Of birds…

… and beauty. What’s the connection you ask? Let me start at the beginning. :)

I’ve never been particularly vain about most things. Lets be honest, I’m far from the ideal weight. I’ve had my share of vices that can wreak havoc on the human body. And exercise is the only bit of bad language I won’t use ;). You get my drift…

My skin, however, has been a different story. Especially my face. All manner of lotion and potion has found its way into my bathroom cabinets (note the use of plural). I really do have an awful lot in there. I have moisturisers, scrubs, serums and eye creams. Every scrap of make up I own has a skincare component. I get unerringly regular facials. I can typically tell you with a great degree of accuracy how good or bad a product is. Because if its for my age group, chances are I’ve tried it!

Now I have no idea whether its because of this or not, but my skin, for the most part, has behaved.

Recently though, through the pregnancy, all that went out the window. Glow you ask? I have two words for you... They lie! I had issues from eruptions to peeling and everything in between. I’ve had people attribute it to everything – hormones, the body detoxing, ‘Oh you’re having a girl I bet. Girls steal your beauty’. Why, thank you dumbass. I needed someone pointing out that I wasn’t looking my best today, how lovely of you to volunteer!

D-day was no magical cure, lack of sleep being no help. For 5 months, my poor skin got barely any fresh air, leave alone facials. So, last week, I finally felt in control enough of my life to get one. I dragged my tired person onto my facialist’s table and showed her my skin, preparing for gasps of horror. And bless her little cotton socks, she took it in her stride. Now I have been seeing this particular therapist for a while. We’ve held hands and walked through some pretty serious stuff :P. Needless to say I trust her.

So I poured my heart out about the blotchy skin and how I can no longer leave the house without make up on because I’m afraid of stopping traffic with the number of shades on my face. ‘No worries’, she says, ‘we’ll fix it with a bird poo mask’. ‘Poo?’ I ask. ‘Yeah don’t worry, its nightingale poo. The ultimate skin brightening treatment.’ ‘Well if its nightingale…’ I say, rolling my eyes.

Apparently nightingale poo is all the rage in the circles that count! Like all things new, it claims an ancient heritage. It was used eons ago in Japan by the Geishas to keep their skin porcelain white and bright.

I was not so sure! However, refer aforementioned trust… I gave in. She slathered my face in the stuff, and because I knew what it was, of course I thought the smell was unbearable. (I’m sure it wasn’t, its not like they scooped it up just when the nightingale had gone!)

A few days post facial, my skin started to flake. Not attractive at the time, but now a week on, it really is dramatically different! Not perfect but loaaaaads better.

Now I’ve always been honest in that I know I’ll go any distance to keep the sagging and bagging at bay. When the day comes, I’m pretty sure a nip-tuck won’t faze me. However, in my quest, I hardly thought I’d find sh+t! Literally. But hey, what works, works right? ;)

Swap out…

So a few days ago I had an awful, stomach-clenching longing! The random I-need-to-go-out-and-buy-a-shoe-or-bag itch. Know what I’m talking about? Bet you do, you wouldn’t be reading this particular blog if you didn’t :P. Then it hit me… oh wait, I’m unemployed technically. And I have a baby! The enormity of it all dawned… its going to be a lonnnggg time before my next designer fix isn’t it? Crappers.

While there’s many, many upsides that I’m grateful for to being a stay at home mum, this is one of the downsides. When it comes to buying expensive things, you’re meant to put yourself last. And be happy about it. If not, you’ll be good and properly judged (judgement though, doesn’t faze me; remember how we talked about me reveling in all things mainstream? No apologies.)

So, I got to thinking, what IS it about expensive things?

Several years ago, when I first ‘started using’ ;) my gorgeous friend SH asked me why I’d spend insane amounts of a month’s meager keep on one item; bearing in mind I was not too far from broke at the time (even if it was on sale). To help her see the light, I asked her how much she spent a month on keeping her hair looking fabulous. ‘Say no more,’ she said, laughing, ‘I get it.’ You see we each have one. Its just a matter of choosing your poison errrr… passion (of course we might now have a monster on our hands, with the hair AND the expensive shoes and bags. You go babe!). Its that thing you indulge in, the thing that makes you smile for a few extra minutes – every time you rub it against your cheek :D. Yes I do that, get over it.

So here am I with my little habit and no money to support it! What do we do?? We get a substitute  (obscure, Fisher Price learning toy anyone?).

I’ve swapped Jimmy Choo for Jumperoo!

For those fortunate enough to not know what a Jumperoo is, it is a fairly ugly, bouncy, activity do-dat that kids today MUST have. Very now. Seriously (alright maybe in a parallel universe).

You see, when I justify it as a developmental must-have for my baby, its difficult to feel bad about it. And lets face it, while its expensive in its little realm, its hardly going to break the bank. Well not yet anyway (provided I don’t get a pacifier for 50K I’m guessing I’m golden!). I hear the later years are a b**ch though, with things getting progressively more expensive and necessary! And that’s when THEY start to have an opinion too. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it shall we??

Annnnnnd therefore, as I somewhat sadly trawl the aisles of baby goodies, I remind myself that life is full of surprises. Who knows what’s going to come up? My next Choo may be closer than I think :D. Here’s hoping! 

Alternatively speaking…

I’ve never been big on alternative healing. I know it’s the thing to do but I’m skeptical. The idea of a few herby, sugary looking things making you all better; or a band on your hand preventing you from chucking your guts up doesn’t quite convince me.

