1. Trying to look after a newborn all by ourselves was probably not a great idea.

Somehow the proverb “it takes a village to raise a child” passed us by and we thought we wouldn’t need any help. *smiles wryly*

Then, when we realised we did need help, we were too afraid to ask. Especially I thought that there was something wrong with me, that asking for help would demonstrate to everyone else that I wasn’t a capable mother. *shakes head*

Now I know that I am a capable mother, but that I’m definitely not capable of looking after a newborn and feeding myself and cleaning and cooking and remembering I have a husband ALL AT THE SAME TIME. So next time I’ll be asking everyone I know, whether they’re family, long-standing friends or someone I’ve know for a week, to cook us some dinner and hang up a load of laundry. You’ve been warned.

2. Babies work to some kind of magic manual.

Magic in the sense that, if you try to write down how they work, they go and do it differently. This must be why baby books are utterly useless and generally just make you feel like you’re a crap parent. Why two paediatric nurses working in the same clinic gave me conflicting advice. Why everyone seems to think their way is the only way, and they just HAVE to tell you about it.

A year in, I know that there is no manual. Advice from anyone with a child over the age of two should be ignored. And people without kids? Well they just have no idea at all.

3. We need to redefine what is “normal”.

Maybe there are babies who like schedules. Who feed every 4 hours. Who will happily sit in their rocker for hours, batting at their dangly toys. Who sleep through the night when the health visitor’s chart says they should, and gobble up their baby rice with glee.

My baby isn’t one of those. My baby is a climber who burns off all his calories in about 30 seconds, who prefers garlic to rice cereal, who takes toys apart instead of playing with them, and who will choose a night of cuddles over a night of snoozes any time. That’s just his normal. And you know what? That’s okay with me.


4. Being a new parent, and especially a new mum, is like being a teenager again.

Hormones raging through your body. Sleeping at all the ‘wrong’ times. Insecure and touchy about the smallest things. Generally no idea whether you’re coming or going.

So here we go again: figuring out who I am, what I want, whether all of that is the same as it was yesterday, last month, before the Bean was born.


5. It just gets better.

Every month the Bean turns into a whole new person. He can do new things, has new interests, shows us in new ways how affectionate, cheeky and thrilled with life he is.

Every month I think “stay like this forever”, and then the next month he is even more fun to be with and I think the same thing all over again. One thing is for sure though: babies don’t keep.

Did you see that news story yesterday? The one about the cost of raising a child to the age of 21 having gone up to £227,266? And about how the cost of a child’s first year is now £11,025?

Did you nearly fall off your chair as well? £11,025?!

I know that childcare costs in the UK are astronomical, but £11,025 is ridiculous.

Fair enough, I’ve always been a bit stingy. I actually remember putting pennies into a sock when I was about ten, to save up for university…

The thing is, I think it’s perfectly sensible to be stingy when you’re shopping for baby gear. Especially gear for teeny tiny babies. Why? Because:
1. They outgrow most things within a matter of months, if not weeks    
2. They hardly need anything. Just a pair of boobs, and a pair of willing arms/sling to cart them around everywhere, if we’re honest. Maybe a cot if they’re feeling cooperative and will actually sleep outside of the arms/sling.

Clothes? Doesn’t matter what they look like as long as it keeps them warm and washes easily. 11th hand is fine.
Toys? They’ll be fine in front of a mirror for the first couple of months, and then they’ll only want your keys/phone/pots and pans anyway.
Baby food? Go for Baby-Led Weaning and they’ll just eat salt/sugar-free versions of what you eat.

Okay fine, obviously we’ve bought a fair few things for the Bean, including a cot, clothes and a small number of toys. Nevertheless, in the end our total pre-baby spend only came to about £700 on “essential gear” plus about £400 on a really good cloth nappy set (which is supposed to see two babies through to potty training). Over the course of the Bean’s first year, I think we have spent an additional £500-700 on toys, clothes, more gear and formula. Bringing us to a grand total of £1800 at most, not including childcare costs (I’m not going to tell you what we spend on that because you’ll hate me).

With a bit of common sense and perseverance, as well as a truck-load of imperviousness to the adverts for useless crap that parents are constantly bombarded with, it is possible to spend that little.  My top five tips for a Thrifty Little Baby experience are:

1. Ask for ‘expert’ advice
As a new-parent-to-be, it’s really, REALLY hard to figure out what you need, what amounts to a luxury item, and what is tat.
Before M was born I spent two hours in Aubert with my sister-in-law (who has two kids under 4). We didn’t buy a thing. Instead, she showed me what was gimmicky (anti-colic/reflux bottles. If they’re going to scream, they’re going to scream), and what would save my sanity (a baby bath support, because you really do just have one pair of hands). So if in doubt, ask someone who has a kid under the age of two.

