Apologies For My Absence

So, I've been out of action for some time now! Sorry. I'm now 16 weeks pregnant, and I hate to admit that I'm not having the best time. I've felt generally rubbish throughout, and have struggled to find the time to write at all. But I'd like to give you all an update on my pregnancy so far. 

I seem to be suffering far more, and much earlier on than I ever did with the other 3. In fact, for a long while Mr P and I were convinced I'd got more than one baby in there! Everything just seemed amplified, from my constant nausea to my huge bump. We were certain that the scan would either reveal a multiple pregnancy, or that I was in fact much further along than we thought. 

The scan date arrived, and I have to say, I deflated slightly when the sonographer found just the one baby. This feeling soon lifted when I saw the little flicker of baby's heartbeat on the screen. How could I possibly be disappointed with the little miracle growing inside me? And in the grand scheme of things, twins would be more than a handful on top of the 3 I've already got! 

I can't say I'm looking forward to the weeks ahead. At 16 weeks I'm already struggling with the headache from hell, my legs are riddled with painful varicose veins, the phlebitis in my left ankle is a burning mess, and my hips are starting to ache at night. All symptoms I've experienced in previous pregnancies, but never this early on. And I'm sure there's more to come with the odd bout of heartburn, a bit more nausea, baby jabbing me in the ribs. 

But would I change a thing? Absolutely not! I may not particularly enjoy the whole pregnancy process, but just look at the end result! All the aches and pains and moans and gripes are totally worth it in the end. 

A Weekend of Pampering

Last weekend marked the occasion of my big sister's hen weekend. It was an intimate family gathering, and we all had a wonderful time.

 As the chief bridesmaid, or maid of honour as she prefers to call me (I think that makes me sound old!), it was my job to organise it. My sister is fairly quiet, so the usual wild hen night would've been highly inappropriate. I was under strict instructions not to go too crazy. So we settled on a spa weekend. It was just myself, my two sisters, our mum and her two sisters. It was really great to just have some downtime together. 

The hotel was stunning. Very spacious rooms and lovely modern facilities. The spa itself was very basic, just a small pool, a Jacuzzi, a steam room and a sauna, but it was ample for a weekend. And with the treatments included in our package, we had plenty to be doing. We had a scrumptious three course dinner on Saturday evening, followed by a few drinks and lots of laughs back at our room. 

After not nearly enough sleep, we woke to a delicious full English breakfast. I think I ate my own body weight in sausages! Then my sister and two aunts tried their hardest to convince me to join them in the gym. We all know that was never going to happen! I don't even own a gym kit, so I certainly hadn't packed one in my case! Anyway, the Jacuzzi was far too inviting to waste time in the gym. My little sister and I spent the whole morning bubbling away. Mum chose to spend her morning dozing in the relaxation room, with an endless supply of tea. 

At lunch time we dined in our spa robes. That was an odd experience, mingled in the dining room with none spa guests all fully dressed, whilst we wore just our swimwear covered by a dressing gown! Of course we weren't the only underdressed people in the room, and I suppose when you stay in a spa hotel you expect to see it, but that didn't make it feel any more normal. After a slow and relaxed afternoon we finally got dressed and went home.

 We had such a wonderful time that we've decided to make it an annual event. Not the hen party of course, there's only so many weddings six women can muster up. But the weekend away together was heavenly. I could definitely get used to being pampered. 

My Not So Secret Secret

So, last week I found out I'm pregnant. Unexpected but thrilled to be adding to our brood. We told all the important people; parents, siblings and close friends, and decided that would be it until the first scan. 

Well, I'm clearly rubbish at keeping secrets! It just keeps falling out of my mouth. I'll be having a conversation with another mum on the school yard and blurt out that I'm having a baby. So many people know that I've now forgotten who I've told and who I haven't. I swear I need my mouth taping shut (which could also help me to stop filling my face with food! I just cannot stop eating!!)

Someone asked me the other day what I'll do with myself when my youngest starts nursery in September and instead of just coming up with a general 'oh, I'm sure I'll find something to occupy me' I said 'that won't be a problem come January once the new baby's born'. I'm so excited about it, I just can't help myself! 

Then there's my old work friend. She has a nearly 1 year old and is about 10 weeks pregnant with her second. When she told me about it I'd said that we were planning on trying next year. She told me to pull my finger out because she wanted a bump buddy. So of course I had to tell her that she'd got her own way! 

I'd arranged to have gossip over a bottle of wine with one of the school mums and when she text me to ask when we were doing it I told her she might have to wait 9 months or so. Technically, I didn't tell her, she guessed! But still, another one to add to the tally! 

Mr P on the other hand has been excellent at keeping the secret. He puts me to shame! I wish I knew how he did it. I just have zero control over my mouth. I even told the lady who runs the cafe I regularly drink at. I can't even explain that one. We weren't even having a conversation that could have led to me revealing my pregnancy. I think my husband needs to give me lessons on keeping quiet! 

Birthday Musings

It's my birthday today. 27 years young! I honestly don't know where the years are going. My little sister takes her first GCSE exam today, and it seems like only yesterday that it was myself in her position. I struggle to comprehend where the last 11 years have gone.

I remember wishing my school days away, as most people probably do. Wishing I was old enough to 'do what I want'. And I remember my school days dragging by so slowly! But since I left school, someone seems to have hit the fast forward button and I wish I knew how to slow it back down. I'm fast approaching 30 and the thought terrifies me. I can't explain why it fills me with such dread, but being in my twenties sounds so much younger being in my thirties.

Then I look at everything I've got in life. I'm just 27 years old and already I've met the man of my dreams, married him and had 3 (soon to be 4) children with him. We own a beautiful home in a lovely neighbourhood. How many people my age are able to say they have all this? I'm incredibly lucky that I'm able to be a stay at home mum. I love being the one who takes the children to school, and the one who collects them again at the end of the day. Or if one of them gets sick and needs collecting early, I'm there. I wouldn't want it any other way.

So, back to the point. It's my birthday! I love my birthday (aside from the fact that it makes me another year older!) I've had some lovely gifts, a camera, a bracelet, a purse and some smellies. Mr P and I went out for a celebratory meal on Saturday, which was wonderful. And my children are behaving for once! This in itself is a very rare occasion. This evening I'm going to treat myself to a lovely bubble bath, rock and roll I know, but my usual glass or 2 of wine is perhaps not the best idea in my condition, so a bubble bath it is.

Well, there you go... Happy birthday me! I'll be back again soon.

I'm Pregnant!!!

Well here's a blog I wasn't planning on writing for at least another year! If you've read my introductory blog you'll know that Mr P and I have 5 children between us. We found out yesterday that I'm expecting number 6! 

Our youngest is coming up for 3 in June, and we'd decided that we wanted another baby, but not until he was in full time school. So September 2014. That meant we would start trying to conceive in January next year. Well, since making that decision, we've perhaps not been as careful as we had been previously. Ok, there's no perhaps about it. That pink line on the home pregnancy test shows we definitely haven't been very careful. We're both a little bit shocked if I'm honest, but thrilled all the same. 

