Fancy a cuppa?

I am privileged to be a stay at home Mum.  I cherish the time I spend watching Crazy grow, day by day learning new and exciting skills and never missing a moment.  I wholeheartedly appreciate Mr T working hard to earn a living to keep us comfortable- he does so very well for us and I’m not sure I ever thank him enough.  Is life ever perfect?  I think it is what you make it.

I feel incredible guilt about being at home, not earning my keep.  In reality, I work so hard chasing after Crazy and helping him grow and learn whilst making some attempt at keeping a clean and tidy house.  I am all too aware that some people will judge me by the state of my house alone, as slovenly, lazy… to those people, well, I no longer care enough to even shrug.  They will think what they will and I won’t care a dot.  The neatness of my home is no longer a priority, my son is.  Yes, it’s a brilliant excuse not to bother hovering or doing the dishes, but the truth of the matter is- I wish I had the energy to truly be happy to just be skiving and making an excuse not to do these things!  They just about squeeze into my day when Crazy is sleeping, before I can do the same, ready to undo it all again with my little whirlwind of a boy.  As I type, he is using me as a climbing frame and posting toys in between the sofa cushions.  Going out requires a lot of preparation these days, gone are the quick ‘phone, purse, keys, go!’ days.  I’ll change Crazy, get him dressed because he can’t go out in that state! Pack his bag with squash, spare nappies, wipes, Crazy has just taken the juice from the bag so I had better make another to replace it, snacks, purse, phone, keys, what is that smell? I’ll change Crazy again, and we’re as far as the car and the fickle little creature has changed his mind about a ride in the car.  He will not comply with my polite requests to sit nicely in his seat and takes no notice of my hissing the instructions with intent into his ear.  This situation is frequent and resolved in a number of ways depending on my tolerance levels.  Sometimes -I’m not ashamed to say- he is taken in by good old fashioned bribery ‘If you sit nicely you can listen to Thomas in the car!’ (he may not speak yet, but he understands all too well and sadly, is as stubborn as me).  Sometimes he just realises today is not a day to mess with Mummy and eventually complies with a few tears.  A time out is a last resort, dragging out the situation even longer and involving judgemental looks from onlookers- but I am not afraid to go there!  Anyway, you see how my day pans out, this situation arises in all manner of ways and so nothing is plain sailing any more.  I do the shopping- I prefer to wander up and down the aisles than to order online because, firstly, I always order the wrong size online- picture a giant tube of toothpaste and a miniature bottle of squash, not helpful- and secondly because there are people.  I’m afraid to say I am one of those people who talk to anyone that makes eye contact.  I’ll happily chat to the elderly on the way around should Crazy let me.  I’m happy to reach for that item you can’t reach if we just exchange pleasantries for a moment.  It’s a bit sad isn’t it?

I have friends.  I have family.  I go to ‘Mummy meet ups’ and playdates with Crazy, we have made some new friends recently and that’s lovely.  But the majority of my day is spent with Crazy alone, one on one and whilst that is lovely, I’m still lonely.  I miss the closeness of friendship I had in my youth, where we would talk daily, laugh at nothing, pop in and out of each others’ houses without a thought, our lives were at the same stage.  These days everyone is moving in different directions at different paces.  I long for the familiarity of someone in my situation, with a Crazy of their own at the same age, close enough to face the trivial things together and laugh about them in an ‘I know what you mean- you don’t have to say a word!” kind of way.  The reality is, I probably don’t even have the time or energy for that kind of friendship.  Those that have known me the longest will be raising an eyebrow at this point and thinking ‘but you hate people…’  Maybe I’m getting soft in my old age!  Maybe I’m changing as the years pass.  I’m sure I’ll be sent some lovely invitations of meetings and visits as a result of this post, and I genuinely appreciate it, but we all know that time will pass, before we know it another week, month year will have passed and once again we will be saying ‘where did the time go?’.  Maybe when I return to work this feeling will pass.  When I am interacting with people on a daily basis and busy in a whole new way I won’t feel that something is missing.  I guess when the time is right I will find out.  In the meantime, if you know someone with a little one at home, stop by for a cuppa.  Don’t bat an eyelid and the state of their house and just chat like old times.  Better yet, take some cakes or biccies so they're not stressing about having nothing in.  You never know, you could really brighten someone’s day.

