It's been a while... (again)

OK, so a few months ago I posted that I was back after a lengthy absence, only to disappear once again from the bloggy world.

I can't explain why, I have no excuses - other than the fact that I'm just a bit rubbish!

In the time in between I've been cooking a gorgeous and squirmy Muffin in my tummy and have reached the 35.5 week point. That means that I have just 4.5 weeks until my due date and I'm still a very happy pregnant lady!

Tiredness is starting to take over, but as I finish work officially tomorrow I'm fully looking forward to having some time to myself before said Muffin makes an appearance.

I promise I'll do my best in the 4.5 weeks I have left, to try and post a little more regularly. I can't make any promises after that date but I'll do my utmost... in the meantime, here's a bump photo taken about two weeks ago... (please excuse the chatty PJs!!)

I'm baaaaack!

I know. It's been such a long time since I posted on here.

Pregnancy is new to me and I've learnt a few lessons over the past few weeks.

Mainly, that being pregnant is incredibly tiring! I've been so tired. I've had no energy. I've felt nauseous to the point of wanting the world to open up and swallow me... and yet, I feel like the luckiest woman alive!

I'm feeling much more like my usual self now and I'm beginning to get my energy back - a great reason to celebrate!

Anyway, while I was away, wedged somewhere between my ample sofa cushions, I've been touched and heartened by several messages from some lovely ladies who I've 'met' in the cyber-inter-global-hyper-mega-web world, letting me know that they've noticed my absence and wishing me well. You know who you are and I thank you from my heart's bottom.

OK, so I'll leave this post for the time being... But I just wanted to give a big wave hello and step, tentatively, back into the world of blogging, gently!

I'll be back for more!

Soon-to-be-Mummy B

Pushing my imagination...

I have to laugh at myself sometimes.

Yesterday, while venturing upstairs to climb out of my (becoming way too) tight work trousers and into my (so deliciously, slouchily) comfy tracky bottoms, I found myself standing sideways looking at my profile in the full length mirror.

Without even thinking about it, I'd pushed out my stomach as far as I could (without risking some kind of toilet-related accident) to see what I'm going to look like in just a few short months, sporting a baby-bump.

And aside from being slightly dismayed that my current midriff is large enough to make that image look alarmingly real, I was really rather pleased (not to mentioned amused by my own antics) with what I saw!

I stopped short of padding out my hubster's jumper with a pillow and plodding downstairs, hand in the small of my back, to show hubs what he has to look forward to... but only just.

I know it's wishing time away, which I really do try not to do because time moves too frighteningly quickly on its own, but I am so excited about seeing my bump take shape and displaying it proudly in months to come...

Oh come on! Surely I'm not alone!?

A constant state of sleep

Why does sleep insist on consuming me completely at the moment?

Everything in my life (and yes, I mean everything) is suffering due to my lack of energy and my constant need to sleep.

I can't find the motivation to work properly, tidy up, wash up, hang out the washing (let alone put another load on... this one's been hanging around in the machine for approximately 36.5 hours!), make the bed (what's the point, I'll only be back in it in 37 minutes), read the blogs I follow (and this I feel terrible about), write a blog (again, terrible...), have a shower (I think the neighbours will begin to complain shortly about the musty smell and the slightly greasy residue left everywhere from my hair) or cook the tea (oh for that to mean I'd lose some weight - yeah right!).

And as a direct result, my brain appears to be turning to mush. I'm forgetting the most obvious things and failing at the easiest of household chores - all due to this constant need for sleep.

But then, when I do manage to clamber into bed looking my most attractive ever (honest!) I manage to wake myself up everytime I turn over (due to the massively sore boobs I'm currently sporting like some overinflated bouys upfront!).

What can a woman do!?

Will I even manage to finish this poszzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Wha? Sorry! Right, I'm awake... Best go make hay while the sun shines (she says, staring at the p*ssing rain out of the window).

Help! How did you cope with the constant need to sleep during early pregnancy? (Or, for the men out there, what coping strategies did your partner adopt?

Sore body parts

Ouch!

I know it's seriously early in my pregnancy (I'm five weeks today!) but some of the symptoms of early pregnancy are already setting in with a vengeance!

I'm feeling slightly bloated and have begun to lose my appetite around 4pm every day (no sign of the dreaded nausea yet *touches wood and whistles*) but the one thing that has really set me on edge this week has been the soreness of a certain part of my anatomy... my, erm... well, my *coughs uncomfortably*... my... OK, OK, my boobs!

I have the sorest boobs in the whole world!

According to the amazing pregancy book I'm reading at the moment - What to expect when you're expecting - I should be experiencing some breast pain... In fact, and I quote:

"Tender breasts and nipples. You know that tender, achy feeling you get in your breasts before you period arrives? That's nothing compared to the breast tenderness you might be feeling post-conception." What to expect when you're expecting, Heidi Murkoff, p14.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again - ouch! This is definitely no ordinary soreness. I'm having problems doing ordinary, everyday things, purely due to the soreness of my pups.

