About Me

This blog is about me and my voyage to becoming a mummy. Ironically called “mummy in the baking” as together with my passion and obsession for all things cake related, I will never be able to have my own "bun in the oven." Years of fertility treatment have taken their toll and I now find myself on a new..eek, i hate this word...journey! The crazy train to adoption. I hope you will join me while I bake my way to becoming a mummy. I want this blog to be a source of information as well as a comforter. I hope it will inspire and help anyone who is considering adoption or who has in fact already bought their ticket for this..here I go again...journey. Cake makes me happy and I hope you will enjoy sharing my love of it. I want it to help lift your spirits and hearts through what can only be described as 'the trials and tribulations of the adoption process.' Along with my desire to be a family, I love my dogs, have an unhealthy love of sausages and chenin blanc, adore my land rover uber-nerd of a husband and continiously dream of balmy summer evenings. Baking in progress…..

Monday, 30 March 2015

Unpacking with long faces.....

And so we face another twelve hours in the air. I am desperately trying to stay relaxed and focused. LRUN is wandering around with multiple muslins hanging out of his pockets, flinching every time LBM even coughs. I have squeezed every change of clothing possible into our hand luggage as well as a roll or two of paper towel.

The flight is a dream. While a neighbouring child is throwing a tantrum in the aisle on take off, we are sitting calmly in our seats, all buckled up and doing airport sticker book number one.
LBM eventually goes to sleep and sleeps for several hours. Although I can't face eating, I actually get some sleep, albeit with one eye open on him. Even the landing is a success. Not a tear, not a whimper, not a dribble of vomit. Just pure excitement. An elderly couple in the next aisle lean over to tell me what an angel child we have. How impressed they are with him. The air stewardess joins in and says the same. I tell her about her our flight over. She says she hopes this doesn't sound rude but is so very glad she was not on duty!

Back home and although sad, I am feeling cake inspired. Move over red velvet cake.....Purple Velvet Cake is all the rage in Africa. I can't wait to try it.  I honestly don't think our dogs are happy to see us. They have had two weeks of toddler free bliss. LBM is a bit lost and keeps wanting to go outside. It's five degrees! He is babbling and signing about everyone from the holiday and I have to explain that they live in Africa and we live here. He is wearing the cutest top he got as a gift with a picture of Africa on it in a heart and we point to it and list all the people that live there but are still with him in his heart.  He shouts 'airpane' and then 'bleurgh.'

Sunday, 29 March 2015

An African Summer......

LBM wakes up after an hour and we manage to change him into some clean clothes. I still can't find those plastic bags. How many nappy bags does it take to stash changes of clothes and blankets in. Many, I tell you. Many. LRUN is looking anxious. In fact he has built a wall out of blankets around himself to shield from the spew. LBM goes back to sleep. We order drinks but I cannot bring myself to eat anything. Perhaps it's just the smell of fermenting cheese and cucumber sandwiches but I am feeling queasy. I can't sleep as every few minutes I check that LBM is ok. He is in a deep slumber. He wakes up at breakfast time and is looking slightly more perky. A little more colour other than green in his cheeks too. He nibbles on a roll but is very thirsty and just wants water. Lesson learnt here. Always ration the water. Just as we are landing, he blows again. And so we are down to his last change of clothes in the arrivals hall. Gramps is so over the moon and overwhelmed with emotion to finally meet his first grandson that he happily accepts the fact that we all stink of spew.

I am so happy to be home. It's sunny and warm. We are surrounded by family, friends, incredible food (Oumi is an amazing cook) and tons of fabulous wine. And let's not forget the cake. In the corner of our garden is my step sister's cake emporium. Here she rustles up wedding and celebration cakes on a daily basis with exceptional grace and skill. What better way to spend the day, swimming in the pool with delicious smells floating above. It's not long before LBM discovers this world of cake. He is not keen on swimming and we try and bribe *hangs head in shame* him with a biscuit if he gets in the pool. He does so reluctantly but it's purely to get the biscuit and I can see he really doesn't want to. The next time I try, he sighs and wanders off. Returning with the biggest piece of chocolate cake ever. I can just see his thought process here. Why swim for a lousy biscuit, when cake lady at the bottom of the garden gives me mountains of cake for...well....just being me. Too right.