I am an addict- and I'm not alone!

It's true.  I have a problem.

I wouldn't have said I have a particularly addictive personality.  I like the odd scratch card, but I can take them or leave them.  The same goes for alcohol.  I don't gamble, it doesn't interest me.  Drugs?  Apart from the ones that keep me alive, no thanks.  I've no need to be popping pills or doing lines in a club to have a good time, dancing with my girls is good enough fun for me.  So what is it? What am I hooked on?

Buggies.  Pushchairs.  Prams.  Strollers.  Whatever you call them, I love them.  I can't quite explain it...  I suppose it started with the search for the 'perfect' travel system when Crazy came along.  When I was expecting, I happened upon an travel system in the sale (a pushchair with car seat that clips on top nicely, everything you need in one go) and ordered online.  Lovely- job done, another tick on the 'be prepared for baby' list.  That was it.. for the first few months.  It was by Hauck, black and red, did the job nicely. Except I kept accidentally stepping on the brake bar at the bottom because the handle didn't come out far enough.  I happened across buy and sell groups on Facebook where mums and dads sell on and buy secondhand baby and children bits at a reasonable price, no need to buy new ever again- perfect!  Then I found groups specifically for pushchairs! I joined a couple to see what was about and different styles of buggies came trickling into my news feed.  I bought and sold happily in my search for 'the one'.  For those who don't know, buggies usually aren't cheap new.  Depending on the brand, they range from anywhere from £30 for your basic stroller to thousands for the all singing, all dancing top of the range types.  Let's be clear- I only dabble in the little leagues! I chop and change amongst the <£100 range.  Maybe that is why I have never found 'the one' but Crazy is happy to walk distances these days so I just can't justify the expense.

Mr T despairs at my habit.  Gone are the days when he says "is that another buggy?"
He now fully expects to open the boot to find a new contraption ready to mystify him. 'How do you open this piece of sh*t?!' - he doesn't share my love of the kid-wheels.  So why do I change them?  On more than one occasion I have been heard to say 'this is it! I LOVE this one! It's a keeper!' and they have lasted me a few months.  Some have not served me for more than 24 hours.  What's the deciding factor? It varies.  What am I looking for in a buggy- surely it just has to get Crazy from A to B?  Well, yes it does, but there is more on my wish list...  Extendable handle is a must, most are too short, one handle is desirable for single handed steering whilst meeting the demands of the little dictator ("juice! more yum yums!", he will not wait).  I need a big basket for the 'must-haves' that see Crazy through the day.  I need lightweight, but strong enough to hold all my shopping.  Good steering.  Good suspension.  A seat wide and deep enough to ensure Crazy's comfort.  A decent sun canopy.  Straps that aren't too fiddly. Small folding for the car boot, but sturdy, not flimsy.  The list goes on...

I have tried to recall just how many buggies I have been in possession of in Ollie's 21 months on the earth... I can't.  Probably at least enough for a new one for every month of his life.  Let's be clear- I don't keep them all.  I have never owned more than 3 at once and that only happened for a few hours when there was an overlap on the buying-selling front.  I don't get attached to them, I am not a hoarder.  I rarely give them a second thought once they've gone (except the Sola, I owned four different ones of those, two of them the same colour even- that was my favourite).  For anyone interested in the pros and cons of the buggies I can remember I will provide a little review at the bottom of this blog- but as I am well aware, that will interest very few of you!

How do I know I'm not alone in this obsession?  Well for starters, I see many of the same people on the buggy groups doing exactly the same.  The same buggies are recycled with plenty of parents doing the same.  Some will freely admit their buggy addictions on my doorstep- "I've had three of these- I'm so excited to have this colour!  I've had 5 buggies in the last month!".  Only yesterday was a lovely lady telling me she was adding the stroller she was buying from me to her collection of 8 at home.  At least I only keep one at a time, Mr T!  Am I going to do anything about this habit? Nope!  I'm not hurting anyone.  I check that each purchase is safe to use before allowing Crazy for a test drive.  I never sell on anything in a condition that I wouldn't want to use myself.  I'm not running up debts, each buggy is matching in value give or take a tenner- its just a game of swaps really.   So I shall continue in search of 'the one', much to Mr T's frustration (sorry dear...) and continue to smile and nod when people say "is that another new buggy?! What was wrong with the last one?" and my reply will always be, "don't ask, I have issues"- because its true!  But don't we all...


