There was no reason at that moment in time for her to actually be saying no to me, so she was purely repeating the word she had heard so often back to me parrot fashion but of course I realise she will be using that new found word with meaning not so far down the line.

Let's hope when we get to that stage of her using it with understanding, she will have come to understand what mummy means when she says it, ten thousand times a day.

Of course I'm beautiful - read my sash

Apparently beauty pageants are becoming more prevalent in Britain, with girls as young as a year old being entered to pit their looks against others.

Beauty pageants for children used to be an American thing. Dare I say Americans are innately far more inclined to this kind of artifice and breed children who seem to be naturally so much more confident than our own British youngsters. However, things appear to be changing as the modest and unassuming British want a slice of that kind of action too.

The question is, hand on heart, if I could be guaranteed that my one-year-old daughter would win one of these pageants, would I enter her into one? Hand on heart – it would be tempting.

The reason I say this is because I think it would be the case for a lot of mums. What better accolade than to be told you have a beautiful child – in deed the most beautiful child. (That's forgetting for a minute that this opinion is limited to the few people on the judging panel that day who appear to have not only been appointed judges, but God).

And in those brackets I have rather let my true feelings out. I am opposed to beauty pageants, especially in children so young they have so little real understanding about what they are getting into and the consequences - especially if they lose.

I stand by the fact the prospect of winning the crown at one of these things is tempting. Everyone likes a little boost of self-esteem and these beauty pageant titles are worn as badges of honour by the girl's that win them. These girls are lucky that they have their own little shields they can hold up against anyone that tries to make out they are not attractive. 'But I won a beauty pageant don't you know. Of course I'm beautiful.' Who wouldn't want to give their child that little suit of impenetrable armour to wear throughout their years at school when the going gets tough and the other girls get jealous. I wish I'd had that kind of protection.

But of course it is not as simple as that. Success and talent in any form will always breed jealously. And besides, there is no guarantee that your child is going to win one of these contests regardless of whether they are naturally beautiful or not, and all children are beautiful to their parents.

Beauty is entirely subjective and through these competitions girls are being taught a different message to this – that you're either in or you're out. You're beautiful or you're not. In the cruelty of the school playground this is very much the case but where does this message originate from?

I believe we don't have to look much further than the next generation up where the parents are similarly consumed by what they are told is beautiful. The world of celebrity, as fuelled by the media, plays a huge part in this. A handful of celebrities are held up by the media alongside messages they are extraordinarily beautiful and so often we don’t question this message. We may well see far more beautiful women walking down the road every day but they are not famous and making it into the celeb mags, so they don't count.

Beauty pageants in this country would only hinder further the more mature view on beauty that it is all in the eye of the beholder and true beauty shines through from the inside.

Baaa-rmy?!

I never thought there would come the day when I empathised with a sheep.

This either means I have finally completely lost the plot or motherhood really does open you eyes to a whole new array of emotions.

This all came about on a recent walk through the farmland at the back of my house with my daughter sat happily on daddy's back in her baby carrier.

This is the first time we have ventured through these fields since moving house and it was a real treat to immediately stumble upon a field full of mother sheep and their newborn lambs.

I felt a little uncertain whether we should be stumbling through this happy domestic scene but the footpath clearly stated this was the way we had to go, so over the stile we clambered.

The sheep watched us with their big round eyes as we trekked on through as gently as we could, their little lambs close to their legs for comfort.

All was well and good and on we went for the rest of our walk.

It was the journey back which proved the problem.

We came back through the field and we noticed to one side in a little enclosed pen a mother sheep had literally just given birth. Her woolly coat was still covered in birthing fluid and her little newborn lamb lay curled up in the tiniest of balls at her feet. It was a moving experience to see a lamb so newly entered into the world but also incredible to think that within the next few hours that lamb would be up on its feet and taking its first tentative steps – so different to human babies who take months to master even sitting up.

But while all three of us were so engrossed in this miracle of nature we had been unaware of another sheep close by to where we were stood with her little lamb.

I turned round to see her starring at us, her little hoofed feet banging the ground in warning.

“I think we should go “, I said to my husband. We climbed over the stile out of the field but still my husband lingered with my daughter to let her have a closer look at the lamb.

