Baking - What Mary Berry Doesn't Tell You

As this post goes live, millions of wannabe bakers across the U.K. will be sat watching The Great British Bake Off. Me included!

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Baking.

A simple word.

Eggs.

A simple food.

Simple and nutritious - packed with protein and minerals.

Eggs.

They now scare me a little.

You see, eggs have taken a whole week from my life. Well, if I'm being honest, food poisoning has taken a whole week from my life.

Food poisoning is the worst thing ever.

I can honestly say that I've never felt so ill in my entire life. Apart from maybe mastitis but I was over the worst of that in a couple of days tops. No, food poisoning, wiped me out to my bed for a whole week.

At first I thought it was caused by a takeaway curry I'd eaten that night, but no.

The innocent act of baking resulted in 6 days in bed, two phone calls from doctors, two trips to the doctor, a hospital visit at 1am, 2 injections in my ass and 5 days without any food at all.

I was also off social media.

*plays highly dramatic music*

Yes! It was that serious!

*shocked face*

It may sound overly dramatic but those who saw me at my worst (only Matt, my Sister and my parents) will know how bad I actually was. I was weak and teary. A wreck. In agony. Unable to eat, unable to get up but unable to sleep or do anything.

Yes, 6 days in bed.

Any mother will know this is serious. Us mums don't get ill. If we have flu we soldier on, we fight through it when all men fall to their beds complaining they're dying. "Even my finger nails ache!" they cry whilst we mutter under our breath, juggling 10 or more tasks.

Nope, this wiped me out good and proper.

So, what happened? Did I eat a dodgy egg?

No.

Did I eat raw egg? (I know you're all reading this thinking I licked the spoon whilst baking...how rude!).

No.

To be perfectly honest, I'm quite careful with eggs. I always wash my hands after breaking them and I never ever lick any cake batter if it contains raw eggs (I know, I'm so restrained!).

Just a short walk up the road from where we now live there's a great local farm shop selling a vast amount of fresh produce. It's lovely. I used to drive there from where we used to live to get fresh produce but now I'm lucky enough to live so close.

Friday 13th (how apt!) was the day before I became ill and I'd been busy as it was Matt's birthday on the 12th. I decided to bake him a sponge cake as he'd been away with work for his actual birthday and we also had his parents arriving the day after.

I got the freshly laid eggs from the farm shop and cracked them into the bowl.

I washed my hands.

I returned to the bowl to mix the cake batter.

Nothing wrong there you may say.

I'd cracked them into the bowl. That was my mistake.

The eggs were freshly laid. You know the sort? Straight out of the chickens backside, freshly covered in lovely chicken poop.

Even though I'd washed my hands I then returned back to the bowl to mix and grabbed the edge of the bowl.

That's it.

That's all it took to poison me.

Obviously my hands must have gone into my mouth at some point after that and the deed was done. Less than 36 hours later I was in utter agony.

Sadly, I'm old enough to remember old Eggwina Currie causing outrage in the late 80's. Since then I've always been well aware of how to handle eggs but obviously not enough. I guess I just never thought it would happen to me.

Over the past couple of days, since my recovery, I've heard from people who have also been told that you should always wash your eggs before use (but they never do) and people who lick the batter (naughty naughty).

I've had a couple of interesting conversations with our local environmental health officer and he said this type of food poisoning is common with bakers. Obviously the cake is fine but often the person who baked it becomes seriously ill from handling contaminated eggs. So all you budding Mary Berry's and Paul Hollywood's, take heed!

There you have it.

I wanted to blog about this to warn people to be more careful with eggs. Apparently if you're using 'fresh from the arse of a chicken eggs' then wash them first and break them with a knife or into a separate cup that can be washed straight away. There's something old Mary Berry doesn't tell you on the TV.

I wouldn't wish food poisoning on my worst enemy.

Serves me right for trying to be the domestic goddess I'm so very clearly not.

*runs off to buy shop bought cake*

I'm Keeping My Big Mouth Shut In Future

I expect there are quite a few mums that hate me at the moment.

I have a 14 week old baby who will sleep 9-10 hours straight at night. He will have a quick feed, doesn't need changing most nights and goes straight back off.

It's bliss. I'm sorry.

However, I am not going to be smug. I'm going to just be prepared for the unexpected in future.

Yes, I'm just going to keep my big mouth shut!

