My baby adventure

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

2010-10-21T15:14:00.000+01:00

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!

2010-06-10T13:57:00.000+01:00

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...

2010-03-31T09:00:00.004+01:00

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

2010-03-30T14:18:00.000+01:00

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

2010-03-26T14:42:00.000Z

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!

2010-03-24T14:01:00.001Z

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...

2010-03-23T11:02:00.000Z

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

2010-03-20T10:43:00.000Z

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!

2010-03-19T11:19:00.000Z

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...

2010-03-18T08:00:00.002Z

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

2010-03-16T20:15:00.000Z

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

2010-03-14T08:37:00.000Z

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...

2010-03-12T08:34:00.004Z

“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?

2010-03-11T09:00:00.001Z

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

2010-03-09T12:25:00.000Z

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]

2010-03-04T21:04:00.003Z

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…

2010-03-04T10:05:00.007Z

… 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!

2010-03-02T22:31:00.001Z

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:

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

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

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...
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...
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.
I'm rubbish at love poetry. Purple Ronnie style ditties I can do. Anything else, forget it.
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...
He'd still play the flippin' game and I'd end up squiffy and a few pounds heavier...
Ha! That is all.
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!

2010-03-01T22:07:00.000Z

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...

2010-02-28T14:30:00.002Z

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

2010-02-26T09:00:00.002Z

"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...

2010-02-25T09:00:00.000Z

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!

Falling off the wagon

2010-02-24T12:00:00.003Z

Once again, for probably about the fifth time in my adult life, I'm battling with my greedy demons to try to lose some weight.

I don't think I'm massively overweight (although those nasty BMI-believing folk would have me pegged at pretty darn obese) but I'm just about flabby enough to feel uncomfortable in my usual clothes, wobbly enough to be wearing my 'fat' wardrobe and lumpy enough to want to dress only in my loosest PJs and hide away from the world for a while.

So, for about four weeks I've been praying to the angels of weight loss and studying my bible of goodly eating in an effort to shed a few pounds.

The first week was marvellous. Three pound down - score! Week two was not so good, with a slight slippage from the diet train, resulting in a two pound gain. Not so good. Naughty!

Never one to be thrown from the voyage completely I reboarded the next week and lost a further three pounds - I so love it when I have a good week.

But then came holidays. Only two nights away over at my 'away' sis-in law's, but enough to skew my diet senses and send me spinning into a whirlpool of loveliness, non-diet food and wine aplenty!

And then, of course, there's the chocolate and wine-fest that occurred when my little monthly visitor reared its ugly head earlier this week... well, one has to allow oneself a little comfort every now and again... doesn't one?

What is one supposed to do when life (and wine) gets in the way? It is not always possible to be saint-like in one's pursuit of a looser waistband, is it?

I will never be put off the chase altogether and tomorrow I start swimming again - always a good way to shift the flab (even if one has to be seen in semi-public in a state of almost undress *shudders*).

Anyone got any good strategies?

Not this time...

2010-02-23T10:00:00.003Z

OK, so pass the copious amounts of chocolate, it's that time of the month again.

Those of you who have been reading my blog since January will know that I'm trying to conceive (with help from hubs, obviously) after suffering an early miscarriage on Christmas Eve.

So, post ordeal, February is really the first month that hubs and I have tried again. Only February has conspired against us. What will illness, late nights and downright tiredness I would have been surprised if this was the month for another home pregnancy test to make my dreams come true...

Dag nash it, I hate it when I'm right!

Having downloaded an application on my iPod Touch (more in a tongue-in-cheek kind of a way than in any real anticipation) I knew that D Day (or should that be P Day?) fell this Saturday. After last time I was determined not to jump the gun and get too excited if I were a little late, but simply to bide my time and see what happened.

Even that little bit of friendly self-advice was a little premature as, on Saturday afternoon, in the midst of a hormone-fuelled battle with hubs, I recognised the dreaded onset of cramps...

While, as I said, I would have been surprised had we been pregnant this month, the arrival of those cramps left me sad, disappointed and more than a little frustrated.

But in the midst of all these feelings, hubs and I stopped our bickering and declared ourselves (the bestest of) friends again, as I brushed myself off and headed round to my sis-in-law's for an evening of chat, Cadbury's chocolate and sparkling wine - she really does know how to make me feel better (thanks bucket loads hun x).

So, onto March. Perhaps my own birthday month will herald the start of a new Baby B life?

I'm drowning in dirty stuff...

2010-02-22T16:26:00.002Z

...and not in a good way!

No, I'm drowning in dirty washing, dirty dishes, dirty kitchen floors (well only one, so technically I couldn't possibly drown in that...).

This is all due to the stupidy stupid boiler breaking on Valentine's Day. Luckily we only had one sleepless night of getting up every two hours to empty the washing up bowl that was situated most precariously underneath said boiler to catch the drippety drip... Actually, my wonderful, gorgeous hubs did the getting up, but I was still rudely awakened every time he rose to do his duty.

So, I've been unable to do the dishes (must make room for that dishwasher I've had in the garage for nine months) without boiling the kettle three times for every bowl full, hubs has almost run out of undies and socks (and he gets grumpy if the underwear fairy isn't doing her job!) and my hands have gone on strike owing to the fact that I can only wash them in (and I kid you not) freezing cold water several times a day...

Ours is not a harmonious household of late!

But fear not, for a lovely fella from Gas Angel Heating has exited my abode, leaving me with a brand new, shiny (at least I think it is, can't see the blessed thing) and stupidly expensive new part which has stopped the dripping - hoozah, hoorah and jubilate!

Now, of course, I no longer have any excuse to leave the pile of washing, ignore the dirty dishes and sit at my computer all day - gah!

Time to press on with my wifely duties of the domestic kind... who has time to get pregnant these days!?

Extreme tiredness

2010-02-19T12:00:00.001Z

Extreme tiredness comes in all shapes and sizes. For me it either comes in the shape of one massive grumpy lump or in the shape of a small, helpless child who just needs wrapping up in cotton wool.

Today was the turn of the child.

Welcoming hubs back from his golf game like a lethargic sloth stuck to the sofa (he's such a lucky man!), I barely had the energy to get excited about his four par threes let alone console him on his double bogey on the 17th! (Seriously, can anyone ever summon up that much enthusiasm!?)