Reviews (my own opinions, tried and tested- I recommend YouTube searching for the best 'how they work' guides and reviews)

Hauck Malibu Travel System-
Pros: lightweight, easy cleaning, sturdy, practical, big basket
Cons: fixed height handle, cheap plastic wheels, no suspension
Good for: short trips using car seat- car to shops, not for off roading

Mamas & Papas Sola-
Pros: Looks great, easy steering, adjustable handle, easy brake pedal, big basket, great sun canopy, parent and world facing seat...a favourite of mine!
Cons: Seriously heavy for in and out of the car
Good for: versatility, you can add compatible car seats straight to the chassis, good on most terrain, comfortable for little ones awake and asleep

Mothercare Xpedior-
Pros: seat unit converts to carrycot, plenty of seat positions, parent and world facing, big basket, great canopy- another winner here
Cons: Bulky, just about squeezed in the boot, better suited to younger ones, Crazy was a bit tall for this
Good for: newborns and younger toddlers, long walks and suitable for longer naps in this one

Petite Star Zia-
Pros: very small folding, good steering
Cons: weak frame, not for heavy toddlers or much shopping, tiny basket, not great for up and down steps
Good for: holidays- the perfect travel companion, but that's about it

iSafe Visual 3-
Pros: the built in window inside the hood for a tablet, good manoeuvrability, lightweight, small folding
Cons: attracts attention and comments whether welcome or not! (what a great idea! how lazy... children today can't cope without a computer...) not very sturdy, Crazy tipped this one over twice
Good for: when you're waiting around somewhere littlen's can't roam free, I loved this for hospital visits when Crazy was confined to his buggy with little to do- I'm happy for him to watch Pocoyo on the iPad in situations such as this- judge all you want!

Mamas & Papas Pulse-
Pros: lightweight stroller, small umbrella fold, good steering
Cons: small basket (as with all strollers)
Good for: ditching the big tank buggies for the big kid stroller, this was a pretty good all rounder (I just don't like strollers)

Micralite-
Pros: lightest of them all, easy steering, adjustable handle, small folding
Cons: no basket, poor hood, not a particularly comfy seat and almost no recline
Good for: cross country walks, this one is great for older children as its so light to bring along

Bebe Confort Loola-
Pros: sturdy, big basket, fine to load up with heavy shopping, great accessories (snuggliest coseytoes!)
Cons: pushing this buggy is a workout! Harsh steering and very wide chassis
Good for: Keeping them warm? That's all I've got- I hated this one

Even I'm bored now, but if you're thinking of investing in some new kid-wheels, give me a shout.  Chances are I've tried it and can give you a brief summary of good and bad!

Learning together

Pregnancy... what a miracle, huh?  Well... it is. It's also lots of other things.  Like gross. Exhausting. Draining.  Amazing.  Exciting.  It is so many things, but for me- hugely worrying.

I didn't see that coming really.  I mean, in the world of books and television its a beautiful thing.  The expectant mother is serene and at peace and glowing and then there is that perfect little bundle at the end of it and off they go for walks in the park and snuggles in bed on a Sunday morning... bliss. Pah!  I'll warn you now- if you're squeamish, don't read any further.  I now spend my days with a toddler.  Snot, pee, poop, blood, bogies- these things are part of daily life now and I'm not afraid to share them! (Not literally, that would be disgusting.  Crazy doesn't have the same social boundaries, sadly)

Here's a glimpse into my story.  I found out I was pregnant fairly early- as I previously blogged- via a spell of dizziness and a serious hankering for sausages.  There it was, clear as day on that little plastic stick.  'Pregnant 1-2 weeks'.  Wow!  I can't believe it! I'm pregnant! Eeek!! (Continue solidly for about four hours).  Now what? Everyone knows you can't tell anyone until the 12 week 'safety' point.  So... Erm... Just how am I supposed to function?  I have this huge burning secret and its so exciting and I have to tell the world NOW!! But I can't.  So I'd better go to work then.  I remember the days, the hours even, absolutely dragging by.  In the end, we had to speak up sooner than 12 weeks due to some complications.  I was worried sick after some early bleeding.  Scan after scan confirmed that our little seed was, in fact, still going strong and growing well.  I pee'd on countless sticks to make sure I was still pregnant because, after all, it's been an hour and I haven't felt sick, something must be wrong, I'd better take a test to be sure I haven't dreamt it all.  Yep- I was obsessed!

