Aaaaand relax……

So this past week was spent in Somerset in a little place called Watchet. We rented a large, old house with the in laws. Complete with old fashioned service bells linked to the kitchen, wonky floors and ceilings, an aga, the odd low doorway, steps up and down to every room and a beautifully large garden. My first thoughts on entering the house were how it smelt very old. But that soon became the norm to my sensitive nostrils. I then had the overwhelming dread of having to worry about all of those random steps as George toddles around the house along with his almost 1 year old cousin. For his other two cousins they are not far off of being 3 years old with the other being 3 and a half and fully confident in walking, running, jumping, climbing, you name it, they’ve mastered it. Oh and yes as you may have now realised, we had gone on holiday with 4 children under 4 years….for our sins! Myself and Rob, quickly realised as lovely as this “holiday” was going to be, it was going to be anything but relaxing.


 It was truly a beautiful week for seeing George interacting with his cousins whilst they taught him new tricks and he quickly picked up some new catchphrases from his elders. Along with lots of meals out, we spent a lots of time in the vast garden letting George explore the flowers, say “hi” to the sheep in the adjoining field, play on the climbing frame and gain confidence on the slide, something he usually avoids at all costs. 


As well as the adorable log stepping stones which needed some assistance from mummy as they were more a leap apart than a step. We also watched Daddy and his brother wade through the stream at the bottom of the garden and George got lots of practice using a wooden trike we found in the house and brought outside. He blew bubbles whilst his cousins popped them and mummy made daisy chains for us to all wear for a memorable photo opportunity and so that I could personally relieve my own childhood.


The weather wasn’t always so glorious, but the rain brought with it the opportunity for some puddle splashing as George watched how his cousin jumped. Jumping is something he observed a lot of from his two older and more energetic cousins. He now has a little bouncing, leg stomping action going on in his attempt to replicate them.

On a visit to Minehead beach I taught George how to build Sandcastles although with Daddy running around with a football, my efforts went rather unnoticed. This was then followed by a fabulous win in the arcades allowing us to get lots of goodies to share round. George had his first cave experience as we ventured into a guided tour of Wookey hole. He was very comfortable in his Little life carrier, modelled by Daddy Rob. Glow stick in hand , and at one point wearing a fantastic kiddie hard hat, he seemed to love it. I was a bit of a nervous wreck on the other hand as Rob would not listen to my protests of his head being too close to the ceiling, eventually leaving Rob no alternative but to crawl on his hands and knees to satisfy my anxious self. 


We then ended a few of the days with George enjoying a rather crazy bath with some of his cousins.
Overall it really was a memorable week and something which has helped George progress marvellously in many ways. However I’m glad to be home for a relaxing rest.

Until next time…..

Ode to my amazing body

I am and have always been so extremely grateful for my body giving me the great pleasure of becoming a Mummy. A luxury I know some men and women would do anything for and not something I have, or ever will take for granted. But as much as I love, admire and adore what my body has achieved in creating our gorgeous George, I am also hugely annoyed at it for leaving me with such a load of postnatal crap, to be blunt.

Bearing in mind I have always pulled myself through this world, content in the the knowledge that no matter what I am experiencing, there is always someone else worse off than me and for that I am thankful. That’s not to say that there are days when I wonder why my body can’t be on par with some of the people that are better off than me.

My pregnancy wasn’t the worse, it wasn’t the greatest. Carpel tunnel syndrome, severe fluid retention, first trimester migraines, nausea, insomnia, sciatica, having to sleep with a million pillows every night, my belly button turning inside out, haemorrhoids! That’s without mentioning all the typical pains and discomforts of your organs all  squishing together and a 7lb baby pressing on your lower regions to try and prepare to escape. But it could’ve been worse.


Then there was labour. I was diagnosed with a curved spine (scoliosis) aged 14 and had corrective surgery aged 15 which meant a years recovery and learning to walk again. Through which I endured a substantial amount of pain prior to and post surgery, the likes of which you can only imagine. I thought this had heightened my pain threshold. None of this however compared to the sensation I experienced through labour of having a grown man swing at my hips and pelvis with an enormous sledge hammer in an attempt to crush my bones. Followed by several failed epidural attempts, laying in theatre feeling the consultant fail to pull George through the birth canal with forceps and then push him back up again. Thankfully, although quite vomit inducing, my epidural was increased before I had an emergency Caesarean section.