Just then, hubs spotted one of the 'friendly neighbourhood cats' in our back garden. Friendly and neighbourly they are not! Why, oh why do cats insist on using OTHER PEOPLE'S gardens as their personal toilets? If I wanted pooh all over the my lawn I'd buy myself a dog and be done with it.

So, knowing my aversion to having cats ablute outside my back door hubs tried to scare the cat away. Only this one was having none of it. So I bounded (as fast as my exhausted body would carry me) to the back door to fling it open and scare the little *grits her teeth* darling away. This didn't work so I dashed out into the garden to make sure it didn't come back only to skid (cartoon style: picture the arms and legs flailing like the sails of a windmill, artistically, in opposite directions), slip and land *splat* right on my cushioned behind.

Hubs immediately came straight to my rescue, hauling me up as if I weighed around the same as a feather (for this I love him endlessly!), and bundling me into his arms as I allowed the hot, stinging tears of a toddler escape me into his awaiting shoulder.

How is it that I'm so easily reduced to this blithering mess? All because of a little scrapey bump bump.

My pride was hurt more than my bottom (although I think I feel a couple of attractive bruises forming) and I do have a little 'ouch' on my finger.

When extreme tiredness attacks...

A slightly bruised and embarrassed Potential Mummy B

A close proximity

2010-02-18T12:00:00.000Z

As I made my merry way about my day just recently I turned out of our street in my new car (eeek!) to see my brother-in-law accompanying a very cute, beaming and excited-looking neph number one down the road to school.

This made me smile.

I'm absolutely over the moon (and will continue to be for some very sizeable length of time) that hubs and I live so close to our extended family that we can quite easily bump into them whilst out and about and simply give a wave. Not, you understand, that I don't like to stop and talk... it's just that we live so close and speak or see each other so often than a passing in the street can be just that (especially when done at high speed in my fab new car - did I mention I had a new car!?).

The main reason behind this declaration is that I moved away from my home town (and consequently my parents and support structure) when I left university to live in the big bad 'south'. I thought it was uncool to stay in one's own town and that I had to depart and explore foreign parts.

"Ugh, no Mum I don't want to stay at home, that's so unfair."

*Mum spouting some random sense and reason about staying at home which sounded pretty much like 'blah blah blah' to me*

"Gah, whatever. You're so embarrassing!"

For that is how I spoke in those days...

How wrong I was. I'm happy to say that I now live back in the bosom of my family and I couldn't be happier about it.

And although hubs and I live literally 100 metres from neph's little school and neph lives just another 30 metres further away than that (yes, we're close! Close enough for the nephs to build a tunnel between the two houses and eventually appear, through a hole in our lounge floor, by the time they're 14 and 16!), seeing neph #1 and daddy tottering along together brought to mind Neil Armstrong's famous quote:

"It's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind."

While said school is almost literally within spitting distance (if you've got really, really good spitting skills, which I don't I'm almost proud to state), for little legs, it's probably slightly more of a trek.

I mean, their little legs, all cute, short and clad in pants that look like trousers, only they're smaller, have to work an awful lot harder than ours to get anywhere fast. Bless them! Our saunter down the road is a full on off-road adventure to them - especially if you're like me and my brother used to be, darting from this tree to that, hiding behind garden walls and fighting countless ruthless (albeit imagined) enemies who turned even the simplest of journeys into a fine line between life and death... Ah, the memories are still fresh!

So, if their day is so much more tiring, leg-work wise, than ours, how come they have so much energy? I'll have a pint of what they're having please!

Potential Mummy B

A running commentary on life...

2010-02-17T13:00:00.000Z

It was whilst visiting a local hostelry for lunch last weekend with lovely hubs and hubs' grandad that I noticed something of which I've only ever been vaguely aware before; when speaking to children, adults, whether they are the children's parents or not, seem intent on providing a real time running commentary on life.

I do it myself with my nephs and I was pleased to note that I'm not alone in this phenomenon.

When said children are of the non-speaking age, adults around them literally relate their every movement back to them in the form of words: "Mmm, you're eating that yummy chippy aren't you? Yes you are!" or "Oh dear, you've dropped your forky on the floor. Never mind, Mummy get it."

Once the little darlings are of the just speaking age it become necessary to perform a check of your understanding of each utterance:

"You've got a belly?"
"No."
"Something's smelly?"
"No!"
"You want to watch telly?"
"NO!" (accompanied by a frustrated fit of tears)
"Oh, you've dropped your welly?"
"Y, Y, YEEEEEEEEEEEEES!"

Do we, as adults, feel the need to demonstrate to the children in our care that we understand what they're saying, as if we are the ones just learning? I find myself, when helping the nephs into their coats and shoes, repeating everything they say to me even though it was clear as day: do I need to impress them with my language skills?

Simply uttering a "Yes he did!" to a delighted cry of "Santa brought me a tendo DS lite" suddenly becomes unacceptable, requiring instead a total regurgitation of the child's sentence right back at them - what's that about!?

Harping back to my school days, during which I learned the basics of child language acquisition, I realise that this is all a process of helping the children around you to maximise their vocabularly, string together more coherent sentences and indeed reinforce their understanding of words in relation to objects. It does, however, do nothing to stop me marvelling at the very subconcious nature with which most of us undertake these developmental tasks - damn we're clever!

Signing off from this mini commentary on life,

Potential Mummy B

Parents and carers seem to provide a running commentary on life...

I do it, parents do it - why?

Children influence everything - even before they're conceived!

2010-02-16T12:00:00.001Z

So, after almost 17 years of waiting, I finally own my own car.

I'm massively excited and feel a sometimes overwhelming sense of liberation - a feeling I'm relishing every second!

My car is a beautiful little Kia Picanto; possibly one of the cutest cars I have ever seen. Call me weird, call me sad. I don't care. I have named my car and refer to her as 'she'. Some people understand that, others don't. For me, I'm not bothered what people think, I just love her and what she represents for me.

My choice of car was massively influenced by the fact that hubs and I are trying for our first baby. A five door (or four door with a boot as my hubs insists on calling it, citing car salesmen as fibbers by nature) was essential for me in order to avoid any back breaking potential when dealing with squirming little packages in the back seat. I also checked that the car is safe for child seats. A big tick. And it has split seats in the back: another big tick for ensuring hubs and I can purchase the pram or pushchair of our choice and not have to leave the bubs at home in order to fit it in the car!