It was then it happened. An overwhelming wave of emotion passed over me as I looked into that mother sheep's eyes and I saw a look there which I believe can be spied in the eyes of all mothers across the animal kingdom - including humans - that look of fear and yet defiance which said I will do anything I have to to protect my baby from danger.

Her hooves were still thumping on the ground and I just wished I could somehow tell her that I understood and I too would make sure her child came to no harm.

Sheep are commonly considered rather stupid animals with very little brain but I will always look on them with slightly different eyes now. Who would have thought it.

The toddler milk update

A fortnight ago I wrote on my blog how I was struggling with weaning my daughter off her usual formula and on to cow's milk. I had been making reasonable headway with this until my daughter caught a cold and getting her to drink milk in any form became a struggle.

As a result I had to put any attempts at getting her onto cow's milk on hold with the fear that I was going to have to go where I had never anticipated I was going to have to go – and that was to the shop to buy toddler milk. The supply of her regular formula was running low and I couldn't continue to ply her with milk powder no longer suitable for her age.

So the key question is, how have I been getting on? Shall I give you the good news or the bad news first? The bad news – OK.

Well the fact is if you look into my kitchen cupboard you will see a big box of toddler milk powder – but do not fear, it is not as bad as it looks.

As soon as my daughter's cold started to clear up I went back to giving her a cup of milk with equal parts cow's milk and equal parts formula in it. With bated breath I held it to her mouth that first time for her to drink and she finished the lot. It took a while for me to relax into giving her this concoction. I don't think I breathed during the five minutes she took to guzzle it, but two weeks later I can safely say during the day she is a full-time cow's milk drinker – success.

So what's with the toddler milk I hear you cry.

Well let's just say I’m playing it safe for the moment. I have noticed that now my daughter is drinking cow's milk her appetite during the day has increased. I can't see this as any kind of coincidence because it makes sense that cow's milk would be less filling than the stodgy, synthetic formula I have been forced to give her over the last few months.

As a result however the alarm bells have been ringing in my head over whether it is actually a good move to give her a cup of cow's milk before she goes to bed. If it is less filling I fear this could leave her waking up much earlier in the morning because her little tummy is empty. I don't want this to happen so I have not made any attempt to substitute this final cup of milk of the day for anything other than formula.

The ironic thing is, this toddler milk I have been giving her in place of cow's milk during her period of illness with the snivels is actually a whole new drink in itself. It is nothing like the baby formula, which to me always smelt a little like rotten eggs. This milk smells a whole lot sweeter and looking at the ingredients I discovered it has been flavoured with vanilla.

What a luxury. You'd spend £3.50 for a glass of that in a place like Starbucks. Unfortunately you seem to play close to that for a cup of the baby version of the stuff. Therefore there is going to have to come a time, not too far in the distant future, when my daughter will have to say bye bye to this new vanilla bedtime drink and go full-time on daisy the cow's produce.

Oh how I love Kirsty Allsopp

Other celebrity mums please take note.

For anyone who is not aware of this wonderful lady, she is one half of the property duo behind Location, Location, Location but has also branched out into other Channel 4 must-see programmes including Kirstie's Homemade Home.

The reason I am completely in love with her is because she embodies everything I admire in a woman and, now I have my own daughter, in a mum.

She is a strong, no-nonsense character who knows her own mind and seems to have the home/work balance just right.

She is always immaculately turned out and has her very own distinctive style. She is always to be

seen in beautiful dresses and coats, never wearing trousers no matter what the task. There was even an occasion when she was filmed shearing a sheep down on a farm and still she was in her usual glamorous attire having only substituted her high heels for a pair of wellington boots.

She is still a picture of glamour and poise when elbow deep in flour doing the baking or traipsing through a field looking for stinging nettles to make homemade dye.

From the insight we have gained of her through her later programmes such as Kirstie's Homemade Home we have a real sense that her children are involved in everything she does, helping her to bake cakes, or make craft items for the home. I know she has been quoted in the press as saying her husband comes first in her life and her children second. But I think this is all relative. She still seems to spend far more quality time with her children than a lot of mums, in past-times such as crafts which appear to be dying arts in a world of televisions and computer games. This is how I would like to be with my daughter when she is a bit older. Always with a paintbox out and the smell of baking cakes permeating from the oven.

I wish more women would look up to a woman like her and not the celebrities which are foisted upon us as role models. I fail to understand this propensity amongst many celebrities these days to have a baby and then just a few weeks later pose for some cheap magazine declaring 'Look at me I've lost all my baby weight in just two weeks'.

