Before I get onto the subject of this post, I need to do a SQUUUUUUUEEEEEEEEEEEEE of joy and utter disbelief as I'm going to be reading at BlogHer 09 Community Keynote. Now, excuse me while I go and have a faint in the corner. To distract you, here's a post I wrote earlier.

If coursework while parenting is to blogging what Jaws was to my swimming, then annual leave comes as a welcome oasis in a desert for arsing around on the internet and concocting ambitious plans that are almost guaranteed to fail.

Like, take yesterday morning. Waking up to child, birdsong and a dirty laundry basket so overflowing that it was threatening to crush us all, I leapt up with good cheer and enlisted help of child into feeding the washing machine and then when it was done I bounced gaily into the garden with him in order to hang the clothes to dry all over his play equipment.

By midafternoon the clothes were mostly dry and smelling wonderful. Hahaha! I crowed to myself with smugness. These clothes smell of sunlight and fresh air! I rule at housewifing! I may yet conquer ironing! Tralalala!

Of course not long after I thought that (but long before I had the opportunity to take the laundry in) the heavens opened up in a thunderstorm of such thrilling magnitude that both cats tried concussing themselves in their hurry to get inside the house.

Acid rain will make my whites brilliantly white, right?

In other news I cannot find Important Document, but I did stumble across a Belgrade photoblog by an American ex-pat. I love photoblogs since they cater to both my voyeuristic impulses and short attention span, and this one manages to capture the excellent things I see but never have a camera on hand for. Such as health and safety breaches and customised transportation galore. There is indeed no place like home.

In the last 48 hours, while breastfeeding I have:

*Watched television

*Read a book

*Pacified my mother's pathologically jealous dog with some face stroking

*Fallen asleep

*Practiced meditative breathing and states of mind

*Contemplated the alternating blond and black hairs sprouting from the crown of my baby's head

*Compiled in my head a list of breastfeeding commandments beginning with Thou Shalt Not Bite

*Wrote poetry in my mind

*Sang along to Serbian rock songs on the radio (of which my favourite goes (Don't worry, I have no evil intentions/ You're just a shoulder to cry on; which is a fairly apt description of every relationship I had between the ages of 16 and 23)

*Read my friends list

*Sat in a cafe

*Made small talk with people who stared fixedly into my eyes

*Answered the door

*Greeted the postman (I thought he was my mother)

*Walked down a flight of stairs, taken the elevator, wrangled open the door, given Z his watch, kissed him goodbye as he left for the airport, walked to the elevator, walked up a flight of stairs, succesfully inserted keys and opened door of the apartment and gratefully sank down onto the sofa (a testament to my biceps and my child's determination to feed).

*Thought longingly of the time when my child's nourishment would come from pots.

The baby has started sleeping through the night, although the pleasure of that is significantly diminsished on account of the fact that I still can't sleep because Zelda is still missing.

I've hung up posters (which some bastard keeps taking down) I've done the rounds of the neighberhood like a Jehovah's Witness, knocking on any door that opened, (I have even considering telling the Jehovah's Witnesses who come to my door that I will happily go to their meetings if they give me my cat) and I have wondered around with increasing desolation calling calling calling.

The absence of Zelda is palpable. It seeps into everything, erodes happiness and peace. It undermines my pleasure of the other two cats (because of the one who is missing, the third who is not there and who was secretly my favourite) every discarded black sock startles me, the emptiness of the doorway digs at me and over and over and over her life with me plays itself out in my head. Her brief kittenhood with her tiny self that used to dust the house regularly by crawling underneath the furniture, and that phase where she would only eat if Z was holding her in his arms, or the one where she would regularly go up trees she didn't know how to come down from, and her love of small spaces and her quest to fit into the tiniest of them (and the way I'd several times be startled when I opened the sock drawer and found Zelda sleeping there). I've had her since June 2006 and my heart aches with the loss of her because it is not enough. She was a healthy splendid cat, she could have been with us for years. Z says "at least we haven't had to have her put down, that would be much worse" except that for me it wouldn't. It would be terribly sad and awful in its own way but at least there would be closure. It wouldn't eat at me the way her dissapearance does. I wouldn't be constantly torn between my awful sadness and the terrible hope that won't let me rest

Physically I ache for her. For the sleekness of her body, for the splendidness of her tail, for the small wetness of her nose, for the company of her, for the way she used to gallop towards me when she saw me coming in the street, for her urgent mewling in front of the door. I miss the way she used to sit on the garden wall and preen to be admired, or the way she'd hold herself still to be stroked, the dainty way she'd sit on the edge of the tub whenever I had a bath. I miss the way she would accompany me on walks with the baby, running alongside the pram chirping until we crossed some invisible line that marked the frontier of her territory and she would turn back.