It wasn't the easiest journey, but I was still fairly lucky on the old symptom side.  I was a little bit queasy in the early weeks and I had trapped nerves and elephant's ankles nearing the end, but other than that my only real worry was worry itself.  I fell into depression in the last trimester.  I had convinced myself that there was absolutely no way I could give birth naturally and requested a c-section.  'Cut me open please- it's best for me and the baby. Thanks very much'.  Thankfully my obstetrician knew what she was doing, flatly denied my insane request and insisted I take antidepressants until the baby arrived.  I was heartbroken, insisted Mr T tell her where she could stick her pills (I was too busy blowing snot bubbles and generally having a tantrum) and when he eventually calmed me down and took me home I realised that, just maybe, they were right.  They worked wonders and although I was still terrified of giving birth (tell me, who isn't terrified of pushing a tiny person out of there?!) I was much calmer and prepared for what may be in store for us.

Whilst at the mother-in-law's for dinner one day I had a terrible backache.  I couldn't sit down because my hips hurt no matter how comfy the sofa.  I perched helplessly on an exercise ball that the goblins had been playing with and found instant comfort.  Brilliant.  I'll just spend the next 9 days on this ball until my due date rolls around.  Mr T says "You're probably in labour, babe".  Ha! He has no idea.  It's not my due date yet.

Fast forward about 10 hours, some icky stuff (see? I spared you details, I'm nice really) and they're telling me to push. PUSH?! But.. you're supposed to tell me to go home! That it's not time yet.  That I'm an overreacting first timer that knows nothing- I've watched 'One born every minute', I know the drill! My nearest and dearest know all about just how it happened, but all you need to know is that it happened.  The miracle from the films.  There he was.

This beautiful, perfect boy lay in my arms.  An actual person with fingers and toes and the most scrumptious kissy-lips.  I literally lost hours just staring at him.  When visiting time was over and we were left alone I was suddenly very aware that I had no clue what I was doing.  None at all.  But wait! What if he poops! What if he's sick? What if he stops breathing?! I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO THIS?! But at the same time, I just knew.  I knew that it would be ok and that I would be the best Mummy I could possibly be because this is why I'm here.  This is what life is all about.  In those days he was known as 'Hippo' (the boy could EAT! 'Hungry Hippo' seemed apt).  I made Hippo a promise that day.  I remember it so clearly.  "Well kiddo, I have NO idea what I'm doing, but the way I see it, you're pretty new to this too.  I promise you, I will do my very best by you and we will learn together- deal?"

He didn't say much, but I took that as a good sign that we were in it together.  He slept all night.  I stared at him all night.

As he grew, so did I.  My heart grew.  I had so much love for this little being.  He had some problems with a cows milk intolerance and that was tough.  He was so poorly and I knew then and there I would do anything within my power to help this little man.

Fast forward to today and Hippo is now 'Crazy' and he makes me laugh every day, without fail.  He is the most energetic, funny, bright little man and I'm so very proud.  I may be biased but he is also gorgeous- we made a good one!  He knows what he wants, he's as stubborn as me and we clash on a regular basis, but he's learning that Mummy is right.  I'm still learning that lesson at 30 so I can't blame him for trying his luck at 20 months.  He's starting to understand the world around him.  He loves to figure out how things come apart and go back together.  He loves to interact with people.  He may be Russian... the English language isn't too important for him, but I guess it's early days yet.  I delight in his excitement when he balances the most bizarre things together to make a tower.  My favourite to date is my slipper, a train, a building block and a Quaver to top it off- brilliance.

I have less time for my friends and I miss them dearly, but they get it.  They understand that a whole new life started for me the day he was born and they're still there when I need them.  I still need them.  However busy life gets, I'm still here for them too.  I hope they know that.  I enjoy our rare nights out all the more these days- I don't take them for granted.  Although I'll be honest, these days, midnight is about my limit knowing that in about five hours a small excitable dictator will be clambering over my head demanding "Mummy, digga giggaaarr... badum-badum niet. Yar? Yeah!" "Yes baby.  Wait... what have I just agreed to?"and I'll have to be conscious enough to avoid the book being jammed into my eye socket and not so hungover that I can stomach the soggy leftover cereal and stale crisps being shoved into my mouth while he grins and tells me "mmm yummy" just I as I have to him for the past 18 months...  I do love my life.

