Sholto is coming up for four weeks old. Which also means that it is four weeks since I had more than three hours of sleep at any one time . . . While exhaustion is accumulative, I do feel that I am approaching the light at the end of the tunnel. Taking advice-that-suits from Gina Ford and The Baby Whisperer, and with the invaluable help of both my husband and my mother, Sholto and I are certainly developing a pattern, if not a routine, to our days. There are moments when I have to take a deep breath (I was carrying him past where my handbag was sitting when he managed to be sick both over it and into it) but equally we’ve managed to achieve things, too. We’ve been out for a walk every single day since we came home from hospital. We’ve been shopping: Smythson’s (Sholto is writing his thank you notes on their adorable ABC cards; he has received so many presents and I do feel that it’s important that he should learn good manners – and good taste – at an early age!), the Matthew Williamson sample sale, and, on a more pedestrian note, Marks & Spencer, for microwave ready meals for me. We’ve been to the Serpentine Gallery (he didn’t wake up) and to watch graffiti artists under the Westway (he still didn’t wake up – art appreciation is obviously going to have to wait.) Most amazingly, my husband and I managed to go out for lunch at our local tapas restaurant, with Sholto in his Bugaboo beside us.

 

I’m not yet a size 10 again, which is disappointing, as I fantasised that my body would just ping back (the same way that I thought I’d go from svelte to Angelina Jolie-pregnant-earth-mama without the ‘is she fat or pregnant?’ stage in between) but, rather like everything else concerning having a baby, it was a symptom of my naivity. However, I am en route: I lost a stone immediately (admittedly everyone does) and have lost just over half a stone in the four weeks since then. There is still a stone to go. But I brought out the Spanx on the two occasions that we’ve had friends over for dinner, and our guests swore blind that I looked exactly as I did pre-pregnancy! (I should mention that they’re very, very good friends, and that my Yves Saint Laurent black patent belt tells a different story, one involving my waist still being 4 inches bigger than it was. even with the Spanx . . . ) It would help if I cut down on cupcakes from the too-close-for-control Hummingbird Bakery – and I’m going to have to, for the Christening is booked for late October, and I am determined that I will wear the Erdem skirt and jacket that I wore as my going-away outfit for my wedding; it will be our wedding anniversary, so it seems appropriate.

 

My mother, who’s deeply into natural cures and ‘not rushing things, darling’ (she even heals the animals at home with crystals, to the occasional chagrin of my sister, who is a vet)  has been reading up on what I should be eating.  Despairing of my addiction to ready meals (no preparation! no washing up! they’re edible with one hand while breastfeeding!) she has been making sure, when she’s around, that I eat lots of prawns and lots of chicken, along with brown rice and plenty of vegetables. But despite all that goodness, my

body is still showing occasional signs of post-birth suffering.  For instance, my skin has become alarmingly dry. So the minute Sholto is down in the evening I’m straight in the bath with Mama Mio Body Buff, followed by Mama Mio O-Mega Oil, and O-Mega Wonder Balm on my elbows, knees and cuticles. Thank God I stocked up! (And I knew that someone else would sort out the food if I failed to . . . . ) 

 

Finally, I have one very important tip for this immediate post-partum period: unless you live right next door to a drycleaner, and are happy to spend thousands with them, don’t wear Chanel (or indeed anything else that you care about and that can’t go in the washing machine!)

 

P.S. In the excitement that is Sholto, I clean forgot about the sweetpeas. I’m ashamed to say that they have died. Fortunately I seem to be a better mother than I am horticulturist.

Following my 20 week scan I visited myobstetrician for a routine check up, clutching my scan results with pride and keen to tell him that we were having a girl!  He skimmed through the results and noted my low-lying placenta.  He says he needs to check this out.  I obediently hop on the bed and after having my belly prodded, poked, tapped and measured, he went into detail of the risks.  One of which is that I could possibly (only possibly) have a bleed and should this happen I am to go straight to the hospital.  What?  Why didn’t anyone tell me this before? “But we are going on holiday in a few weeks time”, I say, trying to convince myself that it is not that bad. “Not a good idea” he says matter of factly, “You need to be in the country within easy reach of the hospital”.

 

Oh.  I had not expected that!  We had planned this one last holiday pre arrival of the baby, to the South of France.  We found a beautiful boutique hotel on the beach, I had bought my St Tropez appropriate beachwear (beautiful petrol blue Amoralia two piece swimsuit, oversized sheer throw on shirt, Chloe thong sandals…), and I had started to apply L’oreal’s Nutri Summer Moisturising Lotion to build up a natural looking tan.  Disappointed, but not wanting to argue or disagree with the expert, we swiftly cancelled the flights and hotel.