And so I'm mobile! It's an amazing feeling; one that millions of people all around the world take for granted. But believe me, when you've been reliant on borrowing other people's cars or blagging a lift in order to get around, finally having one's own mode of transport and the freedom and independence that affords one is so, so exciting!

I hope this feeling never fades!

Mobile Potential Mummy B!

Drippy Valentine's Day

2010-02-14T09:00:00.004Z

Valentine's Day 2010, the most romantic day of the year. Hubs and I have a low-budget day planned (having already spent a small fortune on ingredients and wine for our special meal!) and everything's going according to plan.

The angels of love surround our little home like a swarm of wasps - only much more friendly and a lot less stingy.

Then we discover our boiler is leaking. And I don't mean a gentle drip, drip, drip to act as percussion to the music of love... oh no! I'm talking a miniature Niagara Falls leaking. Now, to many that may conjure up romantic images of sight-seeing, arm in arm, gazing lovingly first into one another's eyes then out into the glorious misty furore that is the Falls...

No, not in this case.

In this case it's a beautiful scene involving a badly (done before we owned the house) boxed in boiler, leaking from place unknown on the underside, with crappy washing up bowl (already seen better days, but hey, it's for washing up in right?) perched precariously underneath to catch the roaring torrent.

Surely plumbers will be available today? Surely they'll be falling over themselves to come out on, not only a Sunday, but Valentine's Day? Wouldn't they be clammering to arrive here first to charge us a call out fee, plus a Sunday fee and Valentine's fee on top?

Nope. Can't get a plumber to come fix it! Not for love nor money (surely for love on today of all days?).

So, our special day is somewhat thwarted by the fact that we have to be around every two hours to empty the emergency basin for fear of further flooding.

Still, at least we won't need mood music during our lovely meal... the sound of running water will help us imagine we're in more glamorous climes, eating in the shadow of the great Falls...

All we need now is a couple of those fetching hooded waterproof jobs and we're the picture of love and romance!

~~Happy~~ Drippy Valentine's Day darling!

I'm a laaaaaaaady (blogger)

2010-02-13T11:05:00.000Z

OK, so I've taken a break from searching for a white debutante dress and walking around the kitchen with all my cookbooks on my head to let you all in on a very exciting development in my blogging life.

I have awoken this morning to find an acceptance email from The Lady Bloggers Society. Whoo!

Being new to the world of blogging and Twitter I'm still going hell for leather (whatever the heck that actually means - something my Mum says!) at the networking, reading, surfing, following and writing thing. I just can't get enough. But all my hard work (is it really work though? When I enjoy it so much!?) is paying off as I'm receiving responses to my blogs, getting links to relevant websites and being accepted by such lovely (and brand new) societies as this!

So no I can proudly display the following button:

The Lady Bloggers Society is a new networking site where us female types with a penchant for blogging our innermosts can 'meet' (in a virtual sense of the word) other people with lady bits who also like to put their happenings, thoughts and feelings down in words on this inter-hyper-global-virtual world that is the Internet.

Feeling a little society or button envy? Pay a visit, have a read, see what you think, maybe join... go on, what have you got to lose?

Have fun!

From a stupidly over excited (and possibly not very ladylike at this very moment) Potential Mummy B

An award? For me? Too kind...

2010-02-12T14:28:00.001Z

Hello... erm, my name is Potential Mummy B... and I, erm, *takes a deep, deep breath* I'm a blogaholic... There. I've said it.

Ever since I discovered blogging a few short weeks ago (as well as the related Twitter activity - another new-found vice) I have been absolutely addicted! I'm sure my work will begin to suffer if I don't get a grip, but in the meantime I'm absolutely loving allowing my creative juices to run free.

That's why, this morning, after checking my blog followers and my Twitter page for last minute additions before I turned the lights off (yes, seriously, hubs and I are supposed to be trying for a baby, yet checking my Tweets and followers is the last thing I do before sleep takes over...!?) I picked up my phone as soon as I awoke to find an email telling me I'd won an award for my blogging!

I was absolutely beside myself! Small fry it may be to many of the professional bloggers out there, but this award, an award for 'beautiful blogger' from the fabulous Jenn at South of Sheridan means a heck of a lot to me. Thank you so much! Seriously, I'm chuffed as a chuffed thing in Chuffedville and will definitely continue to follow your funny, endearing blog for as long as you write it!

Now, there is no such thing as a free blog award (as the famous saying goes...) but I'm more than delighted to share the love using the instructions I was given:

Here are the instructions for accepting the award:

1. Thank the person who gave you the award
2. Paste the award on your blog
3. Link the person who nominated you for the award
4. Tell 7 interesting things about yourself
5. Nominate 7 bloggers or less
6. Post links to the 7 blogs you nominated

Ok, so now to the seven things that are (questionably) interesting about me:

1) I love the taste of chocolate and ready salted crisps. Not together. One after the other. It's a taste sensation - try it! Best with Cadbury's Dairy Milk and Walker's Ready Salted crisps.

2) I've been married before (previous to the current Mr Potential Mummy B - when I met him I thought he had a weird surname but I just accepted it!) but spouse number one left me a few years ago. Turned out, though it hurt like hell at the time, to be the best thing that's ever happened to me. It's shaped me as a person and has led to me meeting the aforementioned Mr who is the most perfect man for me. Jubilate!

3) I went down a whole shoe size when I lost over three stone in weight a few years back. Who knew one's feet could be fat - they've always been one of the skinniest parts of my body!

4) I've recently become aware that I may be slightly lactose intolerant. I occasionally suffer from problems with my waterworks and, after much controlled experimentation, I have come to the conclusion that it's semi-skimmed milk that causes such discomfort (imagine mild but uncomfortable cystitis, all the time...). Again, who knew?

5) I don't eat the ends of my bananas. A family friend almost died from a tape worm when he was young and the doctors told him it was caused by some eggs laid in the end of a banana. True or not, I ain't taking any chances!

6) According to my darling husband, he can always tell when I've had a few drinks as my pronunciation becomes very clipped and proper. He always laughs that I become a real lady (only when striking that delicate balance between a few glasses and a few too many!) with a few drinks inside me!