Some fools suggest: "Get a new cat." which - no. Firstly even the two remaining ones are quite enough to maintain, and secondly I don't want just any cat. I want her. Zelda was special. Not only was she the most gloriously beautiful animal I've ever shared my life with, but also the most endearingly stupid. Her determination not to learn from past mistakes, her fearlessness, her airheadedness, her sweetness, her passionate curiosity and seeming utter lack of instinct for self-preservation - all those were a tragedy waiting to happen much as they also meant I couldn't help BUT adore her. Zelda with her goldfish memory and flighty butterfly tendencies, whose daintiness permeated her whole being and whose sweetness oozed from every pore - my heart was forfeit from the beginning.

And each time I said goobye to anything I loved (from husband to cat) - each time they left my presence it was like pieces of my heart going away into the world to have their own adventures and each evening when they returned it was like being reassembled. Except now that there is a piece missing. Its loss shadows me and with each extra day that she is gone I have less hope of her return.

Z has a theory about happiness, that happiness is a jinx of its own kind. That if you become too happy, too gleeful, too full of your own joy this displeases the universe and it gets taken away. This is why he is quiet in the expressions of his happiness. He doesn't shout it out the way I do, to shelter it. But I'm not built that way. I can no more lie low with my joy than I can with love. Whatever emotion I feel is cast out, proclaimed into the world. And even though there is a part of me that fears that what I love will get removed from me simply because I love it so much, there's the other part that finds it impossible not to love to my full extent no matter how much I am tortured by the loss.

To celebrate being one month old, the baby rolled from his stomach onto his back by himself this morning. As far as he was concerned this was the BEST THING EVER until it became the WORST THING EVER (approx. 5 seconds later, which is like a year in baby time) because he was exhausted by the effort and couldn't roll back again.

It's been an exciting social week though.

Last week miss_newham came to visit (thank you for the plant! I am doing my best not to kill it) and give my baby messages about being nice to its parents. Coincidentally my baby has been sleeping a lot more since. All hail Jo and her powers of infant persuasion!

Sunday was our first Proper Family Outing and on Monday Z and I seized that Holy Grail of Parenthood, the Baby-Free Date. We left Matei in my mother's charge and went to see a film. (I went crazy with the possibilities and wore pre-baby jeans, and perfume, and dangly earrings, and high heels and a pretty lady top not chosen for breastfeeding ease). It was divine, although I kept glancing at my phone. Getting back home we discovered that the child had slept through it all, although it meant that he then partied until 2am. Win some, lose some.

Other things that are making me happy at the moment:

humanfemale coming back from foreign soon

Novak Djokovic winning the Australian Open. Also the answer he gave in one of the interviews when an American reporter asked him how he reckons that he plays so well coming from such a small country as Serbia and Novak replied: "My only explanation was that when you bombed us, the depleted uranium turns out to stimulate acquisition of tennis skills."

My baby is almost a month old and comparison with some other babies his age leads me to conclude that

a) he is a giant - longer and fatter than most children his age. (He has nearly outgrown his Moses basket, and he is filling out 3-6 month clothes very comfortably indeed).

b) also beating them in screaming the house down. Other children, normal children are happy to entertain themselves gazing at walls, or lights, or colourful things. Maybe sucking on a hand or two. Not my son, he of the vibrating rages and need for constant cuddles and entertainment and feeding.

c) When my son is doing his bit to put more screamings into the innocent world, the other children, the scream-free children just stare at him in confusion. Ah seed of my loins, sowing chaos already.

My house looks like a bomb site, my bed is sporting an increasing number of milk-stains and my cats are slowly turning feral with the irregular feedings (because sleeping when the baby sleeps means they never know what time exactly their next meal is coming from) and not enough petting and not being allowed to walk on the baby.