As I turned off the bedside lamp last night I said to Matt, "You know what, I can't remember the last time he did under 7 hours straight".

I should have known as soon as those words fell from my lips that I was asking for trouble.

It's like when I have said "He hasn't cried at all today" and 5 minutes later he starts hollering just as we all sit down for dinner.

It's also like when I've said "He had quite a windy feed and burped loudly but wasn't sick" just as he vomits at the feet of people queuing up for their Sunday carvery in a pub.

Yup, last night he did 5 and a half hours.

Now, before any sleep deprived mums start throwing their laptops, tablets or phones across the room in anger because their little people only manage 2 or 3 hours, let me explain...

I've had a baby like that. Mini Cheddar didn't sleep through until she was much older. I've felt the sheer awfulness of utter sleep deprivation. So, this time I'm making the most of having a 'sleeper'.

That was until last night.

He woke up in some discomfort just before 2.30am. I decided to wind him but to no avail. By this time he seemed frantic for food so I latched him on. He fed very calmly and seemed extremely content. It was all a ruse. A secret baby plan to lull me into a false sense of sleepy security - like Stewie from Family Guy secretly plotting his next move. I, meanwhile, happily played on Draw Something (so shoot me) and emailed a friend.

He fed for a long time - a lot longer than usual. Then I felt an eruption in the nappy area.

The cause of the discomfort had finally reared it's head (or should I say bottom?)...or so I thought.

When he'd finished his feed I took him into the nursery and placed a very sleepy man onto the change table. As I opened his nappy I thought I noticed something on his 'little man'. Now, mums of boys will know the telltale sign that your man is about to pee by the column in question standing to attention.

No, it was all clear.

I moved in for a closer inspection just to check everything was okay (it was).

Just then it erupted. Yup, the good old urine fountain.

In a moment of sleep deprived panic I ducked and pushed him gently to his side away from me instead of grabbing a tissue to cover up the little offender.

The wee hit the nursery wall and ran down the back of the change table. It also covered his sleep suit.

Just as the realisation of what had happened hit me I heard a loud noise. I peered over the edge of the change table to see what I can only describe as a 'yellowy river' which was, as it felt like at the time, the size of the Amazon, run from his rear end soaking the towel he was lying on. It was a pooptastrophe of korma calamity proportions again.

Great.

By this point I think I'd been awake with him 2 hours. I could hear the birds starting to sing the dawn chorus - those chirpy happy buggers...I've never wanted a shotgun so much before!

I started to tackle his tackle, mopping up the pee and poo, whilst cursing under my breath at my husband who was snoring in the bedroom across the landing, completely oblivious to the crappy carnage that I was dealing with!

Just then, Tiny Ched opened his eyes and gave me the biggest gummiest grin ever.

My heart melted.

Then he puked all over himself.

Moral of the story. Just shut the hell up.

Don't let this pose lull you into a false sense of security

The Poo Cycle

He wants feeding.

I feed him.

He poos.

He falls asleep in pooy nappy.

I change him.

He wakes up.

He wants feeding.

I feed him.

He poos.

He falls asleep in pooy nappy.

I change him.

He wakes up.

He wants feeding.

You get the gist. The never ending poo cycle! How you are ever meant to get anything done or leave the house sometimes with a poo cycler is beyond me.

Almost 8 weeks old and crapping for Britain. There should be an award for it...he'd take on every baby in the world and win hands down.

Sometimes we change him thinking he's filled his nappy only to discover it was just a little 'blipper'. Then he's all awake wanting food and afterwards usually fills his lovely clean nappy completely. I'm sooooo going to invent see-through nappies and take them on Dragon's Den. I'm convinced Peter Jones and Theo Paphitis would invest.

Despite the poo there's this...

How can you get frustrated with the poo cycle when he looks like that?

Biased, I may be, but my boy is gorgeous.

You Know You've Just Had A Baby When...

...you permanently walk around with a boob out of your nursing top

...you forget to put said boob away when you answer the door to the postman

...you walk around with a milky sick stain on your shoulder all the time

...your hairbrush has a battle to de-tangle your hair because of the dried sick in it

...dry shampoo is your new best friend

...when you hear the dreaded 'sick' noise over your shoulder you hope it's fresh milk and not curdled smelly milk

...you make new friends from America, Canada and Australia on Twitter because of tweeting at 4am GMT

...you hear the birds wake up

...you get annoyed at how happy the birds are first thing in the morning

...you wonder why there's a wet patch on your lap/groin, then realise you forgot to put your boob away. Again

...if you have to spend more than 48 hours in the house you get severe cabin fever

...you eat constantly but still lose weight (yaye for breastfeeding!)

