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BABY JOURNAL IDEAS : JOURNAL IDEAS


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Baby Journal Ideas





baby journal ideas






    journal
  • diary: a daily written record of (usually personal) experiences and observations

  • A daily record of news and events of a personal nature; a diary

  • daybook: a ledger in which transactions have been recorded as they occurred

  • A logbook

  • A newspaper or magazine that deals with a particular subject or professional activity

  • a periodical dedicated to a particular subject; "he reads the medical journals"





    ideas
  • A thought or suggestion as to a possible course of action

  • (idea) mind: your intention; what you intend to do; "he had in mind to see his old teacher"; "the idea of the game is to capture all the pieces"

  • (idea) a personal view; "he has an idea that we don't like him"

  • An opinion or belief

  • A concept or mental impression

  • (idea) the content of cognition; the main thing you are thinking about; "it was not a good idea"; "the thought never entered my mind"





    baby
  • A young or newly born animal

  • A very young child, esp. one newly or recently born

  • a very young child (birth to 1 year) who has not yet begun to walk or talk; "the baby began to cry again"; "she held the baby in her arms"; "it sounds simple, but when you have your own baby it is all so different"

  • pamper: treat with excessive indulgence; "grandparents often pamper the children"; "Let's not mollycoddle our students!"

  • The youngest member of a family or group

  • the youngest member of a group (not necessarily young); "the baby of the family"; "the baby of the Supreme Court"











Sylvia




Sylvia





47 years ago today Sylvia Plath died.

Ever since studying her at school for A-levels I have been besotted.

I bought her journals years ago and whenever I am low I dip into her thoughts. I love how brutally, unashamedly honest she was and how comprehensively every feeling and thought was described.

When Sylvia Plath wrote her journals did she have any idea, any inkling, any secret hope that one day they would be published? So beautifully and fully written, they are apparently unabridged, but surely (and I like to hope) she would have written those things that we all put in our diaries, the dreary stuff, only of interest to you, the stuff you write at the top of the pages so that when you want to look back to find out when you last had your dodgy tum tum or that immensely heavy period you can flick through like a flick book, “ah ha, my face erupted with pimples on the 19th of May 2009."

My grandmother and my mother have both been prolific diary keepers. My grandmother’s diaries were minute, like ration books, 2cm allocated to each day, she had to ration her words. The same amount of space was given over to her going to the butchers and buying pork chops as somebody close to her dying. It was almost an early form of twitter; 140 characters or less.

My mother tells me that when she looks back through her old diaries they are all virtually identical; she has experienced the same year over and over again for about 15 years, she needn’t even keep writing, she can just put an asterisk and say “see same day in 2009, or 2008, or 2007”.

I don’t always know how to write in my diary, am I writing it for me, to read again in years to come or am I secretly hoping that one day it will be read by others? In self indulgent moments I imagine it being pored over by historians eager to glean the meaning from every last genius sentence, English teachers will hold back tears of wonderment at the use of language as they read aloud to the class, “S**t day got f**k all done, everyone is a complete c**t.”

“Now tell me class, what was Naughton trying to express in this diary entry?”

“Sir Sir, I think that perhaps she is weary of the futility of her efforts to progress in life, she is swollen with frustration that at every turn she is thwarted by bad luck and bad judgement about people and situations, I think fundamentally she is massively f***ed off with it all and wants everyone to f**k off.”

“Excellent Jones, excellent.”

I waste so much space writing entirely banal things, “Got up, felt s**t” - that’s a given, so is: stayed home, early bed, back to bed, nap in afternoon, couldn’t get out of bed, drank wine, I only like bed, got pissed, lie in.
Unfortunately my unfettered diary thoughts are, in addition to being hugely repetitive horrifically swear word ridden. I imagine that re-reading the text in 20 years won’t really give me a very clear recollection of events and merely how f***ing p***ing well ANGRY I was about something, everything.

From Sylvia Plath’s Journals I can pull infinite beautiful, meaningful paragraphs, here are but a sprinkling:

‘I am jealous of those who think more deeply, who write better, who draw better, who ski better, who look better, who live better, who love better than I. I think I am worthwhile just because I have optical nerves and can try to put down what they perceive. What a fool!’

‘Some sleep is like a pile of garbage, with egg shells jagged, and vermin swarming over lurid orange peels, coffee grounds and sick wan lettuce leaves; that is the sleep of nightmare fragments, when the operation or the exam is coming the next day. Some sleep is bleak and gray, sparing with its calm and soothing treatment; that is the sleep of the worker, when each day is like the last and the next, and all time is present. But there are sleeps that are born of spring and of the slumbering hibernation of bears in leaf-hushed caves.’

‘You are plunged so deep into your own very private little whirlpool of negativism that you can’t do more than force yourself into a rote where the simplest actions become forbidding and enormous.’

‘Tomorrow is another day toward death, (which can never happen to me because I am I which spells invulnerable.) Over orange juice and coffee even the embryonic suicide brightens visibly.’
(From the Journals of Sylvia Plath 1950-1962)

And now for the highlights of some of my diaries:

Saw man shit on grass next to us!

I drink every night, that can’t be good.

We had a row and he said I was selfish blah blah, I told him F**K you.

Ran up stagg hill 6 times.

Found myself wanting a baby today, a newborn in a house (that I was photographing) made such sweet contented sounds, I fancied staying at home talking baby talk all day in slouchy clothes with lullabies playing in the background – only problem, no man, not having sex, no lovely home, ah well.

Was so glad to get rid of her; bought her case to Cockfosters and sent her straight back to Derby.

R back from his sex weekend and Muse











First Baby Born at St. Thomas-Elgin General Hospital, 1954




First Baby Born at St. Thomas-Elgin General Hospital, 1954





Title: An hour before operation ‘moving’ got under way to the new St. Thomas-Elgin General Hospital in May 1954, a baby boy was born to Mrs. J. C. (Norma) Baldwin, 62 Balaclava Street, who was rushed into the new hospital an hour earlier. Dr. E. L. Brown had the honor of delivering the first baby in the new hospital. Mrs. Baldwin was all smiles when she told The Times-Journal she had no idea she would have the first baby in the new hospital. She said she will have to consult her husband, Jack, a driver for Hepburn Transport, before the baby is named.

Creator(s): St. Thomas Times-Journal

Bygone Days Publication Date: April 29, 2010

Original Publication Date: May 17, 1954

Reference No.: C8 Sh5 B2 F1 3a

Credit: Elgin County Archives, St. Thomas Times-Journal fonds










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