It hurts to walk... so it would definitely hurt to run (not that I'm a runner, but this is just one more excuse not to take it up now!)
It hurts to turn over in bed.
It hurts to walk up the stairs any slower than at snail's pace.
It hurts to walk down the stairs full stop.
It hurts to lift anything.
It hurts to clap (who knew!)
Flippin' heck, it even hurts to laugh sometimes!

How can two such innocuous items cause so much pain!? I have to say, this is one aspect of pregnancy I definitely wasn't expecting! (I'm sure there will be many more that I'll find out about over the next eight months or so!).

But, by way of making me feel better, Ms Murkoff adds:

"...and as your pregnancy progresses, it could get even more pronounced. Make that a lot more pronounced."

GREAT!

A very tender Potential Mummy B

The happy side of me!

I was recently tagged in a fab Meme by Josie from Sleep is for the Weak and BNM from BareNakedMummy - thank you so much for that, I love being tagged, it doesn't happen very often!!

Anyway, for regular readers of my blog, I'd very much like to point out that I'm really quite a happy little being in 'real life'... although I am aware that a fair few of my recent posts have been a little sad in nature. So that's why I'm so glad to get this tag - a chance to write about good stuff.

After much deliberation, I deliver to you, ten things that make me happy...

1) Scented candles

I love to walk into a room and smell a yummy, fresh smelling candle - whether lit or not. To me, a home should smell of something lovely and my favourite of the moment is vanilla.

2) The smell of clean bed linen
There is not much lovelier than slipping into a freshly washed and ironed bed next to my gorgeous hubs. If I had a maid, that would be her main task - changing my bed every day so I could enjoy that feeling every time bedtime came around... heaven!

3) Singing at the top of my lungs
I L.O.V.E. to sing. I sing in the shower, in the kitchen, in the car, while I'm walking places with my iPod... I love to sing just about anything. I find it lifts my spirits. I know I'm really unhappy when I don't feel the desperate pull to sing along to whatever CD I have in my car stereo... What makes me happiest at the moment is singing along to Wicked the Musical - I adore it, and have for a few years now. I know it inside out and it's just tough if you're with me and you've never heard it before - you won't hear it above me... Mwa ha ha!

4) Bacon and egg sarnies
This delicious invention of culinary yumminess has to be right at the very top of my 'favourite sandwiches' list. Whatever the day, whatever the hour, I could always readily get myself on the outside of one of these beauties! And I like mine naked! (Not me, the sandwich!) No sauces, no butter, just pure, unadulterated bacon and runny egg... *dribbles slightly at the thought*

5) Birthdays
This may have something to do with yesterday being my birthday, but in general, as long as it's someone who I love's birthday, I just love it! It's a special day and the birthday boy or girl should be made to feel loved and special. I was. And I loved it!

6) Being pregnant
An obvious one perhaps, after Saturday's post but it makes me happy. This is my list, so I'm including it. I feel so serene and content with my life and I'm exactly where I want to be. I couldn't be happier! That is all.

7) Finishing a piece of writing
No matter how much of a mountain to climb a piece of writing may seem when one sets out to start, when the summit is reached and a re-read is done, there is not much that beats the feeling of having completed a good bit of writing. It's a great feeling - I just wish it would happen more often! ;o)

8) The sea
I adore living so close to the sea. Even as I type I can see a tiny peek of the sea from my office window. I'm not much of a fan of being on the sea, but I love to be next to it. When I remove my shoes and walk bare-foot on the sand, as cold as the North Sea is, I still love to have a good old 'plodge'. When I've needed to think, clear my thoughts and really work something out, I've headed to my local beach to stomp and splash my way along the shoreline. Nothing cleanses the soul like a refreshing paddle in the sea...

9) A good cup of tea
Call me quintessentially English, but there are not many things that go with almost everything, as does a cup of tea. It goes with lunch, with cake, with biscuits, with chocolate, with a chat, with a good read, with a telephone call to an old friend, with a shoulder to cry on and a box of tissues... Tea holds the secret to so many things. A good cup of tea can make troubles disappear... at least for a few minutes.

10) Being home
I lived away from my family and my home in the North East of England for a lot of years following University. I always knew I wanted to move back home at some point but it took the break down of my first marriage to make that happen. And I am so glad it did! My life has changed beyond recognition since I moved back up here and I am the happiest I've ever been. I love home and everything that means for me.

So, now it's time for me to tag some lovely bloggy peeps to take part in this happiness meme... I'm really sorry if any of you have already done this one, I've done my best to find out if you have but if I haven't looked beyond the end of my nose (as my Mum would say) I apologise profusely!

Here goes:

Single Mummy

Rosie Scribble

Are we nearly there yet mummy?

New Day New Lesson

Tears for Cheryl...

So nobody warned me, so early in my pregnancy, that my hormones would start going haywire and I'd be all over the place! Thanks everyone! No, really!

Just yesterday, when hubs had gone out to 'do secret stuff' ('tis my birthday today!) I was all snuggled up on the sofa after a hard day at work, flicking through the channels looking for something to watch. I settled on an old episode of 'How clean is your house?' as this always makes me feel good and superior, even while I sit amidst this morning's tea cups, last week's washing and last year's dust.