I don't know why I'm so shocked. We've never really had to try to fall pregnant. My first baby was conceived the month after finishing on the depo provera injection. I'd come off it so that it was out of my system by the time we got married 3 months later and we'd be ready to start trying for a baby straight away. Apparently I didn't need that long for my body to find its rhythm again! Then my daughter was conceived when my son was just 6 months old, again without really thinking about it. Then I was pregnant with my other son by the time my daughter was 6 months old. That whole 'breastfeeding acts as a natural method of contraception' is a myth! So the fact that I have fallen pregnant again without really trying shouldn't come as such a surprise.

I sat here yesterday, a day after my period was due, with a gut feeling that I was expecting. But I didn't want to allow myself to think it in case I was setting myself up for disappointment. The only thing I had to go on was my absent period. And then I noticed the distinct blue-black bulging veins in my ankle. I'd first had them when I was pregnant with my daughter, and then again with my son. That's how I knew I was expecting him. I'd not had any periods since my daughter was born, and when I saw my ankle was bad again I just knew that was the reason. The same happened yesterday. The penny dropped, so to speak. 

I told Mr P and he insisted I took a test. I wanted to leave it a few days in case my body was throwing a wobbly. I hate the disappointment of seeing a negative pregnancy test, and although deep down I knew it wouldn't be negative, I didn't want to risk it. He won in the end though. He convinced me to test. I did what I had to do then handed him the test and he closed the bathroom door on me. When it flung open again not 30 seconds later I just knew it was positive. I didn't even need to see the emotional grin on his face to work that out! 

We are both over the moon. Ok, so it's earlier than we had planned. I didn't want to be doing 3 school runs a day with a new born in tow, but it's not the end of the world. I'm a firm believer of what will be will be. Obviously it's very early days, so it wont be public knowledge for some time, but seeing as very few of you know my true identity I thought this was a nice way to document it. 

House to Home - Finally

Just a short entry today. Things have been a bit busy here recently. 

This time last year, Mr P and I decided it was time to move house. We lived in a three bed Victorian terraced house and our family had rapidly outgrown it. We had four children, all sharing one bedroom, and our fifth in the box room. We needed somewhere bigger! So we bought this place, our forever home. 

We'd been saving for a long time and we spent every penny we had in order to move. The house we bought was a new build, so we had a lovely blank canvas to work with. Unfortunately we didn't have the funds to do anything with it! So for the past ten months we've been surrounded by magnolia. And nice and fresh as it was to start with, it soon started to look grubby. Cream walls plus three little people are not the best combination! 

We've gradually found our feet again since we moved in and have recently started to decorate. I cannot tell you how good it feels to finally be adding some colour to the place! We're attacking it bit by bit, one room at a time. At the moment we're half way through the lounge/dining room. We have tried our hand at wallpapering for the first time ever and we've done a pretty good job if I do say so myself. Ok, so I mainly stood and watched while my husband did all the work, but I did a great job of making tea! 

I can't wait to go shopping now for all the little bits and bobs. Lamps, pictures, the finishing touches. After being our new house for nearly a year, it's finally starting to feel more like our home. Hopefully by the end of the year, every room in the house will have a little bit of our personality stamped on it. My daughter has already requested a rainbow in her room. I'm looking forward to seeing that one become reality.

So this is why I've been a bit quiet lately. I've barely found time to sit and have a coffee, never mind think about writing! Hopefully you won't be waiting too long for my next entry.

A Difficult Beginning (part three)

Here's part 3, hopefully the final installment of the story. Sorry, it's turned out longer than I first anticipated! 

My baby girl was fighting for her life on the intensive care unit of a strange hospital, and I was struggling with being so far away from my loved ones at a time when I needed them most. This neonatal unit had a fairly different approach to the one at our own hospital. They encouraged the parents to be as actively involved as possible, showing us how to correctly tube feed her, change her nappy, wash her eyes and lips. I liked the responsibility of caring for my own daughter. 

However, the maternity ward was also very different to the one back home. They had strict rules and practices. I missed medication time once as I'd been upstairs with my daughter at the time, and when I got back down to the ward I realised just how much pain I was in (something I'd been neglecting over the last few days). One particularly harsh midwife told me that she was not unlocking her drugs trolley for one patient who can't abide by the rules. Well, 5 days post natal, I was already an emotional mess, so this was just the icing on the cake. I went back into my room and sobbed, until a more sympathetic midwife came in with some paracetamol for me. 

It turned out that the medicine my daughter was specifically transferred for wasn't needed in the end. They gradually weaned her off the ventilator. The most heartbreaking moment was when we were celebrating the fact that our daughter was breathing by herself, the parents and doctors of the very poorly little boy in the incubator next to us made the decision to withdraw care from him. I felt guilty for congratulating our baby on doing so well when just feet away, another family were grieving for their son. 

The time had come for me to be discharged. They'd already kept me in a day longer than I should have been so I could stay close to my daughter. But now they were sending me home. There were no parent rooms available on the neonatal ward, so I had to go home. The doctors assured me that my girl would be well enough to transfer back over the following day, so it would only be overnight that I was apart from her. I could handle that. Then the morning came and I got the call I'd been dreading, she'd taken a turn for the worse in the night but had begun to stabilise again. So instead of her coming back to our hospital, we made the drive back over to her. Leaving her again that evening was even harder, not knowing when she'd be fit to transfer back. 

The next day (only day six of her life, and she'd already been through so much) was the first day I couldn't be with her. Our double pushchair was due for delivery, and I needed some quality time with my son, who was only 15 months old himself. It had been a nearly a week since I'd seen him and I'd missed him so much. So I sent Mr P off by himself. I got a phone call from him just after lunch time, an update I assumed, and he told me they were back in our own hospital, just over the road from the house! I was elated, and mad that he'd not rang before now, but he didn't want to build my hopes up if the transfer wasn't going to happen again. Then I was with her in minutes! I was so relieved to have her nearby again. 

Things moved pretty quickly then. She was out of her incubator and in an open cot within a day of being back. She was very quick to establish feeding, considering she was 7 days old and had never latched on before. She just had to finish her course of antibiotics and I'd be allowed to take her home. We spent 2 nights finding our feet in one of the neonatal flats, where I was able to care for her totally by myself, with the exception of a nurse popping in 3 times a day to administer her medicine. It was bliss, just me and my girl. 

She was 11 days old when I finally got her home. All the pain and sadness that had tarnished the second half of my pregnancy just vanished. She was perfect. And she still is, just over 4 years later. 

A Difficult Beginning (part two)

Here's the second part of our journey through a problematic pregnancy and birth. At the end of my last blog, my daughter had just been born and we were back on the ward, about to start spreading the word of her safe arrival.

