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http://www.babybellesmassageyoga.com/

Baby Belles Massage & Yoga, Sidcup (2025)

26/04/2022

I would LOVE to feel the power of social media on this crisp Tuesday evening SO if you know a parent, or you are one yourself I would hugely appreciate a comment, a tag or even a story share - I’d love to reach as many families as possible!

I am the Enchanted Nanny. I create magical story, song and sensory sessions for children of all ages and stages while also supporting their parents and families with more information and experience the umbrella toting magic nanny herself!

I create magic at Children’s birthdays all over the uk and beyond, and you can also find me running sessions at three days a week!

So don’t be shy, come and say hi! Send to a friend and I’ll be eternally grateful ###

23/01/2022

You were all I knew.
Before one became two.
You weren’t my tiny baby anymore,
even though a baby, you were.
Just us, no longer.
No longer, just us.
And when you both cried, I would cry too.

My first home.

My first teacher.
The bigger you felt in my arms,
the heavier my heart.
People would come over, “have some time with the baby”, they would say. And they would take my baby away.

I felt I needed to pull over and ask for directions, the neighbourhood was familiar but the street names had changed and I wanted to find my way back to you. Then, you took her tiny hand in yours and I realised what I had given you.

What I had given us.
Nothing felt harder, but nothing was easier than loving you both.
There were days I couldn’t divide myself, where I’d fantasise of splitting myself in two.

but please know,
you walk around with my heart as does she.
So in some ways, I’ll always be,
in two places at once.
..............................
Words: Jess Urlichs, Writer 📚 ‘All I See Is You’ poetry book www.jessicaurlichs.com

Stunning art: Art by Chloe Trayhurn

05/01/2022

Some of the magic in motherhood (because it’s nice to be reminded sometimes)

💫 Rediscovering the joy of play. Of slippery slides, seesaws and sandpits. Relishing the simple delight of soaring above the park on a swing, giggling child snug in your lap.

💫 The feeling you get when you look at your baby and think “I made you.” (With a little help, of course.)

💫 The sun drenched pram walks around the neighbourhood because you’ve tried everything else to get your baby to sleep. And the sky is so blue it doesn’t seem real. And you’ve nowhere to be but in that moment.

💫 The way you learn to savour things you long took for granted. Spontaneity, showers, sleep. Finishing your coffee in its entirety. A quiet, empty house.These simple things become some of life’s little pleasures. You cherish them. Collect them up like pretty shells.

💫 How having a baby makes you feel part of the community. People are kinder. Elderly ladies stop to have a chat. You naturally fall into conversations with other parents in lifts and in the park. You get to know people in the supermarket, the bank, and at the café where the owner sneaks your little one marshmellows. You belong to something bigger.

💫 The way you’ve suddenly got a new identity. You’re someone’s mum. And it feels strange at first, like you’re trying on your mother’s clothes. And sometimes, this new identity swamps you, overwhelms you. And you feel like you’re disappearing within in. Until you realise it’s part of who you are. Not all of you. And you find yourself wearing it like a precious brooch.

💫 The fierce pride you feel in your child’s small accomplishments. The first smile. Crawling. Walking. The way their vocabulary explodes and you hear snippets of yourself coming out of their mouth. The recognition of you and your partner in their developing personality. And how unique they are, also.

💫 The way children bring a rush of love into your life. A love that radiates and spreads from your family, to their grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. A love that grows. A love that has no bounds.

And more, so much more.

Art by
Words by COPE 🤍

04/01/2022

It won’t always be like this.
⠀
I remind myself of this often.

To help me see through the hard days, but to also pull me into the now.
⠀
Because it’s true.

They won’t always be this small. And I won’t always be this tired.
⠀
They won’t always need me in this way. And I won’t always feel this lost.
⠀
They won’t always come to me first. And I won’t also feel like I come last.
⠀
This is a season.
We will move through it together.
And it will pass before we know it.
⠀
It won’t always be like this.
⠀
And my heart aches as I think about what it may look like.
⠀
The first school drop off.
⠀
The last kiss goodnight.
⠀
The nights up late waiting for a call that doesn’t come.
⠀
Because life will be different one day.
⠀
And it won’t always be this tiring, messy, or beautifully wholesome.
⠀
It will be watching from afar from a clean house, longing for them to come home for a weekend.
⠀
It will be loving them through phone lines, messenger, and the kilometres between us.
⠀
It will be losing myself in something new, to busy my mind from what I’m missing.
⠀
It won’t always be like this.
⠀
Not the hard.
⠀
Or the beautiful.

It will be a different hard and beautiful.
⠀
We won’t always be like this either.
⠀
We will age.
⠀
And our relationship will evolve.

We will be a different type of “us”.
⠀
But this is my one chance at now.
⠀
I only get to love them, be there for them, and be needed in this exact way, once.
⠀
I only get to know this stage of motherhood like the back of my hand, once.
⠀
I only get this time as we are now, once.
⠀
This is it.
⠀
I only get one Motherhood.

And they only get one childhood.

This time is ours.

So I’m breathing it in, in all of its shades, because it just won’t always be like this.