The baby continues with his two dominant moods of Angel (when feeding, bathing, sleeping) and Wailing DemonFiend (all other times), although on special occasions he is prepared to be awake and not scream.

Although on the plus side I have never enjoyed my mother's company more, or her willingness to take the child off my hands for a few hours. It's made enough difference to save my mental health from 'heading into postnatal depression at breakneck speed' to 'really coping with all this just fine, now that I have enough sleep'. Truly, there is nothing that refreshes my affection for my child quite as much as having him in the care of others for a while.

Yesterday we had our first family outing since the baby was born. We went out for lunch and then for a long walk along Hampstead Heath (I breastfed in the restaurant; we got chased by a swan) and aside from the fact that at 9 o'clock in the evening the child decided he hadn't fulfilled his daily quota of the screamings, it really was a lovely day.

Today's Hair: Still a bit dry and resentful from having been pinned and curled and styled a couple of days ago but at least this makes it subdued and wavy enough to be pinned back on one side and left loose.

Today's Outfit:A long sleeved brown V-neck top over a bright green sleveless top, Light blue/gray jeans, mismatched socks, brown boots, silver hoop earrings, a dragonfly hairclip and a collection of jangly bracelets in various shades of brown, orange and green.

Today's Weather: Dismal and rainy, setting up a corresponding ache in both my shoulders.

Today's Lunch: A banana, and spaghetti with olives and red pesto

This promises to be a week of busy socialness, crowned by the fact that on Friday Z's company are having some kind of annual conference/fancy do - a thing I'm endlessly excited about since we get to stay for a night in a posh hotel for free. FREE Things! One of my favourite concepts in the whole wide world. Right up there with books and shoes.

Cutting down on my working hours has curtailed my buying of Pretty Lady Things but at the same time my constant fatigue is much more manageable, and I think the immune system is recuperating. Inspired by all these LJrs losing weight I've also declared war on arm flab and drafted Z into being my personal trainer. It's going well so far but all this exercise and marching around and weight lifting shopping bags is endlessly confusing to the cat who does not like change and still hasn't forgiven us for all the pictures we stuck on the walls without consulting him first. On the other hand, I'm happy to report that his fluffyness is undiminshed.



Z and I watched a bit of Cyrano de Bergerac the other night and now my favourite insult is Vielle Mule! which I hurl at him whenever he vexes me.

( Tuesday- what I did all day meme )

Yesterday Z and I ended up wondering around Covent Garden until we found a place that was open late and willing to sell us Tapas at reasonable prices, and then afterwards he gave me a lift home on his motorbike.

For the most part [that is after I had overcome my initial abject terror] it was wonderfully exciting and I enjoyed myself hugely [i shall also enjoy not telling my mother about this, lest she take it upon herself to enjoy chasing Z with a pitchfork].

Before last night I had been on a bike years ago in the American Midwest, and I remember not having any suitable shoes and having to borrow a guy's pair of sneakers [which were somewhat larger than my feet]. It was the height of summer and my helmet looked incongrous perched on top of my short-sleeved form, and the roads were vast and silent and gently-rolling-strightforward and empty and I remember having had a great time and even managed to remember to not burn myself on the exhaust pipe. [The fact that London roads contain none of these elements had not made a significant impression until I was on the bike hurtling between cars at 50mph].

So buoyed up by that positive experience, I was feeling somewhat excited about riding on a bike again with someone I trusted and it wasn't until we were standing by the bike and I was attempting to stuff my cranium into a helmet and Z was checking to see that my shoelaces were tucked in and my scarf wasn't fluttering behind me that I felt the beginnings of panic.

Of course, at any point I could have changed my mind - that was not a problem. If I decided I'd felt insecure, then we would have said goodbye and kissed and I would have gone home on the bus with no hard feelings. But I was reassured by my past experiences and the fact that he'd ridden bikes for ten years without accident [before he became an eingeneer he supported himself through being a courier and delievering pizzas]. So I reiterated to my guardian angel the importance of keeping a particularly close eye on me now, please, adjusted the helmet, buttoned up my denim jacket and hopped onto the back of the bike, seated myself as comfortably as possible for a person hunched over and grabbed hold of Z's jacket.

