Going it alone

I’m starting to think that actually in some ways parenting is easier on your own.  I can hear all the single mums and dad’s out there cursing me already.  Perhaps easier isn’t the word I’m looking for.  It’s just, my hubby works freelance and often goes away for short stints at a time.  Every time he tells me he is going away I dread it, I really fret and it gets me down. But then as soon as he is gone and I have no choice but to get on with it, actually, I cope.  Generally things run smoothly and I feel somewhat in control, because well there is only one person in charge, one person making all the decisions.  There’s no bickering, no disagreements, no competition, no feeling guilty when the other one is doing more, no anger when the other is doing less.  There isn’t really much to do in the evenings, so actually the housework gets sorted then, and the house stays pretty tidy, because… well (he will kill me for this), but he is the messy one.  So actually, once I get into a little routine of my own I find myself actually enjoying it!

Don’t get me wrong I miss him, I really do.  I miss our evenings together and I miss adult company and conversation.  I’m shattered by the time he comes home.  But I think sometimes being thrown in at the deep end, it forces you to sink or swim.  I have plenty of moments throughout the day where I feel like I might drown.  But I always make it through and come bed time I feel really pleased with myself.  It has taught me that I should have more faith in myself and trust that I can do this mummy thing, and actually, why not just go it alone and get on with it, and let my hubby be a wonderful extra! Rather than trying to do this parenting thing so very equally all the time.  I got this.





Life is a balancing act

…only, I feel like I’m balancing on the edge of a cliff.  Im steeling this 30 minutes whilst my baby naps, and my threenanger watches a film, to write, to you……….for me.  I guess.  For my sanity…

Because when I do get a very rare spare moment, I often feel in such a fluster.  I suddenly have a moment of time to myself, and I freeze, because I have SO many things to do, and so little time.  Deciding what to do first is impossible.

I often start off with a chore, like, say putting the clothes away, so off I go, but then I will notice that my bedside table has about 15 glasses festering on it each filled with mouldy water, so then of course I need to clear those up immediately, but then the sink is already full from breakfast, so yes right, I must empty that, but then where are all the tea towels, oh right yep – on the huge dirty laundry pile.  You get the picture.  All the while my head is saying, ‘You have 30 minutes here, sod the chores, sit down, look at your phone, reply to all those unanswered messages from friends and family.’  So I do, first though I go to the fridge to make a cup of tea, I notice the milk is off, ok so now I need to do an online shop, I have a list in my head always going round and round with what we need this week, but once I’ve completed the shop of course I’ve forgotten a ton of things, so end up doing another online shop often a day later. Grrr so frustrating.  I finally sit down, with my black tea, and then the threenanger wants a snack.  Before I know it baby has woken up and off we go again.

I’ve achieved nothing, just a half arse online shop, and now I have 4 hours of being pulled from pillar to post by my little ones until bedtime.  Bedtime arrives and I freeze again, what do I do…I’m finally alone, I have some time…but all I want to do is curl up in bed myself, drink a bottle of wine, watch trash tv and eat takeaway.

But doing so doesn’t help my life, doing so makes me fat.  Being fat makes me sad and grumpy, being sad and grumpy makes me a rubbish mummy and wife to be around.  So I start another fad diet.

The diet goes well day 1-3, day 4 – I’m starving, (hungry and angry – hangry), and then I’m also a rubbish mummy and wife to be around.  So then day 6 – I cave and eat takeaway and drink alcohol again.

But then the concoction of takeaways, alcohol, yo yo dieting and lack of sleep cause me to be ill.  I guarantee you Sunday morning I wake up feeling ill, a cold, a headache, a sore throat, you name it, I’ve got it. So now I’m run down, tired, unwell and a rubbish mummy and wife to be around.

The house is always a mess, despite the fact that I spend ALL day picking up after the children, the list of to do’s is endless, I’m getting fatter and grumpier, I just feel like I’m barely coping, just teetering on the edge of a cliff and could fall at any moment.

I give my all to my kids, but I can’t say I’m massively enjoying it.  Sometimes I wonder would we all be better off if I hired a child minder, and in that time maybe I could get all the house stuff sorted, maybe I would be happier then, and maybe the kids would be happier because I am.  They say happy mummy, happy kids right?!  But doing that is so frowned upon.  Other mums would think ill of me, judge me.  But how does everyone else seem to cope so well?  What is their secret?