Eighteen months later and I have three faint black dots on my face below my eye, a melasma from my pregnancy that I was assured would fade when I stopped breastfeeding six months ago. It looks like I’ve smudged my mascara and not cleaned it up but covers relatively well with makeup and is only faint. I quite like it. My feet remained the extra size they had grown during pregnancy. I am currently sixteen pairs into my size 7 shoe collection. A far cry from the 75 pairs of size 6’s I can no longer fit into and really need to sell. My hands swelled during pregnancy so that I had to remove all my rings at 20 weeks. The rings are back on but are noticeably tighter with many of my costume rings no longer passing over my knuckles. The haemorrhoids are no longer a problem thankfully but lets just say I was a fan of soft comfy chairs towards the end of my pregnancy. I was meticulous about smothering my body in every moisturising product going before and during my pregnancy but alas the dreaded stretch marks decide to grace my thighs and lower tum with their presence. I mean I just never even had my thighs down as part of the equation! The baby was in my belly not my thighs! My boobs, only ever having been a B/C cup have remained more or less the same but they lean a little further towards my knees than my chin now and let’s just say if they were pillows then they look a little like some of the stuffing has been emptied from them . And then there’s my beautiful c-section scar. Evidence that I was unable to get George into this world by myself. Something I mentally punished myself over for a long time but that I am now at peace with. As they say, you can’t fight a battle without gaining some war wounds.

 So the point I’m trying to make is we need to come to accept our bodies as they are. I don’t think enough of us are honest about our supposéd flaws. The media certainly isn’t that’s for sure.  No matter how much you think you could improve your body, try to remember the amazing things it’s done for you and as long as you are happy and healthy then that’s all that matters.  Overall, recognise the amazing strength our bodies have to seemingly achieve the impossible. 


  Until next time……..

 

That’s not my Daddy!

Just as I was starting to ponder the possibilities of signing Georgeous up to Mensa, he brought me back down to Earth rather embarrassingly. Master of shape sorting, brilliant at speaking and taking instructions and very good at remembering things we teach him, these are all qualities he amazes us with more each day. He recognises the fact that his Daddy wears glasses and has a beard but he doesn’t seem to have grasped that not every man with these features is his Daddy. As a result, I am learning that a large amount of restaurant waiters appear to possess these features, prompting George to point and shout out Daddy when we are out in restaurants without Rob. The most recent unsuspecting waiter was quick to exclaim “not that I know of!” at Georges declaration. Way to make Mummy look like she puts herself about huh George. 

Our home can remain relatively tidy for days. Either due to George playing with the same few toys or the pair of us having so many social engagements we are barely at home long enough to get the toys out. Then there are those days when the house turns into a complete toy war zone. This results in moments for me which are not so much painfully embarrassing but more embarrassingly painful. Just attempting to put my shoes on and leave the house resulted in me hurriedly sitting myself down on the settee to do up my shoes, only to have a huge “ooooooooooo” expel from my mouth as I realised I have plonked my posterior onto a rather uncomfortably large Mummy Pig weeble. Recovering quickly from this and with shoes successfully tied, I ran towards the porch door to grab my bag. Not noticing Georges green transparent ball in the corner near the hinge, resulting in the door only marginally opening as I rushed towards the porch. Consequently the door frame became a painful addition to my face. Toys should maybe come with the sarcastic warning, not for ages 32 and over!

If you haven’t met George then I’ll try to give you an insight into his persona. He is very caring and affectionate, especially with his mummy and daddy, but he has a hint of shyness mixed with overwhelming social awkwardness with everyone else. At home in his own environment though he is such a character and myself and his daddy Rob have an amazingly close bond with him. We have so much silliness in our home. Silly noises, faces, songs, laughing at pop offs and mimicking each other. We try to include manners and acceptable behaviour into our parenting but I often feel at times that whilst Daddy has the upper hand, I appear to have landed myself in the “friend zone”. I love the idea of me and my son growing up to be best friends but I want him to respect my opinions and guidance as his mum. I feel like it’s a thin line and I probably won’t know if I’m on the wrong side of it. I can only do what feels natural and try and be the best mum I want to be. The latest act of friend zoning me is for George to mimic my laughter back at me. This is one thing but the timing of this act seems to occur when I say “No” to him. Consequently I am having to find different ways to ask him not to do things that I deem unacceptable. 