2. Compare, compare, compare
I left Aubert with a list of stuff I wanted, and sat down to Do My Homework.
First it was decision time: was the branded, top-of-range stuff worth paying for, or would the non-branded stuff do? If we had to go branded (which we almost never did), we made sure that quality and longevity were reflected in the price, rather than the name of the brand.
Then on to smart shopping. Lots of web-based shops are very competitive and have random sales, plus there’s always eBay and freecycle.

3. Beg and borrow shamelessly
It’s amazing how many people hoard things they no longer need, just because they can’t be bothered to put it on eBay. We got a cot from my neighbour, a 7th-hand buggy (which is ugly as sin but works fine) from Mr P&P’s colleague, a high chair from my brother, and tons of hand-me-down clothes. To keep the karma rolling, I give away whatever the Bean doesn’t use anymore.

4. Brave a baby fair
Although I normally bolt for the exit at the mere whiff of a sales spiel, going to a baby fair was very useful; I scoffed the free food (look, I was pregnant, okay) and returned with a bag of samples and discount codes. Classy eh.

5. Get creative
You don’t have to be super-nifty, or have tons of time at your disposal (ha!), to make useful and fun things for your baby.
You could cut an adult-sized IKEA bed sheet into four rectangles, sew elastic into each corner and voilà! Four cot sheets in about an hour.
You could follow this great tutorial on how to make a gym for a little baby.
You could make some simple toys, such as the wigwam I wrote about last week.

What do you think? Is £11,025 a realistic amount to spend on a baby? What money-saving tips do you have?

Like this post? Stay tuned for Thrifty Little Baby Part Two: The really essential baby-essentials!

This week’s recipe is all about pumpkin. No, not the flavourless and overgrown monstrosities you get at Halloween, but proper sweet, nutty, comforting pumpkin (or squash). It’s a real winter vegetable, and a very versatile one at that. Aside from using it in this recipe, you could turn it into:

Pumpkin velouté
Chilean beef and pumpkin stew
Oatmeal pumpkin cookies
Plain old pumpkin purée, to store in the freezer for later use (just steam and mash chunks of it)

On top of all that yumminess, it’s also very good for you: it contains vitamins A, B6, C and E, is a good source of iron and Magnesium, and is high in fibre.
If Halloween monsters is the only sort you’re familiar with, be sure to watch this useful guide on some varieties of squash and pumpkin that are commonly available.

Taleggio is an Italian cheese I’ve fallen in love with - it’s creamy, tangy and melts beautifully. An added bonus (to me at least) is that it’s local to the Milan area, so I can get it from the cheese merchant at the market at a snip.
The only thing to watch out for is its salt content. It’s really, really salty. I don’t give it to my little boy at all, so if I’m making this recipe for him I use a low-salt cream cheese or ricotta instead.
Pumpkin and taleggio is a combination I’ve seen crop up in pasta, risotto, orzotto and even as a soup.

Serves: 4
Pots/pans to be washed up afterwards: 2
Prep time: 20 mins
Cooking time: 15 mins

Ingredients:
450 g penne
2 leeks, thinly sliced
a small pumpkin/squash (try kabocha or crown prince), cut into small thin slices
150 g taleggio, cut into chunks
handful of walnuts, chopped
olive oil
black pepper
sea salt
grated parmesan, for serving

Put the penne on to boil in a large pot of salted water.

Heat a generous amount of olive oil to a large, heavy-bottomed frying pan. Stir in the leeks until they’re evenly coated, and leave to soften over a low heat for 3-4 minutes (don’t let them go brown). Stir in the pumpkin slices until they’re evenly coated in oil. Add a splash of water and cover. Leave to simmer for 4-5 minutes, or until the pumpkin is soft enough to squash with a fork.

Take the leek and pumpkin mixture off the heat, add to the penne, and immediately stir in the taleggio. Be quite vigorous - you want the pumpkin to break up and coat the penne, and the taleggio to melt. Season with black pepper and a little salt (remember the taleggio is salty already!).

Serve with grated parmesan and chopped walnuts sprinkled over the top (note: do not give whole or chopped nuts to small children, as they pose a choking hazard).