The clucking sound was worrying me. Like any mother with her new born baby, I just wanted to ensure she was ok. I'd had a cesarean section, so I was numb from the waist down. I was sat useless in bed while Mr P did all the to-ing and fro-ing between our little side room and the midwives' station. Then my baby girl started to turn a blue-grey colour. Something clearly wasn't right. 

A midwife came in with a portable machine to check her blood oxygen levels. To this day I do not know what that reading said, but the midwife very calmly told me that this machine was known to be inaccurate at times and that she would just nip down to neonatal with my baby to get her checked out by the paediatric team. All the nightmares of the last 16 weeks were becoming a reality. I'd not even had chance to cuddle her properly and they were taking her away from me. Mr P looked at me, lost. I tearfully told him to go with our baby. And then I lay there and sobbed. 

The midwives wouldn't let me go to her until I had recovered from the epidural. I had to rely on text updates from my husband. Snippets of information here and there. All the while I was willing my legs to come back to life. It was early evening by the time I was allowed to be wheeled up the corridor to her. My daughter was around 6 hours old, and I'd spent less than an hour with her. She was in an incubator with CPAP tubes in her nostrils, and a feeding tube down her throat. She had more tubes in her hands, and all I could do to look after her was express milk. All my other jobs as a new mummy had been taken from me. 

That first night back on the maternity ward was horrible. Although I was tucked away in my side room, I could hear all the other new borns crying and restless. All the new mummies doing their best to settle them back down. It was torture. I'd have given anything to have my baby girl crying in the cot next to me. The night passed by in a haze of crying, expressing, trying to sleep, more crying. And then the morning came. Apparently she'd had a good night. She'd remained stable with the CPAP. She continued to be tube fed tiny amounts of my milk, and I continued to pump. I'm pretty sure I could've fed the whole neonatal unit with the amount I was expressing. It was the only useful thing I was able to do, so I made sure I did it well! 

I spent the day being chaperoned backwards and forwards between the maternity and neonatal units, by either Mr P or a midwife. Then, after tea, I was finally allowed to go by myself. As I walked into the intensive care room, my daughter's incubator was surrounded by doctors, a nurse was pulling a screen around and she ushered me out to wait in the parents room. My husband arrived as I was heading back out the door. We sat together and waited for the doctor to come. 

It turned out that the moment I walked in, they had been inserting a ventilator, apparently quite distressing for the parents to witness. My little girl had taken a turn for the worse and was needing more help than before. The doctor told us that they were contemplating transferring her to another hospital, one with a better equipped neonatal unit. She'd had all the medication our hospital had to offer, and it wasn't working. I would be transferred as a patient to their maternity ward too. For the rest of the evening, there were talks between the two hospitals to decide what was best for her. The decision to transfer was made, and both my daughter and I waited for our ambulances. It was after midnight before we left.

The journey was agonising. I just wanted to know that my precious, fragile baby girl was safe. This was the first time we'd truly been apart, not just up the corridor of the hospital. The midwife travelling with me did her best to distract me. But for the whole 40 minutes, my mind just kept going over and over 'what if something happens?'. When I arrived, her tiny ambulance was no where to be seen. By the time they'd sorted all my transfer notes out, she'd arrived and was being moved from the transport incubator into her place on the intensive care ward up in neonatal. It was 3am, I'd not slept for nearly 48 hours, but I needed to see that she was ok. I made my way up three floors to her, gave her hand a little squeeze and nodded in the chair next to her incubator until the nurse looking after her persuaded me to go and get some proper sleep. 

I returned to the maternity ward to see a line of tiny new born babies in their little plastic cots queued up outside the midwives' office. I'd never understood women who gave birth and then left their babies in the care of the midwives while they got some sleep. It made me all the more upset that my daughter wasn't with me. I slept, on and off, through the pain of my healing stitches and thinking about my baby. I was far away from home, all alone, and all I wanted was a reassuring cuddle from my husband. I had to make do with a tear filled phone call first thing until he could drive over to be with us.

I think I'll leave it there for now. There are many ups and downs to come, and I don't want to tell half a story. So again, look out for part 3 in a few days time. 

A Difficult Beginning (part one)

I'd like to take the time to share the story of my second pregnancy, without a doubt the most difficult time in my whole life. 

My son was just 6 months old when we discovered I was expecting our second child. It was our first wedding anniversary and we were on holiday with my mum, dad and little sister. My parents had offered to stay at the lodge with the children (our baby, plus my two step daughters) so my husband and I could go out for a meal to celebrate. I'd been feeling off it for a couple of days and, although my period wasn't due for another day or so, I decided to take a pregnancy test before I went out and enjoyed a few glasses of wine. Good job I did! I remember it well. We drove to the local supermarket under the pretence of getting supplies for the lodge and I did the test there and then, in the toilets of the supermarket. We were overjoyed to be having another baby, even if it was a little sooner than we had planned. 

The first 12 weeks went by as you'd expect. A bit of sickness, plenty of tiredness, but nothing out of the ordinary. Then at the dating scan, the sonographer seemed to be taking ages. Then she asked me if I'd had a positive pregnancy test. Tears instantly rolled down my cheeks while she went off to fine someone more senior. Had I just imagined all my symptoms? Where was my baby? Luckily the person she brought in to double check found it. My tiny little bean, heartbeat flickering away on the screen. Relief! 

Fast forward to the 20 week scan. November 11th 2008, the day my world fell apart. The sonographer taking the baby's measurements asked if my waters had gone at all. Of course, they hadn't. I'm pretty sure I'd have noticed if they had. She disappeared to find the consultant on duty. They returned a short while later and the consultant repeated everything the sonographer had done. The baby, our daughter as we'd found out by this point, looked fine, growing well, heartbeat strong. But she had very little amniotic fluid surrounding her. 

My husband and I were a bit lost by this point. What did it all mean? We were asked to wait until the consultant had finished her clinic and she would sit with us and go through everything with us. I made a quick phone call to the nursery where my son was and we sat and waited. And waited. It seemed to take forever. In fact it was only about half an hour, but it was the longest half hour ever! 

When the consultant called us in, she explained that we had a condition called oligohydramnios. Not enough fluid surrounding the baby. Apparently this can be caused by a number of things. One cause is a problem with the baby's kidneys, which all looked fine on the scan, so the consultant was confident this was not our problem. She mentioned a couple of other things, but what she suspected the most was that my waters had ruptured (I was sure they hadn't). 

The prognosis wasn't great. Figures like 80-90% fetal mortality in cases diagnosed early were being thrown at us. As there was no way to determine when my waters had gone, or indeed if there were any there to begin with, there was no way of knowing how developed my baby's lungs would be. The amniotic fluid is vital for the development of the lungs up to 22 weeks gestation. We were told that while she was still in utero, all would be fine. She would appear strong and healthy. The problems would arise after her birth. If her lungs were not fully developed, she'd have a slim chance of survival once she had to breathe for herself. We were told that 'many couples would choose to terminate at this stage'. I didn't understand. My baby had a chance of being born fine, not the best chance, but a chance all the same. Why would I even consider that option! There was no questioning it, my pregnancy would continue. 