Our week this week has ended with a visit to the local steam railway museum where we met Peppa Pig. George was thoroughly  star struck. I don’t think he quite anticipated Peppa being larger than his own Mummy and Daddy. He was a big fan of riding on the different types of trains. In particular the minature railway. We sat  right at the front, but as the train reached the end of the track and turned around, the train driver disconnected the small train in front of George and turned it around on a turntable before taking it down and connecting it to the rear of the train to go back to where we started. This left George perplexed and he leaned over the back the whole way trying to work out where the train had gone. As we arrived back at the station and got off the train, George walked round to give the back of the train a good inspecting. It was quite fascinating to see him trying to work out how the man had disconnected the train. 

Enjoy the rest of your bank holiday. Until next time……….

The challenge should you choose to accept it.

Me and hubby have always had an extremely similar outlook on life. Live for today, money is for spending not saving, and always trust your instinct and do what feels right over what others tell you…

Source: The challenge should you choose to accept it.

A week in the life of.

So being fairly new to the blogging scene, and starting to attract myself a small but much appreciated bit of attention, I decided to seek some advice and input from those around me. I’ve been chatting to fellow bloggers along with my fairly tech savvy nephew. I knew as a whole my blog was rather sporadic and I could have days where I had inspiration and content every day, or suddenly go a few weeks without any. And as much as I enjoy writing, I can’t write for the sake of it. I want it to be interesting to read. My nephew suggested I offer my readers some anticipation. Something to look forward to and to know they could regularly tune in, or rather, log on, and get it. So I created a publicising page  and promised my readers a post once a week. Surely in a week I was bound to get at least one day of something worth writing about. Gathering ideas and inspiration and storing them as the week went by, I quickly realised I could very easily be writing a few times a week. This week alone I have at least 11 things I want to share with you all!

So in an effort to keep your attention and restrain my rambling genes that I’ve inherited from my father, I shall summarise these 11 events from this previous week, into the most entertaining paragraph I can. And if you can imagine whilst you are reading it that I am standing in front of you and blurting it all out without pausing with breathe then you will get a brief understanding of how my days go by.   

As the school holidays drew to a close, we took advantage by planning a long weekend at a caravan resort with two of my sisters, their partners , niece and nephews and my dad as a belated birthday treat for his 70th birthday late last year. George loved watching the world go by out of the many windows. Along with running around the arcade with all of the other children of an evening. He delighted us with his clapping and foot tapping as the kids club show took hold each evening. The highlight of his weekend was driving a day boat down the Norfolk broads and of course array of Peppa pig toys and bouncy ball my family won for him from the arcade machines. Back home, I’d arranged to meet friends at Westfield shopping centre in Stratford. A long overdue visit as I hadn’t been since it opened. The prospect of travelling into London by train wasn’t  something I relished but it didn’t phase me. From experience though, buggies, commuters and train stations do not mix well. To my surprise though, Stratford is one of the most accommodating stations for he disabled and pushchair users. Lifts to every platform that I saw of along with extra wide self access gates. Our biggest and most unexpected dilemma was when George took it upon himself to push the help alarm in the lift. Much to the amusement of the elderly couple travelling in it with us. Whilst I panicked and apologetically told the lady over the speaker that we were fine and my baby had pushed it. She said it happened all the time. It didn’t to me, not in the last 17 months anyways. I have a feeling it may be my new hobby talking to tannoy lift rescuers. Another big surprise of our day was the copious amounts of gentlemanly and gentlewomanly assistance we were offered at every stop. With offerings of help to get on and off the train. I like to try and be as self sufficient as possible so I graciously turned down these offers of help. But the fact that they were offered has restored my faith in humanity. With the sun also making an appearance that day and temperatures rising to 16.5•c I went into panicked parent mode and hurriedly purchased some factor 50 sun spray. It’s got the lot. Waterproof, sandproof, easy to apply. Uva, uvb protection. Leaving me feeling relaxed and ready for summer to truly kick off. And with the rising temperatures and a girly lunch in Nando’s with the bubbas, I found I had no choice to get the wings out. Bingo that is, not chicken. 😜 Saturday saw many weeks of planning a surprise 25th wedding anniversary party for my parents pay off, as it all went off without a hitch and thankfully much to their utter clueless delight. Finally to end our week, I noticed my husband give me that look. You know the one. The “shit-it’s-that-time-of-the-month-again” look. So for now I’m just trying to keep the demon under control until she crawls back in her cave for another 4 weeks. Have a lovely week and I hope I’ve managed to perk up your Monday morning. Love and hugs. 