I feel very fortunate to have Mr T, Crazy and the goblins.  Even if, at times, they turn ME into a crazed goblin.  I wouldn't change it!

Behind the smile

It's been a while!

I see my last post was written when I was 12 weeks pregnant and vowing to blog my way through the journey- and I meant it. Just like these days I wholeheartedly intend to have dinner ready on time, call that friend back for a catch up, put the washing on... the list is endless.  Life got busy. Truly busy! My, then, 12 week seedling is now fast approaching two years.  I will revisit the missing years now I'm finally back in blog, but for now, I have things to get off of my chest.

A little recap: I am Mrs T, happily married to Mr T with 3 step-goblins and now my very own goblin... more of a Tasmanian devil or tornado than a goblin, affectionately known to us as 'Crazy-Eight'.  I am now a stay at home mother, a homemaker, unemployed- whatever you want to call it is fine with me. I have Crohn's Disease- like it or not, this is a big part of my life and always gets a mention.

So, as any parent will know, this job is full time. 24/7, no holidays, no 'clocking off' and it is EXHAUSTING.  I had no idea just how much I could love a small person until he arrived but my goodness it's hard.  Throw health problems into the mix and life doesn't get any easier.  Don't get me wrong- I'm so very grateful to be at home with Crazy during his first precious years and some days we laugh until we are in tears.  We play, we dance, we sing, we shout, we throw stuff, climb, wiggle, shuffle- you name it, we do it, just for fun.  But some days are darker and it's all I can do to keep him clean, fed and watered and get through the day.  Yesterday should have been a long awaited 'day off'. Dear Mr T took a day off and paid for me to visit a day spa with my sister for a much needed break after he recently had some time abroad for work.  I was so looking forward to this day and having muscle knots pummelled out of my shoulders- pain... pleasure!  But unfortunately, I was refused treatment because I suffer Crohn's Disease, which is a story in its' own right and I get it, its for insurance purposes, they can't risk it (but could've kindly told me this at the time of booking when having Crohn's Disease 'wouldn't be a problem!' when it came to taking my money).  Anyway, what should've been a minor thing actually had me in tears all evening.  Poor baffled Mr T was asking with concern, "why are you crying?"

I didn't have the words to explain, and so I find myself here trying to find the words.  Writing has always been my friend when it comes to organising my thoughts and I'm not afraid to put them out there for anyone interested to read.

Some days are exhausting.  I have started a new medication called 'Humira' which is a subcutaneous injection once a fortnight to control the Disease.  It is a pen- pinch, 'click', count to ten, job done.  OUCH!! Seriously, ouch. Then the fire. Oh my leg IS ON FIRE! Oh my! What do I do? What do I do?!  This feeling continues for a good hour- I now try to ignore it and continue as normally as possible, especially with Crazy looking on with interest.  I don't ever want to instil fear into this small boy.  I want him to be able to take anything life throws at him and so he will see Mummy do just that.  So, injection done, I'll just go and... wait, what? I was going to... er... Well.  It's gone.  I guess I'll just sit down a minute, maybe it will come back to me. Ouch! Sitting hurts as much as standing.  Wow I'm tired.  Crazy is engrossed in a book.  I'll just shut my eyes for a second...