7) Having waited almost 17 years for my very own car, I picked her up from the garage just this Monday. I have never had my own car or insurance policy (always just been a named driver on other people's cars) and yet driving is one of my very favourite things to do.

So there we are.

Hubs has just pointed out to me that the majority of the above points are actually food related - perhaps they all tie in to the necessity to lose the weight as referenced in point three! However, point number two is in no way related to my lack of food-related control, honest!

So all that remains for me to do is to award this fabulous award to some of the beautiful bloggers I follow. There are so many fab blogs that I follow but I'm going for my top three:

1) cally jane studio: CUTE in the extreme! Take a look at Cally's gorgeous artwork and you'll see why I follow. She's a designing genius and a fabulous person into the mix. Much love lady! x

2) Fit Mom Now: I love this lady's writing style. It's relaxed, funny and very informative about all things diet and exercise related. A fun read on a regular basis.

3) Kat's adventures in dietland: A new discovery of mine, but the first post I read (about finding a bulletproof method of controlling her husband's dressing regime) made me laugh out loud. I LOVE to laugh out loud. Thank you.

Done.

I'm now going to display my new button with pride. Thanks again Jenn.

Chuffed from Chuffedville (AKA Potential Mummy B) x

Baby showers in England?

2010-02-10T19:47:00.001Z

I was invited to my first baby shower a couple of weeks ago. The invitation by text came through well in advance and I have to confess to a rather large feeling of foreboding as a result. I politely declined (or rather, made another appointment up as I had no real reason for saying 'no').

I mean, I'm english. I live in England. Baby showers are something I've only heard of from our friends across the Atlantic. One of those things one witnesses on American soap operas. Surely they don't happen in little old England?

Apparently they do.

So what is a baby shower? The picture the phrase conjures up in my mind resembles something like the image right... undoubtedly cute, and definitely inaccurate. As I've said, I've never been to one and, call me cynical, but I never really intend on going to one. There, I've said it. So now one of my closest local friends will end up getting pregnant and throwing one which I have no choice but to attend... but until that day, I'm keeping my distance.

In my opinion (and I apologise if my opinion, lowly as it is, offends anyone) but surely a baby shower is just an excuse to invite people to buy you and your baby presents in the same way an engagement party forces friends who would normally merely congratulate you and share in your happiness to actually fork out for a present, perhaps against their will. I don't believe in that kind of materialism. If I did have a close friend who's having a baby I'd buy her something as and when I wanted to, not because the reason and timing is dictated to me by a 'shower' (ridiculous name!).

Anyway, I'm (half) interested. What's the point? What are they for? Why should I ever go to one?

Rant over.

Potential Mummy B

What kind of mother are you!?

2010-02-08T10:00:00.005Z

Something I've never experienced before happened to me a few days ago... Not being a parent (yet) I have never experienced the kind of wrath that is obviously swimming around in playgrounds, soft play areas and school yards: the massive judgement of parenting skills.

Is that something that is rife all over the world? And if so, how do you, as parents, cope with it?

A few days ago we were asked to look after two of our nephs for a whole afternoon and into the evening. By way of entertaining them we decided to take them out in the snow. Just a short trip down to our local shopping area, which has recently benefitted from the opening of a new soft play, saw my hubby and I receive many a judgemental look from passers by. Not that they were all necessarily negative looks, but I could still read the intentions of those looks as we tottered our way down, soft play bound, all wrapped up in our hats, scarves, Ben 10 gloves and Thomas wellies... Some were thinking 'Aw, how cute, a lovely little family out for a stroll in the snow' or 'Aren't those boys adorable?'. All lovely looks which made me proud (although I'd like to think, in my more optimistic moments, that I couldn't possibly look old enough to have a four and a two year old... dream on dreamer!).

But then there's the less than lovely looks which scream 'You haven't done your child's jacket up tight enough - can't you see there's cold air getting in there!?' or 'Tsk, look at that stain on your child's scarf! How could you possibly let him set foot outside with such filth on display?' or 'How could you let your child pick that snow up and then drop it carelessly a few steps further along - you'll burn in hell for that!'. I was a nervous wreck of guilt about my bad parenting (even though I'm not even their Mum!) and lack of control over my 'errant' toddlers by the time we arrived, tottering on the ice and fighting through the crowd to get into the soft play.

When we arrived at said play centre there was, just leaving, a heaving, sweating, over-excited, sugar-fuelled marauding mass of small children who had obviously just screamed, scratched and bundled their way through a school-mate's birthday party. The very sight of the wriggling, chattering, wailing cloud of children filled me with a terror I'd never experienced before. Hubs, the boys and I managed to squeeze in through the door before being forced to take refuge, pressed uncomfortably up against the condensation-covered window to wait the departure of the aforementioned rabble before we could even hope to set foot into the play area ourselves. Is this how it is going to be!?

Once inside things settled down a little. The exiting crowd had obviously been the majority of the place's custom that morning and those left behind all seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief at the sight of them, all togged in colourful winter clothing, heading home.

The nephs stood obediently while we stripped layer upon layer of clothing off them (we'd been left with strict instructions as to which boy should have which hat, which liked his hat on this way, which liked to leave his scarf dangling thus... it's a minefield I tell you!) and, with trepidation in both our eyes, we took them firmly by the shoulders, pointed them in the direction of the entrance to the soft play area and ushered them forwards into battle.

Things seemed to be going marvellously and we seemed only to be receiving the lovely kind of judgemental looks from those spread around the place. Gazing around the place I was fascinated by the other parents and carers around the room. Some looked exhausted, others immersed themselves in the escapism that is the 'Daily Mirror', choosing to read about the infidelities of famous sports people while their darlings flung themselves around their padded haven like so many miniature, hyperactive Hannibal Lectors.

We were doing so well.

Then a scream eminated from the ruckus, unnoticed by the hubs and I who were deep in conversation with an old school friend's parents. It was Neph number two who had followed his older brother up into the second level of the softness and had momentarily found himself lost. Dazed, confused and no doubt intoxicated by the overwhelming smell of toddler sweat, he let out a bone chilling cry that had every parent in the place jumping to ensure it wasn't their heir in peril. Yes... every parent. Which meant hubs and I carried on regardless, completely oblivious to the world-ending nature of events. Then came the horrible judgemental looks. 'How could you ignore your child in his hour of need?', 'What kind of parents are you anyway?', 'You don't deserve to breathe the same air as us responsible parents'. The tirade of poisonous thoughts rained down on us from every corner of the room... and still we had no idea.