Oh, I’ve had my share of massages with the ‘healing power of crystal’. And people reiki-ing the migraine out of me. Hell, I’ve even sat in a bath with flashing lights (colour therapy you perv :P). Mostly though that’s been for the indulgence component rather than any real faith in the therapy on offer!

The only time that I even have the vaguest suspicion that something alternative worked for me was when I was given arnica after my emergency C-section. Its meant to heal cuts and bruises and restore the tissues’ ability to heal. I used it religiously and it may have worked! Because I do think I made quite a quick recovery. Particularly considering how high maintenance I can be with all things pain. (Or maybe it was good old-fashioned competitiveness. I was determined to move because my big sis had one too and the day after she came home from hospital, she baked a cake! Why? Because she was bored! Grew up hearing about that, so I had to do something close didn’t I :)?).

So recently, my normally sunshiny 5 month old has become a WHINER. Now, I’ve had my share of sleepless nights with her, though recently she’d been doing well. But… nope, no sir, not anymore! Cranky as hell and wakes up constantly. Not that that isn’t a great chance to bond *rolling eyes*

In my investigations (read random middle of night googling and bbm-ing any friend with a baby who’s up) I’ve figured out its teething. What’s teething? Well, the proper answer is it’s when a baby cuts her teeth between the 4 and 7 month mark.  The ACTUAL answer is that it’s the diabolical thing that happens converting one into a cringeing, drooling, red cheeked, pooing, feverish mess. Its enough to cause tears. *Sniff* (Oh did you think I meant the baby? Catch up people, first and foremost I’m a selfish cow :P)

At this point I hear about an amber teething necklace. My first thought was oh something for her to bite on; cool. No, apparently it has amber beads that have some resin in them that reacts with body temperature to build immunity or some such. That sounds like voodoo I said dismissively. 

Things, though, got tougher and when a friend got me one, I slapped it on. For the first few days she wasn’t any crankier than usual and until that point it HAD been building! Then, I washed it by mistake (washing machine, no kidding). How? Well I’m a paranoid mum and wasn’t comfy putting her to bed with something around her neck so I would wrap it around her ankle. And it went in the wash with her nightsuit. So I put it out to dry that day assuming it had lost all its value. And that next day, my baby turned into a MONSTER! Cried her head off. Didn’t want to be put down. Wouldn’t eat. The whole f**king nine yards.

So guess what I did? Put it back on. No questions. And it’s never coming off. Not until she’s at least eighteen. Grudging respect! :)

What’s the fuss about…

…on these FitFlops? I was not sure I got it at all. Really? Firstly there is the obvious – the naming! Alliterative? AND word play? Much too contrived and I’m-trying-too-hard-ey. :P. Secondly, lets face it, they are shoes that – no major offence intended – look like corrective shoes from back in the day for children with special physical needs (ok I may have lied on the no offence;)).

The first time I heard about them was a while ago. Surprisingly from someone who passes my ‘shoe ho’ test. One of the goddesses of shoe-and-bag-ho-ness actually. It was in the shopping context, telling me how they are the ONLY thing she goes out in when she means serious shopping business. “That just doesn’t add up”, I said to myself. “Oh never mind,” I rationalized, “everyone is allowed a few mistakes; and god bless her, she makes so few!”

From then, I have had several run-ins with the abominable things! From shoe conoisseurs and comforter seekers alike, I have had FitFlop references. Ugggg. Everyone and their mother was wearing them. Literally!

Now here’s me… I started out with 2 pairs of shoes, ummmm, not too far in the past. One black. One brown. Seriously. It worked and that’s what I went with. Then I met a series of people who had a profound impact on my shoe life – the key ones being my sig other, and my ultimate sole-mate - SM. I went from never having worn heels to wearing nothing but. From buying shoes once a year to happily spending a good part of a month’s measly salary on one pair.

So quite recently, during and post the period of making a little person, I got the worst sciatica. The crippling, can barely walk type. That combined with horribly swollen feet made me do the unthinkable – look for comfortable and fugly shoes! I tried a million on in the quest for even a modicum of style. Finally settled on a gold shimmery pair from Ecco. If it must be ugly, atleast its shiny and ugly.

All this got me thinking, “should I?”. “Noooo,” I said, “it hasn’t come to that!”. My mum and sis, probably sick of the I’m-in-pain whining, nudged me in the FitFlop direction. My sis even bought me a pair so I could blame it on her if someone asked. *Sniff* that’s family for you! I chose a basic black pair with giant bling on it :). The least of the evils.

So I got them home, slipped my feet into them expecting hellfire and damnation from the shoe gods to rain down on me! And nothing. They felt reasonably comfortable. No big deal. And then I hit The Dubai Mall (which to me is where I hear angels sing. A truly religious experience. There’s very little you cant find there. But lately I haven’t been able to pay it the homage it deserves, because, well, I’m too handicapped to bow at its altar!). I shopped. And I shopped some more and still more. Baby and buggy in tow. Carrying baby AND shopping bags at some points. And nothing happened! Are you getting this??? Nothing happened! No crippling pain. No every step kills. No hop hop hop to the nearest couch. Just sheer comfort!

Ok I’ll admit it! I was a total snobbish ass. Don’t get me wrong, I’m never trading Jimmy or Christian in for them, but they definitely have pride of place in my shoe closet now.

And that my dears, is like coming home. *Sigh*