 

What do we do now?  We haven’t had a holiday all year and we have booked two weeks off work!  We decided to take the two weeks off anyway and have the first week at home in London, organising baby stuff, researching cots and prams, finding a maternity nurse (proving impossible as none want to work anywhere near Christmas), researching local nursery schools etc etc.  This is what we started to do this week, although two days in and even as I write this, my husband is calling out from the other room.   “I am bored…this must be what retirement feels like” and threatening to go back to work tomorrow!
For the second week of our holiday we have booked into the beautiful South Sands Hotel in Devon. Granted, it is a four hour drive from St. Mary’s Hospital in London but at least we can just get in the car and go, should anything drastic happen.  The weather forecast for next week is hardly St Tropez like (rain, rain, rain), so it will be cosy beach walks in our wellies, hot chocolates and games of scrabble.   But for now, I need to go see to my fidgety husband, and somehow get him out of the house.

Stylish mums-to-be rejoice!

Paige Premium Denim has introduced its first ever maternity denim legging — and they’re beyond chic. Designed in skinny style  celebrity  mums are queuing up to wear these ultra flattering, super sexy fit, super comfy jeans.

Not only are they made of lightweight denim with 4-way stretch, but the waistband features comfy inset elastic side panels for extra belly room and support. Celebrity super fan Isla Fisher was first on the list to try these gorgeous jeans before they even went into production.  Don’t hesitate buy your super chic jeggings now!

As a fashion editor, I had tons of fancy shymancy events to attend while pregnant. One day I was in the tub trying to cook up something creative for one such event and started thinking about my grandma Hilda’s collection of night gowns. Going to bed was a ritual for my granny. She took a fragrant bath, then slipped into a nightie/robe set. They were fifth avenue fabu, silky floor-sweeping affairs emblazoned in racy leopard, tiger & Pucci prints. I mulled it over. A night on the town in a comfy nightgown was truly the marriage of desire (staying at home and watching The Office) and professional. I went for it Hilda’s leopard night gown (worn with a boa and Chanel wedges) was a hit. Thus began my love affair of inner wear as outerwear.

TEST DRIVE INNERWEAR AS RTW: Underpinnings give major look for minor dough. A bias cut slip layered with a belted cardigan and funky jewelry offers Desperately Seeking Susan meets Mrs. Robinson cache. How to get the look? Make a pit stop at some of your chic septuagenarian relatives’ homes and mine their lingerie drawers. Nab gauzy nightgowns, caftans, “bed jackets” and slips. Flea markets and vintage shops are nightgown nirvana. Roomy black satin slips make comfy chic dresses. Bias cut long nighties, especially those with interesting swirls of color or prints, make glam cocktail frocks. Little Pucci-esque robes can be belted and worn with a heel.

I wrote last week’s blog still high on the post-birth rush of hormones. Those same hormones – or perhaps slightly different ones, I’m not an expert – then reduced me to a soggy mess of tears of exhaustion and incomprehension in the face of a seemingly permanently crying/ hungry baby, who’s nappy needed changing almost hourly and who has developed an amazing ability to be sick all over both of us, on an unerringly regular basis.

 

Fortunately, Sholto’s health is not in question. He is gaining weight in a manner that makes the midwife smile, and is already more than he was when he was born. And I managed to get through all of yesterday without crying once. Two things have helped enormously, and made all the difference to the hours I seem to spend breastfeeding:

1.) I have rigged up my laptop in the nursery. Not only can I now reply to emails while the baby is feeding, peruse Mumsnet for tales of new mothers having a much worse time than me

(whichshouldn’t make me feel better, but it does), I can also watch DVDs. Thank God I didn’t get into box sets while I was waiting to give birth – else what would I be watching now? (I can also internet shop, but my husband has started reading this blog so I don’t want to give details – suffice to say that I have been perusing the new collection on this site, however!)

 

2.) There’s an article in the September issue of Vogue, by Frances Bentley, on meditation. Now, I’ve never really been into meditation before – I don’t even have the patience for yoga – but I read the article at half past four one morning, while feeding, and it struck a nerve. These past couple of weeks it has become blindingly apparent that I no longer have any control over my life – oh, I can try, but ultimately I’m at the mercy of a baby with no cognitive ability who lives by a four hour clock as opposed to our twenty four hour clock – and suddenly meditation seemed like a very viable coping mechanism. “I’ll go to some classes when Sholto is a little older and I can leave him,” I thought – but the author of the piece very kindly took the time to point out to me that I could still achieve something even with a baby on my breast, and suggested that I just concentrate on breathing in and out. I don’t do this at every feed, but certainly I’ve been doing it at night. It relaxes me enormously, and, as a bonus, it seems to help Sholto too. He goes straight back to sleep when he’s finished suckling.

 

On a more practical level, and for anyone who is expecting their baby soon, the one thing I have discovered is that I need more of everything. More babygros (Mothercare for everyday, Marie Chantal for visitors), more front opening night dresses (Sholto is perfectly capable of being sick twice in one hour!), and, definitely, more sleep . . .

With your belly bursting triumphantly from restraining waistbands, this is the time to evaluate your body type and establish your personal pregnancy ‘look’.