And then we were off! His bike is a beautiful thing and it sprang to life with a passion of a young buck and before I had time to scream, or have second thoughts we were barelling down across cobblestone and into traffic.

The night was crisp and clear and so were the thoughts in my head. Particularly the thoughts that said things like:
"Right now you have a plastic hat and some denim standing between you and destruction"
"The traffic in London is really very very dense and we are going very very very fast and the windlash is certainly extremely cold and fucking hell it is so not the middle of summer"
"Oh my God, if this thing crashes it's going to hurt A LOT"
"I am going to die"
"That commercial about watch out for the driver who didn't see you"

I especially thought of these things as the bike slid along the middle of the road between buses and cars like Indiana Jones throwing himself through narrow openings and escaping collapsing walls.

Nonetheless, by the time we had found our way out of Trafalgar Square my paralysing terror and convinction of imminent demise had receded to a Deep Apprehension as I consoled myself with thoughts such as:
"Z is an excellent driver. He knows exactly what he is doing. He hasn't had a crash in ten years of riding, the roads are not slippery, and we'll be just fine".

In the initial stages of diving-between-traffic I had shut my eyes so as not to watch myself get splatted across a bus, but after five minutes of nothing-bad-happening I decided to keep my eyes peeled on the road watching out for any vehicles or obstacles, and as Deep Apprehension receded into Major Adrenaline Rush I started to enjoy myself immensely.

It was great! We were going fast and we weren't going to die! There was a wonderful sort of exhiliration in it all and I'm sure I'll enjoy myself more when I steal one of Z's spare biker jackets and therefore won't be Fucking Freezing.

Afterwards, Z complimented me on being a marvellous pillion and I must say we have my keen sense of survival to thank for that.
e.g. if the bike is turning a corner with some cars alongside, and Z is bending towards the ground with the turn, am I going to jump around causing us to wobble and hit some big fucker made of metal or concrete? Hell no. I am going to stick to him like his own shadow and bend with the line of his body in the same direction at the same speed.

And it was fun! It truly was! It was terrific and laugh-out-loud exciting and I want to do it again [when my joints feel up to it - cold wind is not good for arthritis]. I especially want to do it again in summer when there are possibilities of cruising around Richmond Park or going to Brighton.
Wheeeeee! Bike joy!
I can see why he loves it.

Today has been a glorious day, because we have finally located a charity that will take away all the furniture that's been clogging up my room within the next few days and I'll be unloading into their hot little hands, my bed frame, my desk, and two chests of drawers. And although I have far too many books and shoes to ever live in a minimalist paradise, nonetheless I'm delighted at the thought of having the extra space.

It's all good furniture, in fine working order (despite the disparging remarks about the hardness of my bed) and I don't feel quite right selling the stuff considering the amount of deprivation in this city but feel better giving it away.

On that note, I also have a futon mattress to re-home do any of you want it (or know someone who wants it)? It's FREE the only thing I ask is that you transport it yourself.

And on another note miss_newham has a spare ticket to go see Nick Cave at the Brixton Academy this Friday if anyone's up fer it.

My bum muscles hurt in order to show their unappreciation of exercise and shenanigans of that ilk, and they've been joined by pain from the back of my ankles.

( Description of minor but still irritating injury )

Other than that, had a thoroughly nice evening with sparktastic, despite the torrential rain.

I was more knackered than I realised because I fell into a deep sleep as soon as I got home, in a foetal curl on the couch and didn't find this the least bit uncomfortable because I was so deeply passed out.

I'm amused by the fact that I feel more inconvenienced by not being able to wear high heels for next couple of weeks (until foot heals) than by the pain and stiffness factors.

Love of shoes is pretty endemic to the women in my family though, and despite having strikingly different styles we do almost all adore shoes. My sister is the winner in the shoe department as she has more pairs than she knows what to do with, and my shoe collection is relatively modest (since my current salary is extremely modest too) but still I adore shoes and I still get satisfaction through just being able to look at them.

Despite my recent abuses of them my feet are one of the most grateful and trouble-free parts of my body- they are slender and quite pretty so finding shoes is not a huge problem. I can even walk without toppling over in heels as long as the heel is a wedge and not a stiletto.

