Guest Post from Kirsty at A Safe Mooring

Today I've got a guest post from one of my favourite Edinburgh based bloggers: Kirsty from A Safe Mooring.  Kirsty's blog never fails to make me giggle and stop and think at the same time.

Take it away, Kirsty:

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So, you want me to write about my favourite things, eh? For Red Boots? Hmm, this could be tricky. What to write about? My favourite things. For Red Boots. Favourite things... Red Boots... OH MY GOD I'VE GOT IT! I'll write about my FAVOURITE RED BOOTS!

Oh, wait. I don't have any red boots any more. My two pairs (yes, two) disappeared in The Great Decluttering of 2011. Curses. Okay, let's talk about my favourite boots in general, then. Lord knows I still have plenty of those.

I've always been fond of a good pair of boots. No fiddly laces to worry about, for a start. And as for welly boots, well. Does it get any better? Boots that you can wear to squelch through rich, sucking, wonderful mud? Boots that you can wear at the edge of sea, as tiny waves come rushing forth to nibble on your toes before scurrying back to their briny home? Boots that you can wear to - SPLOSH! - jump in a puddle??

And if I thought welly boots were good, you can imagine how I felt about SKI boots. They're like magic boots you can whizz around on! Although my excitement was dampened a bit after I first experienced what I have come to think of as the Ski Boot Cycle. This starts in the morning, when you reluctantly take your feet out of your nice, soft shoes and force them into these unyielding plastic contraptions. You fasten the four hundred clips, take a few tentative steps around, think hey, maybe this isn't so bad after all. This is Denial, which lasts until approximately 11am, when you begin to feel like your legs have been clamped into a vice that is being slowly, excrutiatingly tightened. Gradually, you start to lose sensation in your feet - first your toes, then your soles, then oh my God I think my feet have fallen off. Then at last comes the moment you have been dreaming of all day, the moment when finally, with an almighty heave, your feet are liberated from their plastic prison and the blood begins to pump joyfully through your toes again. The relief is glorious. Until the cycle starts all over again the next day...

Actually, on second thoughts, maybe ski boots aren't so good after all.

Once I realised that there was more to life than skiing and puddles, I quickly became interested in boots of a different kind. That's right my friends, I'm talking PARTY BOOTS. In this picture, my friend and I were going to a 60s disco (naturally) and we thought we looked pretty darn fabulous. Nothing says stylish and sophisticated like giant, clumpy, platform knee-high boots, right? Erm, wrong. But at the time, oh how I loved those boots.

My current favourite party boots are, I like to think, a touch more glamorous, if considerably more difficult to walk in. But when did comfort ever count for anything? (See: everything I said about ski boots.)

photo by Lauren McGlynn Photography

The sparkly boots aren't my favourite, though. They're not even my second favourite. That questionable honour goes to a pair of tan leather ankle boots that used to belong to my mum, until I *ahem* liberated them from her wardrobe. She bought them from Russell & Bromley back when they first opened on Princes Street in the 70s. At the time, it was a huge extravagance, but these boots have more than stood the test of time. The leather has worn beautifully, shiny in some places and buttery soft in others. The chunky wooden heel - that's proper wood, not the plastic-made-to-look-like-wood we're sold nowadays - is solid and steady as a rock. These boots are a lesson in the art of buying well. How many pairs of shoes in your wardrobe will last for four decades? How many will your daughter be running around town in, years from now? Not many in mine. In fact, these old leather boots will probably outlast them all.

So if the sparkly boots are my third favourite, and the Russell & Bromleys are my second favourite, what, I hear you cry, are my number ones? My Uggs? My Moon Boots? Some sky-high Louboutin concoction?

Well, no.

My favourite boots are, once again, my wellies.

Not because of my ability to run through puddles in them (although I still get a childish delight out of that), not because of the polka dots (I don't even really like them that much), but because when I pull my wellies on, it means I'm going for a walk with my husband and my dog. Spending time with the person that I love, doing something that makes us happy. And that, when you get right down to it, is my favourite thing.

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Thanks so much Kirsty!  And be sure to check out A Safe Mooring!

xx

Lately I Love...

...how E reserves her biggest smiles for me (and the Swedish Chef)

...Napiers 'Nursing Tea'.  Brewing a pot in my little silver teapot, and getting out my fancy cup and saucer and taking a little time out to myself is a part of my day that I really look forward to.

...Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, especially now that I've found I can purchase them in bulk on Amazon.

...This amazing dog lamp from Matt Pugh.  If I had £99 spare then it would be mine!

...Popping E in the baby carrier and going on little walks around the neighbourhood.  For the five/ten minutes that she is awake in it before she inevitably nods off (she loves the carrier) she loves gazing at the trees.

...Watching Boyfriend cuddle E and sing little songs to her.  He's such a wonderful daddy.  I'm a very lucky girl!

xx

On Being A Mama

E is 6 weeks old tomorrow (6 weeks - how did that happen?!).

I've learned so much in these past six weeks.  You know what I've learned?  Pregnancy and labour is the easy part.  The difficult part starts the moment straight after delivery when the midwife places your baby in your arms, and it looks up at you with the most beautiful face and eyes you could ever ever imagine, and your heart just fills with so much love that you never knew you had inside you.

From that moment on, you never want anything bad to happen to your child and you will go out of your way to prevent anything bad happening to your baby.  This involves questioning your own abilities, your own judgement and decisions that you make.  It involves constantly questioning your worth as a parent.  It involves worrying about what others make of your ability to be a parent.  It involves googling every little thing at 4am, worrying if your baby is normal or if something is wrong with them.  It involves crying when they won't stop feeding for 9 hours straight or when they just won't take a feed.  It involves constantly worrying if they are too cold or too warm.  It involves crying down the phone to the power company, when winds have knocked out your power and heating for 2 days and you have a 6 day old baby that you are desperately trying to keep warm at the height of a Scottish winter.  It involves having to use labour breathing techniques to get through the worst breastfeeding pains because no matter what you want to be able to feed your baby with your own milk no matter how much it hurts you.

But you know what?  When, at around 4 or 5 weeks after your baby's birth, and it's 3am, and your baby cries because it's hungry, so you reach over and switch on the light and you go to pick up your baby, and it smiles the biggest gummy smile for the first time ever because it's just seen your face; or when your baby falls asleep whilst feeding - it's head rolls back, it's cheeks full of milk, a little dribble of milk running from their lips and a look of absolute contentment; or when your baby falls asleep on your chest, and you hear little sighs of happiness - then there is nothing more magical and wonderful and heart swelling.  The happiness and joy cancels out all of the worry and the doubt, the good outweighs the bad more than a billion times over, and you just know deep inside that you're doing a good job.  And you know you wouldn't swap being a parent for anything in the world.

xx