There it is, one of my favourite pumpkin dishes. What’s yours?

My dear Little M, I promise to try:

To always look forward to getting to know you better, one day at a time.

Not to do things for you or put words in your mouth, but to let you struggle and try until you ask for help. Even if I have to sit on my hands or chomp down on my tongue.  

To let you make your own mistakes, no matter the broken bones I foresee, the conclusions I think are foregone, the heartbreak I believe is inevitable.

Not to (completely) freak out about every tiny thing. About whether or not I should cover your left shoulder with the blankie too. About whether your nappy is pinching your skin. About whether you’ll be able to face the big bad world, when the time comes.

To accept that you will grow up to form your own opinions, and that there is the extremely remote yet real possibility that those opinions are more right than mine.

To treat you like a child when you’re a child, and like an adult when you’re an adult.

To listen to you with patience and empathy regardless of how old you are.

Not to dictate but to lead by example, so that you know what self-respect, kindness and generosity look like.

To accept that all I can do is show you what values I hold dear - the rest is up to you.

To look after your dad and myself, because no-one is of any use within a family unless they are a whole, healthy individual.

To love you as you are, not how I hope you will be.

To reread all of the above at strategic intervals. When you’re chucking blocks at me aged two. When you’re refusing to tidy up your room aged eight. When you’re swigging cider behind the shed aged fourteen. When you don’t know your arse from your elbow aged eighteen. When you bring up your children in a way I can’t fathom aged thirty.

Happy first birthday, Beanyman.

There was a point, from the age of about two to five months, that the Bean did his last sleep of the night/bloody early morning in bed with us. It was really, really lovely to have him so close. Then he got mobile and the mess of flailing teeny-tiny elbows and feet got too much to handle. So one of us would stumble out into the living room with him, and the other would sleep a bit longer.

Recently though, he’s started to sleep until ever so slightly later in the mornings (watch me jinx it now). To put off the inevitable shock of a freezing cold stone floor a bit longer, we’ve been letting him watch YouTube videos in bed with us. Just for 15 minutes or so, on a mobile phone.

Earlier this week I managed to get one early-morning shot of M and his daddy.

It’s pretty representative. 
M glued to screen. Daddy comatose. 
Usually, once I’m up I’m up, but Mr. P&P is one of those (utterly infuriating) people who can sleep anywhere, at any time, in any position. Such as with the light on and while holding up a phone.

M loves this bit of video time. He likes the content but I think, just like us grownups, he also needs some quiet time to wake up properly before he can take on the world. And recently, just in the last week or so, it feels like he actually likes the snuggles that go with it. He doesn’t kick off the duvet anymore, or squirm when you try to bury your face into his tiny back, or lamp you in the head in his hurry to get up and play. He gets as close to you as possible and, every now and then, he’ll look away from the screen and flash you a quick grin.

It’s my favourite ordinary moment of the day (although some kind of tripod to hold up the phone would be really useful).

I'll come right out and say it: I hate 99% of kids' toys. Especially baby toys.

But! you say. They're not for you!

Yes. I know.
But all that garish plastic! Those buttons that come off straight away! The lack of imagination! The horrendous ditties! 

Don't just take my word for it though. The Bean just doesn't seem to like this stuff. There are, admittedly, a few exceptions:
pink plastic cutlery (of course)
collapsible & stack-able cups
Playgro clip clop horse

Otherwise, I honestly don't think that many plastic baby toys are all that interesting or satisfying to him.  In addition, I feel really bad about spending money on something that will end up in landfill after only having been played with for a short time. Some of these plastic toys may even be harmful.

So, partly to keep him busy, partly to save money and re-use what we have at home, I started making simple toys. 
I watched him play, saw what he interacted with, and made things that would be sure to appeal to him.

He loves lights. He loves hiding behind the curtains and peekaboo out of them.  So a wigwam with fairy lights it was.

It took about 10 minutes to make, out of:

Four amazingly sturdy cardboard edge guards that came with an Ikea delivery
Garden twine
A big poncho
Fairy lights

I cut the edge guards down to about a metre each, and argued with the twine until I had all four posts tied together.
Then I wrapped the fairy lights around the top and put the poncho over it.
Finally, I put a flat cushion underneath.

What I like about it is that it's sturdy enough to stay up, but as it's light it also moves around easily and can't hurt the Bean if he thwacks into it. When we're sick of having it in the living room, I can just untie the twine and put everything away. Admittedly it's not the prettiest of wigwams, but anything more crafty would take up too much permanent space in our tiny flat.