Then there is the constant feeling of guilt when it comes to friends and family.  I have so many unanswered messages on my phone.  A list as long as my arm of invites to meet up,  all of them I desperately want to see, but never ever have a minute to.  If I take the kids with me, they will need my constant attention as always and so I won’t be able to talk to my friend at all, and all they will see is a mess of a mother trying to cope with her kids and  failing to string a conversation together at the same time.  If I get hubby/mum to look after the kids whilst I see a friend I only feel incredible guilt for doing so and lumbering them with the kids, and I just fret the entire time and then feel massively like I owe them a favour after for doing so.  But obviously can never repay them because well I HAVE NO TIME TO!!!

So friends take a massive back seat, and the ones that are still hanging on, bless them. I get round to seeing them each once a year maybe,  of course it’s like the only time I get out, so often we get merry together, I probably cry to them and bore them to tears, I have completely forgotten everything about their lives because my head is full of school term dates and shopping lists, so I probably seem like I don’t care about them at all.  Then the next few days I pay for it by being really ill, because I’m so run down that my immune system dies after one drink!!!

Friends with kids should be the answer and to some extent they are.  But unless those kids are the same age as yours and get on with your kids and play nicely, it actually is often just more stressful.  You open yourself up to being massively embarrassed by your child that won’t play nicely or share, even though they are usually well behaved at home, of course they play up the one time you really need them to behave!  You don’t ever get to have a conversation with the other mum, you just grab moments in-between sorting out their conflicts over barbies and giving them the glare of doom because you can’t yell at them like you would at home!

I’m sorry to be so negative, you know me, that’s my style.  I like to vent.  There are happy moments I swear.  But ultimately I feel overwhelmed and frustrated and run down and grumpy.  Please someone tell me it gets easier???

Yours exhaustedly





I want my kids to be bored…

Quite a statement I know.  But this dreaded Easter break that most of us mums moan and groan about has caused me to rethink my half term parenting strategies in the future. You see, the kids have left school, it all begins with sugar fuelled fun, they are being allowed to eat chocolate for breakfast lunch and dinner and everybody is on one big high.

Then follows the come down, the arguments about how it isn’t Easter day anymore so no we can’t sprinkle chocolate flake on our cereal and run around the garden at 6am squealing when we find the hidden treasure and pissing the neighbours off royally.  So you try to make the withdrawals a little easier by engaging in a couple of easter related activities over the week.  Which confuses the poor little mites even more as big bad mummy is telling them Easter is very much over in our house, but this wonderful garden of happiness we’ve visited is growing golden lindt bunnies from every tree branch, so yay lets stuff our faces some more and inevitably spoil the nice afternoon by feeling horribly sick because we’ve overdosed on glucose yet again.

Then comes the fact the clocks have changed, and as wonderful as that one, one hour lie in was, we now have to somehow explain every single night why the sun hasn’t gone to bed yet, and spend every evening desperately trying to block out the streaming sunlight thats pouring in from every crack in the shitty “supposed to be blackout curtains”, until it’s dark enough to fool the little critters that it’s bedtime.

Where this massive rant is leading is that I have spent the first 5 days of the easter holidays desperately trying to entertain, appease and stimulate my children in hopes that they will cherish the holiday period and enjoy themselves.  And I’m not entirely sure I’ve succeeded in that.

It got me thinking back to my school holidays as a child.  Many, many days were quiet, and peaceful, mum carried about her normal cleaning the house like a madwoman routine, Dad was at work or tinkering in the garden.  My brothers were locked away in their rooms, one playing Nirvana and smoking out of the skylight and the other making lego city masterpieces that covered his entire bedroom floor.  And I would often be extremely bored.  So bored that it forced me to use my imagination.