...your washing machine is constantly on

...you never seem to reach the bottom of the washing pile despite the washing machine being on all the time

...there are clothes drying EVERYWHERE around the house (sod off rain!)

...you decide to wear the same item of clothing 3 days in a row because 'it will only get sicked on anyway'

...you hear your husband snoring peacefully at 4am and deliberately cough/sneeze/yawn loudly/fart to wake him up

...you don't so much as flinch when you get baby poop on your hand

...you are obsessed with the colour/consistency of said poop

...you never want to eat a chicken korma again

...4am is the new time to draft blog posts

"Ok, I hold my hands up - it's all MY fault"

This is a follow-on post from my You Know You're Pregnant When... post

Sir Poops-A-Lot

Tiny Ched is 4 weeks old tomorrow.

I honestly don't know where those 4 weeks have gone. 4 weeks since I lived my amazing birth story. 4 whole weeks of adoring our new baby boy.

In my last full post (my birth story) I said he was a dream.

He is.

But he does have one slight downfall.

He poops.

A lot.

Now I know breastfed babies crap a lot. Mini Cheddar did, but not to this extent. He literally poops for Britain. If there was a Baby Olympic event for crapping, he'd win gold every time.

This constant pooping came at a price. The poor little man has suffered with severe nappy rash. As soon as it started we rushed out to buy Metanium as we used that with massive success on MC but no, his poor little bottom got worse and he ended up looking like a baby baboon. We didn't use wipes on his bum, just water and cotton wool but with the amount he poops it's a battle to keep him clean and the constant wiping will not help. We even had him at the doctor's a week last Friday as it was getting worse.

Thankfully, a change of nappies and a massive amount of nappy off time have helped and it's almost back to normal.

With all this excessive pooping, can you imagine my surprise last week when he was weighed and had put on 1lb 2oz in a week! My milk must be great stuff because I honestly didn't think anyone so small who shat that much could put on that amount.

We are all well. Mini Cheddar loves Tiny Ched very much and is ever so gentle with him. She's always checking he's okay and giving him the gentlest of kisses. I'm loving having two children snuggled up on the sofa beside me. My heart just bursts with love, pride and happiness.

Anyway, before I make you all puke I'd best be off.  Oh and I was really ill last week so my blogging fell by the wayside. I'm back doing my freelance work a little too although that's been a struggle between my illness and the nappy rash.

Rest assured though, I'll be catching up on your blogs this week between poopy nappies!

Isn't that a nice thought to leave on.

He was probably squeezing one out as I took this

"My Child Mastered The Potty In A Day" - Oh Feck Off!

Looks so easy doesn't it?

Today has been a somewhat distressing day in our household.

For those of you who don't know, I started properly toilet training Mini Cheddar on Monday so we are now on day 4. It all started out so well with 2 great successes Monday (even a poo!) and another one Tuesday...yesterday we had nothing and today was just a constant battle.

I've tried toilet training her a couple of months ago but she was a bit constipated so I stopped.

This week was going to be different. No constipation. No play school (half term). No engagements. Just me, my daughter and the potty.

I thought training her would be a doddle, she knows when she's going, she knows she needs to do her "wee wee's and poo poo's" on the potty, she has great communication and she's intelligent.

I was so naive.

After the successes earlier this week, MC has now resorted to jumping up and down getting all stressed and shouting "Mummy! Mummy!" when she wants to go. I tell her it's time to get the potty out and she starts getting upset. She eventually sits on it for 5 minutes, says she doesn't need a wee wee anymore, pulls her pants up and then urinates. Everywhere.

It's so hard to try and not get frustrated.

"Maybe there's a 'potty whisperer' we can pay to come and help us" my husband jokes this evening as he looks at how knackered I am.

"Haha, yeah maybe" I fake laugh "Be back in a minute".

Obviously I jump straight on the laptop. Hey, don't judge me - desperate times call for desperate measures and all that! Besides, I'm sure I've heard the term 'potty whisperer'* used before. I think I'd pay £1000 right now to get someone in to train MC, that's how bad today has been.