Just as I started to watch, the adverts came on. I'm not a fan of adverts - mostly I refuse to watch them, which is why I record everything, then I can merely 'timeslip' through them - one of the wonders of modern technology in my eyes! But today I couldn't. So I found myself sitting through countless insurance adverts (I'm fully insured thanks), adverts for dog food (I don't have any pets) and annoying ditties about banks (I've had it up to here *signals the sky* with financial institutions).

Finally, and worst of all in my opinion, came a L'Oreal advert featuring Cheryl Cole... Now I'm not a Ms Cole fan. I am, as near as damn it, a geordie girl myself and yet I feel no affinity to her at all. Having said that, I don't think this is THE WORST advert in the world. Sure Chez is too cheesy for words and hams up her already over the top accent (we don't all speak like that, I promise, most of us prefer a gentle, lilting intonation of geordie), but I ask you, is it enough to make me burst into tears at the very sight of her for no apparent reason?

I would say, probably not. But no-one told my hormones that! There I was, at 5pm, broad daylight, full-on blabbing at an advert for hair shampoo - will someone please tell me what is going on!?

Hormones - gotta love 'em. And I guess I'm just going to have to get used to it for the next few months... *sigh*

A very hormonal (but secretly stupidly happy about the whole situation),

Potential Mummy B

Bing, bing, bong - Important message

This is a public service announcement.

Would all readers who are awaiting the arrival of Potential Mummy B's monthly visitor please step away from the edge of your seat.

We regret to inform you that, due to the arrival of a fertilised egg in the womb area, the visitor has been cancelled until futher notice.

We apologise for any inconvenience caused and hope you have a lovely day.

Thank you!

Yes! It was confirmed last night... I'm pregnant!

Words cannot describe how I'm feeling at the moment so I'll leave that for when the news has official sunk in. In the meantime, thank you all for your lovely thoughts and comments on my recent posts - they've obviously helped!

Wooooooooooooo!

It's a beautiful day!

What is it about the sunshine that helps lift a mood?

Although I'm stuck indoors, glued to my (work) computer until lunch time, I'm still massively enjoying the beautiful sunshine that is breaking through the blinds and dancing on the carpet beside me.

It's like it knows that, while I can't be outside to bask in its glory, just being there, beside me while I work, is lifting my spirits no end!

My excitement and love of life is also helped by the fact that today is supposed to be the day my monthly visitor comes a-knocking... but in my efforts to become a mummy, the complete lack of any signs in this direction is keeping me smiling, both inside and out.

Now I know it's very early days to be getting excited about this and I am keeping a (tiny) realistic head on my shoulders. But there's a part of me which screams like an over-excited toddler to rush out and get a pregnancy test because, throughout my life, ever since puberty, I've run like clockwork, if you know what I mean...

So, while I know I have to face that fact that I could be bitterly disappointed a few hours or days down the line, I'm willing to throw caution to the wind and get stupidly excited that this might be the month!

And, of course, the sunshine is helping tremendously!

Life is good!


Photo credit

Best friends forever? Forever came and went...

We were inseparable.

We met, aged 13, at high school. With lots of things in common, she was my best friend in the world before I could blink an eye.

We'd share lessons, break times and lunch times. When school was over we'd stand gossiping under the library for 15 minutes before going our separate ways home. Within two minutes of stepping in through the door I'd pick up the phone to 'catch up' with her - see what I'd missed during the long minutes of my walk home.

Saturdays were spent together, shopping and chatting, watching films and finding every excuse to be together. She shared my good times, my bad times and each and every teenage worry I had. I did the same in return.

Her family history meant that she needed more support than the average friend. She'd lost her Mum when she was young and her Dad was a tyrant who cared little for her or her sister. She stepped into the role of mother to her younger sister and fought against her biggoted grandmother to steer herself and her sister through school and life.

We were as close as two girls could be. My family accepted her into our inner sanctum and we muddled through the complicated world of being a teenager, handling puberty and discovering boys.

University came and went. We went to different cities to pursue our education but still we kept in regular touch. We called, emailed and visited as often as limited budgets and busy new student lives would allow. We still knew everything about one another.

When it came time to leave the relative comfort and security of full time education we both sought jobs around the country. Our lives took us in different directions geographically but we always remained in touch. I found a partner and we moved in together. She remained single.

As the time passed a natural wedge began to emerge between us. It was difficult to keep up with one another's lives from such a distance. Life began to take over and our visits became less and less frequent.

One thing that didn't change, however, was the fact that I would always drop everything to be by her side or on the end of the telephone should she need my help and support.

Her life was approaching the dramatic proportions of a soap opera (only with more natural acting...) and I was the person she'd call at 4am, in tears and in desperate need of talking down. Once she called me threatening to end it all. It was one of the most terrifying times of my life. Thankfully, there was a happy ending that time.

But all this left me dreading the ring of the phone. Wishing I could know (before the days of caller display) who was breaking into my serene day to shatter the calm.

