The Bakers Adventures

The girls came out of school that first afternoon looking like they’d just run an emotional marathon.. not crying, not even unhappy, just… spent. Their faces told a story only parents really know.. the one where excitement and overwhelm collide and turn into quiet exhaustion. Erin’s hair had half fallen out of its braid, one of Evie’s socks was hanging somewhere between her ankle and her shoe, and both of them moved like they were underwater.

Peach was out first, and I swear my heart swelled so much it nearly burst through my chest. She looked so grown up, wobbling under what felt like ten heavy bags as she tried to battle her way through the sea of children desperate to find their parents. When she finally reached me, she looked defeated.. but not in that “I’ve conquered my first day of school” kind of way. It was deeper. Is it weird how we just know by their eyes? Hers are like marbles.. round, blue, and they glisten when she breathes. But in that moment, they didn’t glisten.

Luckily, I never have to wonder for long what’s going on inside her head. She’s an excellent communicator, and sure enough, she gave me the full download within minutes. Lunch hadn’t gone well.

Evie (Pearl or Peach, depending on what nickname she’s claiming that week) has something doctors believe to be ARFID.. A form of eating disorder. We’re still figuring out the roots of it, but when things like this arise, you start reflecting and suddenly all those little puzzle pieces from the past line up in uncomfortable clarity.

When she was a baby, she had obstructive sleep apnoea. We only discovered it after her first sleepover at Nanny’s, when my mum nearly lost her mind watching her “stop breathing” in her sleep. Evie was always a noisy little thing.. nasal, snorty, like a tiny pug who’d just run a marathon. As second-time parents, we were more relaxed so we didn’t obsess over every grunt. But looking back, she sounded like she was sleeping through a snorkel.

I started filming her at night and sent clips to the doctor. They weren’t concerned.. apparently it’s not alarming unless your child sounds like Darth Vader and turns blue. So we were brushed off at first. It wasn’t until we introduced solids that we realised we had a real problem. She’d choke so often that it stopped scaring me, which is a wild sentence to write as a mother. Nursery eventually banned her from lunchtimes.. I mean, fair enough, no one wants to deal with that level of anxiety between fish fingers and nap time.

Eventually, after a few more hospital trips and a mountain of evidence, we saw an ENT specialist who took one look at her and said she needed emergency surgery. Her tonsils were so large they were blocking 80% of her airway.. she only had 20% space to breathe. He said if they swelled at all, it could have been dangerous. She had the surgery (the tonsils apparently “golf-ball sized,” which is not a mental image any parent enjoys), and although the recovery was rough, she transformed. No more pug noises, no more gasping. Just a healthy, peaceful little sleeper.

But here’s the part that breaks me a bit.. while her body healed, her mind didn’t forget. Eating had become scary. The choking, the gagging, the vomiting… it stuck with her. And now, years later, food is something she does out of necessity, not joy. She eats because she has to. We know it’s psychological.. when she’s distracted, she often forgets her fears entirely..but the second you bring awareness to it, the switch flips. We’ve learned to tiptoe carefully around it, to celebrate quiet wins and not push too hard but it can be very frustrating when sometimes it feels like it’s not a problem and we are moving forward and sometimes it is.

Thankfully, she’s not worried about her body; it’s not that kind of eating disorder. It’s more about control and safety.. a fear response. And it shows up in ways you’d never expect. She won’t eat around certain people (she’s got a “red list,”), she’s been known to refuse party invites because they are offering food, Denys herself food in restaurants on many occasions and if someone nearby is being sick, she spirals. She once refused to go into a public toilet alone for over two months because someone was throwing up in a cubicle.

So, when she bravely walked into a brand-new school in a brand-new country, one of our biggest concerns was lunchtime. Her old school handled it beautifully.. she was allowed to sit alone in peace, no pressure, no fuss. We explained this to the new school, and they’d agreed to accommodate it. But on that first day, communication slipped. When she sat outside to eat quietly on her own, she was told to go inside the hall with everyone else. You can imagine how that went. She didn’t eat.

Thankfully, this school doesn’t force or inspect the kids during lunch (which actually worked in her favour), but she was so hurt that the thing she’d worried about most had come true. She’d been so brave and it had backfired. It crushed her confidence a little.

We later spoke with the school, and to their credit, they were so apologetic.. both to us and directly to her. She left that meeting reassured, shoulders a little lighter, knowing tomorrow would be brighter and the promises would be met.

The same afternoon, I noticed Pearl’s skin was pink and sore.. sunburnt. I was honestly a bit frustrated. We’re so close to the equator here that even on a cloudy day, the UV can hit 13, which basically means you burn in seconds. The girls’ skin is so fair and sensitive compared to most, and I’d made a point of providing sun cream, reminding the staff, the whole works. Yet they’d let her swim without reapplication. I get that everyone’s still settling into routines and there are teething issues, but it felt like one of those things that should go without saying.. especially in an international school. I raised it gently but firmly, explained that Evie is only eight and needs reminding, and they agreed completely and seemed pretty mortified that they’d failed the same child in two separate incidents. I didn’t want to moan, but sometimes, needs must.

Meanwhile, Erin had an incredible day. She came out of school walking beside two new friends, Ella and Gloria, chatting away like they’d been together for years. She looked so comfortable and self-assured that I actually felt my whole body exhale. It’s that feeling that takes your breath away.. the moment you realise they’re okay. Better than okay, even. They’re growing into themselves. She told me she’d had beef stroganoff and mash for lunch, which she described as “better than she expected,” and honestly, I couldn’t argue with that.

The walk home, however, was… painful. The girls were hungry (lesson learned.. never forget a snack again), hot, and overwhelmed. The 20-minute trek down the dusty red roads was not giving “idyllic school run” energy. I ended up carrying both their oversized backpacks.. at one point resembling a donkey in Bethlehem, trudging along with all their worldly possessions strapped to my back. By the time we reached home, we were all done in. Daddy swooped in like a hero and ordered Chicken Inn.. it’s basically Kenya’s KFC, only better (the real KFC here is tragic). They stripped off their uniforms, collapsed on the sofa, and demolished their food in silence.

While they were at school that day, I’d tried to be productive.. even attempted the gym for the first time since May. Honestly? I nearly died. The stepper killed me twice. Four minutes in and my body started shaking like a leaf. I pushed through to eight minutes and when I looked up, I had a white ring around my now-red face and blue lips. Not ideal. I thought I was dying, but then it hit me.. altitude.

Nairobi sits at around 1,795 metres above sea level ( I can’t believe I know this), which means there’s roughly 20% less oxygen than we’re used to at home. So, everything.. walking, breathing, even thinking.. feels heavier. You get out of breath faster, your body tires quickly, and your hormones can even lag behind as they try to recalibrate. I track my cycle religiously and even that’s gone rogue.. my ovulation is a whole week behind. It’s fascinating and frustrating all at once. My body is adjusting, but she’s taking her sweet time about it.

I swapped to the treadmill for a steady incline walk, just to feel like I’d done something, then dragged myself home in defeat.

The hours the girls are at school fly by. I’ve got editing to keep me busy, and truthfully, I’m not tired of the quiet. I love it. After a year of holding so much together, the stillness feels like medicine. I know I’ll make more friends soon.. there are already a few lovely connections I’m excited to get to know.. but right now, I’m actually ok sitting in our quiet little apartment, breathing it all in, with a few lovely FaceTimes with my close friends and family from home to stay grounded. It feels enough.

End of week update to follow…