The more I think about this the more I fail to see what they are trying to prove. Aside from the huge amount of airbrushing which goes into these photos and the clever poses – if you stand there with your arms behind your head, your stomach is going to look instantly flatter – it is only common-sense that what they have achieved is not feasible for the average mum. These celebrities must hand their babies over to a nanny as soon as they pop out and head to the gym with their personal trainers, before heading home to eat the meagre meal their chefs have cooked up for them. They are able to have their energy levels at an all time low while us real-life mums are trying to survive on a couple of hours sleep a night and make it to the next feed. We don't have the luxury of an army load of staff at our beck and call to change nappies, give feeds in the night and allow us to go on re-energising spa breaks.

And neither would I want to.

It is a slow hard road back to gaining your pre-pregnancy figure but the thing is it does happen naturally eventually. Of course if you're tucking into a pack of doughnuts a day you can't then moan that the excess weight isn't disappearing which is just the same as in the case of anyone trying to lose excess weight in life. But I'd rather carry a few excess pounds in the first few months and spend quality time with my newborn baby than only see her between gym sessions.

I really think these celebrity mums have missed the point here. They have already notched up the ultimate achievement of giving birth to a wonderful little baby and that is what they should be celebrating, not the fact they can get back into their size six jeans. Besides I doubt Kirsty Allsopp has ever owned a pair of Levis.

Mother finds 'stillborn' baby alive in a morgue

On first reading the story in the news this week about the mother who found her 'stillborn' baby alive in a morgue 12 hours after it was pronounced dead, I was filled with the wonder of what a tremendous miracle it was.

I can only try and imagine how Analia Bouter felt on discovering her daughter was living. She had given birth prematurely at 26 weeks pregnant at a hospital in Argentina's northern Chaco province only to be told her infant was showing no vital signs.

Mrs Bouter told news reporters she fell to her knees when she went with her husband to see her baby's body, where it was being kept refrigerated at a hospital morgue, and heard a cry and saw her baby stretch.

It is only when you start considering this story a little further that you begin to realise the terrifying implications behind it – the fact that staff at this hospital had decided this newborn baby was dead and had gone as far as to pack the mother off home with a death certificate and to put the baby in a refrigerated drawer before their mistake was uncovered. It doesn't bare thinking about what would have happened if the parents had not decided to come back to the hospital to see their baby's 'body'. Would the infant have been left undiscovered until it had died of hypothermia?

Evidently, someone or several people at this hospital are culpable for this calamity and must be called to account.

It is stories like this which shake the very bedrock of those institutions in society which day-to-day we presume are there to protect us from harm.

It is always unnerving when we hear a story of one of these vital establishments, whether it is a hospital, police force, council or even government, failing to perform up to the standard we put faith in them to live up to. It starts to make us question just how safe we are in today's society and whether we can put our confidence in anyone's hands.

The last thing you want to have to think as a mother who has just given birth to a stillborn child is what if the staff who have taken its little body away for good have got it wrong and my baby is still alive. It is simply terrifying to contemplate.

Luckily, at the moment, mother Mrs Bouter is so overwhelmed by the miracle of her baby living she has not let the idea that the hospital staff have failed her at such an extraordinary level enter her consciousness. It is going to be when she looks down on her little baby in a few weeks time and it dawns on her how close she was to not ever experiencing this tender moment that she will realise heads need to roll at that hospital.

Give us a hug

I don't want a medal for my services as a mummy.

I'm quite happy to work entirely for free with overtime and a quick response 24 hour helpline thrown in as part of the package.

I don't want any kind of pay rise, Christmas bonus or golden handshake agreement following my dedicated service over the past 12 months. But I won't say no to a hug from my daughter.

I hate to say it – but being a mother can be the most thankless of occupations. More often than not you put a whole lot of work in with not much thanks at the other end.

However, I say this, but the rewards when they come are worth more than a couple of lieu days at the end of the working year.

The thank-yous creep up slowly. They come in the form of that first smile at around eight weeks old, the first time their little fist unfolds like a flower and grasps onto your clothing. The first time they raise their arms to you when you go to pick them up out of their cot. The first time they laugh when you pull a funny face.

And now – the first time they give you a cuddle back. Up until recently a hug between me and my daughter has been a one way street. I do the hugging and she acts with indifference.