We left the hospital at 6.30pm, from our 3.00pm appointment. We were emotionally drained. And we faced a very long 20 weeks ahead of us. 20 weeks of being scanned and poked and prodded by various different specialists. At 28 weeks I had a leak. I lost fluid, what little I had of it. From this point on I had to have twice weekly blood tests to check for infections plus a weekly speculum examination. My arms were battered and bruised. It became second nature to have a midwife looking up my lady bits! All this, as well as my fortnightly scan. It's a good job we lived opposite the hospital! 

Then at nearly 37 weeks we had our latest scan with our consultant and she decided that the baby was ready to be born. She was breech, and with all the other complications, they wouldn't try and turn her. Nor would they let me attempt a natural delivery. My worst fear. A cesarean section. She booked us in for the following day. That night was tough. For the last 16 weeks, I had been dreading the day my daughter had to be born. While she was inside me, I was taking care of her, she had all she needed. Giving birth could mean losing her. But I couldn't keep her inside me forever. 

The cesarean went well. My baby girl was born at 36+6 weeks, only one day before she would be classed as full term. The paediatric doctors were on standby, although it seemed they wouldn't be needed. In the recovery room, Mr P sat by me, holding our baby girl. All seemed well, apart from the little clucking noise she was making, apparently common in cesarean born babies. Within half an hour we were back on the maternity ward, baby girl included. But it wasn't over yet... 

Keep your eyes peeled for part two...

Being Married to a Bodybuilder

Yes, that's right. I'm the wife of a bodybuilder. An amateur bodybuilder, but a bodybuilder none the less. I want to give you all a bit of an insight into what that involves.

Firstly, a little info on the man himself. He hit the big 40 last year and up until 4 years ago was a self confessed fatty. He is a father of five, two daughters from his first marriage plus my three. When our daughter was born in 2009 he decided he'd had enough of being a fatty and joined the gym (well rejoined, he'd done the whole gym thing before but was set back due to a shoulder injury). He's a very goal orientated person and with a lot of hard work reached his get in shape target. By the time our youngest son was born 15 months later, he was unrecognisable. Having reached his initial goal, he set himself a new target, to get on stage in a bodybuilding competition. Again, he worked hard, and he did his first competition just after our son's first birthday. By then he'd got the bug, so to speak. His lifestyle had changed and he had no intention of changing back.

So what does the lifestyle entail? Anyone I mention it to automatically assumes that he spends hours on end in the gym, thus effecting our family life. The truth is, he's in the gym before the rest of us are even out of bed in a morning. He goes four mornings a week, having weekends and Wednesday's off (at the moment, sometimes this changes to five mornings depending on his training schedule). What I'm trying to point out is that his gym commitments have no negative effect on our family whatsoever. In fact, I'd go as far as saying that on his Wednesday mornings spent in the house, he actually gets in my way! He messes up my school morning routine just by being here. I can guarantee that we are running late every Wednesday. I can forgive him for that though, he does bring me a cup of tea in bed.

Then there's his cardio sessions. When he's 'off season' this is just a fast paced walk with the dog before he goes to the gym in the morning. So bonus, the dog gets his walk and the husband gets his exercise way before any other sign of life in the house. When he's in prep for a competition, he uses his spin bike in the garage. He does a session in the morning, again before he goes to the gym, and a shorter session in the evening, after the children are in bed usually when I'm watching the soaps. The only negative effect this has on me is when I come to do the washing and I have his three outfits per day to get through! 

Now for the food. He only eats 'clean' food. So nothing processed, lots of lean meat, mountains of veg. He eats six times a day, and all the food he needs for work, I make for him the day before. Obviously, this is a fair amount more work than making a sandwich for his pack up each day, but it really doesn't take that much effort to steam a bit of veg and cook a couple of chicken breasts. I am at home all day anyway, so I just cook it whilst I'm busy doing other housework. I could make him do it himself, but I'd rather have the time with him in the evening, so it makes sense for me to do it. He allows himself one cheat meal per week, usually saved for a Saturday evening when we sit down as a family and enjoy a take away. In the week I generally eat my evening meal with the children. I much prefer the likes of spag bol, stew and dumplings or bangers and mash to the chicken and veg my husband eats. In the grand scheme of things, how important is it to eat the same foods at the same time? Even if I did wait until he got home to eat with him, there's no way my children would eat their tea as late as 6pm. I do sometimes wish we could just grab a burger when we're out and about instead of having to take a lunchbox everywhere we go, but that's just something I've learnt to live with. I make a joke of having to time our family outings around his mealtimes rather than the children's.

Now we come to the result of all this hard work and dedication. The way he looks. He now has a body most 20 year old lads would kill for. There's no denying he looks good! When he first started out on his journey, I have to admit I was worried that I might not like his new image. I'd never been into the muscular look, and I loved my cuddly hubby. But I clearly had nothing to worry about! He looks amazing, most of my friends will agree. Actually, I bet most people in general would agree! 

So there you have it, life with a bodybuilder. Still waiting to 'catch the bug' myself! Nearly 27 and never set foot in a gym, unless you count hoovering around the equipment when I cleaned at the local leisure centre! 

Going It Alone

As of Monday, I will officially be home educating my son. And I am officially dreading it! Here's the back story.

My eldest was due to start full time school in September. After moving to a new area at the end of June, we applied for a place at the local school. It turned out there were no places, but they offered us a place at a school in the next village, over two and a half miles away. Which would've been great, had I been able to drive! As it happens, I can't drive. I walk everywhere, and there was no way I was making my 4, 3 and 2 year olds walk that far each day! I worked out that my youngest and I would be walking 15 miles a day with the lunch time pick up for my daughter. 

So, the local school, where I'd already got my daughter into the nursery, took my son on in the nursery temporarily. He was able to do half days there until he legally had to be in full time education (the term after his fifth birthday), which is now. They made provisions for him, setting aside time to do age appropriate work with him, starting the reading books with him, so he wasn't falling behind too much. Then a few weeks ago, I got a call to say he was being offered a place to start in year one in September (the school is expanding, allowing for extra places). Suddenly having to have him at home after Easter didn't seem so bad.

That was then. Now here I am, faced with a whole term of having to play teacher as well as mum and I'm terrified! Where do I start? He's not the easiest child at the best of times, never mind when I'm trying to get him to sit and do something productive! 'It's only for a term' has become my mantra. I'm sure I'll cope. I'm just worried that my inability to teach will have him falling even further behind his peers. His nursery teacher assured me that he will catch up quickly when he goes back in September, he is a very bright child. And she has offered her support for the term, with the loan of reading books, printing worksheets etc. The school have been very supportive, and I'm sure with their help, I'll be absolutely fine.