One of my favourite time killers was Radio Alice, I would get out my boombox, plug in the microphone, press record and play at the same time (coz thats what you had to do then for some odd reason) and ‘Hey Hey Hey listeners, thanks for tuning  into Radio Alice, the one-stop entertainment station that will leave you begging for more” Cut to a warbled rendition of Boyzone’s latest single (sung by me) (badly).  You get the picture.  Thankfully you’ll never hear these tapes because cassette players are now a piece of history.  But I had so much fun doing them, I would spend hours playing all kinds of imaginary games with my dolls and toys.  I loved my own company, and I still do.  I genuinely look back on those boring days at home, and the long quiet summer holidays with such fondness.  I have wonderful memories.  I want my children to have these too.

I want them to be bored, and discover their own imaginations.  To get carried away in play. To be content with just being at home, doing their own thing.

Less sometimes, is more isn’t it.





The struggle is real…

I’ve been having a little mull over of life at the moment, and as you know I find writing down my thoughts and feelings the best way to work out all the conflict going on in my head.  You see I’m turning 30 next year, and I never thought I would feel this way but I’m a little spooked by the idea of no longer being in my twenties.  I’m sure lots of people feel the same as I do, and actually once you get there it’s not so bad after all.  But I think the reason I’m stressing is that I had this big plan to turn 30 in style.  I set out this year with my big new years resolution to finally lose the weight I always moan on about and to get my twenty year old body back. But here I am 3 months into the year all unmotivated already.  Having tried several ways of kicking my arse in gear, I’m a bit lost and deflated and instead of working out right now as I should be I am tapping away on the laptop instead. I’ve paid money for personal trainers, expensive meal plans, exercise video’s.  But I have no oomph, I can’t be arsed!!!

I think the biggest question I need to get my head around.  Is…


Do I really need or want to have the size 10 body, big fake boobs (yes thats in the transformation plan too), do I want to live the fit and healthy lifestyle and deny myself of life’s little pleasures like chocolate for breakfast and cheese and wine for lunch and carbs dinner?

I’m not sure I really do.  I think I stare at my phone way too much, follow far too many Victoria’s Secret models and am trying to become one of those girls the media says is perfect. It’s extremely hard not to feel the pressure to become like those women.  Where for the past 4 years I’ve had pregnancy and small children to blame for my weight gain, I now haven’t any excuses anymore.  So here I am, with this big life changing decision to make.  To be fit or not to be.

I’m starting to come round to the fact that perhaps dieting and feeling hangry and constantly peed off that I can’t down a bottle of wine every evening perhaps may make me slimmer, but not happier. Lets be honest I’m never going to have time to get to the gym daily, to prepare fresh healthy meals 3 times a day, I’m exhausted with my babies, barely have a moment to myself and need a strong alcoholic pick me up of an evening in order to let off steam and do it all again the next day.

I think my new plan of action is going to be a little different from now on…I think balance is going to be my new frame of mind.

I think I’m going to delete all the beauties off of my instagram account, I’m going to exercise when possible but not set myself unachievable targets.  I’m going to eat well the majority of the time, but allow myself the odd treat and not beat myself up about it.  I’m going to surround myself with beautiful inspiring, hardworking supermums who take pride in their children and not their bodies. I want to find happiness in my day to day life and let go of the dream of having my 20 year old body back, and cut myself some slack.  I’ve grown 3 beautiful babies in the last 4 years.  I’m shattered, housebound and turning 30, that’s my life right now.  I’m not 20, I’m 30, so it’s time to accept it and embrace it.


Yours reflectively,



Daily routine with threenanger and a baby

So I have a threenanger and a 5 month old baby.  How is it going?  Sometimes, really jolly well.  Usually, holy shit balls, FML, leave me aaallloooonnneee, please just be quiet for like even ONE second, Go to sleep…pleaaaase, 5am is NOT morning time, pass me the wine to pour on my cereal, HELP HELP HELP, HELP, HELP.  My daily routine looks like this…

5am – Threenanger wakes, shuffles into my room ‘mummy, I’ve slept loads in my bed, it’s time to go downstairs now mummy, it’s morning time’.

5:02am – ‘Mummy, I need breakfast, my tummy is rumbling, can I have a twister?’  For the 5000th time, a ‘Twister’ is not breakfast, and it’s too early, go play, I need coffee before I can converse.

5:05am – ‘ooooo I found the noisiest toy in the world mummy, listen’  waahhhhhh – Baby is up. Joy.