Thanks for those of you who offered your support on Twitter earlier today when I sent out a tearful tweet (Husband had taken MC to the post office for 10 minutes so I could have a frustrated, knackered cry to myself). So glad none of you tweeted back how your child picked it up in a day. I had that last month and I wanted to scream in the persons face! Think they are the same breed of person who tell you how their 2 week old sleeps through 12 hours a night when your 1 year old has you up every few hours.

If you have any pearls of wisdom then I'd love to hear them, if you're one of those people above then move along...nothing to see here!

Here's to the on-going potty saga.

It wouldn't be so bad if I could have a few glasses of wine at night to ease the pain. Guess I'll just have to slope off and weep into a glass of orange juice. Remind me again why I'm having another baby?


*The potty whisperer is a technique that you start on newborns by making a "pssss" noise in their ears when you want them to 'go'. My Sister who has travelled to some pretty remote places in the world says they use it in places they don't have nappies for their children.

I'll Never Eat A Dried Strawberry Ever Again

My blog became slightly legendary (ok, maybe I'm exaggerating a lot there but it did develop a bit of a reaction at the time) a while back because of a couple of poo blog posts. If you're feeling a bit strange, a bit sick or fancy a giggle and haven't read them then please feel...you can find them here:

What's On The Specials Menu Today Then?
Revenge Is Sweet

Well, it seems that more poo hilarity has ensued in the Lucas household today.

I honestly thought Mini Cheddar would be a doddle to potty train. For a two and a half year old, her speech is fantastic. I'm not just saying that because I'm her Mummy - everyone we meet can't believe how well she speaks for her age.  She fully understands that the potty or toilet is where we do our 'wee wees and poo poos' and she knows when she's going etc.

See how I thought it would be easy. Well, how naive was I?

When I started to introduce it to her the other month she did great. In fact, by her second day she even asked for the potty, waited for me to get her on it and did a wee straight away.

I don't know what happened but she's regressed totally. Maybe it's because she's started play school (although she does go to the toilet at play school!) or maybe it's because she now knows I'm expecting another baby.  Who knows?  I can tell she needs to go so I get the potty or get her to the toilet and she goes mad. She will scream the place down and say she doesn't need to go. Then a minute later she's wet herself.

To say I was totally at the end of my tether the other day is an understatement. Let's just say, out of sight of MC I sobbed my heart out with pure frustration. Yes, it was that bad.

Mmmm strawberry poo

So, trying not to be defeated, I turned to my old friend Google. I found an article that said I should try and introduce a doll and get the doll to 'go potty'. I actually bought one of those dolls that drinks and will wee (lovely). It even came with it's own potty.

It all started so well. MC fed the doll, the doll went to the potty and we celebrated with a tea party - we blew up balloons and ate some sweeties.

Then MC said the dolly needed a poo. Wanting to be as realistic as possible I grabbed a few dried strawberries (I'll never eat another one ever again!) from the cupboard and when MC wasn't looking I put them in the potty under the doll.

MC was delighted when she checked if dolly had 'been'.

She wasn't so delighted when our dog, Betty, came into the lounge and ate the fake poo.

What's On The Specials Menu Today Then?

Always ready to squeeze one out

You really can't expect to read a mummy blog and not be presented with the obligatory 'poo post' can you?

I've already talked about poo on my blog - dog poo. You'd expect a 'mummy blog' to be talking about baby/toddler poo but no...until now.  By the way, if you fancy another giggle please do check out my 'Revenge Is Sweet' poo post.  It's a corker (even if I do say so myself), if somewhat gross.

No amount of NCT classes can prepare you for the amount of poo that will become part of your everyday life once you have a baby.  Sure, everyone jokes about it.  Everyone tells you about the amount of nappies and how many you'll get through and how much you'll become an expert in Bristol Stool Chart!  But you never truly know until you've experienced it first hand.

Entering the land of motherhood later in life (35), I felt a certain amount of pressure to be a 'natural'.  I thought people would be judging me because of my age and for the first couple of months I was a bit freaked out at certain obstacles I faced...the first car journey over 30 minutes with baby, the first meal out with baby, the first food shop with baby and so on.  I guess everyone goes through this as a new mother but I felt more pressure because of my age in some respects, like people would be judging me thinking I was a rubbish mother for my age.  Like they expected me to be some sort of earth mother or something.  Stupid really.