Woah! Where am I? WHERE IS CRAZY?! Oh, he's sitting next to me. Phew.  Right, I need to get him some grub.  I'll just go get some... wait, what? What was I doing? Where is Crazy?! Oh, he's there on the couch, he must be hungry, I'll go get him some grub.   What did I need from the kitchen? I can't remember.  My leg hurts. I better change the boy.  Hmm, he must be hungry...   you get the idea.  I call this 'The Fog'.  Its lasts at least 48 hours.  I daren't drive.  We rarely go out.  I don't feel safe.  Above all I feel incredibly guilty.  Poor Crazy is fending for himself whilst Mummy is a mess!  These are the 'dark days' when I just about manage.  Everything hurts.  Skull-crushing headaches.  Crazy shouting and shrieking regardless and who can blame him- Mummy is being BORING!  When The Fog has lifted I have a few 'good days'.  I am almost normal.  I almost remember how it was to be in remission.  Those good days are spent getting Crazy out and about, experiencing the World as a toddler should.  We go out on walks, get grubby, climb, race, paddle, roll... When the good days pass, we stay closer to home.  I can't be too far from a toilet.  I'm tired.  So tired my eyes hurt.  My joints ache.  My hair and nails are weak, I look a mess.  I'm emotionally unstable and it's all I can do to keep my cool whilst Crazy has a tantrum because the-slipper-just-won't-balance-on-top-of-the-guitar-Mummy-WHY?! The thought of climbing both flights of stairs to collect the washing to put on makes my eyes water.  I can't almost hear my knees creak as the searing pain shoots through them with every step and elbows ache at the weight of the clothes in my arms.  Keep going.  The floor is sticky.  Crazy has been using his yogurt for an art project on the hardwood.  I better get down and clean it.  Yep- you guessed it.  It hurts.  I had better steam the floor before the ants come marching two-by-two-hoorah. Ouch.  The washing has finished... I should hang that on the line.  My poor elbows! Maybe I will tumble it.  My poor knees.  Time to feed Crazy.  Whatever I make will almost certainly be discarded on the floor.  Which I will have to crouch down to clean up. Which hurts.  These things are boring to write about and so very boring for you to read about.  But all these little things add up.  When Crazy is finally in bed it doesn't stop there.  It's time to tidy away the day's carnage and put the house back together.  Then I should probably think about sorting out some sort of dinner for the rest of us.  When I finally sit down I see the sadness in Mr T's face as he reminds me he needs a shirt ironed for tomorrow- he knows I'm exhausted, but I forgot to do it and bless him, the man can't iron!  So up I get again.  When I finally get to bed, Crazy will probably wake.  If he is awake, I am awake.  The mornings roll around all too soon and I could burst in to tears as another days starts.  But I don't.  I burst into Crazy's room with a "Good morning handsome!"

Because I have to.  Because he needs me to.  Because it doesn't stop.  Because I love him dearly and I want things to be normal.  I want to be 'able'.  Because crying won't help.  But, you know, sometimes I can't help it.  That's why I'm crying, my dear Mr T.  Because I can't help it.  Crazy is in bed.  I can let go.  I'm steaming the floor with tears in my eyes.  I'm polishing the sideboards with a puffy pink face.  I'm vacuuming whilst sobbing.  Because it can't stay inside.  What should have been a little disappointment was a big deal to me.  What would have been a lovely day off was just delaying the inevitable.  When you see me getting on with it- I'm still hurting.  When I make it out- I'm almost always the first to leave.  Not because I don't want to spend time with you, but because I have to keep it together.  If you haven't heard from me for a while, the old cliché is true- 'it's not you, its me'.  Really it is- give me time.

I don't want sympathy.  I don't want 'poor you' and despite what I've written here I don't feel 'poor me'.  I don't have time.  I'm too busy worrying about Crazy- am I doing a good job? Should I do less of this or more of that?  Is he reaching his milestones on time?  Is he sociable/happy/fit/healthy enough?  Is he eating enough?  Will he fall off of that?!  I wouldn't change it.  I am exhausted.  I am in pain.  Sometimes I cry and get grumpy (sorry Mr T and goblins) but I'm still going.  I am happy despite all of this, overall.  Because I have my family.  I have time.  Time to enjoy it all at whatever pace I am able- be it from under a blanket or on top of a slide.  I am grateful.

New beginnings...

So... it's been a while!  My last posts haven't been overly happy ones.  For those of you that aren't 'regular' readers, let me recap...

I married the wonderful Mr T in September last year- a happy occasion, but this was surrounded by worry as I had been found to have CIN 3 cells after a smear test and needed urgent treatment.  We moved the wedding forward to allow for a short honeymoon before facing the music and going in for my op.

Thankfully, all went well- but then came the next blow.  We had to part with our best friend Mackie, our chocolate lab.  Our situation had changed and both Mr T and I were working long hours far from home and we couldn't give her the life she deserved anymore.  We lucked upon the perfect home for her and she has settled very well with her new family and new home- our baby Mack has grown up and moved out and left a HUGE space in our home and our hearts.

Christmas came and went, tricky on a tight budget, but we spent time with family, the 3 goblins thoroughly enjoyed themselves and all was well.  I had made a full recovery and the results of my surgery came back all clear, so things were finally looking up.  I decided to get fit and join my Dad in his training for K2B (see his blog http://shortfatbaldblog.blogspot.co.uk), so New Year, new start!