The only times we spoke now were times when she needed me. She rarely asked how I was. If she ever did I could hear the bitterness and jealousy dripping from her every word as she compared her own tumultuous love life to that of my own.

I still asked her to be my bridesmaid when I married my first husband. She was, after all, my best friend and we'd been through so much together. Even on my hen weekend she managed to make the whole thing about her, throwing a toddler-style tantrum and guarding every ounce of attention jealousy as if it belonged only to her.

Over the next few years we continued to keep in touch, seeing each other as much as possible, I tried to call her regularly but dreaded the conversations. I knew the calls would consume my energy, demand my innermost efforts and leave me feeling drained.

When I told her that my first husband, after 4.5 years of marriage, left me for another woman, she was one of the first people I told. Upon receiving that news, I could hear her, even down the phone line, withdrawing from me and running away. That hurt more than anything. I thought, that after all the times I'd been there for her, she might be able to find the strength to just listen. That's all I wanted. But no.

I couldn't bring myself to forgive her for that, even though we remained in contact for a few months after I moved home. Even after all that, the last thing I expected her to do was judge me so badly for taking my wedding ring off when I found out my husband had moved in with his new woman. She judged me for 'giving up on my marriage', the very one I'd fought tooth and nail for, the one I hadn't wanted to end.

Since then I've consciously withdrawn from her. She has hurt me irreparably.

I even tried to put it all behind me and invite her to my hen weekend and wedding when I remarried in 2009. She pulled out of the weekend at the eleventh hour and didn't make it to the wedding either. She made up weak excuses to explain why she just 'couldn't' be there.

I do feel bitter about the loss of our friendship and would love to be able to make things right. I recently found out that she has had a baby. She is a single mother and had been too scared to tell me about the pregnancy because she'd left it too long. I found out on the same day I discovered I was pregnant, the day before I had my miscarriage. I was over the moon for her and spent 40 minutes on the phone catching up and asking about her child and talking about her life. The next day I tried to call to tell her about my miscarriage. She never got back to me.

I guess I just have to put that friendship down and walk calmly away.

This is my latest post for Josie's Writing Workshop at Sleep is for the Weak. I chose prompt number one: Tell me about someone from you past who you lost touch with and who you often think about.

It's such a perfect day

I've finally arrived! I've been tagged in my first ever Meme and I love it.

The following post is my response to the Meme started by the very lovely Becky at Single Mummy. So here's my idea of a 'perfect day'. *Note, this hasn't actually happened!

My perfect day...

I wake, squinting as the morning light picks its way through the curtains. Sleep slips from me slowly as I turn to find a steaming hot cup of tea beside my bed, placed there by my gorgeous husband who, I can hear, is already in the shower.

I stretch and sit up in my comforting bed to enjoy the delicious fruits of his labour.

When S finishes in the shower he pads through to our bedroom, hair ruffled and soggy towel around his waist, to find me tucking hungrily into a compelling book, one of my birthday surprises.

We get ready to face the day together, go downstairs and consume a hearty breakfast with more tea, the radio on in the background, and chat about the day ahead.

Today is no ordinary day. Today is the day we take the pregnancy test.

After the sadness of our miscarriage in December we face an agonising wait to see if this is the month that our successful pregnancy will begin. The heartache of previous months still lies close to the surface of my mind as I consider the potential of another month passing by unfertilised.

I push those thoughts to the back of my mind because today marks a full week from the date my period was due. Surely that means we've fallen this month?

The test is all ready. Sitting patiently in the bathroom cabinet, waiting to tell us our fate. We bought a double pack a few days ago in readiness for this morning. Should we wait another week to be sure? I can't, I decide, the excitement and nerves are too much.

So, the time has come.

We turn off our mobiles, lock the front door and switch on the answer machine. This is no time to be distracted by buzzing messages or annoying cold calls.

So, the test is carried out and we place it on the side in the bathroom, obeying the instructions to the letter for fear it may change the outcome if we don't.

Finally the time counts down and we look at the results. We both hold our breath, grasp each other's hand and try to think over the top of the combined noise of our beating hearts. This is it, the moment of truth.

It's positive! I'm definitely pregnant. We start to breathe again and I squeal as I jump up and wrap my arms around hubs' neck. We've done it! This is the month, we're having a baby.

This time, where terror and indecision gripped me last time, joy and relief are the overriding emotions rushing through my mind. This is it. This time it's meant to be.

The rest of the day passes in a flash as hubs and I dance with emotions, flirt with thoughts for the future and tentatively make plans for the next few days. There's so much to do. Doctors to see, families to tell, excitement to deal with.

In the meantime, hubs and I spend time together, chatting about the future, making plans and coming to terms with the reality of becoming parents.

This is the day that my life as a Mummy begins in earnest. Perfect.

*****

Now it's your turn. I've chosen three lovely bloggers to take part in this 'Perfect Day' Meme:

It's a Mummy's Life
VegemiteVix
Very Bored in Catalunya

Have fun!