Then there's my motherly instinct kicking in. Come September, he'll be going straight into year one, having never done a full day at school before. All the children starting reception year (my daughter included) will have done taster days before the summer holidays. They will at least have some idea of what it will be like. But my boy won't get any of that. He'll be going from two years at nursery, plus a term at home, straight into the more formal structure of year one. It worries me immensely that he won't be prepared. Is year one drastically different from reception? Or am I just being silly and over protective? And the school day; play times, lunch time, assembly. The other year ones will have had a whole year of practise. Will my baby just be expected to know where to go at lunchtime like the rest of them? 

I know, I'm over thinking things. He'll be fine. The teachers will know his background. I'm sure they'll guide him until he's ready. But in the meantime, if anyone has any home schooling tips, I'm more than happy to hear them! 

Friendship

What makes a friendship? How do you know when someone is a good friend? This is a bit of a waffle about my experiences with friends.

I'm a girl with very few friends. I have two girls I consider to be my best friends, both I've known for nearly 20 years now. I can tell them anything and know that they won't gossip. We can go weeks without seeing each other, but it never alters our friendship. In fact, one of them moved 200 miles away when we were 14 and we remained best friends, having weekly phone calls and taking turns to stay at each other's house in the school holidays. She moved back home 5 years ago and it's great to have her back nearby.

Whilst it's fantastic that I have a few good friends I can rely on, none of them really know each other, so I don't have that group of girl friends that a lot of people seem to have. I see old acquaintances from school post pictures on Facebook of their girly weekends away, nights out,nights in etc, and wonder if I'm missing out? Should I have made more of an effort to stay in touch with my old crowd of friends?

You see, I did have lots of friends. Or people I considered friends at the time. We went on holidays together, every weekend was spent at one of their houses. But when I met my now husband, things changed. I still had occasional nights out with them, probably once a month rather than every Thursday, Friday and Saturday! I tried inviting them over for dinner, or out for dinner, but none of them were interested unless it was a going out and getting plastered invitation. After all, they were still young, free and single. I had met a man twice my age with children and suddenly my weekends were spent doing family stuff. Day trips to the zoo instead of wild nights out. I became the boring friend. We still had regular contact though, text messages and phone calls. Just increasingly infrequent meetings. It all came to a head when I was planning my wedding 6 years ago. I sent out my invites and not one of them sent a reply. When I chased them up, I got a well rehearsed response, the same one from all of them. 'We get back from our holiday 2 days before, so I won't have enough money to come to your wedding'. This was the straw that broke the camel's back. I haven't seen any of them since!

3 of them have since settled down and started families of their own. I find it quite ironic how all of a sudden I'm useful to them again. I used to get frequent messages asking for advice, parenting tips. Am I being too harsh in telling them where to go? I don't see why I should forgive and forget when they marred what was one of the happiest times of my life! Yes, I am bitter, I thought they were my friends, but clearly only on their terms. As far as I'm concerned, I don't need selfish people like that in my life.

Then I've got my virtual friends. When I fell pregnant with my eldest, I joined an online parenting forum. I 'met' a group of women with one thing in common. We were all due a baby around the same time. In the past 6 years, I've formed firm friendships with a few of them. I consider them very close friends, and a few of them, I've gone on to meet in person. Initially at big meet ups arranged by the group as a whole, but those I got on well with have become close friends of mine. We have little meet ups together and have had a couple of good nights out. It makes me a bit sad that there is so much distance between us, the downside to making friends online. It would be nice to have more frequent get togethers, but at the same time it's great to make a few days of it and have them to stay at my house.

Anyway, that's enough rambling from me! Sorry it was a bit of a nothing post, thank you if you got this far!

First Sleepover

Today marks an important milestone in my daughter's childhood. She is off for her very first sleepover with a friend tonight. She has had nights away at Granny's before, but this will be the first time she has no family with her.

The mum of the little girl she's staying with is my best friend, and has been since childhood. So I've no worries whatsoever about her being cared for. But the girls are still very young. My daughter is 4 and my friend's little girl is just 3 and a half. But they have been on at us for months about having a sleepover, so we figured we'd give it a go.

We decided it would probably be more successful at their house rather than mine. My daughter is far more independent than my friend's, possibly down to the fact that she's 7 months older. We've arranged for a 4pm collection, so there's minimal time to miss mummy before bed. I just hope they're prepared for the 5am wake up call! Then again, who knows, maybe without her brothers and with the influence of her friend, my daughter won't get up so early? 

As a child, my mum very rarely let me go for sleepovers. I used to think she was just being mean, and I gave her a really hard time about it! But now, as a mother myself, I realise she was just being cautious about who she left her baby with. And looking back, I can see now that those she did let me go to were the ones whose parents she knew personally. I hate to use the cliché, but I think I am turning into my mother! 

So tonight, although I know my girl will be safe and looked after, there will still be that little void at bedtime. I will miss our storytime cuddle, and tucking her in again when I go up to bed. But I know she'll have a blast. They've got it all planned out, where they will sleep, what games they will play, which teddies they will cuddle. And, on another level, it's quite exciting for my friend and I that having grown up so close together, our daughters are now developing a similar friendship. 

Fingers crossed for a successful first sleepover. 

Separation Anxiety

Hey everyone, sorry it's been so long since my last entry. We've had a lot going on. My daughter turned 4 last week, so we had a busy time preparing for that. 

And then there is the subject of this blog. I enrolled my youngest son at a local preschool and he started last Monday. For a while now I've been saying that I need to get him used to me leaving him ready for starting at the school nursery in September, but I kept putting it off. So a fortnight ago I took the first step. I called the local preschool expecting a waiting list. No such luck, there was a space available from the following Monday! I wasn't sure I (erm, I mean he) was ready, but hey ho, at least I didn't have time to dwell on it.

Monday came and he was so excited to be starting 'big boy school'. I dropped him off, in he went all smiles and waves, while I struggled to hold myself together. I gave him a kiss and walked out, then promptly burst into tears as soon as the teacher shut the door! It was the longest 2 hours of my life! And I had to do this 3 mornings a week. 

Tuesday was a bit harder. The little man had worked out that mummy was leaving him for a bit and he clung to me like glue. And it has only got worse since. Yesterday he started crying as soon as we were walking up the drive to the preschool. And this morning he was screaming before we'd even dropped the big 2 off at school! He's fine once I've gone, and is perfectly happy when I collect him. But that initial reaction is horrible to witness.

It's absolutely heartbreaking. And I feel so so guilty that I'm leaving him there then just coming home by myself to have a coffee. I know it's for his own good, and he's got to get used to being apart from me at some point, but it doesn't make it any easier. And I'm finding it increasingly harder to fight back my own tears as he's clinging to my legs screaming at me not to go.

So, here's hoping he gets used to it sooner rather than later. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up! And I'll try and be back with another blog soon. 