5:30am – ‘Mummy can I watch telly’ – ‘No darling its too early for telly – PLAY WITH YOUR TOYS!’

6:00am – Breakfast and TV requests made every 3 minutes, Ok fine TV on, baby fed and on playmat, now let me make the coffee pllleeeaaassseee…

8:00am – School uniform battle followed by teeth battle, followed by shoes battle, followed by walk to school as slowly as a snail game, dodging muddy puddles with stupid ‘OH look at that flying goat up there – oh no its gone don’t worry’ distraction techniques, whilst finding every single leaf on the way incredibly interesting.

8:45am – One child down…5 minute quiet calm stroll home.

9:00am – If I’m lucky a school mum will invite me for a cup of tea…yeehhaaa adult conversation…time to moan together about our beloved children.

9:30am – Baby decides, mummy you’ve had your fun, down your tea and get me home I want your full attention now.

9:45am – Mummy is still gassing and not drinking her tea quick enough, baby conveniently does mahoosive poo or sick at said friends house…We have to leave before we are never invited again.

10:00am – bum/outfit change, baby cooing time.

11:00am – quick mad dash around the house cleaning old soggy cocoapops off the floor and making the clean clothes mountain so big it may never find its way upstairs and into the drawers, I may just build a large wardrobe around it.

12:00 – collect the threenanger, walk home with her as she drags her feet wailing beside me in a tired mess.

12:30pm – lunchtime mummy, can I have a ‘Twister’…

1:00pm – baby in bed for nap…yaaaaay…I just sit down with a tantalising plate of the threenangers leftover sandwich crusts and the threenanger says ‘play with me mummy pleeaassseee, I need you mummy?’  gaahhhh….ok darling, yes in a minute, ‘no now mummy before baby wakes up, I want you, I need you…’


2:30pm – ‘Mummy can I watch the telly?’ NO, PLAY WITH YOUR TOYS THAT I SPENT HUNDREDS ON AT CHRISTMAS TIME!!!!!

3:00pm – Mummy I’m hungry…’What? you just ate lunch’  Can I have a Twister now…

3:30pm – Twister and TV happen… moment of peace if baby is co-operating…heaven

4:00pm – Baby fussy hour, baby throws pea puree in mummies face

5:00pm – Mummy opens the bottle of wine, throws some fish fingers in the oven, gives baby his bath, milk and bed.

5:30pm – dinners ready!…’Not hungry, just had a twister…all full up’ GGGRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

6:00pm – Threenanger fight to get in the bath…splish splash, water over the edge, entire bubble bath bottle squished in when I turn my back to tweeze my tash, ‘mummy my eyes hurt….soap in my eeeyyyeeesss wahhhhhh’ – ‘Why did you put all that bubble bath in…ahhh’  then the fight to get her out of the bath.

6:30pm – Stories and bed now sweetie… sweetie… oh wait, she’s playing beautifully, quietly, perfectly, WHY NOW….WHY FINALLY NOW…AT BEDTIME…ahhhhhhhhh

7:00pm – Bed…just go to bed.

7:30pm – ooooooo freedom…ooo ooo, what shall I do…eeeeekkkkk I’m happy again, hello happiness…I’ve missed you…so yes, what shall we do… oh yes…the dishwasher, the washing pile, the tidy up the toy mess, clean and sort the baby bottles. yay

8:30pm – Im soooo tired, I haven’t eaten dinner, wine will have to do, again.  It’s made from grapes, grapes are fruit, that’s one of my 5 a day, don’t forget the pea puree baby threw at my face that I licked off, that makes 2.

9:00pm bed.

10:00pm – wahhhh – baby dream feed.

1:00am – baby oh for fucks sake feed.

4:00am – what, where am I, who’s baby is that screaming, oh shit that’s my baby feed

5:00am – ‘Mummy I’ve slept loads in my bed, its morning time.’    nnnaaaaoooooooooo



On a good day I go to Mum’s…Mum’s is safe, mum’s means I can finish a cup of tea whilst it’s still warm.  Mum’s means I can give baby lots of cuddles whilst threenanger is happily distracted elsewhere.  Mum’s means small bursts of adult conversation in the day.  Mum’s means a hot meal in the evening, not kids cold leftovers.  Mum’s means I can wear no make up and no bra and not be judged.  Mum’s even provides small stints where I can nap!!!  Mum’s pours a large glass of wine at lunchtime without even asking if I want one.  Mum’s is so good, I question why I ever left at 21 and went and got my own life…foolish 20 year old me, she needed a good slap and a reality check.