The first walk was great- we covered about 8 miles only stopped by an old injury of mine that lead me home sooner than I would've liked.  The next week was better, we covered 12 miles but I wasn't feeling great.  Hot, dizzy and full of flu I was glad to have made it but even glader to see my bed!  I promised myself I'd do better next week and so off we went again, up and down the cliffs, really working hard.  Pleased with a great effort I made my way home only to find myself feeling dizzy and hot again.  I stumbled through the front door to see Mr T looking at me a little concerned.
"Are you ok? You don't look well..."
"I'm fine, I just need a snooze."
"Can I get you anything?"
"Actually yes please- sausages."
"Sausages?  Like a sausage sandwich?"
"Er... no.  Just a bowl of sausages, thanks."

And so I made my way up to bed, scoffed a bowl full of sausages and fell asleep- lovely.

Almost a week after this, I'd been to Glasgow for a work thing for a couple of days.  I loved it, a really worthwhile trip but by the time I returned on the Friday I was exhausted.  I called Pa, made my excuses and ducked out of training- I'm just so tired... one week off won't hurt.

I'm just so tired.  SO tired.  Why am I so tired?

I bought a pregnancy test.  I did the pregnancy test.  I showed the result to Mr T.

"Is that a 2nd line?"
"Could be... it's very faint."
"Maybe I left it too long."

I didn't sleep.  All night.  At. All.

The next day I popped out for a digital test- just in case.

I watched the little hour-glass turn around and around.  And around.  And around.  I cursed the little hour-glass...

POSITIVE!!!!!

Unbelievable- we were so excited, so overwhelmed after fears that I may not even be able to have children following my op!

So here we are- 20 positive tests later and 12 weeks along, one healthy, wriggly baby T on the screen as we have our scan!  I couldn't be happier, Mr T is being amazingly understanding as I morph into evil-witch-from-hell and back again on an hourly basis! 

I worry every day- the baby is (obviously) not even here yet and I am incredibly protective and defensive already when it comes to my little seedling!  I now realise that I will always worry and care for this child every day for the rest of my life, no matter how old it gets.  It is already costing me money and causing me pain and yet I wouldn't change a second of it for the World.  I will continue to blog my journey through pregnancy with the honesty and humour I hope you are used to.  I will also bore you with pictures of my 'alien' child and ever-growing bump... here are a few to start you off (12 week scan, 10 week bump, 12 week bump)

Yes- I'm only having one.  Yes- it will probably weigh as much as a cow.  Yes- I'm terrified!

But it's all good, life is good.  Bad things happen- but so do good things.  Let's cling to those! xx

No pain, no gain... or loss!

I am lazy.

Don't get me wrong- I have a strong work ethic, will always try my best and will do anything for anyone in need- but when it comes to getting my butt off of the sofa in my free time?   Hmmm... maybe later.  I am overweight- not dangerously so, but my BMI is not in the healthy range!  I'm fairly happy with the way I look.  We'd all like to change something about ourselves, if I could click my fingers and drop a few dress sizes I absolutely would- but that's just it... it doesn't work like that!

I work hard all week- long hours, busy days and whilst I may not be on a building site doing physical work all day long, I often leave the office tired but satisfied that I have earned my salary.  Mr T and I usually make it home around 8pm from Brentwood.  Officially we finish at 5.30pm, however this is rarely the case- but we don't begrudge the extra hours to get a job done well.  By the time we make it home, the sofa calls... feet up, tv on, dinner and a chat and before we know it we're both nodding off.  When the weekends arrive we'll often eat out together- this is something we love to do and look forward to.  The goblins arrive and we go out and about but they also spend a fair amount on time on games consoles so we find ourselves back on the sofa.  We have pretty much had this routine since we got together, so fast forward 3 or so years and here we are... not overly fit or healthy- but very happy.