Happy (Potential) Mother's Day

As most of you know, I'm not a Mummy (yet)...

But this morning I woke up to the loveliest surprise - a card and present for Potential Mummy B! How cute is that!?

This lovely little surprise came accompanied by an explanation; "If we hadn't had our miscarriage you'd be a (pre) Mummy right now. You might even be pregnant again already. Happy Mother's Day baby."

He's even put the washing on this morning!

Why can't every day be Mother's Day?

Fountains, streams and drains...

“I’ve heard it said that people come into our lives
For a reason, bringing something we must learn
And we are led to those who help us most to grow
If we let them and we help them in return...”

This is a snippet from my most favourite song from the absolutely amazing musical Wicked written by Stephen Schwartz.

Every time I listen to it I start thinking about the various friendships I have in my life.

Along the same lines, a friend of mine shared a lovely theory with me yesterday; she calls her theory Fountains, streams and drains…

I was so intrigued by the name that I dug deeper to find out more.

The theory concerns the type of people who come into our lives and how they may all have a different purpose or outcome.

Streams
These are the people who you may meet as you meander through life. They may be nice, they may be not. They drop into your life, they drop out of your life. They play very little role in your life and they can disappear as quickly as they appear.

Fountains

Fountains are, perhaps, a less common find. These are the people who come into our lives and make a real impact. They bring the positive elements of life along with their friendship: happiness, love, true friendship. These are the friends we treasure, those we can rely on and are happy to have them rely on us.


Drains
Then comes the darker side of friendship - the drains. These are the people who literally drain you. They sap you of all things good, they suck out the very core of your positivity and feed on your energy.

As a general rule I think the majority of us manage to suss out the drains in life and steer clear of them. At least, that's what everyone else seems to manage to do.

Ever since I was a teenager, I just seem to have been a bit of a drain magnet. Don't get me wrong, I've also dipped my toe into the occasional refreshing stream (in a non-sexual way, you understand *blushes*) and I've even stumbled across the odd fountain: captivating and hypnotic in their beauty. But why is it that I seem to have unsuspectingly welcomed more than my fair share of drains into my life too?

On more than one occassion I've supported friends, cheered them along, been a shoulder to cry on, provided help and, where specifically asked, advice. So why is it then, that when my life has taken a turn for the less pleasant, these friends have magically disappeared (perhaps back down into their own drainage systems) as if they have nothing to give in return?

I want to press the point here that I am not the kind of person who gives to receive, but I truly thought I could rely on these people to stand beside me should the going get tough.

Something like this has happened to me quite recently. A friend who I thought was as interested in me as I always had been in her has just turned into the biggest drain on my life imaginable. I hate the fact that this has happened, but it has and now I struggle to handle it. I have to keep her at arms length now because she is the last person I would ever turn to in a crisis and yet she's still there, waiting just around the corner to jump on me and drain me of what positive energy I may have left to give to her.

It's so tiring.

So what do I do about it?

I guess it's part of growing up, to realise that you can't just keep investing in friendships that drain you in this way. Friendships like this have to be put down and left to drain away themselves. It's not healthy to hang on to them.

So I've made a decision to not let it bother me anymore. I now treat my most recent drain as though she were a stream. Sometimes she meanders into my life and I treat her just as a stream. I've built an emotional dam to stop her draining any more of my energy and I just try to enjoy spending time with her - no draining allowed.

Is there room for transition in this theory? I believe there is. A stream can become a fountain and a fountain can become a drain. I have never yet had the experience of a drain becoming anything other than a well-managed drain, which always leaves me feeling sad.

But then, I just have to remember the array of fountains that I have around me. Some have always been there (sometimes unnoticed) and some are new to my life.

I know I'm a lucky lady.

"It may well be, that we will never meet again
In this lifetime, so let me say before we part
So much of me, is made of what I learned from you
You'll be with me, like a hand print on my heart.

"And now whatever way our story ends
I know you have rewritten mine by being my friend."

These words are for all my fountains - you know who you are x

Song lyrics from 'For Good' from the 'Wicked the Musical' by Stephen Schwartz




Photo credits:
Fountain
Stream
Drain

What is that feeling?

Pressure.

The feeling of dread that I'm not doing enough.

The feeling of inadequacy that the words won't flow.

Am I disappointing the people who have taken the time to follow, to read my ramblings?

I started this blog to post regularly and join in wholeheartedly with the exciting and gripping world that is blogging.

Recently life has got in the way.

And now I feel pressure.

Every morning I wake wondering whether I'll have the time, let alone the inspiration, to post another post.

Every night I go to bed, exhausted and disappointed with myself that I haven't found the words to express a little part of my life.

I even thought I didn't have anything to write about today - but then I realised the pressure I was putting on myself. A pressure that's bearing down and squashing any ideas, thoughts and dreams I might be able to put into words.

Pressure which is stunting my creativity.

Pressure that is entirely created by me - I only have myself to blame.

Pressure which, I'm sure, is entirely unnecessary.

I must relieve the pressure on myself.

Then the words will come.