"Is that your child screaming?" asked the lady next to us, adding in, with a thought and accompanying look 'you worthless excuse for a mother'. Immediately hubs and I snapped back into the harsh reality of childcare and rushed to neph's aid. Once coaxed out of the offending tight spot he stopped crying immediately, as if someone, somewhere had found his mute button (please let our own child have one of those!). Sensing I really should look somehow like I knew what I was doing I fell to my knees, pulled a piece of tissue out of my sleeve (I've seen mothers do that as if they're some kind of learned magician) and rid his face of the slimey goo making a bid for freedom from his nose. All better he headed straight back into the fray, no harm done.

I, and indeed lovely hubs, felt the bizarre need to explain that the neph wasn't our child and was, indeed, our neph, explaining away our lack of reaction to the blood curdling scream of earlier.

Apparently, when you have your own children, their very own brand of noise drills its way, unperturbed by any goings on, into the skull of the mother, leaving no shadow of doubt that it's your child in need. This, of course, is something that we didn't know. I'm sure any parents out there reading this will know exactly what I'm talking about but it was news to me.

Anyway, despite all the withering looks, judgemental eye rolls and whispered conversations of condemnation we experienced that neph-sitting day, it did nothing to put the hubs and I off our continuing journey to board the good ship parenthood.

Thanks to the gorgeous nephs for breaking us in really quite gently and we look forward to having you grace our household again soon. Love you lots xxx

Technology... just for fun

2010-02-05T10:00:00.004Z

I found a really interesting (and probably more fun than helpful) application on my iPod Touch the other day.

I'm not sure where I got the idea to search for it from, but when I typed 'menstrual calendar' into the Touch, up popped a strange and fun little application:

It's great! It asks you your cycle length, the date of the first day of your period and then predicts your ovulation date and tells you when you'll be most fertile! The dates when you're at your most fertile and the day your egg pops is even highlighted in pink - you can't miss it!!

It also lets you enter data about when you have sex and how long your period lasts! Like I say, I'm not sure how accurate it can possibly be when it only goes on the data you input. But what they hey!? It's fun and it provides a bit of a distraction while I'm waiting for that special pink day to come along!

Potential Mummy B

And so it begins again

2010-02-04T14:15:00.003Z

One of the things someone said to me after we lost our first pregnancy was 'you'll just have to brush yourself off and start again'. At the time I let that comment sail straight over the top of my head and thought very little of it. Later that day, however, just a day or two after the fateful hospital trip, the flippancy of that statement hit me full on in the stomach; it hurt.

It hurt that someone could, intentionally or not, assume that I could just forget about that 'little setback' and move on as swiftly as if it never happened. As I've stated in earlier blogs, I'm not going to sit around and wallow in self pity over this, having it impact negatively on every aspect of my life. But equally I'm not just going to forget it ever happened. Like a number of events in my life so far, painful and irreversibly damaging they may be to my outer shell, they contribute more than anyone could ever imagine to my very being. These experiences make me who I am today and, without sounding obnoxious, I happen to like who I am today, thank you very much.

Potential Mummy B

You shall not pass...

2010-02-03T10:00:00.010Z

In between Christmas and New Year, the week following our early miscarriage we had, through our extremely diminutive doctor at the Accident and Emergency, made an appointment with the gynaecological department at our local hospital. Fresh from the upset of our loss and still reeling from the general furore that is Christmas chez nous, another trip to the hospital was pretty far down on my 'things I'd like to do today' list.

But a trip to the hospital was necessary so off we went, nerves a-jangling and anxiety in tow. I had no idea what to expect. All I'd been told was that Dr D had spoken to the gynae department on Christmas Eve and they'd advised me to go along.

Thankfully we didn't have to wait around too long. The waiting room was, in any case, warm and welcoming after the skatey, slippy fest we'd just witnessed outside the front door. Our first port of call was a consultation room, within which waited two ladies in hospital uniforms.

To say the atmosphere in this room was a little different from the waiting area would be an understatement. The talky lady (for the other uttered not one word) called me in. Hubby and I obediently stood and made our way into the room. At least we would have done if 'Talky' hadn't blocked my husband's path in the style of a miniature and slightly rotund Gandalf in the Fellowship of the Rings (picture the 'You shall not pass' moment and you're just about there!).

"And you are?" she growled up at him from a level roughly around his waistline. She may have been small but she was remarkably frightening nonetheless.

"Oh, er... sorry, this is my husband," I offered, trying to diffuse the situation. She huffed and gruffed a little as if the sight of a supportive husband wishing to accompany his wife into the unknown was offensive to her. Not a good start.

After being seated and looking on as Talky and Sitty appeared to conduct a full blown conversations in looks, paper shuffling and weird gutteral noises, I wondered what the hell we'd walked into. Talky began to ask questions, pen poised over the aforementioned paperwork to note down my answers. Each of the questions, although benign in their nature, were spat at me in such a manner as to catch me off-guard like a volley of flying hobbit daggers. I didn't expect the Spanish inquisition (cue a torrent of Monty Python quotations!).

It turned out that Talky and Sitty had no idea why we were there and how we had come to have an appointment. Unable to provide a suitable answer I merely gabbled on about Christmas Eve and the fact that the hospital doctor had sent us... perhaps just to check all was well?

With that, and a distinct lack of ceremony we were kicked out of the consulting room and back into the waiting area. Thankful to be alive and with all our limbs we sank back into the seats to await our next test.

After a scan and a very nice 'talking to' by another nurse with the smallest voice in the world we were sent home with miscarriage literature and the reassurance that none of this was our fault. Talky had turned out to be human after all, once she realised that we weren't just there wasting her time, and had talked to us softly and delicately about any questions we may have and to reiterate that we weren't at fault. This was my body's way of telling us it wasn't meant to be this time.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: the human body is the most amazing thing. Sometimes it hurts and goes against our very dreams and desires... but there is always a very good reason for everything, at least in my experience so far.

Until the next time,

Potential Mummy B

Humour in every situation?