In any case, the Bean approved. Very much. (Although he doesn't bother sitting on the cushion. Should've known.)

In exactly one week the Bean turns one. ONE! Mr P&P and I have been taking turns all weekend to come up with cliches like:

“Christ he’s going to be one next week”
“This time last year he wasn’t even here yet…”
“OMG he’s almost not a baby anymore”
"I feel old..."

What we haven’t done, however, is plan a first birthday party. We haven’t bought him a present or even decided what, if anything, we will give him. Does that make us really, really mean parents?

The truth is that I just don’t know how to celebrate this. Yes it’s a massive milestone, but it’s not one he’s aware of. Any type of celebration would really only be for us. If his grandparents were nearby we would probably spend the day with them, which he’d love, but they’re not. We could invite friends over instead, but again, that’d be for us not him.

On top of all that, Mr P&P is in the very final weeks of thesis-writing. Every now and again he surfaces from behind his screen, a slightly diluted and hunted-down look about him. Even the most simple of everyday requests, such as “could you take out the rubbish when you have a moment” are met with an expression of confusion. I don’t think he could cope with as weighty an existential conundrum as “how shall we celebrate the Bean’s birthday?”.

So I don’t think we’ll be having a party. What I hope we’ll do instead is all the everyday things that the Bean loves.

Go to the playground
Blow bubbles
Scoot around in the laundry basket
Bang some blocks together
Play peekaboo with the curtains
Have lunch out and charm the waiters into giving us free focaccia again
Curl up and watch videos on Youtube

And you know what, I’m perfectly happy with that. A party would have been fun but he doesn't really need loads of people coming round (and a mummy stressing about what to feed them). He doesn't need lots of presents. What he needs is for us to take a break from the humdrum, to show him how much we like spending time with him. 

And when daddy's thesis is finally done, we'll have a MASSIVE knees-up.

Milan is known as the 'London of Italy' because it rains so much in winter. Lucky us. Especially lucky because we have an almost-one-year old who, after two weeks off nursery, was practically bouncing off the walls and desperate to get outside to GO DO STUFF. 

After a solid 48 hours of rain there was only one thing for it: just let him turn the house upside-down in search of fun. 

In a shoe box under the bed, he found a fairy wing and boa set. No, I didn't harbour secret hopes for a girl baby, I was made to wear the damn thing at my hen do... And then received it in the post for good measure, after I 'accidentally' left it at my friend's house. I'd completely forgotten about it until the Bean dragged it out. 

He absolutely loved it. Sparkly fluffy fun! Of course I couldn't resist sticking the set on him, because in the name of  equality, boys should be allowed to dress up as fairies too (And oh he looked so cute!).

I got a little glimpse of the future, a future when he can impersonate, pretend, and articulate what tickles his fancy. Maybe he'll go back to the fairy wings, maybe he'll be a fireman, or perhaps a ballerina. Who knows? I'm so looking forward to finding out who he is and what he aspires to be. And to what he'll be on the next rainy day. 

If there is one thing Italians know and appreciate, it’s seasonal fruit and veg. At the moment everyone is going mad for fresh artichoke (carciofo). I’d only ever had them from jars until we moved here and they were practically chucked at me at the local market. You know what? They're right to get in a tizz - fresh artichoke tastes great! It's also a good source of vitamin C and magnesium.

Although artichoke a faff to prepare and we don’t have it often, I think this recipe really does it justice. If you can’t find fresh artichokes, you could use a mix of good mushrooms instead, or green asparagus if it's in season.

Orzotto is a risotto made with pearl barley (orzo perlato) instead of rice. I love it and much prefer it to risotto.
It has a far more satisfying texture and an earthy, comfort foody vibe to it.
It is far more nutritious than rice, providing fibre, protein, iron, selenium and complex b-vitamins.
It doesn’t go claggy and therefore still tastes nice the next day (I hate warmed up risotto).
Best of all, it doesn’t need lots of stirring and careful pouring-in of the stock bit by bit. Just bang it all in the pot and leave to simmer!

If I’m making a portion for my little boy, I use plain water instead of stock, let the barley cook for a bit longer, and add a spoonful of cream cheese at the end.