✍🏼:
📸:

02/01/2022

My World

For I was your sun, the only warmth you needed before you saw a sunrise with your own eyes.

I was your star, before they dusted across your gaze with possibility and wonder.

I was your moon, your only pull, before you noticed the comforting light in the nights blanket.

I was your universe for such a short while, until you saw there was so much more.

But I will always be the earth, your roots grew here.

And you will always be my world.

✨

(Had to re share this with this drawing that was sent to me and inspired by this poem) isn’t it beautiful?

Words: ‘From One Mom to a Mother’ book www.jessicaurlichs.com

29/12/2021

As they grew from babies
And their measurements climbed the wall
Four years in permanent marker
And how they grew so tall.
They’d say it must be nice
To finally have my life
Back as if I lost it
Like I simply left it behind.

As they grew from babies
The heaviness did rest
Like rising out of water
No weight upon my chest.
But did my life go missing?
Was I just biding time?
Searching for a place I knew
A place no longer mine?

As they grew from babies
Their words no longer broken
No longer did I wait to heal
Forever now cracked open.
‘Your life back’ they would say
As fragments of my time
Would show up in full hours
But what about this life?

As they grew from babies
Was I fishing for those days?
Trying to reel them in
As if wishing this away
For why is everything lost
Do we simply veer off track?
My body, my time, and yes my life
Why must we get everything “back”?

As they grew from babies
I learnt to leave some room
For life had plans as well as mine
I did some growing too.
Oh sweet old life, I want to say
It isn’t you, it’s me
When you are growing
How could you ever,
resume normality?

As they grew from babies
Their newborn smell long gone
With that girl from long ago
The one I sometimes mourned.
Is my beating heart not proof?
This life, it did not end
It beats to a new rhythm now
It beats for me and beats for them.

So as they grew from babies
I knew I wasn’t the same
And this life that I once had
In the best way would be changed.
So I am no longer searching
I am no longer running
They are my life. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞.
And I am now becoming.

Words: Jess Urlichs, Writer
Art: Art by Chloe Trayhurn

29/12/2021

"Recently, a friend texted me: Here we go, she said. It was a photo of her in a hospital gown.

Lovely and tired, she was in labor and I felt ever so vividly where she was. ⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣
I remembered myself in her place.

I remembered the childless girl who went into a labor and delivery ward scared and in pain and full of wonder and naivety and fear and excitement.

I remember being embarrassed when my water broke in a Hollywood-style fashion all over a cold hospital floor with wonderful strangers around me.

I remember the hours that followed.

There was so much unknown. ⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣
I remember the feeling of lightness when Sunday arrived and the heaviness in the days that followed when the visitors left and the hormones crashed and a wave of newness like nothing I’d ever known came over me. ⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣
In a way, when I saw my friend’s text, I missed the girl I was when I walked into the hospital that day. The one who lived in a tiny little apartment and took long runs and longer showers and lounged with coffee and slept in. I don’t always feel like I know her anymore. Glimpses of her, maybe. But not the full her. ⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣
In a way, I wanted to say to my friend: Live in those last few moments. Hug your husband. Cherish that time. ⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣
But I didn’t. ⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣
I also knew that contractions hurt and it was hard (because it is) and being so close to the unknown is so uncomfortable yet so strangely spiritual. ⁣⁣⁣
I also wanted to say this: That the person she is becoming, the person she will become tonight, will awe the person she is right now.

I wanted to tell her that the little baby she was about to meet will introduce her to herself. ⁣
⁣⁣⁣
I wanted to tell her that the days that are about to follow will be hard—but that it would all be okay. Because the mess of it all is what makes it so beautiful.

(But in quiet moments she’ll always dream about lazy afternoons.)⁣
⁣⁣⁣
I didn’t though.

Instead, I told her she was doing great.

I told her I’d be here if she needed me.

I told her I couldn’t wait to see her on the other side. 🤍"

📸:

28/12/2021

Do you ever look back at old photos; of them at 6 months, at 12 months? When you were really in the thick of it with sleep regressions, introducing solids and force-feeding medicine for yet another virus. Do you ever look at their lovely little face and think; how could I not have just enjoyed you more?

Why did I get so consumed by the idea of doing a good job, that at times it became just that. A Job. With self-imposed schedules and imagined targets to meet.

What was I rushing around for? Was the world going to implode if he didn't eat or sleep at these set specific times? Who was I even reporting to? Casey? His dad? The health visitor? Was there going to be a probation meeting 12 weeks in where it would be decided if I got kept on, or politely asked to pack up my things?

When Casey was a year old we were traveling back from Wales on an overcrowded train. Casey was teething and miserable and cried...a lot. I was singing wheels-on-the-bus for what felt like hours. Later on, a lovely older welsh lady came over. She said that she hoped we had ignored the grumpy passengers and that she had wanted to come over and sing along with me.

We got chatting and she told me about how she had been a stay-at-home mum for fifteen years and really missed those days. She asked if I was enjoying it. Without really thinking, I smiled and politely said: "Yeah I love it". But something in my voice must have betrayed my words and suggested otherwise. Because she quietly leaned in and said...