Anyway, as usual I'm digressing totally.

Mini Cheddar was born 11th March 2009 and at the beginning of May we were due to go for a meal with our NCT teacher and the other 'students' from the class.  It was a daunting prospect.  3 couples, 3 babies and one NCT teacher, in a lovely Cheshire pub on an unseasonably hot Sunday lunch time.  Thankfully I'd met up with the 2 other girls and their babies beforehand so the pressure had eased slightly as all 3 of us were breastfeeding.  I didn't want to be the only one sat in the pub with my boob out!

I put Mini Cheddar in a cute outfit, packed up the change bag and set out with my husband to meet everyone.

Mini Cheddar was a delight.  She was happy and smiling in her pram.  We ordered and the pub started to fill up.  I started to relax.

Then one of my NCT friends asked to hold her.  Now I'm not sure if it was the movement, the excitement or what but all of a sudden I was just aware of all this stuff dripping out of her nappy onto the floor. Imagine someone had poured about 2 pints of korma through her and you may get the idea.

I was in shock, I just sat there open-mouthed for a while, not knowing what to do.  My husband just grabbed the first thing he could which happened to be the specials menu and caught most of it. I was distraught.  Not only was my gorgeous daughter dripping everywhere but my husband was using the specials menu as some sort of poo catcher.

Mini Cheddar then started screaming blue murder, thus drawing attention to the pootastrophe that was developing. People were being served their roast beef and yorkshire pudding and I was grabbing Mini Cheddar trying to calm her as well as keep the poo escapism to a minimum.

My husband and I headed off quickly to the baby change room which happened to be right by where we had been sitting.  Good in one way but also humiliating as Mini Cheddar just wouldn't stop hollering.  By the time we'd changed her nappy and clothes, the meals had arrived.  I didn't feel like eating and Mini Cheddar was still bawling so my husband and I took it in turns to bounce her up and down to comfort her whilst the other one picked at their meal still reeling from the korma calamity.

I felt like a million eyes were on us when I know in reality they weren't (I hope). However, I couldn't wait to get out of that place.  I still don't know what happened to the specials menu.  I'm guessing one of my friends disposed of it.

I'm just thankful we opted for Sunday lunch and we hadn't arranged to meet on a Tuesday - Curry Night!

Posted for The Friday Club Carnival

Revenge Is Sweet

Please don't read this post if you're eating, have just eaten or are about to eat.  Or you can't think about poop!  Although why you'd even be anywhere near a 'Mummy blog' and not be prepared to read about poop is beyond me.

Yes my daughter is still in nappies but thankfully the days of the squirty baby 'korma' poo are over.  Her poos are normal now and every day since that stage passed once she was weaned onto solids I have been grateful.

No more disastrous poo related incidents in the pub at the Sunday carvery with my husband using a specials menu to stop poo dripping onto the floor - true story *shudders with the very thought of the embarrassment*  Maybe I'll blog about that at a later date.

So, any mum will tell you that things rarely go to plan when you're about to embark on a night out with friends.  What's one of them I hear some of you cry?  I know, sometimes nights out can be like rocking horse poop.  Well, I was going out early doors with my best friend the other week and all was going well until I let the dog out.

My husband and I were sat in the lounge playing with my daughter who had just been fed.  I looked out of the patio window to see the dog doing that crouched over shaking thing.  Yes, she was 'shaking like a shitting dog' as the saying goes.

But something wasn't quite right.  I realised she was having a pootastrophe as I now call it.

Our dog, Betty, is 15 and suffering with doggie dementia, bless her.  She appeared to be struggling with a rather large turd that wasn't evacuating as it would normally do.

I ran out to the garden armed with a pair of rubber gloves and some tissue paper.  I get all the glamorous jobs don't I?

I must have frightened the poor pooch because, as I went to grab her, she decided to flip out causing the poo to fly everywhere across her rear-end and stick in her bum fur and then the worst happened...

She sat down on the patio.

It was like a poo massacre!

I was gagging loudly which only caused her to get more stressed out.

What did I do?

I made my husband make up for the last 6 weeks of me waiting on him hand and foot whilst he nursed his broken ankle and I made him clean that crap up!

Watching him hobbling about in the back garden trying to de-turd the dog with a bucket of warm soapy water and a pair of marigolds more than made up for it.

He can still buy me an iPad though.