This is my latest post for Sleep is for the Weak's Writing Workshop. I chose prompt number five: What is making you feel under pressure right now?

Photo credit

Dear bank account

How fickle is your friendship...

Sometimes you bring me great joy. You allow me to express myself, to experience freedom and the happiness that comes with independence.

You deliver untold treasures to my door (with the help of my other great friend, the Internet) and you draw me to the splendour of shopping outlets, allowing me to indulge my cravings for pretty things, impractical items and sometimes the downright luxurious.

You enable me to feed myself, to enjoy the beauty that is a full fridge and bursting cupboards. And you allow my need to travel, even just from A to B.

At these times, you are a true friend.

But then comes the second half of the month and your friendship changes, almost disappears.

You mock me with your love of the dark side. Your mood turns red and so does my face.

You limit me. You hold me back.

You deny me the basics and laugh in my face if I dare to think about the luxuries.

You disregard my social calendar and block off access to any support or kindness. You leave me in the lurch when I need to eat, with the bare minimum until such a time as your friendship returns.

You allow me the indignity of scrabbling around for spare pennies - how could you be so cruel.

How fickle your friendship is.

How can I make you see that I need you to be more of a constant in my life? Can we work something out?

Yours dependently,

Potential Mummy B


Photo credit

Touching a chord [Guest post]

So, having signed up for Little Mummy's guest post swap last week, I was paired with the very lovely Becky from Single Mummy. We were asked to write a guest post for each other's blogs - so that's what we did.


Without further ado, here's her post that she wrote for me. It's a lovely, touching piece describing something she's not written about before. Read and enjoy - I did.

Touching a chord

When Little Mummy paired me up with “Potential Mummy B” for the guest blog post day, I immediately popped over to this blog and had a good mooch around to see what My Baby Adventure was all about. It is always fascinating to read a new blog and to meet someone new even if just in cyberspace.

Being a mum of 2 young children I am lucky that I have successfully given birth twice and I am therefore already where Potential Mummy B wants to be. BUT getting there was not a straightforward experience. Her miscarriage post struck a real chord with me as I’ve been there too.

It’s not something I’ve told many people, too personal I guess, but why don’t people discuss early baby loss? Is it because it often happens, like to me, and so soon after you get that little blue line that no one even knew you were pregnant? How can you tell people that something is over when they didn’t know it had begun?

For me this was my second pregnancy so I assumed that I would sail through it as easily as the first. So when the pregnancy test came up positive I immediately began planning the next 9 months. A couple of days later I started bleeding and immediately got an emergency appointment at my GP. They then sent me up to the specialist unit at my local hospital. The staff in the unit were very understanding and caring but I was on my own as my husband was at work 2 hours away. The worse thing is that once it had started there was nothing I could do to stop it. It doesn’t really help to know that 15% of pregnancies end in miscarriage for whatever reason. From one of the private side rooms came the heart-rending sobs as presumably another woman’s dream had come to an abrupt end.

A couple of months later one of my best friends announced that she was expecting a baby with a due date almost exactly the same as for the one I lost. I felt happy for her but it brought back my loss. Luckily the next month I fell pregnant again and this time it led to the safe arrival of my lovely son. I do sometimes wonder what kind of baby I would have had if the pregnancy hadn’t failed but I wouldn’t change my son for anything.

Until now I hadn’t told many people about what happened but I think we ought to talk about miscarriage more. If this blogpost touches a chord with you then check out the Miscarriage Association’s website for more information.

Like an onion…

… I have many layers.

I am confident, I walk with purpose, I attain good posture, I smile at passers by, I hold doors for whoever needs one held, I say sorry if I bump into someone, I’m cheerful and chatty and I strive to maintain dignity and respect for others at all times.

This is me in public.

I am insecure, I’m shy, I slouch and walk with a slur, I’m an introvert, I despair at my blotchy skin, I cringe away from the ringing phone, I binge on wine and chocolate, I impersonate a potato on the couch and I beat myself up about my billowing weight.

This is me in private.

I am a good person, I don’t cheat or lie (except for the occasional ‘white lie for good reasons), I try to help others, I thank other people for what they do for me. I don’t ask too much of others and try to give as much of myself to others as I can.

This is the heart of me.

I love, I laugh, I share, I care, I bare my soul, I support, I encourage, I cuddle, I tell it how it is. My arms are always open, as is my heart and soul. I don’t keep secrets and I divulge my deepest thoughts.

This is me as a wife.

I’m grateful, I’m in awe, I love with everything I have, I try to be the best I can be and I strive to make them proud.

This is me as a daughter.

I boast, I giggle, I provide beer and pizza and an open house for DVD nights. I swap film reviews, talk about nothing in particular and make an excellent adversary on the Wii.

This is me as a sister.

I listen, I promote, I prop up, I ply with tea and sympathy, I congratulate, I commiserate and, when asked, I advise. I empathise and guide with the benefit of any experience I feel is relevant. I’m the understanding ear, the welcoming shoulder and the ever ready play mate.

This is me as a friend.