 

From mere mortal to super mummy

17 months into being a mummy and it has completely changed my life. I say completely. I still manage to put my make up on most days and I can still talk for England but other than that I can’t name anything that has remained a constant from my pre mummy days when I was just a mere mortal. A woman making her way blindly through life with no real sense of purpose. Just doing the norm. Working to pay the bills in the hope that one day something amazing would come along and change it all. I always dreamt that something amazing would be a lottery win but I discovered it was actually my son George. He has taken me to a different planet where conversations revolve around feeding, sleep patterns and the appearance of teeth. Where old friends become more distant but new friends appear. Mummy friends. Where we know nothing of the mere mortal side of each other but only know each other as George’s mummy. 

George has shown me that I am stronger than I ever believed I could ever be as a mere mortal. I’m not superhuman but I’m pretty good at pretending to be one. Caring for another person whilst existing on very little sleep, food or rest myself. And what’s more is, this actually gives me pleasure and satisfaction. To see that my mini superhero is growing more and more powerful each day. He learns things ten times quicker than the pace I now seem to absorb knowledge. And the realisation that he learns these things because of me just boosts my super mummy power even more. At the same time, I am learning with him. Whether it be the best food to wean babies on or an extra verse I never knew existing to row row the boat. 

My body is no longer the same as when I was a mere mortal. Scars, stretch marks and wobbly bits have all appeared. Although these new additions to my body have sometimes hindered me, by having to learn to live with and accept them, they have only added to my super mummy powers. I quit my mortal job to become a super mummy after trying to juggle the two and realising that my own personal super mummy powers would be a lot more powerful if I dedicated all my time to harnessing them. This will not be the case for everyone but for me it’s working and I’ve never looked back. 

One of the important things to know about becoming a super mummy and leaving your mortal self behind is that unlike other super heros, you will not be showered with gratitude and affection from dozens of fans. But then you will not be using your super hero powers on dozens of people. All of your powers and energy will go into your child. And you will be rewarded with smiles, cuddles, kisses, and the sense of achievement you get with every tiny little thing they do. To them, you are the best super mummy there will be. 

World poetry day

I love writing. I always have. Creative writing was always my favourite thing to do at school when I was very young and as I’ve aged I’ve stuck more with poetry. Short stories are great when you are a child or teenager but as you grow older I feel like great novels are expected and I’ve never had the time or brain capacity to write a novel of 200 odd pages or more. I’ve attempted it but the creativity gets lost somewhere and I end up feeling like I’m writing words for the sake of it. Poetry on the other hand is something I absolutely love. Rhyming poems are my speciality. I love writing them for people, about people, but ultimately I love writing them to express how I feel and how I view the world. It’s the simplest way to express it. I love the challenge of finding words that rhyme but that actually bring something positive to the poem and not just because they rhyme. 

People have often said I write a lot differently to how I talk. I’m pretty common when I talk. Cassettes recorded of me when I was younger make me sound like an extra from Oliver Twist. But when I write I even speak different in my head. My posh voice comes on and I love using descriptive words. Unlike in the spoken world where I tend to use the same old slang. My writing voice used to be American but as I’ve grown older it’s now a more well spoken British accent. And no I’m not schizophrenic but everyone has a voice for their thoughts….don’t they? (Nervously laughs). 

So to cut a long story short, pun intended, I thought today, as it’s World Poetry Day, it would be extremely appropriate to share with you just one of my many poems. One of the many which I hope to collate into a book. This is a poem I wrote just under 4 years ago when I was pondering the meaning of life and the possibility that our lives may be dictated by fate. 
If there is, there was

And if there isn’t, there will be

If you seek to find, you never do

If you quietly desire, luck finds you

Reluctantly we make our choices

And place our trust in what they’ll bring

Some of us will lose, some of us will win

There seems to be no pattern, no rules or reason why,

But this is all that we can do, until the day we die. 

Go shorty, it’s ya birthday

  
I’m a big believer and supporter of birthdays. None of this “it’s just another year, it’s not a special one” crap. Every birthday to me is a celebration that you made it another year. Life is short, precious and valuable and not something everyone is lucky to have. So to not give your day of birth it’s due by celebrating this momentous occasion is kind of a slap in the face to ya poor mum who put all the effort into getting you into this crazy world. 

Not only that, but for this one day a year you are pretty much a prince or princess and should be treated as one. Drinks made and bought for you, everyone must be kind to you, kisses and cuddles are a must.  It’s not about the material things. Cards and presents are lovely and hugely appreciated but must not be expected as not everyone’s circumstance allows them to congratulate you on your prince/princess status. Having said that, it truly is the thought that counts so it’s an opportunity for those around you to wish you well be it by post, text, telephone, email or in person. These wishes are taken on board and swallowed wholeheartedly like little love pills. For just one day you know people truly care and go to any length to show it. 