"Some days are rubbish, aren't they. I used to try so hard. I'd say to myself...Look Cath, it's not going on your CV. That little sentence used to help me a lot".

At the time I didn't properly appreciate her advice. It's only now two years in, now that I'm beginning to look up and out again, that I can fully grasp those words. Only now that I'm properly starting to enjoy him. I wish I'd cut myself more slack. I wish I'd skived a bit more and grafted a bit less. I wish I'd taken more duvet days and all the shortcuts. I wish I'd made less bloody pinwheels. But most of all I wish I'd realised this sooner.

Ah, motherhood. If the sleep deprivation doesn't kill you, the mum-guilt will get you in the end.

------------------------------------
Photo:

Words: Karen McMillan (Mother Truths)

Taken from 'Lessons: Reflections on Early Motherhood' available to buy worldwide: https://linktr.ee/mother_truths

22/12/2021

"As a man I still don't understand how after what I saw in the delivery room she made everything after look like just another day. Serious guys. Your woman is going to go through hell and back and all you can do is watch wondering how? How did she do it? How is she still going? After giving birth to your child she will have zero down time. She will deliver the placenta which is just like giving birth again, she may need stitches and then they will hand her your baby and she'll start feeding them all while still bleeding from child birth. Her body will start to contact back to normal so if you thought contraction were over after the baby comes out you my friend are wrong. When she walks she'll be in pain so going to the bathroom will be a task. All of this and then you'll look at pictures of that day and think how in the hell did she do all that. Crazy right, after all of that and then she'll take pictures and you will see zero sign of pain, zero sign of fatigue, zero signs of fear and zero signs what she just went through. All you'll see (if you can see anything with tears in your eyes) is a Goddess who has birthed you an Angel. Only tip I've got today is DON'T FORGET THAT!!!!" ⁣
⁣
📸 & words: https://www.instagram.com/chroniclesofdaddy/

05/12/2021

I think of her, in the darkness.

A chubby cheek on her chest, a chair she excitedly bought with a swollen belly. One she’s now all too familiar with.

I think of her and all the noise, the noise that would tell her she was doing it wrong, have her nodding along like she didn’t rock him, cuddle him or feed him to sleep.

I think of her and how she knew her baby seemed much needier than others, she knew. And so did he. That his sensitive soul needed to be held, just like he would do for others one day, he knew.

I think of her and the time he just wouldn’t stop crying, this baby now a toddler afraid of monsters under the bed. I think of how she snapped and the way he looked at her, how she wondered if she was the monster now. How she felt like she had nothing left to give, but she kept giving anyway.

I think of her, how he lived the closest to her heart, and when they met it made sense for him to still crave being close to it.

I’m not ashamed to say I still sit in the darkness, only for 5 minutes, stroking his hair as he drifts off.
I used to think about all the things I could get done as we sat in our chair, and now, on his bed, I wonder if my fingertips will hold this memory.

It was so noisy back then, but I think of her in the dark.

How it all became quiet when he softened against her.

How you can actually hear silence.

And when you listen to it, it can drown out all the noise.

Words:
📷:

02/12/2021

I think I was too exhausted to really soak in the newborn stage.
It almost seems unfair doesn’t it.
I’ll get flashes of smiles or fragments of conversations in the evenings, it still feels a bit wispy, I wonder if it will always be that way.
The feeling of only being half alive.
But I’m so alive, I’m right here, but I’m somewhere else too.
Somewhere with the mental load in the motherhood maze.

I think back to those days often, a toddler learning to walk & a newborn baby. The overwhelm and juggle of it. My eyes that could leak at any moment.
The sheer state of me, a shadow in my mind, but wow did she shine.
As do all mothers, but newborn mothers have a soft strength to them, a loud stillness, a shy confidence.

I think back to the many moments I thought were for them, where I held them close and rocked in our chair, I see they were mine too.
That I needed them, my aching body pleaded for them.

I think back to the birth, the feeding, the little hands grabbing for me, someone always on me, my husband wanting a kiss when he got home and me not wanting anyone to touch me for a second, I smile because I get it, and yet my heart twists at the thought of them needing me less.

I think back to the purees, the bottles, the mess, the many things I mastered in the kitchen with one hand. How sometimes just getting out the door was the biggest achievement & how I had to make peace with that.

I think back to trying to explain to my husband how exhausted I was after a hard day, but never doing it justice, the words not quite fitting in my mouth, then smiling like it didn’t hurt.

I think back to the days that felt like remakes, but now I see they were all originals, especially to them. Their world expanding at a rapid rate, the most beautiful magic unfolding, did I see that? Did I miss it through the fog?

And I think back to the days I would say,
“I just can’t do this” when I was drowning.
But I was doing it.
Coming up for air, rebuilding and rising.
Maybe you’ll think back like me one day,
or maybe I can remind you now.
You’re doing this too.
No matter what that looks like.
You’re doing it.
Because that’s what mothers do.

✍️

24/11/2021

Your mother is the reason I hold you today.

Baby Belles Massage & Yoga

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29/12/2021

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