I’m authoritative yet friendly, professional yet approachable, a writer and an editor. I uphold my beliefs and live up to sound principles. I always deliver my best.

This is me as a business owner.

I get grumpy when I don’t sleep, I put people’s grammar right in whispered tones, I get annoyed at bigotry, I believe manners maketh the man (and woman), I get annoyed by people who drop litter, I scowl at dog walkers who don’t scoop, I love to hear children enjoying themselves and the sound of birds singing in the sun, I’m a wannabe domestic goddess and a sometime gardener, I sing as if no-one’s listening (as long as no-one is!), I’m not afraid to show my vulnerable side. I swim, I play the piano, I read, I write and I try to live up to my potential. I love my life and everyone in it.

This is me.

This is my attempt number two for Josie's Writing Workshop - you can find it over at Sleep is for the Weak.

Onion photo credit

 

Attention seeking? Damn right!

So what does a girl have to do to drag her husband's attention away from his beloved Xbox 360?

Seriously, I'm desperate...

So I've written a list of things I could try to get back into my husband's affections:

1. Cook him his favourite meal every night for a week
2. Write him a love song and serenade him from the back garden
3. Buy a silky neglige and captivate him with a dance
4. Write him poetry about my love for him
5. Have a dozen red roses delivered for his attention
6. Bribe him with wine and chocolates
7. Persuade him to help me clear out the spare room
8. Offer him a relaxing back massage

Having thought about it, this is why those things won't work:

1. Cooking and eating a meal only takes up a certain amount of time - he'd be back on the XBox within seconds of downing his cutlery...
2. The neighbours would have me committed... that is, if I were brave enough to set foot in the back garden after the gardening and cat chasing debacles...
3. I can't dance... he'd probably end up dialling the emergency services and telling them his wife was having some kind of satin-clad fit. 'nough said.
4. I'm rubbish at love poetry. Purple Ronnie style ditties I can do. Anything else, forget it.
5. He would merely bring the roses into the lounge, whereby he'd set them up in some kind of 'undergrowth' way and use them to 'set the scene' for his next game...
6. He'd still play the flippin' game and I'd end up squiffy and a few pounds heavier...
7. Ha! That is all.
8. No can do. My hands are still bruised from the pruning of aforementioned back garden.

OK, so now I'm really desperate! Your advice ladies?

I guess if all else fails I could chuck the *&$%ing contoller out of the front door under the speeding wheels of a conveniently passing vehicle?

Mwah ha ha ha!

Gardening - what a wizard wheeze!

Sometimes I have a wizard wheeze.

Today's wizard wheeze was inspired by the rare appearance of some sunshine. I decided to get out in the fresh air this afternoon to tackle the overgrown yet dead (how can the two things go together!?) morass that laughingly calls itself our garden.

I started simple - in the front yard where we only have a couple some low maintenance pots and a couple of plantable areas. Forty minutes, some grunting, bending and downright unattractive bum cleavage displaying later and I stood back to admire my handywork. A lovely colourful pot and fewer leaves - was that it? Seriously? For all that work.

*sigh*

The back 'garden' was a different story. A mess of deadwood, soggy lawn, borders strewn with weeds and cat pooh (a huge source of chagrin - see my post on cat chasing... grrr!), I definitely had my work cut out.

But I was determined to make the most of the first decent weather we'd seen in weeks, so off I set. Armed with my trusty secateurs (must remember to give them back to my Mum at some point...) I quite fancied myself pruning and preening my beloved dead things in a fashion not unbefitting of Edward Scissorhands... why is reality such a disappointment in such situations?

Bearing in mind my little garden is... well, just that, it's little. It is perhaps 4 metres by 4 metres, and at least one third of that area is taken up by paving stones - which doesn't leave much to work with.

So picture me, taming an aged honeysuckle and wrestling with a monster clematis (so attached to the neighbour's fence that I actually broke it whilst pruning... shhh, I propped it back up!). To help you imagine, I'd liken the scene to something between an all-American wrestling match, a snake charmer faced with 100 really angry pythons and two cats slap bang in the middle of a particularly viscious fight... Nice!

But just over three hours later I walked away with all my limbs, the sight in both eyes (a miracle in itself) a back that I know will refuse to play ball tomorrow and only a handful (or should that be two armfuls and half a face) of scratches and cuts. Oh, and let's not forget the a massive sense of achievement at my tidy (if now desolate) garden.

I'd forgotten just how therapeutic a good bit of demolition pruning and tidying could be!

Dear friend...

My dear babyless friend,

You are heartbroken. You live with fear, disappointment, frustration and questions (so many questions) every day.

And I don't know how to help.

I don't even know what to say to you. The telephone, which should be a happy wonder of technology, turns into my nemesis when I think about calling you.

You see, I'm scared to call you. I'm scared of my lack of any kind of knowledge or advice or experience that might be able to ease your suffering. I'm scared to disappoint you.

And yet by keeping my distance I disappoint you anyway.

You can't have a baby naturally. You, and your lovely husband, are going through week upon week, month upon month of agony wondering whether this time's cycle will be successful.