We had an amazing holiday. It felt so good to be outside all the time. LBM had a blast and coped really well all things considering. He bonded well in time with everyone. Doing a photo book beforehand with photos of everyone and the dogs really helped. I was a bit apprehensive at first as this is what he got when we were being introduced as his new family. So I was bit mindful as to how this would pan out. But I kept re-iterating who they were and that they were friends and family and it worked a treat. Everyone was so impressed with his signing and how we had managed to establish a form of communication with him over the last year. Gramps and Oumi soon learned the signs for cheese and cake. I had some very special time with my sister. I think LBM really absorbed my love for her as he bonded with her big time. Saying goodbye was very hard and I had to hold back the tears in front of LBM. I will always be a child of Africa and it's where my heart belongs.

Monday, 16 March 2015

Up...up...and away

I don't think I've ever been this organised for a holiday. The spare room looks like a section of baggage control at Heathrow. Everything is packed and stacked. Ready. I even high five myself for having thought of packing a few supermarket bags in case we get a bad nappy leak and need to stash some dirty clothes somewhere convenient. We have covered every possible issue, especially  LBM's anxiety. For weeks we have been reading books on airports and spent hours looking at photos of Gramps and Oumi and their dogs, the house and the pool and even pictures of the inside of aeroplanes. I think we literally have bought the entire stock of sticker books from the Range. Relaxed parents, relaxed child is our motto and it is certainly working. LBM is in a smashing mood and everything is running like clockwork. Twelve hours on an overnight flight to Africa. What could possibly wrong?

LRUN is feeling pretty smug, that we now get priority boarding. You know the scenario....hundreds of impatient tourists queueing in an "orderly" manner, all fighting to get on board first. And then 'ding', they call the parents with children first and everyone huffs and puffs and shuffles out the way as a bunch of buggy laden parents scutter forward looking holier than thou. However, in our case,  we seem to have just got ushered into a corner where they announced the flight would now be delayed while they fix some seats. So here we are, all seven families squashed into a corner with increasingly tired and irritated toddlers. Apart from LBM...he is still in the best of spirits, running about in his jim-jams, shouting "airpane" on top of his voice. Until.....my friends, until.....he then projectile vomits all over LRUN and most of the families in this now 'not so priority' corner. And then...again.

I grab him and dash off to the toilets, by-passing the stewardesses shouting " I hope you have your boarding pass" to which I shout "yes" but to be honest, that was about all I had. I look in my perfectly packed handbag, which contains absolutely nothing useful for a vomit festival. Back in the priority corner of love, I find LRUN alone mopping up vomit with a bunch of baby wipes lent to him by thoughtful fellow parents. Priority boarding has already commenced and as the last family left, we are directed into a lift. After a few minutes, I fear this lift is not moving. Nervously I press those all too familiar double arrows to open the door and yup, there we are, still in fricking priority corner. Witnessing all the other now smug looking passengers boarding. And so we board in amongst them with a vomit covered husband and stressed out toddler. We find our seats, which is about all I can find. Where the hell are those bloody plastic bags I packed?? LBM is looking pretty green and just as we start travelling down the runway, he blows again. Big time. I jump up to grab some paper towel from the kitchen station. Paper towel? Paper fricking towel? Why didn't I pack that? The stewardess sternly yells at me to sit down. Until she sees the sea of vomit.  She brings us blankets to cover the seats and ourselves and insist he sits in his own seat. By this point LBM is a mess. Both physically and emotionally. He falls asleep in his cocoon of spew and I look over to the dear old lady in the next aisle. She is looking at us pitifully. I have to laugh. I did not, I repeat....I did not factor this into the equation.