8pm now…bedtime…I think I will call in at mums again tomorrow. She won’t mind.




3 months in 💙

So here we are, 3 months in as a family of four.  How can I sum up the last 3 months to you all.  A bumpy ride at sea would be a good description, I think ultimately you just have to go with the flow.  I think its been most challenging when I’ve tried to swim against the tide and tried to force a routine or got upset that life had changed SO much.  I am realising that you have to make comprimises constantly, you have to be utterly selfless.  I think that is what I have found the hardest to deal with, because I have been pregnant for so long and already sacrificed so much (we all know I’m mainly talking about the vino blanco) but other things too (intimacy, remotely attractive underwear, the best cheeses, sleep…I could go on).  But I think you expect to finally be able to claw your life back and actually you forget how incredibly time consuming and full on, parenting a newborn is.  I know i’ve done it before and should have remembered, and yes some things did come flooding back, but that dependency on you that a new baby has is a shock all over again.  There is no more ‘me’ time, come 7pm when I would normally put the toddler to bed and have a bit of time to myself has gone, and baby is stuck to you day and night.  After a night of feeds and little sleep, suddenly you’re up at the crack of dawn with a toddler who needs all of your love and attention and to do every little thing for them.

I have basically come to the conclusion that having two is actually impossible and most of the day will go horribly wrong, but the odd moment they will be in sync and both happy at the same time, or both asleep (feels like winning the lottery btw), and you can pause for a moment, smile to yourself and think ‘i’m coping’ maybe only just…but we are all still alive.

Now 3 months on, having had a hell of a ride, my daughter who started at a new nursery is happy and settled, my baby boy is sleeping through and growing fast.  My husband and I have managed a date night that finished at 10pm (crazy late night for us…I know rock n roll).  But best of all, come 7pm babies are in bed and im enjoying a glass of wine every night again. Bliss.

So hang on in there…it all works out in the end.


Mrs E



He has finally arrived – The birth story of baby B

Hello lovely readers,

I’m so wonderfully pleased to announce that I have safely bought a perfect little boy into the world.  I’m so so in love right now, my pupils are massively dilated, my heart is pounding and full, and I’m high on adrenalin.  My precious baby boy is here.

He arrived on the 17th of September at 13:52am weighing a whopping 9pounds 8ounces.  As most of you will know, I opted for an elective c-section for my mode of delivery after having a previous traumatic birthing experience.  So the whole process was very surreal, I had my bags packed and ready, there was no rushing around panicked, it was all rather calm and collected.  Hubby and I strolled off to the hospital to have our baby.  My little Moo was all taken care of, and I could finally relax knowing the long wait was finally over.  Ofcourse I was a bag of nerves, but I was SO ready to meet him.