2010-02-01T10:00:00.008Z

There haven't been many horrible events in my life. I am pretty much the luckiest woman in the world (at least in my view).

OK, so every now and then there's been the odd hiccough that has caused me to wobble slightly on this low beam of life. Once or twice I've even had to put my foot down for balance before readjusting the waistline of my jeans, taking a deep breath, straightening my hair and carrying on.

So... the miscarriage issue. I've spoken about it with family and friends, sometimes when all I've wanted to do is crawl into a hole and cry until the tears have dried up, I've read about other people's experiences, I've cried in the dark with my husband's arms around me, I've kept a sort of diary to act as an outlet for my emotions and I've blogged about it.

I've also found humour in a difficult situation.

That doesn't make me a callous person. I'm sure I can't be the only person on earth that tries to maintain a sense of humour (albeit sometimes restrained and kept carefully in check by the realms of decency and decorum) no matter the situation. While I always respect the power of other people's emotions and the need to pander to 'the right thing to do' I think I use my humour as a kind of coping mechanism. And a very effective one it has proved to be thus far.

The four and half hours spent at the hospital on Christmas Eve were some of the longest of my life. My husband and my marvellous Mum were with me and shared these hours, along with some of the comic moments hidden therein. It must be the writer in me that notices things, finds humour in them, develops them in a secret word laboratory in my brain and stores them for consideration at a later date.

Even before I was seen by nurse or doctor my brain was hunting out ways of making the unplanned and enormously unwelcome hospital trip a little more palatable. I started off by watching my fellow inhabitants of the waiting room, thanking all things good that I wasn't in as bad shape as they were. I needed the loo and got all but there (try not to picture me literally hovering in a state of readiness) before realising they'd probably want a urine sample so having to instruct my body, rather hastily, that there had been a last second change of plan... pelvic muscles to the rescue! All good practice.

So, having given said sample and had my blood pressure taken, the next few hours passed without much incident. I mean, once I'd been taken through to the 'cubicles' we were simply hemmed in with enormously fetching disposable curtains and left like battery chickens to await the arrival of a doctor.

There were various comings and going throughout this time which kept me and my faithful companions entertained (sometimes in a good way, sometimes in a gruelling way) but eventually our doctor arrived. Maybe it's a sign of my age, but it is incredibly disconcerting when, in your hour(s) of need and nerves, the doctor assigned to you looks no more than, and I exaggerate not, 12 years old! My pint-sized nephew of a handful of years would compare favourably with this doctor in an 'I can reach further up the wall than you can' head to head! She could barely reach up to me as I lay (yes, lay) on my surprisingly comfortable trolley, and she certainly didn't seem one hundred per cent comfortable in her 'bedside manner' routine.

My heart did go out to her however, when she obviously thought she was breaking some unexpected news about my miscarriage. While my heart hammered at the speed of the Starlight Express within me and tears welled up in my rose-tinted eyes, I still found myself thinking how uncomfortable she looked telling me I was no longer pregnant. Rabbit in headlights move aside... she was more of a gremlin (the cute one, before midnight) caught in the act of raiding the kitchen for a midnight feast.

The way she went about my 'after care' made me slightly worried that she was totally unsure about what to do next. She kept disappearing from sight, handling the curtain around my trolley like it was a precious, fragile metal, tip-toeing around in her Skechers' Shape-up trainers (which incidentally look more like orthopedic shoes... just me?), making surreptitious phone calls as if appealling to some kind of reference source... all confidence inducing merits in a doctor I find!?

Finally I was asked by Dr Diminutive to produce another urine sample. She wanted to see my pregnancy test 'with her own eyes' apparently. So I went, plastic pot in hand, to find a toilet and do as I was bade. When I found a toilet (a quest in itself) my mind was reeling with the events of the evening, the feelings of stupidity alluded to in my earlier blog entry, the disappointment of my situation and the tiny stature of my 'doctor' that, before I knew it, I had used the toilet for its utility but had forgotten to store any in my pot!

Long moments passed as I tried to work out my next steps. Such a straightforward task made infinitely complicated by mere emotions! It was with a heavy but somewhat giggling heart that I padded back to my trolley, resplendent in my hospital gown and socks, to tell Mum and hubby of my slight cock up. "We only need a tiny bit," offered one of the nurses, trying to be helpful. "Really, I used it all up without realising," came my weak and somewhat embarrassed reply.

Half an hour and several cups of water later I managed to deliver and was thus sent home to settle into Christmas. My arrival behind my own front door brought the inevitable fall of the game face and the onset of tears but, without a bitter outlook, that Christmas Eve in the hospital is one I shall never forget.

For both good and bad reasons.

Potential Mummy B

The news sinks in...

2010-01-29T09:00:00.011Z

Yesterday's blog was a toughy to write.

Today's is going to be just as difficult... but my view? This is a cathartic exercise for me. For those who might stumble across my humble blog, it may strike up a glimmer of recognition of feelings past or present. Or it may just act as (I hope) an interesting read.

Whatever the outcome, my early miscarriage happened over a month ago and, although the feelings are still hot and painful if I think too hard or if something reminds me of them, I do not regard this as being the end of my world and I am certainly trying not to feel sorry for myself. I realise that people all over the world go through much, much worse than an early miscarriage (I know a few personally) but stuff like this hurts like hell on a purely personal basis.

Since I came home from the hospital, hand in hand with my precious husband, I have experienced a whole host of emotions (some driven by crazy hormones, some merely a spiritual reaction to our loss).

I've found myself longing to be pregnant again. Even though I only found out I was pregnant three days before it ceased to be, my sense of loss, as well as that of my husband, is shockingly profound. While my 'baby' was merely a clump of cells, to me it was a child, my child. An image of me and my husband. A beautiful life in waiting.

Floods of tears have engulfed me (and hubby if he were standing too close at the time) on countless occasions in recent weeks and one of the most over-riding feelings of all has been one of pure stupidity. How could I have got so excited at such an early stage and spilled the beans to our nearest and dearest only to have to retract that news again so soon? I felt I had ruined everyone's Christmas. Disappointed everyone and let them down. What was to be the most special gift we could give to our families on Christmas morning had instead turned out to be a bitter blow to all concerned.