As I’ve got older this feeling has never faded and I will continually promote the celebration of a person’s birthday to anyone that doesn’t feel themselves worthy of such a day. 

There will be years when some celebrations are smaller than others. Some years I have had big parties and days out. This year, my second as a mum to a now one year old, I am happy with a lie in, a rendition of happy birthday from said one year old, and a day spent with my family doing things that my son will enjoy as much as me. I take as much pleasure from seeing him happy, as I do from doing activities that would have got me excited in previous years. 

Overall I use this day to love and appreciate myself and all I have. And to openly, willingly and thankfully accept love and appreciation from those around me. Age is just a number and as long as you have or are working towards achieving the things you would have expected to by this age, then I think you should enjoy this day for what it is. A celebration of you. 

Love and hugs to you all. Mmmmmmwah X 

Sumo nappy to the rescue

 To say my first year as a mum was a whirlwind is like saying a hurricane is a bit breezy. It was a year that changed our lives! I’m under no illusions that this is not something unique that we experienced and I know many couples experience worse but I like to share my own honest story as I know when it comes to talking about a lot of things in life, we all like to play the hero in our recollection of what happened and a lot of sugar coating goes on. I’m still not sure why people do this, but as a self confessed sugar addict I can’t be wasting that shit on my stories. I tell it exactly like it is. Whether you want to hear about it or not. 

We won’t talk about my pregnancy! That’s a story in its own right. We’ll begin at that rather fantastic, blurry life changing day my waters broke. There was no expected pop, no warning in fact.  Having been virtually housebound for the previous six days, due to discomfort, by that evening I was scratching at the walls to get out of the house for five minutes. Having been assured by the staff at my local supermarket that if your waters break instore that you will be congratulated with a gift voucher or a years supply of nappies, I thought this was a great place to venture out to in an effort to remain sane and get me out of the confines of our house. Somewhere I’d been too uncomfortable, and being 6 days overdue, partially too scared to leave. 

So I waddle out to the porch and bend down to get my shoes and suddenly I realise water is just gushing out between my legs. I shout for my hubbie to get a bowl that I can stand over, but my first thought was to just get to a toilet. Having only an upstairs bathroom, my first thought was “oh no we’ve just had a brand new stair carpet laid”. I asked hubbie to grab me a towel could roll into a sumo style super nappy to allow me to get up the stairs to the loo and not damage the carpet. Priorities and all that! And as I sat down on the loo and dialled the midwife it annoyingly and rather disappointingly dawned on me that I was five minutes away from a years supply of nappies! 

Perspective

  
 So perspective is something we are all capable of but are often too busy to take on board. We live in a society today with so much opportunity. Most things are so available. I feel like a lot of us have lost the ability to not only appreciate what we have but to also put it into perspective. We moan about feeling cold and needing to crank the central heating up, without much thought for people who can’t afford their heating bills or who don’t have a roof over their head altogether. We complain about having to wait in line at the supermarket without fully appreciating how lucky we are to be able to buy food when there are people who have to work until they bleed to enable them to grow food and collect water all whilst they are weak from starvation. We don’t appreciate the time we have today to spend with those we love. With our faces glued to some form of technology. A generation growing without the ability to maintain eye contact. And before you know it those we love are gone and the moment with it too. 

So I suppose the point I am trying to convey is that no matter how hard or how awful you think your situation is, take a step back and shine the big ol’ torch of perspective on it. It won’t make your problems and worries go away. But it should give you a sense of gratitude and in doing so your problem should disappear into significance and transform into a realisation of how fortunate you truly are. 

And with that realisation, you can really start to live. You don’t have to go mad and start doing skydives and swimming with sharks. You just need to start fulfilling the ideas and dreams on your own list of life’s expectations. No matter how small or silly you think they mean to others. If it matters to you then it’s worth doing. One of the biggest and most pointless and damaging of human emotions is regret. To live with regret is such a wasteful use of your time and although some circumstances are out of our control, it mustn’t stop you from trying to live out that wish list to your utmost of capabilities. Live for the moment, not everything needs to be captured on film, take a mental picture and enjoy what is happening all around you. Overall show your love for those you care about. Life is short no matter what age you leave this earth. Appreciate it, put it into perspective. We are just a dot on the universe. Some arguments and problems really aren’t that big of a deal in comparison. 

Much love. 

Life through the overactive imagination of one ordinary lady turned mama.