There was a period of trial and error at first. She would grab at my hair to pull my head in close and when I tried to resist she'd use her other hand to pull at my nose.

But she is now starting to master the hugging technique. Both of her little arms will grab me around my neck and she will squash her cheek close into mine. She even lets out a little cry of 'aaaah' – whether this is out of affection or brute force as she pushes her face into my neck I'm not entirely sure, but I don't mind. It's a wonderful reward and beats a carriage clock and a certificate.

It's one of the first signs of her saying, 'you know what mummy, I quite like you'.

Well you know what my daughter, I quite like you back.

Now give me a hug.

Potty trained at six-months-old?!

I'm slightly perplexed by the story in the Daily Mail this week about the six-month-old who her parents claim is already potty trained.

Izabella Oniciuc makes 'boo boo' noises when she needs to go to the toilet, according to her proud mother Raluca. When they hear Izabella make this sound they lift her onto the potty. Hmm.

My daughter is a year old and I am not even thinking about potty training her yet. The mums I have talked to about potty training have said it was an incredibly difficult art for their youngster to master and took a lot of work and patience - and this was when their children were anything from two to three-years-old.

The general consensus seems to be that it is best to wait until the child is ready and willing to be potty trained and has an understanding about why they are being put on a potty.

I heard Dr Miriam Stoppard speaking on television about just this subject a few months ago and she claimed it was vital a child knew they were being put on the potty to go to the toilet otherwise they could become quite upset and confused about why they are being made to sit there. She said as soon as they started showing recognition that the sensations they were feeling meant they were about to go to the toilet, that was the time to whip out the potty for them to sit on.

Izabella's mother would argue that is exactly what she is doing with her daughter but what bugs me is while Izabella is obviously intelligent enough to realise when she is about to go to the toilet and has learnt to communicate that awareness, I don't think she will have the cognitive development to fully understand the process she is being put through.

I don't think she will be able to fully understand that she needs to wait until she is sat on the potty to go to the toilet. She just goes and the potty happens to be held under her. It seems more that Izabella's mum is the one who is potty trained as it is she that has learnt to get out the potty on Izabella's call.

What really gets my goat about Izabella's mum is she is claiming parents who are not potty training their babies are being lazy and not listening to their little ones. Judging by the comments left on this article on the Daily Mail website she is not alone in this. Several mums are claiming that parents are leaving potty training until later because of laziness. One even states one of the 'experts' claiming toddlers should be potty trained at around two-years-old works is on the board for Pampers and therefore has a vested interest in encouraging parents to buy nappies for longer. That is just a ridiculous thing to say and typical of the cynical attitude of today's society.

So many parents seem too eager to push their babies into becoming little people too soon - whether when it comes to potty training, walking or talking. You don't see adults crawling down the road wearing nappies do you? All children learn to do things at their own pace. I think it is good to encourage a child but not to force them into reaching developmental milestones before they are ready.

Babyhood is such a precious time which should be cherished for what it is. It is really only a few short months in a child's life and that time should be made the most of, not completely eliminated for the sake of being able to boast what an advanced child you have.

Bouncy bouncy having such a good time

It's a little scary how much my daughter understands when it comes to language.

You can ask her to say mama and dada, and nothing – not a sausage even though she's perfectly capable of saying these words when she wants to and she knows exactly who we are.

You can point to a picture in a book of a lion, and say, 'lion lion', and she'll just giggle and hit the page with her hand, making no attempt at all to copy the word.

But even though she refuses to play along with these games, she reveals just how much she does comprehend of what we say to her in other ways, when you least expect her to.

We started to notice even if we mentioned the words hands and clap in a sentence she would start to clap her hands, so we tested the water for categorical proof, 'clap your hands' we'd say and automatically she'd clap her hands.

This started to develop into something a little more when my husband decided to say bouncy, bouncy to her and somehow she knew what that meant and would bounce up and down on the spot where she sat. When my husband commended her and said good girl she instinctively clapped her hands.

So now we have the repetitions of 'bouncy bouncy', and she will bounce up and down, followed by 'good girl', and she will clap her hands, as a whole new game in its own right.

She let's slip in other ways too. My husband will say 'where's mummy' and she will point over to me and say 'mama'.

Next door's dog will come out into the garden and we can say, the doggie's outside and she will look out the window in exactly the right direction.

