The bang and the whimper

How do things end? Is it with a bang or with a whimper, as TS Elliott famously wrote?

I think this could be a "goodbye blogosphere" post. No big words, not really needed. No real goodbyes, who reads anyway?

Since I started writing online, 2007 I think, I thought it was such a psychotherapy to write and analyse your thoughts and feelings. I wrote about loneliness and Harry Potter, about new year resolutions and Zatoichi, I loved writing about movies, haven't done so in a while.

Then, my daughter came and life became different. As my friend Youkalli put it, love of a child is so overwhelming that it's all you want to write about. But then, you really don't want to make your blog into a mommy blog, and how many times can you write meaningfully about motherhood?

The recent political situation in Europe and Greece have made me think a lot and want to write about it all. But then my thoughts leave me, I forget, I never have the time to develop them and turn them into something tangible and coherent. I am busy changing nappies, I think.

So, all this leaves me with not many options I guess. I don't want to delete my blog, I always like to reread stuff I've written, and somebody else might too, but I don't think I'll be using it much more from now. Thanks to anyone that read the thoughts of a Greek linguist. I'm still on Twitter, although there I mostly curse about politics.

Middle class wanna-be MILF

An awful awful breed this is - the middle class class wanna-be MILF.

Working mum, no time whatsoever BUT with a need to look semi-respectable. And the delusion that she can even look sexy.

Need to be comfy, too many trainers and yoga pants and leggings (pretending that this is a fashion statement).

Always with some spot of dirt (often milk, or some other children's food concoction) and with holes on her t-shirts.

The dress code is also predictable - most clothes are from White stuff (which is almost getting granny chic by now, really), "trendy" colourful trainers or other comfy camper shoes, funky earrings, hair that desperately needs a haircut (And ofter some colouring. And a wash.)

I hate to admit it but this is me these days. I like to pretend that I am better than that, but really I am not...

One of these days I will find time to overhaul my wardrobe and accept the fact that I need better and newer clothes.

But today is not this day.

Today, I'm off to put on another dirty t-shirt and then I'll just have to go and make some baby food. 

Soppy

On my first mother's day, I feel unexpectedly soppy. Why do all clichés have to be so true? It's only when you live something that you really feel it.

Nine months a mother, and the love I feel for this little creature is immense.

On this day, my thoughts are also with another mother that lost her only-son from extreme bullying in Greece.  Why are people capable of such terrible things?

The change - part II

I suspect there will be plenty a post like this in the years to come. Essentially, my life will be made only of little lego pieces of change, one put neatly next to the other. Or one falling on the other, if you follow my analogy.

Today, was another big change for a small person: my daughter's first day (well, ehm two hours rather) in créche without me. Her first two hours away from us all, with strangers in a strange place. And apparently it went well. I, on the other hand was a bag of nerves, obviously, and now I feel such an amazing sense of relief...

Anyway, that's all folks, just had to report that.

(Perhaps, I need to rename this blog, "new mummy" bullshit?)

Ah, and happy new year!

A sense of achievement

What does our society regard as "achievement"? This time that I have away from work, on maternity, I have been asking myself this question a lot. I've spent six months with my daughter, raising her, helping her grow up, making her (hopefully) happy and yet I only get a sense of achievement when I do more conventional tasks like bake a cake for example;
or buy a gift;
or clean the bathroom;
or something like this.

Why?

Raising children is like doing a PhD: you strive like a slave day after day and on the short term you really have nothing to show for yourself; in the end, however, you get fantastically rewarded, if everything goes well :-)

Anyway, for the festive season I will also post a very non-festive but quite addictive song "I'm too hot - god damn"

Alone

Morning in bed.

Not much light outside, the winter has come.

P sleeping next to me.

Listening to the radio, having a second coffee.

Staying a bit alone with myself, with my thoughts. Getting ready for the day.

Καλημέρα. 

Birthday post

Aren't birthdays supposed to be some sort of taking-stock moment?

Mine is today, and am thinking of my life in the last year: I turn 36, and I still feel like so much younger sometimes. My husband always says to me that our ages sound "so adult" and it's true. I have a daughter now, you can't get more adult than that, no?

Last year on this day, I was pregnant and bopping it up watching Depeche Mode. This year, I snuggle with my girl in bed and it feels so good. We might be able to sneak a quick dinner later, who knows?

"Age is just a number" - why are clichés so true?

Although I have an adult age, a mortgage, a husband and a daughter, I often still feel like the young girl who first came to the UK 13 years ago, ready for a big adventure.

On for the next 36 years then, just bring on the anti-wrinkle creams and we'll be just fine :-)