The Right Way To Raise Children

What is the right way to raise a child? Who knows? Who has the right to tell you you're doing it wrong? 

Yesterday, I got quite upset by a friend's comment on my Facebook status. Maybe I over reacted? But the thought of being judged on my parenting skills deeply offends me. Basically, he implied that it was wrong of me to have 2 pyjama days in a row with my children. We had nowhere to go, the children don't object to playing in their pyjamas, I don't see the problem. But I was in tears at his comment. It got me thinking. Should I be taking them out and doing things on a daily basis? Or is it ok to have a few lazy days?

Another thing that always upsets me is 'he needs a haircut!' Erm, excuse me. He's my son, maybe it's up to me to decide he needs a haircut! My youngest is 2 and a half and he has chin length blonde hair. I think he looks cute. It in no way makes him look like a girl, as people tell me, he is quite clearly a boy. He will get a haircut if and when I decide it's necessary! 

Next on my list is people telling me I can't buy my eldest an Internet tablet because he's too young. Again, surely that's for me to decide? He was 5 in January and he really enjoys playing on my husbands iPad. We have decided that we would get him his own (nothing as expensive as an iPad, but a cheaper alternative) but he has got to earn it. We've found reward charts effective in the past where he'd need 5 stars to get a treat. Well since the treat is significantly more expensive than a kiddy magazine this time, we figured he'd need a few more stars, so his target is 50. A few people have said he's too young, but honestly, these days I think not allowing them to use the latest gadgets will only hold them back. The school they go to uses iPads in the classroom, so I think continuing the use at home can only be a good thing. 

Anyway, I won't waffle anymore, I'd be here forever if I gave you every example of people trying to tell me right way to raise my children. But really, my children are cared for, well fed, clean and happy. Who are these people to tell me I'm doing something wrong?

I'll be back soon with another entry. 

Dentist Drama

The other day was our six monthly family trip to the dentist. This is never a happy time! I'm a bit of  wimp. Anyone who knows the extent of the dental treatment I've endured in the past will wonder what the heck I'm scared of. I've had my mouth poked, prodded and pulled beyond recognition (quite literally), yet a simple check up fills me with dread! 

Well Monday was no different. I try my hardest to act like it doesn't bother me for the sake of the children. The last thing I want to do is instil a lifelong phobia of the dentist into them! But sometimes, I let it get the better of me. None of the children wanted to volunteer to go first so Daddy kindly nominated me! And, just as I had predicted, one of my fillings needed replacing. He asked if I wanted it doing there and then or if I would rather come back at a later date. As I was about to say 'I'll come back' Mr P got in there first with 'oh, just do it now to save her coming all the way back into town'. Thanks for that hubby! 

He then started to prepare the needle to numb it for me. There was no way I was letting him come at me with a needle while my children were in the room, so I hastily said 'don't numb it, it'll be fine!' So there I lay, having my tooth drilled with no anaesthetic at all. Give me childbirth over that any day!  I made the odd whiny noise and squirmed a bit, but all in all, I think I was quite brave. It was done in minutes and I don't think I've ever got up out of the dentist's chair so quickly. 

My daughter volunteered to be next and I'm ashamed to say, she handled it much better than I did! She has enamel problems on her back teeth and has already had to have 3 of her milk teeth filled (and she's only 3!) When he'd counted her teeth she just lay there and came out with 'have I got holes?' Sure enough, she needed 2 more fillings, and she just let him get on with it! Didn't move a muscle throughout. She clearly doesn't take after me! Then he tried to put the 'magic toothpaste' on her teeth. Her mouth clamped shut, and the gel ended up everywhere except on her teeth. Apparently it tastes nasty. 

Daddy and the boys were straightforward, no problems there and my 2 year old even asked for more of the magic toothpaste! Obviously he doesn't find it quite so nasty! 

Then we had to pay. Obviously the kids are free, but £17.50 for my husband to be told his teeth are fine and £48 for me to have a broken filling (that I'd payed for once) replaced! Bloody extortion. I could've had a decent night out for that money. All I can say is thank god I was maternity exempt when I had my root canal work done! 

So, tell me, am I the only person who makes a mountain out of a molehill when it comes to the dentist? And anyone else got a super brave little person who puts you to shame? 

London Baby!!! (part two)

So, where were we? Ah, that's right, in the pub!

Well, it was 2 hours until show time, so we'd decided to squeeze in a cheeky pint. The pub was rammed and all we really wanted to do was take the weight off our feet. I stood waiting at the bar, when I realised I'd been deserted. Then I heard one of the girls yell 'table' from the other side of the bar. And there we sat. I'm pretty sure that everyone else, who'd gone there for a quiet pub lunch, were tutting away at us under their breath as we got progressively louder after each pint! We weren't rude, just loud! But I don't think everyone appreciates loudness. 

3 pints later and we had 30 minutes to make our way to the theatre. Plenty of time! Yea, if we knew where we were going! On leaving the pub, we were faced with some street performers, the ones dressed as bronze statues. So, of course, we had to stop and pose for some pictures. Then we didn't have a clue which direction we needed to head in. So we hailed a cab (I felt quite important, I'd never done that before!) The lady driving told us that the theatre wasn't that far away and it was easy enough to walk. She kindly gave us directions and left us to it! I would put money on it that she just didn't want to take a bunch of giggly girls in her taxi! 

It turns out the theatre wasn't that far, if we'd followed her directions instead of finding our own 'shortcut'. But no, we knew better. The 2 of us who hadn't had a lunchtime pint were getting quite irate that the rest of us weren't going fast enough, and they were worried we were going to be late. We had a whole 5 minutes left, I don't know what all the stress was about! When we eventually found the theatre they were just getting ready to close the doors. I'm glad we made it. I always feel quite embarrassed for the stragglers who have to be guided to their seats by an usher with a torch! 

The show was fantastic. Not my favourite in terms of the story, but who doesn't enjoy singing along to Queen tracks? Especially when the guy in the lead role is fairly easy on the eye! We Will Rock You is definitely worth a watch if you appreciate the male form! 

After the show we had a table booked at a lovely little bistro that my friend and I regularly use when we go to London. The food was excellent, as always. Then we had another semi drunken tube journey back to the hotel. Another night of drinking ensued! Our poor livers! Once we'd drank all the alcohol in our room we thought we'd go and try out the hotel bar. 6 women, aged between 26 and 50, wearing pyjamas and drinking Jäger bombs! 

The following morning we were woken by friend hugging the toilet at 6.30am! She did warn us that Jäger bombs make her sick. Bless her. Another couple of hours and we decided to make a move. No point lying in bed when you can't even sleep. So the 3 of us in our room got up, washed and packed and went for breakfast as soon as it was open. The other 3 were still out for the count at this point! So we went for a walk. 