 

DO you have boobs? A think mid-section? A generous rear? Sky high supermodel gams? Body tye figures heavily into whether the cut of the garment , or silhouette will be flattering or not.

PROPORTION, PROPORTION, PROPORTION! Nothing frumpifies more than oversized clothing and lack of proportion.. Some guidelines? If it’s big on top, it should be narrow on bottom. If it is narrow on top, you can add some volume with a skirt or wide legged pant. Skirts and dresses should be above the knee or sweeping the ground to elongate the body. Legs are slimmed and lengthened with black tights and a boot or heels. Big blouses are countered with fitted skirts or tapered trousers. Tailoring is critical.
Shorter hemlines, especially for shorter women, accent the legs and add height.

I am just over half way there, finally!

 

I have recently had my 20 week scan which revealed much to our surprise (and
joy!) that we are having a girl! We were convinced it was a boy (savoury cravings – more crisps please – faster growing hair and nails, hungry all the time….) so much for old wives tales! The scan also showed I have a low-lying placenta which apparently is very common at 20 weeks (one in 5
women) and by the 32 week scan, most of the time the placenta will have moved up to where it should be. If not, I am told I will have to have a caesarean. Move up please!

 

I now really do have a well-rounded bump. Not that I didn’t a few weeks ago but people weren’t quite sure then, if I was pregnant or had just eaten a hearty breakfast. At least that is what I told myself every morning when I got on the tube and nobody stood up for the pregnant lady. To be honest, they still don’t. A (very pregnant) friend told me that I really need to play it up, rub my tummy and stick my middle section out as far forward as I can, and eventually someone will give up their seat for me. This does the trick only 50% of the time and even then it is only women that get up – thanks guys!

 

Of course a well-rounded bump comes with the need for new clothing that actually fit, look good and are stylish. Lesley Regan suggests in her book (Your Pregnancy Week By Week) “try to resist the urge to buy new clothing at this stage, try wearing your partners jeans and shirts”. Not happening Lesley! Apart from looking rather ridiculous – I work in fashion. Surely that would be career suicide. Luckily Cos and Topshop have been my saviours. For bottoms I have been living in my Paige straight leg maternity jeans, which are so comfortable and dark denim so I have been able to wear them to work.

 

Now that summer is almost over I have to start thinking about an Autumn/Winter wardrobe. Apparently your feet can grow a whole extra size when you are pregnant which means that sadly, my current winter boots will no longer fit. The search begins…

Sholto Isambard Tatlin Allardyce Steel was born on Saturday 31st July, at about eight o’clock at night, weighing seven pounds nine ounces. My labour was textbook: I woke up in the morning having very mild contractions approximately fifteen minutes apart; my waters broke in a gush at half past ten on standing up from the breakfast table; by two o’clock the contractions had become properly painful, and at about half past four we realised that it was time to head for St. Mary’s. I was put straight into the birthing pool, and a lot of gas and air later, was presented with my son.

 

I realise that it makes it sound very easy, and in a way it was. However I don’t want to gloss over everything in a totally unrealistic fashion; yes, giving birth is the most painful thing that I’ve ever done – but, even immediately afterwards, my thoughts on the pain were “Well, it could have been worse.” And yes, there are those unattractive things that happen that one worries about beforehand, and, well, yes they do happen. But you know what? In the grand scheme of things, they become totally unimportant. (If anyone would like specifics, I am more than happy to answer questions, but I’m not going into details in a public domain!)

 

And, now on day six, my body is well on the way to recovery (I can recommend arnica pills, incidentally – they really help with the post-birthing ache) and the breastfeeding and changing routine is becoming almost second nature. Of course I’m tired – make that exhausted, even – but Sholto makes everything more than worthwhile. The greatest surprise has been the overwhelming love and protective urge that I feel for him. You see, I’ve never really been particularly interested in babies – I’ve always preferred puppies and kittens – and one of my greatest worries in the later stages of pregnancy was that I wouldn’t have any maternal instinct. It turns out I do.

 

I’m still desperate for my body to feel like my own again. And I don’t care if saying this smacks of vanity when I should still be marvelling at the wonders of nature. I know that I’m voicing the opinion of many, many women. What I can say is this: having beautiful nightwear and attractive nursing bras makes an enormous difference in the immediate post-birth period (my mother is very jealous of my Amoralia numbers – “We had nothing like that in my day darling – mine were all hideous!”) There is plenty of time for long baths and the slathering on of one’s favourite moisturiser while the baby is asleep. Oh, and empire line dresses with pretty cardigans are still the key to daytime dressing – it would be too cruel to force my body into Spanx straight away.

 

What I have got to do is work out which of my clothes are going to work for breastfeeding. Issa cross-over dresses are a definite, but I’d like to see what else I can find in my wardrobe. And in the September issue of Vogue, out now with all the new collections . . . .