Sometimes she will reply with a little noise that sounds very much like a 'yep' when you ask her if she's ready for lunch or whether she wants to play with a certain toy.

She's even started waving on demand. At bedtime I'll say 'wave to daddy night night' and she'll wave her hand frantically from side to side.

And she seems to know when something funny has been said on the television because she'll be stood there, her nose pressed almost to the screen and suddenly giggle with glee. I'll tune in to what has just been said and realise that indeed, someone on the TV has just said something funny. How does my daughter know that?

It's easy as a parent to talk about your child while they're in the room as though they are not there. They'll be no more of that kind of thing. It's time we all watch what we say.

The day the pushchair fell into a black hole and never returned

It's amazing how going out and about with a pushchair alters your perception of your environment.

The world of simple pavements and roads around you suddenly becomes a litter of obstacles and stumbling blocks to avoid and overcome.

A crack in a pavement is suddenly a huge crevice to manipulate the pushchair's wheels in and out of. A puddle is a great lake to journey around the perimeter of and a pot hole is a black hole to avoid at all costs for fear you will never come out of it again.

But in all seriousness, the simple task of getting into a shop can become a gruelling expedition. The number of steps up to the front door can deem a shop completely out of bounds to anyone but the bravest of mums.

Even on approaching a shop, no longer is a window display the first thing that catches the eye, but whether the door opens in or outwards and whether it is going to require a reverse manoeuvre – back into the door, the pushchair dragged along afterwards – or the forward manoeuvre - using the pushchair as a battering ram, which doesn't make for the most graceful of entrances.

If the door opens outwards, well now this can prove very difficult. A quick swing of the door open, wedge it with the foot, swing the pushchair into the gap as quickly as possible and use a spare elbow to keep the door open as you try and push your way inside.

And don't rely on a helping hand from a kind member of the public. On a number of occasions I have had people watch from inside the shop as I try out one of my manoeuvres. No rush do they make to lend a helping hand. The most shocking example of this was when I approached a

shop whose front door was half wedged open, one of the dreaded open out kind and I had just pulled up outside calculating the swiftest way I could get the door open just that bit wider to get us inside when I saw a lady coming towards the door from the inside.

I thought, phew, someone to open the door for me, so I could hardly believe my eyes at the scene that unfolded next. The lady approached the door and proceeded to squeeze through the gap and past me, my pushchair and my gaping mouth, onto the street and away without so much as an apologetic look in my direction.

I don't wish to moan but another area of severe drought when it comes to helpfulness is where motorists are concerned.

I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times a driver has stopped to let me across the road when I am out and about with my daughter in her pushchair. You would think there would be no greater incentive to take a few seconds out of your journey and do a good turn than stop for a mother and child trying to cross the road but this, from my experience, is not the case.

They either tend to go tearing by to the point my daughter jumps in her seat and flings her arms in the air in a gesture of surrender or they will go by so slowly and turn their heads completely to get a good gawp at you by the roadside before continuing on down the road. If you have time to do that, I think, couldn't you have taken that extra moment to completely apply the brakes and let me across the road.

I at least hope these same motorists will slow down when I have to veer out into the road because a roadworks sign or a parked car is blocking my pushchair's path.

A whole new world - and mummy comes too

Get down onto all fours, crouch down lower, like a tiger about to pounce on its prey. No a bit lower, but keep your head up so you can still look around. This is very important. That's it, perfect.

There is a whole new world opening up down here. I know because my daughter has been showing me with her new found skill – pointing.

We have travelled together through the table leg forest, delved into the cavernous caves of behind the sofa land and swished our way through the billowing curtain waves before taking refuge on our desert island, which is the kitchen floor, watching out for sharks – or daddy.

On our travels we have made all sorts of wonderful discoveries which Indiana Jones himself would be envious of. A piece of cotton thread under the dining table for example. 'Oooh', cries my daughter, her arm shooting out, her index finger extended, 'oooh', she glances over her shoulder to make sure mummy is looking at what she has found.

She picks the thread up between her thumb and third finger, pincer-style, and thrusts it under my nose. 'Oooh', her eyes are as wide as saucers.

'Oooh', I exclaim back, 'what have you found, a piece of thread, that's amazing'. Mummy takes the thread from her little intrepid explorer and stores it in her pocket out of harms way. Time to move on.