It's only in the past two years that I have seen the value of wearing clothes or footwear in a colour other than black and I must say it's improved my mood and well-being immesurably.

Podiatrists and reflexoligists tend to be my number one ennemy though. I've got ridiculously thin skinned and sensitive feet, and most touch is unpleasant.

Over the years through battles with various types of footwear I've acquired scarrs and touches of functional callus like a tattoo (e.g. a ridge of thickened skin on the outer side of the big and little toes which allows for comfortable wearing of several sandals, a slightly thickened heel from battles with Birkenstocks etc.). When I was a child I used to walk around barefoot at every opportunity and it seemed like a great idea- I almost regret no longer being able to do so now.

And it came to pass that on the fifth day of the seventh month in the year of our Lord two thousand and four, Nina had pizza.

And then the day after the day after she went to the gym to show her penitence.

This was not a wholly unpleasant experience because not only did I get to tone my thigh muscles but also presented the opportunity to flirt with the quite fetching kiddie swimming instructor (by which i mean an instructor ofchildren, and not a child).

I should be working. This is abundantly clear to me, and yet my motivation is low which is why I have done all manner of other things including modelling a variety of scarves on my toy sheep Molly. (By general consensus red works rather well with her white fur coat).

And today's endearing image, also off www.serbism.com

1) Iron

No my dears, fear not, I have not lost possession of my faculties or been replaced by evil clones.

I am referring to the ironing of pretty coloured wax onto sheets of cards and the makings of pretty patterns, possible now thanks to the fact that I have an iron thanks to meepettemu who is not only cute but really good at actually doing all the stuff I only think about doing for six months.

I'm in love with that iron, it is so pretty. And it has turquoise blue bits! And I can actually do encaustics now! [and I have. Resulting in some abstract art and more bookmarks than I know what to do with, except that just now I have hit on the idea of using them in collages]

2) Ignore the fact that you have a deadline in a week's time and illustrations you are paid for to colour in, and draw faeries instead.

3)eat foodstuffs which are no good for you, especially when you can't exercise

4) talk to your sister in text message.

:)
My sister (well, she is technically my cousin) and I are getting close. :) We've talked for ages and ages. She went on a date last night and this morning I got a text off her saying: *Call me when you have time so I can tell you all about it*. Sweet. :)

I overdid it on the exercise on Wednesday because I've got inflammation of both calf muscles, making me lurch like a zombie or an Addams Family servant whenever I attempt walking much to the amusement of small children and random passerbyes.

However, I have taken co-codamol and am about to explore the theory that the way to cure my sorry state is through more exercise (the close cousin of the theory that says you should drink to dispel hangovers). I shall not let pain and good sense stand in the way of my fitness and dream body damnit.

The exercise of choice will be swimming though which hopefully will not aggravate me too much.

I have a momentuous hangover too, courtesy of last night's wanderings through Soho and half a bottle of red wine consumed by me (obviously the only logical approach to discovering that it is cheap to buy the bottle of very decent South African grape juice as it is to buy a glass.

I was utterly bladdered, but it had been a very good night and courtesy of aimless wanderings, getting lost and being really fucking freezing I now know all these cool laid back, bohemian cheapish places in Soho.

With small tables and cool wall colours and very comfy armchairs (normally I have to sell my soul to Starbucks for that).

When I was little, about three or four, and adults asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I'd say *A famous ballerina*
And when someone laughed and inquired how I knew I'd be famous I gave them a withering look and replied:
*You can't seriously think I'll be just ordinary.*

Ah, the confidence of youth. :)

There are other memories of the termedously self-assured person I was once. I know I had very definate opinions about books ever since I could talk, classing certain ones as *stupid*. Or I'd list reasons why a certain story was bad and ways in which it could be improved. If someone asked me how I thought up the stories I was telling my dolls I'd tell them *They are like the stories I heard only much better*

I'm not sure when I began to lose that confidence. I know most of it was gone by age of eight, I remember it eroding in pieces, through getting shouted at or de-valued, and thinking that grown-ups must know better than me because they were bigger and there were more of them. That if what they said contradicted what I felt, since they were bigger than me thier wisdom would also be greater, and the fact that so much of what I felt contradicted external messages/teachings only meant that I was useless and stupid and wrong and that my feelings/insincts/thoughts could not be trusted.