And when it does work, as it has a couple of times in recent months, you then live in fear of losing that hope and having to start again.

I really cannot imagine how you must feel. I want to reach out to you but my words, my actions, my presence can only linger around, useless in their efforts to bolster your flagging determination. 

I despair at my short fallings as a friend. I remember the support, love and ever-present shoulder on which to cry when I split from my first husband. You dropped your life to be by my side, to scoop me up from my depths and ply me with much needed tea and sympathy.

Now you're in your own depths and I have no idea what to say to you, much less how to help.

How can I repay you for your kindness? Why can't I find the words to help you in your hours of need? What can I do to help you?

I think of you constantly and want only the best for you. I reach out as often as I can to let you know I'm here. I only wish I could do more.

If I had a grain of sand for every time you are in my thoughts we would spend the day on a beautiful beach together, just being friends.

Your friend, helplessly

PMB x

Same world, different planet

"What's with all the cutlery like?" Asked a young female type, who one could only describe as the whitest blonde I have ever seen (I assumed it wasn't natural), sat at the next table to us in the Indian restaurant the other day.

"What de ye mean?" came the less than gentle reply.

"Well there's, like, one, two (yes, she had to count them!)... two knives and two forks?" She was actually incredulous at this phenomenon.

"One lot's for the starters and one's for the main course." A reasonable answer in straightforward terms. Yet it was my turn to be incredulous that such an answer was, indeed, necessary, bearing in mind that this person (blondie) was at least 18 years of age!

"I'll just use the same fork for everythin', I don't see the point..."

"The point is, we're not tramps so we don't just lick our forks and keep them for the next stuff..."

Seriously? Oh my!

This was, honestly, the conversation hubs and I 'overheard' (more like had rammed down our throats by overly-loud table neighbours) towards the end (thankfully) of a trip to our local Indian retaurant the other day.

Aforementioned blondie was, we estimated, around the age of 18 or 19. Had she seriously never been to a restaurant before? Surely most such eateries in this day and age provide you with starter cutlery and main course cutlery. Hell, if you plump for a dessert, you might even be lucky enough to get a fresh, clean spoon with it!

Friendly neighbours continued in their less than subtle tones to have other baffling conversations 'between themselves' and one of them even managed to squeeze in a telephone conversation in between mouthfuls.

As my hubs later pointed out, we could actually hear every word from the guy on the other end of that conversation, let alone what 'neighbour' said... why not just put the phones down and shout to one another - that way you can save your money for another item of tacky, over large gold jewellery and a couple of Burberry rip-off baseball caps!

Too harsh?

Chavs? In my local Indian restaurant? What's the world coming to?

A speechless (and only slightly tongue-in-cheek) Potential Mummy B

Dear boiler...

Dear boiler,

You disappoint me.

I know we haven't known each other for long, and that I've been slightly sneering about your position in life (or perhaps just your position in my kitchen), but I've come to depend on you, on your warmth and your undoubted skill to get things boiling around here.

You let me down last week and now my confidence in your commitment to me and this house is dented.

Perhaps I didn't pay you enough attention? Perhaps I didn't listen to you enough? Is that why your tears began to fall? Is that why you flooded my kitchen floor? Simply for attention?

Well how do you think that makes me feel? We had a good thing going there and if you'd only spoken up earlier I might have been able to work something out. Instead, you keep your peace until it's too late for either of us stop the impending doom.

Your heart is broken, I'm told. Well, not your heart so much as some space ship looking part of your workings that the plumber unceremoniously removed from within - brassy in colour and slightly covered in limescale. Whatever, a piece has clean sheared off, causing you to spill your innards to anyone and everyone who happens to be passing.

I'm sorry you're hurt and I arranged for someone to come fix you as soon as I realised there was someone wrong, but the fact still remains, you ruined my Valentine's Day. And for that, I'm not sure I can forgive you. But I'll have to try.

You see, time with my hubs is so very precious to me and, without giving anyone else a second thought, you chose that incredibly special day - that one day out of the whole calendar - to have your breakdown, turn cold on me and demand my attention.

But one thing I've learned from this whole messy (and surprisingly wet) debacle is that I, we, take you and your position in the household, for granted. Indeed, perhaps me and my entire race take you and your kind for granted as a whole. But who can blame us when, in our greatest need of warmth and comfort, you seem to laugh in our faces and withdraw your services.

Well, you got my attention with your incessent dripping and I only hope you're feeling better now. I can only assume you do feel better as you just sit smugly in your corner and hum gloatingly at me while you go about your business, caring not about the love, attention and money I've lavished on you in recent days.

You've drained me recently and I just hope that we can get back to normal now, function properly between us. I promise to pay more attention to your needs and stop taking your talents for granted.

Let's be friends again. Together we can wrap this household in love, warmth and hot water... What do you say?

Yours in domestic harmony,

PMB


This post is my first attempt at Sleep is for the Weak's Writing Workshop - head on over if you fancy joining in, it's muchos fun!

Thanks for reading my inane ramblings once again!