Forward we trek, and what's this, the high chair totem pole and how about that, there's something underneath. Is this an offering to the gods? What can it be? The little finger is pointing. 'Oooh', the pincers are down and up again. Around swings my daughter's arm like a crane to show me her prize – a dried up pasta star which has alluded my fastidious cleaning.

On we crawl across the carpet desert, the sand tickling our palms and knees and what's that up ahead? Is it a mirage, no it's the ultimate of treasures, an alphabet building block with the letters o, o, o, h on it. What's it doing all the way out here. 'Oooh', my daughter exclaims prodding it with her extended pointing finger, 'oooh' she cries again, picking it up to show me, 'oooh', 'oooh', but hang on something's changed, the carpet desert is retreating and plain old carpet is coming back in its place as my daughter crawls over to the television set. Mr Bloom's Nursery is just beginning on the TV. Well, I guess even the most adventurous of explorers need a rest.

Time for a cup of tea mummy thinks, easing herself up from the floor.

But often my daughter likes to go adventuring without old mum in tow. These missions can be her most dangerous – they can take her through cable valley and to the bottom of stair gate cliff. The rescue party frequently has to fly in and save the little explorer, even when she doesn't want to be saved.

Other times my daughter will make sure she makes regular drop-ins to headquarters to show mummy her finds.

Once she made it all the way over carpet desert and through table leg forest and onto kitchen floor island, where mummy was washing up, with a CD case in her hands. 'Look what I found on bookcase crag' her eager eyes say, at the same time her outstretched hand says take it, take it. I take it from her and her hand remains outstretched. 'Well give it back now', she seems to be saying, 'you've had a look'. 'We'll see about that' I reply.

And there are times when she'll take another sort of companion with her. Her little pink shoe has gone on a number of explorations with her, as has her toy tambourine. She has even taken one of her food storage pots with her, obtained, I'm assuming, whilst stocking up on supplies from her food cupboard.

She had cleverly wedged it underneath her tummy so that every time she crawled forward she nudged it with her knee and so it came along with her. At least I think she had intended to take it with her, that or she'd forgotten it was there. On these adventures with her companions, mummy becomes the great discovery. She'll crawl round the corner and out will fly her arm in a point - 'oooh, oooh, the mummy creature, oooh, oooh'.

Mother and Child Divided

I think it is fascinating how becoming a mother can enable you to see beauty in the unlikeliest of places.

I was watching a television programme about Damien Hirst's exhibition at Tate Modern this week and I found myself being deeply moved by his artwork entitled Mother and Child Divided.

Before becoming a mother I've no doubt I would have dismissed this piece of art as grotesque and constructed on no other premise than to shock on the part of Hirst.

For those of you who are not aware of what Mother and Child Divided looks like, I will describe it. It is a floor-based sculpture comprising four glass-walled tanks, containing the two halves of a cow and calf, each bisected and preserved in formaldehyde solution. The tanks have been installed in pairs, the two halves of the calf in front of the two halves of the mother, with sufficient space between each pair that a visitor may walk between and view the animals' insides.

The original of this artwork was the focal point of the 1995 Turner Prize at Tate Britain, the year that Hirst won the prize.

A majority of people would perceive this piece of art for what it is – an anatomical view of the inside of a cow and her calf. There is an argument for this being beautiful in itself as what is more wonderful than nature in all its forms and you can't get much closer to the baseness of nature than the inner workings of an animal.

Hirst is nicknamed Dr Death because of his propensity to incorporate dead animals into his artwork. As a result, some people find his idea of art plain shocking, whilst others would say it is not art at all.

But I now understand Hirst is being very clever. He is making the point that death is not the finite point of life. An animal can go on living in the eye of the beholder and nothing made me feel the beauty of life more spectacularly than looking at Mother and Child Divided.

For me the 'Divided' aspect of the sculpture works on two levels. There is the most obvious level of the fact the cow and the calf have been divided in two to allow us to see their insides but there is also the fact the mother and calf have been divided from each other and put in their own individual tanks.

I felt so incredibly moved by the positioning of the mother and calf so that they look as though they are calling out to each other. They are evidently in great distress for being treated so ruthlessly by Hirst and could not be in any greater need of the comfort of each other but their separate tanks will forever keep them apart.