It is still difficult for me, to follow what I feel is right on the inside. Because it feels... frightening and shockingly self-indulgent.

I'm attending a ten-week training course to do with working with adult survivors of childhood sexual abuse. Despite the hour long commute each way, and the cold, and the fact that I left with whopper of a headache, I've really enjoyed the first session and am looking forward to next week's. I think the migraine had more to do with other people than me, I must be more mindful when it comes to shielding otherwise I sometimes pick up and absorb other people's heaviness like a sponge.

I think it will be potentially a very challenging course, we will be doing some very deep stuff emotionally, including role play and I know that can take its toll. I've made space for it in my own life, yet deep is where I want to go. I yearn for the profound exploration of the psyche, my own and that of others. To find depths and secrets and the thousand different facets of a situation or a human being. To dive in and explore that which is hidden.

I am curious to see how many people will drop out. I am the only one of the trainees so far with anything resembling calm and confidence. Everyone else is quaking and part of it makes me question my own feelings of self-assuredness, my own feelings that I do know what I am doing.

I am very proud of myself because I managed to drag myself out of bed this morning and go to the gym, even though it was a really ungodly hour of 7:30 am. I did quite a few exercises, also got shown some exercises to try which would get me fit without straining my knee and I am really buzzed. I am very very very proud of myself. I aim to get into that bloody gym as often as I can.

My goal at the minute is three times a week at least, but hopefully five, three gym sessions and two sessions in the swimming pool.

Because as much as I hate getting up doing that exercise really made me feel soooooooooo good. True, the only reason why I actually made it down in the first place is because the nice trainer man said he'd show me how all the machines worked and give me pointers on safe ways for me to exercise but hey, it got my butt out of bed regardless of how much my butt wanted to stay in bed.

The best thing is I dragged myself to the gym with remnants of a migraine and after the exercise my headache went away. :)

I have firm intentions of going back there tomorrow. :) I hope if I get myself into a disciplined groove early enough I can keep it up. And to channel the tiredness/negativity I feel into exercise.

I did better than I thought I would, but I was very focused on my breathing and was able to push past muscle pain, so I'm very happy with myself.

Well, I managed to kick my arse into gear after all and got stuff done.

Went to post office again, registered with GP, booked appointments, began sorting through mail, completed the sketch for wheel of fortune.

i also went to the shop to get some water, which was both affordable and good exercise.
i also went to check my bank balance which was much less satisfying, in fact downright painful and only marginally improved by my recollection that people owe me money.

current topics of internal debate are:

* whether i want to see the man who sued god enough to brave the elements and traipse to the cinema

*whether half a jar of capers consumed slowly constitutes an appropriate meal.

I am back :)

I was goned away, briefly and impulsively and now i have returned leaner and browner than when i went away, possibly due to fact of walking an average of 4-5 miles a day and subsisting on fairly low amounts of food.

Adventures were had and the sea was dipped into, and trains were survived.

Achievements:
*Managing to not fall off bunk despite lurching of train and said bunk being only slightly wider than myself. (Probably managed to stay on by some throwback cling instinct left over from ape-like ancestors).

* Managing to climb onto already mentioned bunk with the use of only optimism and rickety ladder.

*Managing to not engage in genocidal behaviour towards the 6 loudly chattering Chinese persons in the next compartment.

And on a similar yet separate note:

I have a fairly elaborate hierarchy of night (and day) mares.

The old favourites are: Dreams of fire and burning; Dreams where I am trapped and cannot escape horrible fates. Dreams of being chased and my legs are too heavy for me to run properly. Dreams of being lost in a strange city and not being able to work out my way or speak the language to ask for directions.

Then there is:
*Filling in tax forms
*Dentist's drills
*Dealings with any administration/bureacracy/civil servants (hah! oxymoron if i ever heard one) in employ of the Serb & Montenegran governments.
*Travel on the Central line.

And the most recent official additions to the list are:

*Trip to toilet on any Eastern European train (generally undertaken only in circumstances of direst need) including the separate sub-mare of a Quest to Find Soap.