Christmas came and went and a lovely time was had by all. The subject of our pregnancy was skated around with diplomacy (a fact for which I was eternally grateful) and quality time was spent with our families. I immersed myself in the affection and comfort of those I love the most and the world span on.

While I'm coping absolutely fine, side by side with my husband, and moving on with things in my life (writing has been a huge boon and a pastime that has helped me through a lot of sticky moments in the past) I have to admit that I do still stop dead in my tracks on occasion. Something will catch my eye or sneak its sneaky little way into my subconscious and poke, teasingly at those emotions I mentioned early. I know that time is a healer *puts down the cliché and backs away slowly* and I have faith in my own powers of 'bounce back' but I know I'll never forget potential bump number one as we move on and try again.

To those ladies who have been through similar and probably much worse experiences than mine: I doff my imaginary hat to you and hope you have drawn the (very difficult to find but no doubt existent) positives from a horrible situation. Personally I am proud to have called myself a pregnant lady (albeit in the confines of my own four walls!) for just a few days.

This time obviously wasn't meant to be (the human body is a remarkable thing) but I will be a mummy... Oh yes!

Potential Mummy B

Giveth with one hand... taketh away with the other

2010-01-28T09:00:00.004Z

When you know you want to, why hang around right? After all, we had no way of knowing how long it would take us to fall pregnant. I know a number of couples who have had to have help of one kind or another to conceive. I also know others who still need that help and have yet to see any results. For them the dream of a natural family seems to be fading with every passing cycle; heartbreaking.

So why wait? Especially, as my husband keeps offering, 'at my age'. He is just a little younger than I and takes great pleasure in reminding me of the fact at every available juncture. Oh how I laugh...

Here's the exciting bit.

When we fell pregnant within the first six weeks of trying our emotions were almost too enormous to contain. I refrain from referring to those emotions purely as positive ones because, undoubtedly, mixed in amongst the undeniable excitement and joy was a rather striking crimson shade of terror. While my husband's reaction was mostly restricted to the joyful side of the spectrum, mine swung like an over enthusiastic bungy jumper swinging over a river valley from overwhelming happiness to white hot terror and back again within minutes.

But pregnant I undoutedly was! And off to the doctors we trotted at a rate of knots to make sure we hadn't got it wrong. I don't know what I was expecting the doctor to do for us but I guess I'd expected him to double check our self-diagnosis. No need apparently. The pregnancy tests one buys over the counter are every bit as accurate as those available to NHS staff so he merely congratulated us and calculated our due date. I was officially five weeks pregnant.

Off we skipped, reminiscent of a pair of 11 year olds racing off to the sweet shop, to tell both sets of parents our happy news. We couldn't contain our delight and our beaming faces gave us away as soon as we stepped through the door. But both sets of parents stood by their duties to wait to be told the news before bursting with excitement and squeals.

Our world was a happy place.

All this happened on 21 December 2009.

Over the next few days I tried to come to terms with the fact that I had a life beginning to grow inside of me. At that time is was a mere cluster of cells but it was my cluster of cells and I loved it for the potential baby it was to become. Hubby and I raced out to the nearest book store to buy some guide books on pregnancy and parenthood. We even stopped by Mothercare for a pregnancy journal which I began to fill in as soon as I got home.

I learned straight off that doubts and worries are commonplace, especially in a first pregnancy which, while doing nothing to alleviate those doubts and worries, made me more comfortable in experiencing them: a strange kind of equilibrium.

I started a journal to record my thoughts, feelings, doubts, anxieties. I began to spot a little the day after we did the test but a second test confirmed our initial hopes so all was well with the world.

I woke on Christmas Eve 2009 with joy in my heart, a developing foetus in my womb and a lifetime of plans doing the rounds in my brain. 'This is the last Christmas we'll have as a childless couple', 'next year I'll be buying 'baby's first Christmas' gifts', 'this has to be the best Christmas present ever'... However, as the day progressed the spotting I'd experienced the day before became more insistent and I developed a nagging, incessant ache in the pit of my stomach. Deep in my heart I knew something was wrong but, like the ostrich, I buried my head, hoping it would pass on by, hastened by the spirit of the season, and leave us good folk to enjoy our pregnant Christmas.

By late afternoon however, I could no longer ignore the pain. I called NHS direct and was told by an out of hours doctor to get myself to the hospital as soon as possible. Before we left, my husband and I agreed, without words, to prepare ourselves for the worst. With a heavy heart and the best game-face I could muster we headed out in the snow and ice.

Four and a half hours later we arrived home again, exhausted, drained of energy, emotion and a little blood. But most of all, we arrived back home without our pregnancy.

It was confirmed. We had suffered an early miscarriage.

Apparently almost one in four pregnancies end that way in the early stages; a fact that did nothing to ease the sense of loss I already felt after only three days of knowing I was with child.

My heart broke just a little that day.

Babies to the left of me, pregnancies to the right...

2010-01-27T14:44:00.004Z

Isn't it funny that when you start focusing on a particular something, you start to notice that that 'something' crops up all over the place? Like for instance when a friend buys a new car that you haven't seen around before. All of a sudden you notice them all over the place. I have experienced something similar with babies.

Not, you understand, that I haven't really noticed babies and children before; I would surely have to walk around with my eyes closed in order to miss them (or trip over them, one of the two!). It's just that babies seem to be the topic of choice wherever I go; toddlers dart out in front of me in the supermarket, as if trying to draw my attention away from baked bean shopping; babies gleam their adorable gurgly little smiles at me as I fill the car with diesel; I've received the news that many of my friends have become pregnant in recent months or have recently had children; those of my friends and acquaintances who don't have children seem to make reference to them with ever increasing frequency; every time I turn the television on there is a baby or baby-related issue being talked about somewhere; and since my fairly recent marriage, babies seem to be the staple diet in terms of conversation whenever I meet family friends in the street. They are, in short, everywhere! Maybe it's just an age thing. Not only has my baby radar become more sensitive as I approach that stage in life, but that of my friends has also gone into overdrive, propelling those with the means (and some without) to beat me down the terrifying yet compulsive road that is children.

Just recently, since I've been trying to get pregnant (obviously with the help of my willing husband), friends have quite literally beaten me to the punch. Not that I begrudge them their excitement - no, not at all. It's just that I want to be able to discuss my exciting journey too but have made a pledge with my husband (as well as with myself) that we'll reach at least the 12 week mark of pregnancy before we start clambering up to the rooftops to make our announcement to the world.