The hospital staff were wonderful and looked after us so well, they explained how things were going to take their course, and that I would be next in for surgery so only had a few hours wait to meet my little one.  So we got in our surgical attire, and waited in our ward bay patiently.  We were told the surgeon was coming to meet us shortly and explain the operation in detail.  At that point 11 am, I started to get my usual tightenings that I’ve been feeling daily.  No biggie, just another braxton hicks tightening, at least all of this nonsense would be over soon.  Then 5 short minutes later came another one, slightly more intense this time, but hey ho. On we waited.  Then, ok another one, ooo, ouch, this one is taking a while to go away, when was my last one again? What, only 5 minutes ago?  errr, ok.  Shall we tell the midwife?  Naaaaoooo, that would be silly, what does it matter anyway.  Errr, ahhhooowwcchhhhh, ok this one blady hurts now, call the midwife in.  Midwife arrives and feels my tummy, ‘How regular are these Alice?-How much are they hurting exactly?-What’s the time – 12o’clock, okay only and hour or so until surgery, hang on in there eh!’…Midlife strolls off, POP, there goes my waters!  holy shite, okay my waters have gone, I’m flooding the ward, like GALONS of the stuff is coming out, I’m laying in a pool of my own wet mess!…The midwives run back, oh god, thats a lot of water, okay that’s never happened before on the c-section ward, errm what shall we do?  GET ME GAS AND AIIIIIRRRRRR…eeooowwccchhhhh, contraction after painful contraction, they tell me I’m 8cm dilated already (in one hour!!!)…Do we take her labour ward or theatre, someone make the decision quickly this baby is coming!!!  TAKE ME TO THEATRE PLEEEEAASSEEE ooowwwwwcchhhhhh.  Then, ‘Alice your waters are green, baby has taken his first poop in you, we need to rush to theatre NOW, baby might not be ok’, at this point I’m a screaming mess.  HE HAS TO BE OK, GET HIM OUT NOW, oowwwwwwchhhhhhhh.  The next thing I know, I’m high on gas and air, like – out of it, and each time I slip back to consciousness, I’m in theatre being shoved around, needles poked in me, my body going numb, my legs being raised above me, but I can’t feel them!  Lots of masked surgeons coming into my vision with instruments of all kinds.  The curtain goes up, in goes the scalpel, out comes my precious baby boy creaming at the top of his lungs.  Hubby and I are an emotional mess, but he is here.  He is actually here, they place him on me, and I stare down at him in absolute shock.  His perfect little face is everything I had been dreaming about for years, I didn’t want to let him go.  My tiny little precious bundle.  He was worth every moment of panic and drama.  He was ready to meet mummy, and mummy was SO ready to meet him too.



Mummy is trying her best

To paint the picture, I’m 38 weeks pregnant, completely ready to pop, and have been for a while now. Baby dropped and engaged weeks ago, and is swinging around by my knees right about now.  I’m a big, heavy, exhausted lump, with anxiety, insomnia and a toddler in tow.  And said toddler is testing mummy and daddy at every opportunity possible right now.

I’ve been told to expect your toddler to play up and act out when they sense the arrival of the new baby.  But we’ve been building up to it very slowly for months now, including her in many decisions, not over egging it, just playing it cool and dropping in babies name every now and again.  We’ve bought her the big gift from baby, which is all wrapped up and ready to surprise her with when he comes home for the first time.  So in my opinion we are ticking all the parenting boxes on that front.

What my little one can’t seem to handle is the decline of mummies mobility.  It started with noticing that mummy couldn’t carry her downstairs anymore.  Admittedly I started this off early when bump wasn’t even noticeable, but with losing a baby, you take extra caution of carrying in those early days and Moo is old enough and able to walk herself downstairs by the age of 2 and a half!!! She manages when she wants her favourite daddy pig toy from upstairs!  So we’ve been battling with getting her downstairs every morning without a complete meltdown.  But then Daddy comes home on paternity leave and swoops in to the rescue (and I’m not blaming him, because MY GOD has he been wonderful) but of course little monkey gets her way and is now carried down every morning, leaving mummy the big bumped bad guy and daddy the superhero.  Ok so I can’t have it every which way, and I need to pick my battles but this theme begins to occur more and more.

Mummy can’t get down on all fours and play toys and horsey back rides, mummy can’t play chase in the garden, mummy can’t come for a splash in the hot tub anymore (I know I know, first world problems right!…but I need to vent!).  Mummy keeps going off to the hospital and leaving me with other people, mummy can’t lift me in and out the bath, mummy is snappy and tired all the time. The list goes on…and so Moo pushes and tests until we are both weeping messes by the end of most days.

But mummy is trying her best!!!  Mummy would do ANYTHING to crawl into bed most nights at 6pm, and wake at a human hour of say 8am instead of 5:30!  Mummy would LOVE not to be lugging round a 10 pound baby, whilst being a slave to a demanding madam and making the 10th breakfast choice that morning because all the others have been wrong after one bite.  Mummy would KILL to drown her problems in a bottle of wine every night like daddy does!!!  Mummy is really, really trying baby girl.  Give me a break, please?

But no, mummy must pay.  Mummy is now the enemy, mummy is now being pushed away and punished for her actions.  It starts with the ‘I don’t want mummy, I want daddy’ screams every morning when I go in to get her, it continues with ‘No mummy can’t play, you go make dinner mummy, daddy play’, it eventually builds up to.  ‘I love my daddy, he’s my best friend, not you’.  OWCH OWCH OWCH.  That kind of rejection when you’re emotional, exhausted and heavily pregnant is a killer.