My Dad is training for a sponsored walk.  Not your usual potter along the seafront- he's signed himself up for a gruelling 40 mile uphill hike- see his blog for details (http://shortfatbaldblog.blogspot.com/).  He started training 3 weeks ago.  I realise that I need to be healthier and set an example to the goblins as well as for my own sake... so I joined him.  We walk as fast as is sustainable and we head for every available uphill climb.  Not only is it nice to spend time with the old man, but it gives me the much needed push I need to get my lazy arse in motion!  We have been out for 3 consecutive Saturday trecks now- the first, 8.5 miles, the second 12.5 miles and today a little over 8 miles.  My Dad is fit and healthy and has always been active- I am very proud of him.  He has helped many in his lifetime to achieve their fitness goals, best known for his martial arts skills, kick-arse sensei and general all-round bloody nice bloke.  He visits the gym daily and follows a sensible fitness regime to keep him in good health.  This man is my hero and I aspire to be like him in so many ways.  His enthusiasm and determination have managed to drag me out of bed and out into the cold bright and early every Saturday morning to get my blood pumping, muscles aching and fresh air in my lungs.  The thought of 12 miles of pain is enough for me to dive into a packet of crisps or a cosy warm bed- but the thought of making my Pa proud sees me reaching for a banana and heading out the door to train.

If I can do it, anyone can- as I said before, I am lazy- no denial here!  If I manage to drop a few dress sizes in time, fantastic.  All the more so because I'll know I've worked for it rather than just starved for it.  It hurts, but in a healthy 'used muscles' way.  It feels good to have achieved something every week, no matter how tired or run down I feel and now when I do sit on the sofa I don't feel guilt, it feels deserved!

Little things can make such a difference.  If you can, walk instead of drive.  Carry those bits upstairs now, don't pile them all up for later.  Take the stairs two at a time.  Switch off the tv and take a stroll.  Get some music on and dance! Anything to get that heart rate up, just little but often can make a difference and now is so much easier than later.

No pain- no gain!

Beauty... skin deep?

I am 27 years old.  Until about 3 years ago, I have always felt uncomfortable in my own skin.  As a child, I was slim, energetic, bright- but painfully shy.  I had a problem with my front teeth so I was too afraid to smile.  I hated talking to grown-ups and I didn't easily make friends, always too afraid to join in.  Nothing my parents did could change it, it's just the way I was made.  I grew into an awkward teenager, although I had plenty of friends by then I never felt I 'belonged'.  Food was my enemy and for a few scary years I battled with some serious issues, starving myself of the nutrients my body needed to grow healthily in an effort to be thinner, to fit in.  I can remember my Mum saying, as she force fed me chinese food, "you may hate me now, but you'll thank me years from now when you're still alive".  Mum- you were so right, thank you.  I owe you my life in so many ways!


In my late teens I was diagnosed with Crohn's Disease.  For those unfamiliar with this illness, it is a bowel disease, incurable, but treatable with ongoing medication.  It was very debilitating for a number of years, making my A-levels almost impossible to sit and rendering me housebound.  My friends and family were amazing, I was never alone and slowly but surely, with a cocktail of medication helped me back to health. I lost so much weight with this illness, the former me would've been proud- but looking in the mirror was painful.  I looked ill.  I was bony and pale and my skin was sore and broken, my hair falling out.  It took a long time to rebuild my self-esteem to it's previous already low level and get back out there to live a 'normal' life.
Today- I am healthy.  My Crohn's has now been in remission for a year- the future is looking bright.  I have put on more weight than I should over the last few years, my skin has good and bad days much like the rest of the female population.  I have fat days, bad hair days, 'I have nothing to wear!' days- but everyday I feel content with me.  My husband is a big part of this- he appreciates me just the way I am, as I do him, and every day he makes me feel special and loved.  I finally feel comfortable in my own skin, with who I am.  i sing with a band- don't get me wrong, I see and hear the talent of my band mates and I'm envious... but I also give myself a pat on the back and say, 'You know what? You're up there doing it.  Give yourself a break, you're doing ok'.  I'm no longer afraid to get up and sing my heart out for all to hear.  I choose clothes that flatter my shape, because for now, this is how I look so I'm going to make the most of it.  I may have a big bum, but my boobs are fab!  I have tattoos- more than the average lady, but each one of them means something to me- has a happy memory attached and I love them- no matter what other people may think.  They make me feel beautiful when I'm doubting myself and feeling 'plain'.

Love yourself, so others can.  Appreciate the good bits, don't dwell on the negatives.  You can be and do whatever you want to- don't be put down. 

Please leave me a comment- what makes you feel good about yourself?  It's ok to say it out loud! x