We came across a cemetery and wandered in. (Honestly, there's not really much to do at 9 o'clock on a Sunday morning in London!) In the cemetery we found the tamest squirrels ever! People were feeding them by hand! It was really quite surreal. Then I got chased by one, so I ran away screaming, not exactly appropriate behaviour for a grave yard! My friend got brave and decided to feed one. All we had on us was an Aero biscuit bar, so she gave it that! Normal people were feeding them nuts and bread crumbs, but not us! We chose chocolate! Much appreciated though, the squirrel ran off, happy as Larry with his chocolate bar! 

At 11 we went back to check on the others. They were up and almost human. So we checked out and headed for Euston. There was nearly an hour until our train, so have a guess how we spent that hour? Yep, in the pub! Be rude not to eh? Next time though, remind me to find a pub before we get to the train station. £5.95 for a small red wine!!! Extortion! 

So, there you have it. That was my weekend in London. Hope you enjoyed it as much as we did! 

London Baby!!! (part one)

What an awesome weekend! Kicked off with an hour wait on the freezing cold station platform! Yes, an hour! We decided, in our wisdom, that we ought to leave nice and early in case the forecast snow hindered our journey. How wrong we were! We flew through the twenty minute journey in twenty minutes! So we had a long, cold wait at a train station with no café, not even a drinks machine! What a start!

Next up was the battle for seats on the train. We spent the first ten minutes blocking the doorway with the six of us, and enough luggage each for a fortnight in the sun! As soon as we saw a couple vacate their seats, my friend and I practically shoved them out of the way to bag them, despite us being the youngest two members of our party! We left the others to fend for themselves. Another stop later and the table opposite us was free, so again, we leapt up, called down the carriage to where the other four had sat and claimed the table. Then came the great debate...

We spent a good quarter of an hour discussing whether we were allowed to drink on the train. We'd packed a bag full of lager especially for the journey. My theory was, they sell it on board the train, therefore you must be allowed to drink it! But we weren't sure, so being the sensible people we are, we Googled it! Yes we can, as long as we remain sensible. There were no guarantees, but we'd give it our best shot! So out come the stumpys, bought specifically for their convenient size and twist off caps. Or so we thought! Apparently we'd bypassed the twisty caps and bought regular bottle caps instead! Of course, no one had a bottle opener (why would you when you've got twist off caps?!) We were about to give up when one of the girls admitted she could do it with her teeth! Cue us other five squealing like girls and saying 'ewwwww, you're such a man!' But hey, manly or not, we got into our lagers! 

So, that was the journey. We arrived at Euston relatively in tact. We then had to navigate the tube, half drunk, with our mountains of luggage during what I imagine to be one of the busiest times, Friday evening! Oh, and four of the others had never been on the tube before! That was a fun experience! Somehow we made it to the hotel, checked in, and then continued our little party in our room. The aim was an early night so we were up and ready to hit the shops first thing. This actually turned into us still being up drinking at 2am! Oops! 

Saturday was not quite the early start we'd hoped for. And none of us were really in much of a state to be shopping, so instead we decided to go to Harrods. Not the best idea, we got lost in there several times! I'm pretty sure we looked as rough as we felt, because we received a fair few funny looks. And after being told off by security for lingering too long in the doorway (we couldn't decide whether we needed to go up or down to get to where we wanted) we decided to just leave. It was far too posh for a bunch of hungover women anyway! 

We went for a mooch round Covent Garden instead. Then we eyeballed the pub, and almost in unison 'pint?' Why not! We had a couple of hours to kill before show time, what better way to spend it than in the pub!

And that's where I think I'll leave you. I'll tell the rest of the story next time.

To be continued...

I'm going to London, to buy a Heat magazine! :-D

As the title says, I'm off to London this afternoon for a girl's weekend. Two nights of peace and quiet. And by peace and quiet, I mean lots of wine and childish pranks between a group of 6 women ranging in age from 26 to 50! You'd think we'd have grown up a bit by now! 

But peace and quiet from the children it will be. No 'but Mummy, I'm not tired yet', or being woken at midnight for a cuddle, or having to get up at 5.30am because 'it's wakey up time'!!! I will be able to shower by myself (a rare novelty in my house) and will actually have time to apply my make-up instead of the usual slick of mascara I generally rely on to make me look remotely presentable! No matter how much I adore my children, I need the occasional weekend to myself to preserve what's left of my sanity!

Then, on the other hand, I can guarantee I will be pining for them before the train has even left the station! It will take all my strength (or my friend stealing my phone!) to stop myself from calling every hour to make sure everything's ok. It's not even that their dad isn't able to cope. In fact he copes better than I do at times! I just like to know exactly what my babies are doing. Are they hungry? Has the little one had a sleep? Have you wrapped them up well enough to play out in the cold? Of course, I already know the answer to all of my questions, my husband's not stupid after all. 

I have, however, prepared outfits for the children. Goodness knows what they'd end up wearing if I didn't! They'd probably still be in their pyjamas from tonight when I return home on Sunday. My husband just doesn't seem to get that my daughter really can't wear her yellow top with her pink trousers, or that leggings must ONLY be worn with tops that cover the bum. It's really not too difficult! But it just makes his life easier if I get their clothes out ready for them. He won't get it in the neck for getting it wrong then. 

So, London. I can't wait! We'll arrive by tea time tonight, have a nice relaxed evening with a few glasses of wine and a bite to eat. Then tomorrow we'll be hitting the shops first thing, followed by the matinée performance of We Will Rock You. I have promised my friend that I won't sing along (she thinks we're far too young!), but I was brought up on Queen! I'm not sure I'll be able to hold it in, haha! Not entirely sure what our plans for after the show are. Most likely some of the afore mentioned childish pranks will feature! Then Sunday will be more shops, a bit of lunch and then a mid afternoon train home. 

I'm sure I'll have an anecdote or two to tell for my next blog. I'll look forward to sharing my weekend with you all when I get back.

Snow... Not so bleughhhh?

Well, I have succumbed to the whining! My little darlings have had me playing outside in the snow!! 

Yesterday it was decided that the snow on the drive was better than the snow on the back garden (mainly due to the fact that there was no way of telling if the dog had taken a poo on the garden before the snow had fallen!) So I was forced to take them out yesterday afternoon to build a snowman. (see previous blog entry for my general consensus on snow!) My little sister now lives too far away to just pop round to play in the snow, she'd have to get a bus and they weren't running!

After much deliberation (and failure to get any snow to actually stick together!) we came to the conclusion that the snow was just too fluffy to build anything with. So we set about making footprints with our wellies and I hate to admit that I was actually having fun! That is until my eldest hit me full on in the face with a handful of snow. I screamed a little bit, and pretty much acted like a mardy girl, but I got over it and we carried on our snow play. 