I have to remind myself I am the adult, not to take it personally, not to get jealous, not to resent or be cross with her.  She doesn’t know what she is saying, and at a time like this, I need to make more effort, hold her closer.  Get down on my hand and knees even if it hurts me.  Take each knock back and show her it won’t change my love for her.  Even though she is clearly cross with mummy right now – Mummy will always be here.

But it’s taking every ounce of patience I have, and the guilty hurt tears roll down my cheeks at 4am when I can’t sleep and I’m trying to work it all out in my head.

What scares me the most, is that baby isn’t even here yet.

What is to come?  How will I cope?  Will I be big enough to overlook my toddlers naughty behaviour and see it for what it really is, (just cries for attention from a confused little person), or will it make me want to cuddle baby closer for being the easier one who shows me nothing but love.  Will my daughter hate me, will we lose our special bond.  Will Daddy become her everything and Mummy be unnecessary?  What will it do to mine and hubbies relationship?  All of it scares me.  All of it, caused by the emotions of a little 3 year old.

I need to muster all my inner strength over the next few months and ride the waves ahead.  But if anyone has any advice or has been through similar, please give me all the tips and wisdom you have.  I need it, big time.

Stressed and worried,



The ramblings of a heavily pregnant insomniac

Hello again, here I am snuggled in a huge fluffy slanket on the living room sofa in complete darkness, with the laptop screen burning into my eyes.  Blinking at a blank page at 4:30am, unable to sleep, but unable to do much else with a sleeping toddler upstairs, who would wake if a mouse farted.  So the trusty laptop will have to entertain me once again.  So apologies in advance for the ramblings of a heavily pregnant, insomniac.

I guess it’s all good prep work for getting used to the insane sleep deprivation thats about to hit once baby arrives.  I remember it SO well from last time, and my word –  there really isn’t anything like it.  You are so delirious and disorientated it drives you completely round the bend.  Going through it whilst also having a rambunctious toddler in tow is quite frankly the scariest thing I’ve ever had to imagine.  How do you find the energy?  I don’t even drink coffee!!! I think Netflix is going to become my new best friend over the coming weeks.

But I have all kinds of wild idea’s for the future.  For my future, for Project Identity.  For the project that is I.  I’ve had so much time to dream about what it will be like to no longer be pregnant and trapped in this disabling fat suit, to finally have some energy back again.  I have dreamt and dreamt about hitting my 30th year in style.  This is my big plan…

Early days – Just cope

Struggle through the newborn days, try to keep my family all equally happy, recover from c-section surgery slowly and carefully, be kind to myself and my body.

2 months in – get a move on

Start the exercise regime.  With Moo starting her new nursery at the end of our road.  The plan is to walk her there for 9am every morning, Baby Baz in buggy, drop Moo in.  Then Baz and I, stroll off to the running track (which is next to the nursery) and attempt a fast walk around the track.  Building up to a gentle jog after a week or so, until I’m jogging 5 mornings per week.  I also intend to use baby Baz as my new free weight, I shall be pumping out upper arm reps and bicep curls as I go for nice toned arms.  I’m going to put my juicer and nutribullet to good use and glug down all the liquid nutrition I can ontop of a balanced diet.  Hopefully breast feeding will be a success and that will help me lose the weight too.

4 months in – get serious

Get a gym contract or a personal trainer.  I have a hell of a goal ahead you see, I’m not just obsessed with my own body image.  My bestest, best, bestie is getting married March 2016, and I’m determined to do her proud and look just as hot as the other 3 bridesmaids on her big day.  I’m really glad I have this to motivate me, as it’s the kick up the arse I need to do this for myself once and for all.

6 months – post wedding – carry on

The big test, 6 months in from here, is to carry on.  To find a way to incorporate fitness into my daily routine whilst also looking after my family.  To find a way to include my babes in my fitness journey and to make it manageable enough to be able to sustain it into the future.

I know, scoff scoff, I have big idea’s.  But one can only try.  I will of course keep you updated.


Health and happiness,