Anyway, from me, an anonymous congratulations to all you pregnant ladies out there. I hope to join you in the ever glowing, ever growing stakes very soon!

Potential Mummy B

To prepare or not to prepare?

2010-01-27T09:30:00.001Z

I didn't take much advice when my husband and I decided to try for a baby. Looking back I probably should have done.

I went to the doctors to get my contraceptive of choice removed and mentioned that we wanted to start trying for a baby in the coming months. Much to my husband's consternation the doctor told us we should not be 'joining' every day as this would deplete our sperm count. Instead we should be aiming for once every three days or so to give the little 'fellas' a chance to regroup!

After what was rather a brief chat about pregnancy and being bundled out of the door with a scrappy pile of print-offs relating to pregnancy and alcohol and pregnancy and diet, we left the doctor's surgery and headed for home to cogitate.

Following on from that we decided to float about on the internet for a while to see what we could stumble across. Unfortunately my rather disorganised approach to pregnancy research resulted in a big, fat blank as far as information was concerned. I'm sure there's oodles of site out there with information for prospective mums and dads to wade around in, immersing themselves in the whole experience of trying for a baby; I was damned if I could find it!

So what about blagging it? Probably not a wise move but how many women fall pregnant by accident and just find their way through without harm to them or the baby? Besides, I have the wisdom of my Mum, my mother in law, my sisters in law who have both fairly recently had children of their own. Plus I have my fabulous husband to run around for me if I so wish! What more could a woman need... a support network within five minutes of her own front door.

I am blessed.

And so, when it comes to planning, researching and preparing, I'm sure there is a lot to be said, if that's the way you want to do it. Me? I'm more of a 'fly by the seat of my pants' kind of girl. While never putting me or my unconceived child at risk, I have taken the decision to roll with the punches, as it were. I'm relatively fit and healthy. I've had a blood test recently, which came back with a clean bill of health. What more can I do?

Perhaps a quick trip to the local bookshop for some pregnancy help books might be in order, just in case...

My baby adventure begins - the big decision

2010-01-26T09:00:00.002Z

I want a baby.

No, hang on, let's not be too hasty. Do I want a baby? Yes. No, wait...

Argh!

Is this such a big decision for everyone? I mean, deep down I've always known (since I was knee high to that proverbial grasshopper) that eventually, some day when I was 'growed up', I would want a family of my own. My dream has always been to have two: a boy and a girl... in that order. My husband thinks he might want three but I'm yet to decide whether to let him have a say!

A few months ago, when my husband and I were making the decision to actually start trying for a baby the conversations were reasonably short. They went something like: "When do we start trying?" asked he. "November? December? January?" replied I. "How about now?" asked he. "OK then, why not?" replied I. Could it be much simpler?

Well surely I'm not the only prospective mummy-to-be to have secret, internal struggles with this decision, even after the decision has been made? No, I can't be. After all, it is just a slightly large step to take..?

Now, I'm a thirty-something (never ask a lady!), I'm married with a very loving and supportive husband and our own home. Since we first got together we've been in complete and zen-like harmony on the issue of children (that is aside from the aforementioned number of said offspring).

So there we have it. The decision was made (at least externally!) to start actually making some progress. But don't worry, I'm really not going to go into the... *thinks carefully how to phrase this... ups and downs (NO)... ins and outs (absolutely not)* trials and tribulations of actually making the baby - that's for some other kind of blog which, I'm almost completely certain, will already exist somewhere on this inter-hyper-global-mega interweb thingy!

Anyway, I digress. My husband and I are trying for a baby and, I'm sure I'm not alone in these feelings, I am on a constant pendulum swing between pure, unadulterated excitement at the idea of becoming a mum and absolute, white-hot, earth-shattering terror at the enormity of it all. And while my husband is incredibly supportive of all of my (sometimes terrifyingly random) changes of mood, he fails to comprehend the enormity of my slightly less than positive feelings.

I mean, I'm used to having a very busy and enjoyable life. A baby will change all that to an unbelievable level. I'm not sure my husband understands that. He isn't the one whose body will change beyond recognition, whose career will have to be put on hold (at least for a while), whose drinking habits will have to be repressed and locked away until a later date, at which point I'll have to start all my training again from scratch! He gets the 'fun' part then gets to sit back for nine months!

But then I think about having a perfect little being, a combination of me and my gorgeous man, to love and cherish and introduce to the world. To teach to read and write or ride a bike. A future generation of my fantastic family; a grandchild for my amazing parents and in laws. The pride is already starting to build, even as I type.

OK, so it's a massive decision and one that can't be taken lightly... and believe me it hasn't been. I'm still terrified at the prospect of actually putting my body through pregnancy. But millions and millions of women have done it before me so I'm sure I'll cope somehow! So the decision is made. My husband and I are definitely going to have a baby. And soon I hope!

Now, where did I put my folic acid?

An introduction

2010-01-25T14:45:00.003Z

Hi! I'm a first-time blogger so I'm a bit nervous but I'll press on regardless.

This is my blog. I hope to maintain an interesting, occasionally humourous and sometimes helpful record of my big adventure - having a baby.

I'm not actually pregnant yet but that doesn't deter me from pursuing this particular path. You see I'm a writer and I love to document things. I usually write under other people's names and for the purpose of other people's companies but now I'm turning the tables and writing from my own point of view, about my own experiences.

Without a doubt having a baby is going to be the most exciting yet terrifying adventure of my life so far and I've decided to keep a record of it. Even if no-one else reads this I'll always have my own personal story to recount to whoever wants to listen when the time comes.

While I'm not actually starting from scratch (all will become slightly clearer later) I'll be providing a chronological account of the twists and turns of decision making, potential pregnancy and early parenting right here on this blog.

So, from a complete blogging virgin, thank you for passing by and I hope you'll be back should this blog catch your eye, tweak your interest or just help you pass the time!

Yours with a hop, skip and a jump (while I still can!),

Potential Mummy B

BLOG ROLL!

2010-01-21T20:01:00.013Z

This is a lovely list of lovely blogs that I like to keep up with and read as often as I can... I suggest you take a look - they really are smashing!

Enjoy!