My eldest decided he wanted to go for a walk, so off we went for a plod round the block. He came across a patch of untouched snow and decided it would be the perfect place for a snow angel. Down he got and started flapping his arms to make the wings and my other 2 thought it looked great fun. Now my daughter is about as brave as me at being cold and wet so I was a bit dubious when she got down on the floor to do one. Then in true drama queen style, the second her bum touched the snow she flounced up and screamed 'it's coooooooooooold' and burst out crying! I'm still not entirely sure what she was expecting of it?! Luckily it's a very small block, so before long we were home again. My daughter decided she'd had enough for one day and, much to my boys' disgust, we headed back inside. 

This morning all I heard was 'mum, what time can we play in the snow?' and 'mummy, I need to build a snowman', so I relented again. Yes, I've been out in the snow, 2 days in a row! The little ones had a mini snowball fight, then we build the eagerly awaited snowman! Now, he's no masterpiece, but considering I can barely bring myself to touch snow, I think he's quite lovely. And I can't wait for my husband to get home later and see it sat there on the front lawn. He'll never believe that I actually took the children out there myself! 

Having said all that, I'm fed up now. It's cold and wet, and I'm sick of looking at it. So if it could kindly melt away by the morning, that'd be much appreciated! I won't hold my breath though! 

Snow... Bleughhhh!

It's snowing! Yuk! I really can't get as excited as the rest of the nation over something so cold and wet. Snow makes me grumpy, fact. 

Walking to school this morning, there were countless children shrieking and throwing snowballs (well, not even snowballs, there's no where near enough snow for that!) at each other. The other parents must have thought I was a right miserable cow. Every time either of my older 2 so much as looked like they were about to pick any up I'd shout 'DON'T TOUCH IT!' in true neurotic fashion! 

It's not that I don't want them to enjoy the snow, but when they come crying to me that their hands are hurting because they're so cold, there's not a great deal I can do about it on our mile walk to and from school. I know it's difficult for them to resist it, but really, if they could just wait until they are at home this afternoon, they can play all they like with the snow in the garden. I can handle that, because when they start crying with cold/turning blue I can just bring them in and wrap them up warm. 

Last year when the snow hit, the kids drove me insane asking to go out and play in it. We still lived in our old house back then and the garden wasn't visible from the house, so I couldn't just let them out to play. There was no way I was going out there to play in it with them! Daddy was at work. So when my little sister informed me that her school was closed I had a brainwave. Teenagers will do anything for a bit of cash, so as much as she too hates the snow, she couldn't resist the offer of a tenner to come round and build a snowman with the little people! Yes, I paid my sister to build a snowman! Now we've moved, the garden is far more family friendly. The children can play safely outside whilst I observe from the warmth of the house, armed with towels heating nicely on the radiators ready to swaddle them when they've frozen solid! 

I hate the way everything slows down in the snow. The route to school is a steep hill and it's hard enough getting my pushchair up it on a good day. Throw snow into the equation and you've added a good 15 minutes onto the already half hour school run! My 3 year old had to stop and show me every single footprint she made!  There's only so many times I can say 'that's great sweetheart' without starting to sound sarcastic! My youngest, in the comfort of his pushchair, was still freezing. He cried all the way there and back. He kept knocking his hat off (something else that forced me to keep stopping!) and he hates being trussed up in blankets. Then there's the 50 children and their parents all crammed into the tiny nursery cloakroom, fighting for a space to change their wellies to school shoes! 

I hate it! Snow should only exist on Christmas cards! I vote hibernation! What's the point in winter anyway? Once Christmas has been and gone, we should just skip straight past all the miserable, cold weather. Summer is the way forward! 

So there you have it. My take on snow. Not my favourite weather, in case I hadn't quite made that clear! 

Birthday Boy

Today is my eldest's 5th birthday. This makes me sad. I'm really not ready for my children to be getting so big! Yes, I realise they have to grow up, but I remember giving birth to him like it happened yesterday, not 5 years ago! In the blink of an eye, I've watched him grow from the tiny, totally dependent newborn into the thoughtful, kind, albeit very mischievous little boy. I can't be the only parent who gets the birthday blues on their children's birthdays. Can I? 

Then there's the chaos the birthday entails. We had tears this morning because I was a 'horrible mummy', not letting him open his presents before school. I like to take our time over them, making sure he's fully aware of who bought him what so he knows who to thank later. I am officially turning into my mother!

I'm now cooking my way through Iceland's party food selection in preparation for the few of his friends coming over for his birthday tea later. My oven is far too small! It frustrates me that I can only cook 2 trays of food at a time. Stress! 

I've spent a good hour cleaning the kids' bedrooms, Lord knows why! I'm sure my son and his friends will soon upend the toy boxes! I've not had chance all day to stop and have a coffee, so I'm running on Red Bull. Something I may live to regret come midnight when I'm staring at the ceiling! Although I'm sure the half bottle of wine I've got earmarked for later will help me to drift off! 

And in amongst all this, I have the usual jobs of keeping the children entertained, trying to stop the dog from rounding them up like sheep (take my advice, never get a border collie if you have small children) and the general housework. Anyone got a second pair of arms I can borrow? 

So all that's left to do now is await the arrival of our guests, whilst ensuring the children don't keep making a mess. And, of course, clean up again once they've gone! Next year I'm doing a party at the softplay. It's got to be easier than this!?  

Until next time. xxx 

An Introduction

Right, where do I start? 

I'm a 26 year old stay at home mummy to 3 little monsters (who will no doubt become the main feature of this blog!) I met my husband when I was just 19 in the grottiest pub in town. He was 33, recently separated from his wife with 2 young daughters. Imagine my dad's face when I introduced him to my new 'boyfriend'! I don't think my parents thought it was the smartest move I'd ever made. 

Well, things moved pretty quickly. I moved into his flat after a couple of months, we got engaged after 9 months and were all set to marry by the time we'd been together for 18 months (between me turning 21 and him turning 35, 'so the age gap looked slightly less'! His logic, not mine!) 

I fell pregnant with my first child 14 weeks before the wedding (another awkward conversation with my very traditional parents!) and gave birth to a son in January 2008. 6 months later, on our 1st wedding anniversary, we found out we were expecting our second child! Our daughter came along in March 2009 after a very stressful pregnancy. Then, true to form, 6 months later we discovered that we were to have a third child! Our second son was born in June 2010. Phew! 

Ok, that's the family, now for more about myself. I'm a fairly confident outgoing girly girl (I still feel young enough to carry the title of girl!) My favourite pastime is shopping, although I have neither the time nor the money to shop as often as I'd like. I'm a very sociable person, I love getting together with friends regularly. I enjoy music. I have a very eclectic taste, ranging from The Beautiful South to Westlife to Rihanna to Kings of Leon. Totally random! I spend far too long trying to keep the house tidy (impossible when you have 3 little people to contend with, plus 2 extras at the weekend!) I love to read. I have lost countless evenings inside a book that I've picked up to read just one chapter of. What else can I say about myself? That's pretty much me, in a nutshell. 

So there you go. A little introduction to the person behind this blog. Enjoy.