In feeling that powerful wrench between mother and child and their urgent need to be together, I felt the bond with my own daughter so intensely it felt as though a fire had been lit in my stomach. In this way, far from portraying death, in Mother and Child Divided, Hirst couldn't more fully have asserted the ultimate symbol of life, a mother's need to nurture and care for her child.

So we have the crucial question – is art successful if it provokes a strong and lasting emotion in the viewer, even if that emotion is essentially a negative one? I would say the answer is yes. I believe we can only truly appreciate the beauty of life if we have peered down into the darkest pit of despair and I think that is Hirst's understanding of life too.

There are few pieces of art which have moved me as much as Mother and Child Divided and because of this I have fallen a little in love with it.

Starting pistol at the ready...and they're off

That's just great isn't it. As if giving birth wasn't difficult enough, we are now being put under pressure to get our babies out quicker.

Latest research has found the modern mother is taking two and a half hours on average longer to give birth than mothers 50 years ago.

I tell you what, why not make it into an Olympic sport and have done with it. We can have it up and ready for London 2012. A unique selling point for the Brits that one. We could line-up eight beds track side, fire the starting pistol and watch as they push for gold. First baby out and the mother gets a medal and a year's supply of Pampers. I mean really.

This study was conducted using 150,000 American women and concludes the increase in labour time is the result of 21^st century mothers being older and heavier than their 1960s counterparts and changes in the way babies are delivered. They are blaming, for example, the increased use of powerful epidural painkilling injections.

Speaking from my own personal experience – which I am loathe to do as I pledged what happened in the delivery room would stay in the delivery room – my labour took so long I’m surprised the hospital didn't start charging me rent. I can safely say I am not 'old' – I am, and was, in my 20s when I gave birth – I am by no means overweight and I did not have an epidural or any pain relief come to that.

You can talk to a whole range of mums and get a host of different tales of how long their labour took. Some claim it was a breeze and they fit it in during the adverts of Coronation Street, others were in there for days. I don't however, think you will find any hard and fast rule over what type of person gives birth quickly and what type of person takes longer.

I can see some sense in older women and overweight women taking a little longer because perhaps they are not as fit and healthy. This would give the average labour time a boost up compared to 50 years ago when women were younger when they had children and there was less of a problem with obesity, but it is still generalising.

I think it is irresponsible for anyone to come out with a study which comes across as slamming mothers for being too slow at giving birth.

I wouldn't like to be a prospective mum at the moment looking to give birth for the first time. Not only are they faced with the usual fears but now are being made to think they need to get the job done as quick as possible.

Giving birth is quite simply the most physically demanding thing a woman will ever do. I don't think it is appropriate to put any additional pressure on women over it.

This study is in danger of making people lose sight of what is important. Of course if there was a choice, mothers would opt for their babies to be born quickly but when it comes down to it, as long as their baby is born without complication and is healthy and well, it really doesn't matter if it takes that bit longer.

Down but not out

I fear I am going to be forced to eat my words. I'm talking about when it comes to toddler milk.

Without fail, every time an advert has come on the TV for formula aimed at toddlers I have grumbled on about the pointlessness of it when by that age it is possible to give your child cow's milk.

I've asked my husband, who in their right minds would fork out for this toddler milk when surely it's just a gimmick on the part of baby food companies to get gullible parents to put their hands into their pockets?

I'll tell you who – me. Well, it's certainly looking that way. So far my daughter's not taken to cow's milk at all. We did get off on the wrong foot however, because within a couple of days of trying to wean her onto the stuff she caught a cold which made her uncharacteristically fussy over everything she was eating and drinking.

And yes, I did have an irrational moment when I thought, oh no, she's lactose intolerant and the runny nose was a reaction to the milk, but whether rightly or wrongly, I refuse to buy into all these food allergies, especially in young children. I'd hate to have to start looking at alternatives to milk and wheat and the like at such a tender age. Besides, my husband came down with a cold a few days after my daughter, so there we have the categorical proof my daughter isn't lactose intolerant - unless it's catching.

Anyway, so cow's milk was off the menu. I had got her onto half formula, half cow's milk in her mid-morning and mid-afternoon cups but all my good work was undone.

This is not the end though. I refuse to give up. My daughter will drink cow's milk. It could just take a little while longer than I anticipated.

My supply of baby formula is running low so the question is, will the weaning be complete before I run out completely, or will I have to splash out on toddler milk? Stay tuned...