Serves: 4
Pots/pans to be washed up afterwards: 2
Prep time: 20 mins
Cooking time: 45 mins

Ingredients:
250 g pearl barley, washed
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 stick of celery, finely chopped
5-8 fresh artichokes (prep method below)
100 ml white cooking wine
500 ml vegetable or chicken stock
two lemons, halved and juiced
2 cloves of garlic, crushed
flat-leaf parsley, chopped
150 g grated parmesan
olive oil
black pepper
sea salt

In a large, heavy-bottomed pot, fry the onion and celery over a low heat. Let it go soft and sticky, but not brown.
Increase the heat and add the barley, stirring well for a minute so all the grains are coated in oil but don’t stick to the pot.
Pour in the wine and let it evaporate.
Add the stock, and let it simmer away for about 40-50 minutes, depending on how al dente you like your barley. Stir occasionally and add more stock if it starts to stick.

While the orzotto is cooking, prep the artichokes. First, cut away the tops and stems (leave about a centimetre of stem). Cut away all the tough outer leaves, as you really just want the hearts (you’ll give your gut a serious workout otherwise…). Slice into quarters and remove the furry bits in the middle. Slice thinly. Immediately put the slices in a bowl of water with the juice of one lemon to stop them from going black. Add the lemon halves too.

When the orzotto is about 15 minutes from being done, fry the garlic gently in olive oil in a large pan. Add the artichokes and a splash of water. Cover and leave to cook for about 10 minutes, or until soft.

To finish the orzotto: take off the heat and stir in the parmesan.
To finish the artichokes: take off the heat and stir in the remaining lemon juice.

Stir the artichokes into the orzotto, add the parsley and season with black pepper and sea salt. More parmesan can be added at the table.

Have you ever tried fresh artichokes? What's your favourite way of eating them?

7th January 2011.
 Mr A and Ms. V roll off a plane in Milan with two suitcases and two backpacks. It’s evening, noone’s there to meet them at the airport. They only kinda know where they’re going, but eventually get to their new digs: student halls. After a bit of faff, a grumpy porter and some broken Italian, it is established that Mr A and Ms. V are allowed to stay. Phew. 

Mr A and Ms. V survey their room. Two single beds. Two metal desks. One cupboard. One bathroom. One shared kitchen with no food, crockery or cooking utensils for them to use. No-one in sight bar a couple of grumpy and lonely-looking Middle Eastern students. Turns out everyone else is still on holiday. 

Mr A and Ms. V spend the next three days wandering around Milan in the rain, sheltering in cafés and eating take-away pizza for dinner. At one point Ms. makes the monumental faux-pas of ordering a "café latte" and is served a raised eyebrow and a cup of hot milk. You have a lot to learn, kids.

On 10th January Mr. A start his new job as a PhD student. Ms. V tags along because there’s no internet connection in their room, and she can’t bear to be on her own. Fortunately it’s hard to feel lonely when there are Italians around; everyone at the office immediately says hello and a fair few reveal their life story, complete with romantic woes, within the first 5 seconds.

Fast forward to 7th January 2014.
Housing:
60 m2 one-bed flat. Cosy in winter, steaming hot in summer. Has ugly brown furniture, but also fibre-optic internet. Is tiny and full to the brim, but has a view. Oh my, does it have a view. 

Personal life:
Ooh where to begin.
Mr. A and Ms. V have become Mr. and Mrs. P&P AND made a mini-P&P.
They go on playdates and talk about parenting woes in Italian.
They jump on cheap local trains and explore the lakes at the weekends.
They eat gelato in summer, panettone in winter, and quite fancy brioche + capuccio for breakfast.
They feel like they know what they are doing, what they are talking about, when friends and family visit from abroad. 
They decide to stay for another 18 months.

Jobs:
Mr. P&P is about to start a post-doc, once he squeezes out the last couple of chapters of his thesis. Rattles off endless sentences about lasers and pulse pickers in Italian.
Mrs. P&P freelances as a translator. Doesn’t earn anywhere near as much as she used to in her previous life, but then she only works about 8 months out of every 12. Flounces about at conferences, surprised to see she actually knows her stuff and isn’t just a mummy or an expat wife with nothing to do. That, and she knows more kiddie-vocab in Italian than in any other language.

Three years. You’ve come a long way, ragazzi. 

January 2015 update:
Well, it's now been four years since we started our Italian adventure and we've come such a long way that we can't quite imagine going back anymore. So it may well be that, once Mr P&P's contract is up (in a mere 7 months!), we go somewhere totally new. I look forward to wherever this year takes us. But I just hope it won't involve student digs again. 

Come say hello: