Hello Readers!
I've been telling myself for the past 3 weeks that I have no time to blog but that's balls as I seem to have enough time to do other pointless things like eat and sleep! My promise to myself to be more active in blogging has again fallen by the wayside, but with good reason. Today is 3 weeks since little Peanut Head (as me and her father affectionately call her sometimes) came into this world. Funnily enough, it has taken some getting used to, being on call 24-7 for crying, nappy changes and feeds. I am sometimes surprised that I manage to stay awake during the day. However, I have been truly blessed by Stuart. He took four weeks off work which started on the Sunday before Fran was born. Ever since we came home he has been very 'hands on' and has taken the night duty so I get a chance to rest and sleep. I just make sure I express enough milk for night feeds and he does the rest. I still stay up quite late because my body clock is forever screwed, but he has been so amazing and lets me run off downstairs during the day to get housework and cleaning stuff done while he sits with her, even when she's grumpy. I am a bit worried about what life is going to be like once he does go back to work. We've decided I will sleep with Fran in the other room so Stu can get some sleep and rest when he's working. While we have the luxury of a separate room/nursery for her it is a great idea, but it will be a bit strange for me sleeping away from Stu for the majority of the time. Also, this means for the first time bubba and I will be truly alone. No midwives checking round the corner and throwing meds at me, no family popping up, no Daddy to feed her while I close my eyes and somehow sleep through the crying. Just us. Scary.
Anyway, stuff to do, more writing when I poke myself in the arm to see if I'm awake.
Wednesday, 5 October 2011
Wednesday, 21 September 2011
1 Week Later...
She's HERE!
This time last week I was sat in a bed in the hospital Labour Ward after being in labour for over 25 hours (yes, that was labour I was feeling in my last post, D'oh!), trying desperately to breathe through the pain and stay in control. I would love to explain how friggin' wrong it was of me to think I was ever going to have some CONTROL over this situation, but I am tired, it's late and she will be up soon for night feeds, so I guess I'll come back to my story soon.
But Yay, go me! I am a mother! :-)
Isn't she beautiful?
Tuesday, 13 September 2011
2
2 Days to go.
So, erm, I'm sat in front of the computer feeling this bad pain in my lower back every so often. I wouldn't say they are getting closer, but I've had this back pain a little bit after eating or just before wanting to use the loo for the past 3 or 4 days and not as intense as it is right now. Thought it was just wind (seriously). I actually had to come online and read some sites about contractions and labour pains to fully appreciate what is happening. So, yeah, this could be early labour.
Or, it could not. The pain could go away, or be 'practice pains' or Braxton Hicks (although I don't get that impression). I've had a bit of pelvic pain for the past few days too. And last Thursday... mucus.... I won't go into detail about that. I get the impression from reading around I'm not the only first-timer who hasn't got a clue what's happening to her own body. It's a shame new mothers-to-be have to turn to each other and the internet for advice on signs and how to cope. Imagine what it was like before the computer age?! I knew a lot of things, I'm prepared for this, but because this is unknown territory for me I guess I didn't want to acknowledge it at first because then that would mean the big scary thing I said I didn't want to happen is about to happen. Damn!
Well, at least all the things I ordered from the internet finally arrived today, so I can't say I'm not prepared. Plus, I have appointments tomorrow (Tuesday) at the hospital and with the midwife. If they can't tell if I'm in labour, there's no hope for me! Stu has been on massage duty but is also firmly glued to the US Open mens' final. I actually don't mind, it's better than him flapping. I hate flappy people, they get you all worked up too when you're trying to be calm. Oh, and there's a full moon tonight. My Aunt said your baby comes on the moon cycle from when you missed your first period. Maybe I should've believed her!
I think I shall retire to my bed and lie down, see where some sleep takes me.
So, erm, I'm sat in front of the computer feeling this bad pain in my lower back every so often. I wouldn't say they are getting closer, but I've had this back pain a little bit after eating or just before wanting to use the loo for the past 3 or 4 days and not as intense as it is right now. Thought it was just wind (seriously). I actually had to come online and read some sites about contractions and labour pains to fully appreciate what is happening. So, yeah, this could be early labour.
Or, it could not. The pain could go away, or be 'practice pains' or Braxton Hicks (although I don't get that impression). I've had a bit of pelvic pain for the past few days too. And last Thursday... mucus.... I won't go into detail about that. I get the impression from reading around I'm not the only first-timer who hasn't got a clue what's happening to her own body. It's a shame new mothers-to-be have to turn to each other and the internet for advice on signs and how to cope. Imagine what it was like before the computer age?! I knew a lot of things, I'm prepared for this, but because this is unknown territory for me I guess I didn't want to acknowledge it at first because then that would mean the big scary thing I said I didn't want to happen is about to happen. Damn!
Well, at least all the things I ordered from the internet finally arrived today, so I can't say I'm not prepared. Plus, I have appointments tomorrow (Tuesday) at the hospital and with the midwife. If they can't tell if I'm in labour, there's no hope for me! Stu has been on massage duty but is also firmly glued to the US Open mens' final. I actually don't mind, it's better than him flapping. I hate flappy people, they get you all worked up too when you're trying to be calm. Oh, and there's a full moon tonight. My Aunt said your baby comes on the moon cycle from when you missed your first period. Maybe I should've believed her!
I think I shall retire to my bed and lie down, see where some sleep takes me.
Thursday, 8 September 2011
7
7 Days! 1 Week!
Well, only 5% of babies actually arrive on their due date, so there's a slim chance I'll be holding my newborn daughter by this time next week. But she could come early! Oh, and it's my Dad's Birthday on the 15th, so that would be a nice gift (and save me having to think of something).
I am so happy right now, my friend Chris Wallis from work has been found alive and well after not being seen for just over 2 weeks. I was very worried about him, especially when I and others were told he had been having issues. I can honestly say I had no idea he was having any problems or was feeling so helpless. He is a very happy-go-lucky, bubbly sort of person (sometimes to the point of annoyance!) who is always cracking jokes and singing. It just seemed so unlike him to want to leave his friends, family and home behind. This situation, amongst others this year, has reminded me that you really don't know a person at all and we are never in a position to judge others. The human mind is fragile and is just as easily swelled by praise and esteem as it is crushed by criticism and disrespect. I'm also really pleased because I truly credit love, hope, faith and belief as positive emotions that bring the absolute best to everyone's lives, and I think the group Chris's family and friends set up gave us all a place to have a collective consciousness. It was a place to focus our good thoughts and feelings on the best outcome. People on the internet, and I am very happy to include myself in this, are very free with their words when it comes to things they hate and stuff that angers them. We can spread vitriol easily from behind a monitor. To do the opposite, to spread love and wish greatness for others is less obvious. I am being made aware in so many ways that it is one of life's purposes to share good vibes and support those around me, especially when you don't think they need it, because that's when they will probably need it the most.
I'm feeling good at the moment. A lot more casual, calm, happier. I can tell I'm not far off from the time of birth. Little Miss Francesca has dropped down lower into my pelvis (which is fun sometimes when I get up from a chair and try to walk somewhere) and my appetite has increased. Plus I no longer get that horrible acid reflux. A bit of Peppermint tea or some gum helps the wind. Stu had a day off from work today. He went to get his hair cut (finally, as I said to him I don't think Fran will be too pleased coming out to see she has Liam Gallagher for a father!) and see his mate before things kick off. He is excited, I can tell, a bit nervous like me. I wonder what he is going to be like in the delivery room? Stu can get a bit flustered sometimes when there's lots going on and I know he will worry about me and the pain I'll be in. I hope that this occasion will bring kind of 'chaotic calm' to both of us and we can get each other through it. Plus I'm relying on him for lots of massages and supplies of food and water so he'd better keep his shit together!
*Massive Yawn*
Well, only 5% of babies actually arrive on their due date, so there's a slim chance I'll be holding my newborn daughter by this time next week. But she could come early! Oh, and it's my Dad's Birthday on the 15th, so that would be a nice gift (and save me having to think of something).
I am so happy right now, my friend Chris Wallis from work has been found alive and well after not being seen for just over 2 weeks. I was very worried about him, especially when I and others were told he had been having issues. I can honestly say I had no idea he was having any problems or was feeling so helpless. He is a very happy-go-lucky, bubbly sort of person (sometimes to the point of annoyance!) who is always cracking jokes and singing. It just seemed so unlike him to want to leave his friends, family and home behind. This situation, amongst others this year, has reminded me that you really don't know a person at all and we are never in a position to judge others. The human mind is fragile and is just as easily swelled by praise and esteem as it is crushed by criticism and disrespect. I'm also really pleased because I truly credit love, hope, faith and belief as positive emotions that bring the absolute best to everyone's lives, and I think the group Chris's family and friends set up gave us all a place to have a collective consciousness. It was a place to focus our good thoughts and feelings on the best outcome. People on the internet, and I am very happy to include myself in this, are very free with their words when it comes to things they hate and stuff that angers them. We can spread vitriol easily from behind a monitor. To do the opposite, to spread love and wish greatness for others is less obvious. I am being made aware in so many ways that it is one of life's purposes to share good vibes and support those around me, especially when you don't think they need it, because that's when they will probably need it the most.
I'm feeling good at the moment. A lot more casual, calm, happier. I can tell I'm not far off from the time of birth. Little Miss Francesca has dropped down lower into my pelvis (which is fun sometimes when I get up from a chair and try to walk somewhere) and my appetite has increased. Plus I no longer get that horrible acid reflux. A bit of Peppermint tea or some gum helps the wind. Stu had a day off from work today. He went to get his hair cut (finally, as I said to him I don't think Fran will be too pleased coming out to see she has Liam Gallagher for a father!) and see his mate before things kick off. He is excited, I can tell, a bit nervous like me. I wonder what he is going to be like in the delivery room? Stu can get a bit flustered sometimes when there's lots going on and I know he will worry about me and the pain I'll be in. I hope that this occasion will bring kind of 'chaotic calm' to both of us and we can get each other through it. Plus I'm relying on him for lots of massages and supplies of food and water so he'd better keep his shit together!
*Massive Yawn*
Wednesday, 7 September 2011
Strength
Just a short note about how I am feeling right now.
I've just read a book called 'The Alchemist' by Paulo Coelho. Heard about it in the past but for some reason it jumped out at me last week and I went on Amazon.co.uk and bought it. What will this do for me, I wondered when it finally arrived.
I've read powerful books with timely messages in the past and shared lots of ideas with good friends but this book is a little different in that it speaks to me but it also invites me to speak to myself and to the world. It's not just lots of sage advice. It's about your connection with everything and having the courage to fulfill your destiny. Those little signs we receive every day, they are there for a reason, to guide and inspire, sometimes to warn. I think quite often after a particularly bad event we always say "I knew that was going to happen, if only..." The beauty of intuition is that we CAN and SHOULD listen. If we are brave enough to accept it.
In connection to my pregnancy, as much as I've relaxed into the idea of what's about to happen this month, I still have moments where I don't feel like I've done enough, I feel lost or like I don't know what to do or I'm going to do something really stupid and feel such a fool. It seems easier to sit around ane bemoan my fate rather then get up and do something (plus I'm always sleepy nowadays!). I've been pondering the idea of having the strength to do all this. Mental as well as physical. Some women prepare for this their whole lives and seem to come out happy and smiling despite the pain and stress. Some describe it as one of the worst (as well as best because of the resulting child) days of their life. Tonight, after a lot of thought and a damned good weep I have realised this:
1. I am not everyone else. I cannot compare myself to other people. I am me, and an amazing version if I do say so myself! Whatever will be, will be. The thing which we are connected to and by will conspire to bring me the strength I need when the time comes, so I should stop worrying about my capabilities. And, if I am honest with myself.... I know I am strong already, and I do have a lot of self belief. It sounds odd to say that because you're not supposed to big yourself up in society anymore, that marks you as an arrogant person and, as I always say, there's a fine line between confidence and arrogance. However, I was talking to a work colleague last night about changing aspects of you life that are harmful to you, and as I said to her, nobody else is walking around with a sandwich board on it which reads 'ERICA BROWNE IS AMAZING!!" so maybe it's about time I sold myself to get to where I need to be.
2. I've been beating myself up for a long time over the past, my health, money, old relationships, family, deaths, cross words, times when I've felt helpless and weak and given up on something. It is no longer necessary. I imagined tonight being stood in a room with all the people who have come into my life, good and bad. They were all smiling at me and told me it was OK, there was no need for any blame or hurt anymore. My Mum and Nan were there; they took my hands (was it strange that it felt real, that I remember how their hands looked and felt?) and both smiled at me and said they would be with me. I've always felt like I never did enough for either of them when they died and have been carrying around a lot of guilt. I want to be the best, just for them; the two most important women in my life. I cried the most when they let me go, but I think it was out of relief.
A most troublesome burden has finally lifted. I am free to make decisions without guilt and with love and support, knowing that whatever the outcome it will always be for the best.
Time for some sleep, bought another 3 Paulo Coelho books tonight on Amazon and the recommendations page keeps blinking at me. Plus Miss Francesca is getting restless. She really is going to be a night owl.
I've just read a book called 'The Alchemist' by Paulo Coelho. Heard about it in the past but for some reason it jumped out at me last week and I went on Amazon.co.uk and bought it. What will this do for me, I wondered when it finally arrived.
I've read powerful books with timely messages in the past and shared lots of ideas with good friends but this book is a little different in that it speaks to me but it also invites me to speak to myself and to the world. It's not just lots of sage advice. It's about your connection with everything and having the courage to fulfill your destiny. Those little signs we receive every day, they are there for a reason, to guide and inspire, sometimes to warn. I think quite often after a particularly bad event we always say "I knew that was going to happen, if only..." The beauty of intuition is that we CAN and SHOULD listen. If we are brave enough to accept it.
In connection to my pregnancy, as much as I've relaxed into the idea of what's about to happen this month, I still have moments where I don't feel like I've done enough, I feel lost or like I don't know what to do or I'm going to do something really stupid and feel such a fool. It seems easier to sit around ane bemoan my fate rather then get up and do something (plus I'm always sleepy nowadays!). I've been pondering the idea of having the strength to do all this. Mental as well as physical. Some women prepare for this their whole lives and seem to come out happy and smiling despite the pain and stress. Some describe it as one of the worst (as well as best because of the resulting child) days of their life. Tonight, after a lot of thought and a damned good weep I have realised this:
1. I am not everyone else. I cannot compare myself to other people. I am me, and an amazing version if I do say so myself! Whatever will be, will be. The thing which we are connected to and by will conspire to bring me the strength I need when the time comes, so I should stop worrying about my capabilities. And, if I am honest with myself.... I know I am strong already, and I do have a lot of self belief. It sounds odd to say that because you're not supposed to big yourself up in society anymore, that marks you as an arrogant person and, as I always say, there's a fine line between confidence and arrogance. However, I was talking to a work colleague last night about changing aspects of you life that are harmful to you, and as I said to her, nobody else is walking around with a sandwich board on it which reads 'ERICA BROWNE IS AMAZING!!" so maybe it's about time I sold myself to get to where I need to be.
2. I've been beating myself up for a long time over the past, my health, money, old relationships, family, deaths, cross words, times when I've felt helpless and weak and given up on something. It is no longer necessary. I imagined tonight being stood in a room with all the people who have come into my life, good and bad. They were all smiling at me and told me it was OK, there was no need for any blame or hurt anymore. My Mum and Nan were there; they took my hands (was it strange that it felt real, that I remember how their hands looked and felt?) and both smiled at me and said they would be with me. I've always felt like I never did enough for either of them when they died and have been carrying around a lot of guilt. I want to be the best, just for them; the two most important women in my life. I cried the most when they let me go, but I think it was out of relief.
A most troublesome burden has finally lifted. I am free to make decisions without guilt and with love and support, knowing that whatever the outcome it will always be for the best.
Time for some sleep, bought another 3 Paulo Coelho books tonight on Amazon and the recommendations page keeps blinking at me. Plus Miss Francesca is getting restless. She really is going to be a night owl.
Tuesday, 23 August 2011
36 + 5
I haven't blogged for a while as usual, but for once I can't even say fatigue, laziness or work have been the excuse. I've been on Maternity Leave for just over 2 weeks now, and every time I've felt the compulsion to write I go look at something else, some website about fitness advice, veganism or spirituality. When you think you've found something and you have all the answers you need, your brain still tells you to have another look, 'just in case I'm not done yet'...
The Vegan thing is a bit of a pickle. I don't think I could ever be a Vegan, even for moral reasons albeit they are very noble. I like meat. 'Bacon tastes good, Pork Chops taste good...'! Last week Stu and I celebrated 2 years of being together. Thankfully it was his day off so we enjoyed a lovely day together (except for that shit bit in the middle at Tesco's, but it's cool, we'll never go there again) and decided in the evening to hit up TGI Friday's. Surprisingly busy for a Wednesday night, but we had a great time, a good chat (two new things I learned about him that evening: He detests celery and thinks Pink the singer is attractive!) and some damned fine meat. I ate a whole rack of ribs!! Considering that was part of a 3 course meal and I'm carrying an almost full-term baby, it was a tough feat, but dammit it tasted good! So, when I do things like that, and eat eggs (I lurve eggs... *drool*) and proudly walk out of KFC with a 3 piece meal and a corn on the cob, it makes me wonder why the idea of eating purely fruit, vegetables, grains and nuts intrigues me. I have been eating cack for England during this whole pregnancy and it occurred to me a few weeks' back that once Little Miss Lloyd Browne arrives, it would be a great opportunity to get my body to the peak of health and fitness. Obviously not by starving myself of vital nutrients I will need to breast feed and run around after her. But by trying to put better fuel in the proverbial tank. So, the junk food will be phased out and a lot more fresh produce will come in to replace it. And I'll get back on the Boxing training, Pilates and Yoga to build strength. It certainly won't be easy, but I've been looking around for inspiration and it hit me the other day, if some dumb cow who can't even string a sentence together, let alone operate a camera and put her stupid arse on You Tube, can motivate herself to do the best for her health, mind, body and child, I think I can muster some time every day once I've gotten into a routine with the baby. And I've never really been fit before. Since my early teens I've been eating out of boredom, excitement, as rewards, as consolation or because it just happened to be lunchtime. I was very carefree before then. And I was skinny. I ran around and played with the other kids, rode my bike all over the place, read my books and wrote my stories. No Fear. Kids have a beautiful confidence and innocence in them that's kind of beaten away by growing up and 'facing reality', like that's ever helpful. I can't pinpoint the exact time, but gradually the Self Conscious learned to loathe me and I suppose as I was never one to follow fashion and become Emo or cut myself, food was an easier and tastier alternative. I certainly think my relationship with food has improved over time, but I am under no illusions that I've been thoughtful during the pregnancy and have even used this time as an excuse to eat whatever the hell I liked (except for stuff that could harm the baby, I've been quite strict about that. The Irony!). No more excuses. Plus I've had some fucking awful heartburn the past 3 weeks and I know a lot of it is because there's a baby taking up space and playing with my organs, but I also recognise that rich, fatty, salty food does tend to repeat and takes longer to digest. As for the meat; it won't be cut out but it will be cut down. This is why I can't be a Vegan. Maybe as time goes on I will try other things, give being meat-free a couple of weeks or so to see how I feel. We are talking about a loooooooong way in the distance!
Another reason I've not written for a while is because when I did try a while back I ended up writing complete vitriolic nonsense about society. I was very, very angry about the riots and subsequent looting that happened in London a couple of weeks ago. It did take a while for the anger to subside. I realise that it isn't helpful to me or my baby to spend so much time being angry about the world. Stuff like that gets to me, though. I am a member of society too and I don't understand (and still don't) why a group of people would behave like that and even try to justify it in various ways after the event. It's so easy to blame other groups of people or your circumstances for your predicament, but where does your personal responsibility come into it then? Why does nobody understand that they do have a choice? After a while I began to despair of the rolling media coverage, finger pointing, internet bile and stupid arguments and decided it was easier to try and be positive instead. Focus on being the shining example or antidote. "Be the change you want to see in the world." (Ghandi) Then nobody can come to your door with any weak arguments about why they can't do something or everything being pointless. I honestly don't believe in a pessimistic view of the world being a 'real' view. I think it is a hell of a lot easier to be pessimistic than optimistic because, unfortunately, a lot of other people will agree with you and back your concept up when you present it in context. We human beings seem to enjoy taking each other down. Optimists are ridiculed. People are blocked or mocked when they have a passion or a dream. Overcoming obstacles is one of life's most important lessons when it comes to Success. You only really fail if you stop trying. It just seems to me that life was a hell of a lot harder for people before now and yet there were some who made something of themselves. People in our culture now expect everything to be handed to them on a plate with no conscious ideas or thoughts of how to earn these rights, privileges and possessions. Where's the achievement in that? Where's the moral tale? What good will that do you when you're older? You'll have learned nothing and have nothing to contribute to society. Success is as much about give and take as it is about hard work.
I suppose what I've reinforced recently is building my personal strength, mental and physical, in order to get to where I want to be in life, and this isn't about brute force or aggression. It's about confidence, acceptance, joy and love.
Deep eh? :-)
In some baby-related news.... not much has happened. Scans, tests, all fine, seems like I'm having a perfectly healthy-if-slightly-angry baby (saw her in a 3D scan, her face was all screwed up, she really doesn't like any of these machines!) who is the right size, in the right position and hasn't caused me to have all the horrific health problems that I know some others have had the misfortune to suffer with (so far). I am happy and blessed. As for my 'Midwife'... I despair. I'm not going to write any more about her. Normally I let anger get the better of me and write some kind of Facebook status about how much she is annoying me so I guess everyone knows how I feel now! I am not very tolerant when it comes to incompetence. If you are incapable of doing your job properly, please just stop and go play in the traffic so somebody else who actually can do the job and does give a shit can have a go. As it's so close to the end now and there's no real point in trying to change anything, I think I will wait until after Fran is born and then transfer my dealings to the Health Centre at the end of my road. Makes sense anyway. Why on earth do I drive across town for 20 minutes every time I have an appointment when I can walk for less than five minutes to a surgery at the end of my own road? *shrugs and raises eyebrows* Still woefully unprepared for everything right now, but it's coming together slowly. Taking baby steps (pun intended).
Need some water.
The Vegan thing is a bit of a pickle. I don't think I could ever be a Vegan, even for moral reasons albeit they are very noble. I like meat. 'Bacon tastes good, Pork Chops taste good...'! Last week Stu and I celebrated 2 years of being together. Thankfully it was his day off so we enjoyed a lovely day together (except for that shit bit in the middle at Tesco's, but it's cool, we'll never go there again) and decided in the evening to hit up TGI Friday's. Surprisingly busy for a Wednesday night, but we had a great time, a good chat (two new things I learned about him that evening: He detests celery and thinks Pink the singer is attractive!) and some damned fine meat. I ate a whole rack of ribs!! Considering that was part of a 3 course meal and I'm carrying an almost full-term baby, it was a tough feat, but dammit it tasted good! So, when I do things like that, and eat eggs (I lurve eggs... *drool*) and proudly walk out of KFC with a 3 piece meal and a corn on the cob, it makes me wonder why the idea of eating purely fruit, vegetables, grains and nuts intrigues me. I have been eating cack for England during this whole pregnancy and it occurred to me a few weeks' back that once Little Miss Lloyd Browne arrives, it would be a great opportunity to get my body to the peak of health and fitness. Obviously not by starving myself of vital nutrients I will need to breast feed and run around after her. But by trying to put better fuel in the proverbial tank. So, the junk food will be phased out and a lot more fresh produce will come in to replace it. And I'll get back on the Boxing training, Pilates and Yoga to build strength. It certainly won't be easy, but I've been looking around for inspiration and it hit me the other day, if some dumb cow who can't even string a sentence together, let alone operate a camera and put her stupid arse on You Tube, can motivate herself to do the best for her health, mind, body and child, I think I can muster some time every day once I've gotten into a routine with the baby. And I've never really been fit before. Since my early teens I've been eating out of boredom, excitement, as rewards, as consolation or because it just happened to be lunchtime. I was very carefree before then. And I was skinny. I ran around and played with the other kids, rode my bike all over the place, read my books and wrote my stories. No Fear. Kids have a beautiful confidence and innocence in them that's kind of beaten away by growing up and 'facing reality', like that's ever helpful. I can't pinpoint the exact time, but gradually the Self Conscious learned to loathe me and I suppose as I was never one to follow fashion and become Emo or cut myself, food was an easier and tastier alternative. I certainly think my relationship with food has improved over time, but I am under no illusions that I've been thoughtful during the pregnancy and have even used this time as an excuse to eat whatever the hell I liked (except for stuff that could harm the baby, I've been quite strict about that. The Irony!). No more excuses. Plus I've had some fucking awful heartburn the past 3 weeks and I know a lot of it is because there's a baby taking up space and playing with my organs, but I also recognise that rich, fatty, salty food does tend to repeat and takes longer to digest. As for the meat; it won't be cut out but it will be cut down. This is why I can't be a Vegan. Maybe as time goes on I will try other things, give being meat-free a couple of weeks or so to see how I feel. We are talking about a loooooooong way in the distance!
Another reason I've not written for a while is because when I did try a while back I ended up writing complete vitriolic nonsense about society. I was very, very angry about the riots and subsequent looting that happened in London a couple of weeks ago. It did take a while for the anger to subside. I realise that it isn't helpful to me or my baby to spend so much time being angry about the world. Stuff like that gets to me, though. I am a member of society too and I don't understand (and still don't) why a group of people would behave like that and even try to justify it in various ways after the event. It's so easy to blame other groups of people or your circumstances for your predicament, but where does your personal responsibility come into it then? Why does nobody understand that they do have a choice? After a while I began to despair of the rolling media coverage, finger pointing, internet bile and stupid arguments and decided it was easier to try and be positive instead. Focus on being the shining example or antidote. "Be the change you want to see in the world." (Ghandi) Then nobody can come to your door with any weak arguments about why they can't do something or everything being pointless. I honestly don't believe in a pessimistic view of the world being a 'real' view. I think it is a hell of a lot easier to be pessimistic than optimistic because, unfortunately, a lot of other people will agree with you and back your concept up when you present it in context. We human beings seem to enjoy taking each other down. Optimists are ridiculed. People are blocked or mocked when they have a passion or a dream. Overcoming obstacles is one of life's most important lessons when it comes to Success. You only really fail if you stop trying. It just seems to me that life was a hell of a lot harder for people before now and yet there were some who made something of themselves. People in our culture now expect everything to be handed to them on a plate with no conscious ideas or thoughts of how to earn these rights, privileges and possessions. Where's the achievement in that? Where's the moral tale? What good will that do you when you're older? You'll have learned nothing and have nothing to contribute to society. Success is as much about give and take as it is about hard work.
I suppose what I've reinforced recently is building my personal strength, mental and physical, in order to get to where I want to be in life, and this isn't about brute force or aggression. It's about confidence, acceptance, joy and love.
Deep eh? :-)
In some baby-related news.... not much has happened. Scans, tests, all fine, seems like I'm having a perfectly healthy-if-slightly-angry baby (saw her in a 3D scan, her face was all screwed up, she really doesn't like any of these machines!) who is the right size, in the right position and hasn't caused me to have all the horrific health problems that I know some others have had the misfortune to suffer with (so far). I am happy and blessed. As for my 'Midwife'... I despair. I'm not going to write any more about her. Normally I let anger get the better of me and write some kind of Facebook status about how much she is annoying me so I guess everyone knows how I feel now! I am not very tolerant when it comes to incompetence. If you are incapable of doing your job properly, please just stop and go play in the traffic so somebody else who actually can do the job and does give a shit can have a go. As it's so close to the end now and there's no real point in trying to change anything, I think I will wait until after Fran is born and then transfer my dealings to the Health Centre at the end of my road. Makes sense anyway. Why on earth do I drive across town for 20 minutes every time I have an appointment when I can walk for less than five minutes to a surgery at the end of my own road? *shrugs and raises eyebrows* Still woefully unprepared for everything right now, but it's coming together slowly. Taking baby steps (pun intended).
Need some water.
Saturday, 30 July 2011
Long
... As in 'not long to go now?'
Or 'Hasn't this been a long week?'
The week started off pretty poorly. I had to go to my GP surgery on Monday for yet another blood test. I am not keen on needles but I suppose I've been jabbed so much this year it's all routine. At least I know where my good veins are if I ever decide to give up on life and become a junkie. Can't remember much else.. oh, yes, I went to see Suzy B and probably bored the tits off her with more of my outer musings on life and shizzle. I think all that stuff I wrote in the last post was still on my mind. She makes good food which I never knew before because we always eat takeaway when I see her. I want her to go on 'Masterchef'! I love Suzy, she's an amazing comedian and should be doing TV panel shows and live DVDs instead of people like Sarah 'unfunny' Millican or Jack 'only fit for the student union' Whitehall. It pains me to see talent idled by fear because I do exactly the same thing. A little bit more belief in myself and I'd be signing my books in Waterstone's on Oxford Street. On the other hand I admire her because she's bloody good at what she does and she does put herself out there sometimes, if not always for the right reasons.... ahem!
Tuesday I was at work minding my business and the phone rings at 8:50. It's the surgery. My results are back already (already?) and the Doctor wants to see me on Thursday morning. Oh. Right. Erm, the Doctor's surgery NEVER calls me. I have to call them or make appointments just to chat. Now recently I've taken a more laissez-faire attitude to my feelings and the actions surrounding this pregnancy, if only to stop me fretting and getting on Stu and everyone else's nerves (but mainly my own!), and because I don't know what's going to happen so it's better to loosen my ideal of having control over everything. But this threw me. Something must have happened, right? I already know what having low levels of platelets in my blood meant for me and giving birth. Maybe they were dangerously low? Maybe I would have to start a course of treatment? All this thinking left me very unsure, tired and apprehensive. Despite some very reassuring words from people on Facebook, I don't think I was happy to let the idea of doom go just yet.
That evening as I commuted home from work, I got off the tube at Piccadilly Circus to be met by a large group of tourists on the platform amongst the usual rush hour commuter throng. I had my headphones on and wearily made my way through the crowd. In London you either get aggressive and push your way through or you just flow and stop and kind of accept you're a bit of flotsam in a stream of humanity at that moment. I was too tired to be pushy so I stumbled through. Apparently this wasn't good enough for a lady in the group who decided her need to get on the train was greater than my need to just mind my business and walk. She put both her hands on my back and pushed me quite hard to move me out of the way. I stumbled a bit but didn't fall over. Now, this is London, folks. You either have an argument with a person which results in somebody telling someone else to go fuck themselves, or you walk off but throw dirty looks over your shoulder and then spend the next half an hour either telling your companion what you think of that person's mother or furiously jabbing your thoughts into a text/Facebook Status/Tweet. For some reason my brain immediately said "No, wait! Hold the fuck on! I'm 8 months pregnant! Who is this bitch? She's not getting away with that!" (Yes that was a lot of thinking for an 'immediate' thought, bear with me...) I turned around to see my assailant in between 2 other women who were still pushing to get on the train. Instinctively, my right hand raised up to shoulder level and I punched her. She turned slightly so what was going to be a full on chest hit ended up hitting her shoulder, but it was pretty bang on. She and the other 2 women she was gassing with all stopped what they were doing and looked at me with open mouthed shock. I glared for a split second then turned back and walked away, furiously flexing my fingers. I never thought about anyone else seeing me or challenging me, or even being followed. Nobody did. I was angry with myself for a minute for being violent, but then I realised I was quite happy. People, especially those who cross your path for a short period of time in life, think they can do what they like to you because they'll never see you again. I had let things like this (not always physical, more verbal abuse) slide in the past and had become docile and fearful of strangers because of it. Yes, this all sounds a bit silly, but it's true. I don't trust people I don't know, because I'm always waiting for the insult or ignorant silence. Waiting to feel like I'm not worthy of being around them. The physical act was wrong, but the clarity of my judgement made sense to me, in a weird way. I am a woman of my own making, and when I say I'm not to be messed with, I mean it! I do not give permission to other people to make me feel bad, worthless or any lesser of a human being.
Wednesday I went to work, was there for maybe 2 and half hours, but felt so drained and tired. I could barely keep my eyes open and my chest was hurting, not in a heartburn way either. I wanted to cry. I called my Team Leader and told him I was going home to sleep. So, that was Wednesday. Sleeping.
Thursday I was a bit more rested but still very tired. Stu had Thursday off so he accompanied me to the surgery to find out what was happening. Finally, I thought, I know what's going to happen and what I can do next. Except that nothing actually happened and I still didn't know what to do next. The doctor told us what we already knew; that my platelet levels were low (they had crept up slightly but it was still no where near the minimum) and I'll have to have another blood test in 3 weeks. There's no treatment for me to take, no diet or exercise I can do. I just have to sit and wait. If the levels still haven't risen by then, we go into Operation Free Francesca. Oh, and I should watch out for any bumps, bruises and unusual swelling. That's it. I was disappointed because I'd read enough to know there are treatments I can be given and this problem could be an indicator of a far greater issue (but I'm not going to think about that because it is just a pregnancy-related problem as my records show I've never had low levels of platelets before) and I was expecting a bit more than just 'Here's what you already know. You can't do anything about it.' Stu and I talked a lot on the way home and over our BLT baguettes. We drew up a Pros and Cons list and decided it would be best if I went on Maternity Leave sooner than I had planned. Little old me had thought I'd be all well and happy and make it through to 37-38 weeks without a hitch.., Yeah, of course. Nothing's ever that simple in my life, is it? Best laid plans...
I think work have been concerned about me still being in the building for a while now (not in a bad way) and I have felt a bit like there was a view that I shouldn't be staying on so long especially after the other 3 pregnant ladies left over a month ago. I wanted to be strong and I thought we would need the extra money. But I can't take commuting anymore, I'm obviously not going to be able to take a huge knock or a bump easily in case another snotty cow decides to get over-friendly with her hands, I hate being hot and dealing with other people's stupidity, and, most importantly... I am tired. So tired.
Friday was my day off. I slept uncomfortably during the night, it was too hot. I need to buy a fan. Then in between breakfast and lunch I slept more. Woke up, pottered around, picked up Stu so we could go to Sainsbury's and do our big shop, came back, ate, gave Stu a pedicure and now he's snoozing while I type this and think about crawling back to my favourite place.
Oh, and I won a small amount of money on the Euromillions again. Also found £20. I keep winning and finding bits of money. Do you think the Universe could find its way to giving me the destiny of winning £1 million? Please? Thanks.
Or 'Hasn't this been a long week?'
The week started off pretty poorly. I had to go to my GP surgery on Monday for yet another blood test. I am not keen on needles but I suppose I've been jabbed so much this year it's all routine. At least I know where my good veins are if I ever decide to give up on life and become a junkie. Can't remember much else.. oh, yes, I went to see Suzy B and probably bored the tits off her with more of my outer musings on life and shizzle. I think all that stuff I wrote in the last post was still on my mind. She makes good food which I never knew before because we always eat takeaway when I see her. I want her to go on 'Masterchef'! I love Suzy, she's an amazing comedian and should be doing TV panel shows and live DVDs instead of people like Sarah 'unfunny' Millican or Jack 'only fit for the student union' Whitehall. It pains me to see talent idled by fear because I do exactly the same thing. A little bit more belief in myself and I'd be signing my books in Waterstone's on Oxford Street. On the other hand I admire her because she's bloody good at what she does and she does put herself out there sometimes, if not always for the right reasons.... ahem!
Tuesday I was at work minding my business and the phone rings at 8:50. It's the surgery. My results are back already (already?) and the Doctor wants to see me on Thursday morning. Oh. Right. Erm, the Doctor's surgery NEVER calls me. I have to call them or make appointments just to chat. Now recently I've taken a more laissez-faire attitude to my feelings and the actions surrounding this pregnancy, if only to stop me fretting and getting on Stu and everyone else's nerves (but mainly my own!), and because I don't know what's going to happen so it's better to loosen my ideal of having control over everything. But this threw me. Something must have happened, right? I already know what having low levels of platelets in my blood meant for me and giving birth. Maybe they were dangerously low? Maybe I would have to start a course of treatment? All this thinking left me very unsure, tired and apprehensive. Despite some very reassuring words from people on Facebook, I don't think I was happy to let the idea of doom go just yet.
That evening as I commuted home from work, I got off the tube at Piccadilly Circus to be met by a large group of tourists on the platform amongst the usual rush hour commuter throng. I had my headphones on and wearily made my way through the crowd. In London you either get aggressive and push your way through or you just flow and stop and kind of accept you're a bit of flotsam in a stream of humanity at that moment. I was too tired to be pushy so I stumbled through. Apparently this wasn't good enough for a lady in the group who decided her need to get on the train was greater than my need to just mind my business and walk. She put both her hands on my back and pushed me quite hard to move me out of the way. I stumbled a bit but didn't fall over. Now, this is London, folks. You either have an argument with a person which results in somebody telling someone else to go fuck themselves, or you walk off but throw dirty looks over your shoulder and then spend the next half an hour either telling your companion what you think of that person's mother or furiously jabbing your thoughts into a text/Facebook Status/Tweet. For some reason my brain immediately said "No, wait! Hold the fuck on! I'm 8 months pregnant! Who is this bitch? She's not getting away with that!" (Yes that was a lot of thinking for an 'immediate' thought, bear with me...) I turned around to see my assailant in between 2 other women who were still pushing to get on the train. Instinctively, my right hand raised up to shoulder level and I punched her. She turned slightly so what was going to be a full on chest hit ended up hitting her shoulder, but it was pretty bang on. She and the other 2 women she was gassing with all stopped what they were doing and looked at me with open mouthed shock. I glared for a split second then turned back and walked away, furiously flexing my fingers. I never thought about anyone else seeing me or challenging me, or even being followed. Nobody did. I was angry with myself for a minute for being violent, but then I realised I was quite happy. People, especially those who cross your path for a short period of time in life, think they can do what they like to you because they'll never see you again. I had let things like this (not always physical, more verbal abuse) slide in the past and had become docile and fearful of strangers because of it. Yes, this all sounds a bit silly, but it's true. I don't trust people I don't know, because I'm always waiting for the insult or ignorant silence. Waiting to feel like I'm not worthy of being around them. The physical act was wrong, but the clarity of my judgement made sense to me, in a weird way. I am a woman of my own making, and when I say I'm not to be messed with, I mean it! I do not give permission to other people to make me feel bad, worthless or any lesser of a human being.
Wednesday I went to work, was there for maybe 2 and half hours, but felt so drained and tired. I could barely keep my eyes open and my chest was hurting, not in a heartburn way either. I wanted to cry. I called my Team Leader and told him I was going home to sleep. So, that was Wednesday. Sleeping.
Thursday I was a bit more rested but still very tired. Stu had Thursday off so he accompanied me to the surgery to find out what was happening. Finally, I thought, I know what's going to happen and what I can do next. Except that nothing actually happened and I still didn't know what to do next. The doctor told us what we already knew; that my platelet levels were low (they had crept up slightly but it was still no where near the minimum) and I'll have to have another blood test in 3 weeks. There's no treatment for me to take, no diet or exercise I can do. I just have to sit and wait. If the levels still haven't risen by then, we go into Operation Free Francesca. Oh, and I should watch out for any bumps, bruises and unusual swelling. That's it. I was disappointed because I'd read enough to know there are treatments I can be given and this problem could be an indicator of a far greater issue (but I'm not going to think about that because it is just a pregnancy-related problem as my records show I've never had low levels of platelets before) and I was expecting a bit more than just 'Here's what you already know. You can't do anything about it.' Stu and I talked a lot on the way home and over our BLT baguettes. We drew up a Pros and Cons list and decided it would be best if I went on Maternity Leave sooner than I had planned. Little old me had thought I'd be all well and happy and make it through to 37-38 weeks without a hitch.., Yeah, of course. Nothing's ever that simple in my life, is it? Best laid plans...
I think work have been concerned about me still being in the building for a while now (not in a bad way) and I have felt a bit like there was a view that I shouldn't be staying on so long especially after the other 3 pregnant ladies left over a month ago. I wanted to be strong and I thought we would need the extra money. But I can't take commuting anymore, I'm obviously not going to be able to take a huge knock or a bump easily in case another snotty cow decides to get over-friendly with her hands, I hate being hot and dealing with other people's stupidity, and, most importantly... I am tired. So tired.
Friday was my day off. I slept uncomfortably during the night, it was too hot. I need to buy a fan. Then in between breakfast and lunch I slept more. Woke up, pottered around, picked up Stu so we could go to Sainsbury's and do our big shop, came back, ate, gave Stu a pedicure and now he's snoozing while I type this and think about crawling back to my favourite place.
Oh, and I won a small amount of money on the Euromillions again. Also found £20. I keep winning and finding bits of money. Do you think the Universe could find its way to giving me the destiny of winning £1 million? Please? Thanks.
Monday, 25 July 2011
Death
Don't wanna waste no more time
Time's what we don't have
Everywhere I look, someone dies
Wonder when it's my turn?
- Living Is A Problem Because Everything Dies, Biffy Clyro
Well here's a happy subject!
I think it's something that has been on everyone mind recently because of events in the past few days. The above song came on the ipod today when I was leaving work. I love the aptitude fate has for throwing appropriate music at you, especially lyrics. Now it's 3 in the morning and I've woken up after having a particularly ferocious nightmare about Facebook statuses and being cut open (I guess that's a latent caesarean fear code?) and a lovely bit of heartburn to boot. And bloody Amy Winehouse songs going around my head.
Amy, Amy, Amy. What the hell, man? Why be such a fucking cliche? I was so mad when I heard she'd died. For starters, the bitch still owes me £35 for that awful gig I went to of hers where she practically ignored the audience and slurred her way through every song on her album (including one of them twice). I promised myself that if I ever saw her out and about I'd ask her for it! Straight up. I've been joking to people recently that I'll chase her estate for it. But it pissed me off the most that it was all so... predictable. As yet, there has been no word on an official cause of death, but seeing as the media and anyone living under a rock knew she had severe addiction problems and it's pretty darn rare that 27 year old women just lie down in their homes and die, we've all gone straight to the drug conclusion. (I swear to God, if I read one more person reference the '27 Club'....) So, she's a dead junkie musician who died in her prime. Just like hundreds of others. I'm not going to bother referencing them here, go read Wikipedia. Any chance of you learning a lesson from others, Amy? All the bleeding heart "Poor Amy, she couldn't fight her demons, blah blah blah" crap annoys me, because she was a woman who was incredibly talented and afforded all the trappings of success and yet she still chose to run back to the baggy, pipe or needle. And all the people are mourning her because she's famous. 'A Wasted Talent'. If it was Karen Winehouse who lived on your road or block, spent her life pawning jewellery and drinking cheap lager and had 3 teeth BUT was an amazing singer, what would the story in the paper be? "Junkie found dead in flat". I loved her first album. She looked healthy, but obviously had issues even then. The second album was lauded and awarded all over the world. She had the support of family, friends, management, a record company (I know some people have drawn the conclusion of 'pressure from above to make money' but we the public cannot make a huge judgement on that, plus she did keep a low profile for a while to try and sort herself out and she could have easily bowed out gracefully if it was too much) and a loyal fan base, yet all that love, devotion and respect couldn't manifest itself into an ounce of respect for herself? I suppose as a human being I am more disappointed in another human being's decision to self-destruct rather than face up to life and show a bit of back bone. Plus I really have little sympathy or respect for junkies. They will lie, cheat, steal and sell their Granny's slippers to get that rock. There's been a lot of debate on statuses and groups on Facebook the past couple of days about addiction being an illness. I understand the basis of that theory and fully believe that we all have an addictive element to our personalities. Everyone has their 'thing'. However, when you choose to pick up those terrible, evil, life threatening and devastating habits that make no logical sense, and you continue them despite all the help in the world, you're making a conscious decision to ignore a better path, the people who love you and the ultimate treasure that is life. It's a shame that all those things were not enough for her and millions of people before her. I do not pity Amy Winehouse, but I do pity all that she left behind (even her father who I find a little dubious for trying to launch a career on his daughter's coat tails, but I do not doubt he loved her deeply and tried to do his best for her).
The thing that has irritated me the most about this story is that for 2 days before, a horrible event of mass murder was occurring in Norway. A man set a bomb in the Norwegian parliament building which killed 7 people, then went to an island and shot at least 85 people, many of them teenagers. He apparently acted alone and is going to make some grandiose statement today about why he did it. To be honest, mate, I'm not sure anyone cares why you did it, they just want to string you up! I've never been to Norway but seems to be a pretty laid back country. The people, especially their heads of state. have handled themselves beautifully in the face of what is essentially a Terrorist attack. To hear of a man randomly shooting innocent young teens is horrific in any country. But now the general public's focus seems to be (in this country at least) more "Famous Junkie Found Dead In Home" and less "Terrorist Act Leaves Many Dead and Whole Country Devastated", or "Famine Continues In East Africa Leaving Many Dying Of Starvation", or "Gunman Shoots 5 Dead In Texas After Argument In Skating Rink", or "35 Killed In Train Crash In China". There is so much death around at the moment, so much of it needless and of people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and yet the media and public want to focus on some idiot singer's long-term suicide? I find this abhorrent. If you check out the papers today, their lead story is mostly Amy with some more info on Norway. Go onto any news website, there's 3 or 4 angles on who feels sad about Amy and probably some good reportage on Norway, but not much else about others. A few of my Facebook friends have mentioned their sorrow about Norway, a couple have referenced other stories of loss but gosh my news feed blew up when old Ratty-Hair-Piece popped her clogs! I'm not comfortable with a general public who choose to view terrorism, famine and atrocities stories without passing thoughts or comment but will fall over themselves to express sympathy for a famous dead person. Any death is sad and all life is equal. Many would argue that it's the media who feed this insatiable desire for news about fame, wealth and downfall. Or are they sustaining a drug-like supply for the masses? I never buy 'celebrity' magazines and stopped buying newspapers a long time before phone hacking made people nervous, but there seems to be this weird demand for them. Why? What do I need to know about Coleen Rooney's weight loss? Or Dannii Minogue's skin care regime? Or anything about Kerry Katona? Is there an empty space in your life that needs filling with other people's bullshit?
I sometimes wonder what kind of world I will be bringing my child into. How will I be able to help her understand what is real and important? I guess she won't escape the vacuous nature of peer pressure and media ideas on beauty, fame, success and wealth, because she will have friends and peers who will believe in that. Parenting will be a hard job.
On a similar, but ever-so-slightly-more-positive note, I watched a documentary a couple of nights ago about a guy called Alex Lewis who spent 4 years of his young life battling cancer. Now, that is an illness. He did not choose his fate and yet he handled it with such dignity and joy. He tried to live the best life possible while he could. I did think this was going to be just another sad story, but I've learned more about how to live, enjoy and appreciate life from watching this young man and his family and friends than from any famous person's story. Happiness and Success are personal and subjective elements of your life, but I think many would agree that you would have a greater life following Alex's example. Google him, or go to the link (if it still works, they take videos down after a while) and watch this show.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b012p4v6/Alex_A_Life_Fast_Forward/
And so to bed...
Time's what we don't have
Everywhere I look, someone dies
Wonder when it's my turn?
- Living Is A Problem Because Everything Dies, Biffy Clyro
Well here's a happy subject!
I think it's something that has been on everyone mind recently because of events in the past few days. The above song came on the ipod today when I was leaving work. I love the aptitude fate has for throwing appropriate music at you, especially lyrics. Now it's 3 in the morning and I've woken up after having a particularly ferocious nightmare about Facebook statuses and being cut open (I guess that's a latent caesarean fear code?) and a lovely bit of heartburn to boot. And bloody Amy Winehouse songs going around my head.
Amy, Amy, Amy. What the hell, man? Why be such a fucking cliche? I was so mad when I heard she'd died. For starters, the bitch still owes me £35 for that awful gig I went to of hers where she practically ignored the audience and slurred her way through every song on her album (including one of them twice). I promised myself that if I ever saw her out and about I'd ask her for it! Straight up. I've been joking to people recently that I'll chase her estate for it. But it pissed me off the most that it was all so... predictable. As yet, there has been no word on an official cause of death, but seeing as the media and anyone living under a rock knew she had severe addiction problems and it's pretty darn rare that 27 year old women just lie down in their homes and die, we've all gone straight to the drug conclusion. (I swear to God, if I read one more person reference the '27 Club'....) So, she's a dead junkie musician who died in her prime. Just like hundreds of others. I'm not going to bother referencing them here, go read Wikipedia. Any chance of you learning a lesson from others, Amy? All the bleeding heart "Poor Amy, she couldn't fight her demons, blah blah blah" crap annoys me, because she was a woman who was incredibly talented and afforded all the trappings of success and yet she still chose to run back to the baggy, pipe or needle. And all the people are mourning her because she's famous. 'A Wasted Talent'. If it was Karen Winehouse who lived on your road or block, spent her life pawning jewellery and drinking cheap lager and had 3 teeth BUT was an amazing singer, what would the story in the paper be? "Junkie found dead in flat". I loved her first album. She looked healthy, but obviously had issues even then. The second album was lauded and awarded all over the world. She had the support of family, friends, management, a record company (I know some people have drawn the conclusion of 'pressure from above to make money' but we the public cannot make a huge judgement on that, plus she did keep a low profile for a while to try and sort herself out and she could have easily bowed out gracefully if it was too much) and a loyal fan base, yet all that love, devotion and respect couldn't manifest itself into an ounce of respect for herself? I suppose as a human being I am more disappointed in another human being's decision to self-destruct rather than face up to life and show a bit of back bone. Plus I really have little sympathy or respect for junkies. They will lie, cheat, steal and sell their Granny's slippers to get that rock. There's been a lot of debate on statuses and groups on Facebook the past couple of days about addiction being an illness. I understand the basis of that theory and fully believe that we all have an addictive element to our personalities. Everyone has their 'thing'. However, when you choose to pick up those terrible, evil, life threatening and devastating habits that make no logical sense, and you continue them despite all the help in the world, you're making a conscious decision to ignore a better path, the people who love you and the ultimate treasure that is life. It's a shame that all those things were not enough for her and millions of people before her. I do not pity Amy Winehouse, but I do pity all that she left behind (even her father who I find a little dubious for trying to launch a career on his daughter's coat tails, but I do not doubt he loved her deeply and tried to do his best for her).
The thing that has irritated me the most about this story is that for 2 days before, a horrible event of mass murder was occurring in Norway. A man set a bomb in the Norwegian parliament building which killed 7 people, then went to an island and shot at least 85 people, many of them teenagers. He apparently acted alone and is going to make some grandiose statement today about why he did it. To be honest, mate, I'm not sure anyone cares why you did it, they just want to string you up! I've never been to Norway but seems to be a pretty laid back country. The people, especially their heads of state. have handled themselves beautifully in the face of what is essentially a Terrorist attack. To hear of a man randomly shooting innocent young teens is horrific in any country. But now the general public's focus seems to be (in this country at least) more "Famous Junkie Found Dead In Home" and less "Terrorist Act Leaves Many Dead and Whole Country Devastated", or "Famine Continues In East Africa Leaving Many Dying Of Starvation", or "Gunman Shoots 5 Dead In Texas After Argument In Skating Rink", or "35 Killed In Train Crash In China". There is so much death around at the moment, so much of it needless and of people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and yet the media and public want to focus on some idiot singer's long-term suicide? I find this abhorrent. If you check out the papers today, their lead story is mostly Amy with some more info on Norway. Go onto any news website, there's 3 or 4 angles on who feels sad about Amy and probably some good reportage on Norway, but not much else about others. A few of my Facebook friends have mentioned their sorrow about Norway, a couple have referenced other stories of loss but gosh my news feed blew up when old Ratty-Hair-Piece popped her clogs! I'm not comfortable with a general public who choose to view terrorism, famine and atrocities stories without passing thoughts or comment but will fall over themselves to express sympathy for a famous dead person. Any death is sad and all life is equal. Many would argue that it's the media who feed this insatiable desire for news about fame, wealth and downfall. Or are they sustaining a drug-like supply for the masses? I never buy 'celebrity' magazines and stopped buying newspapers a long time before phone hacking made people nervous, but there seems to be this weird demand for them. Why? What do I need to know about Coleen Rooney's weight loss? Or Dannii Minogue's skin care regime? Or anything about Kerry Katona? Is there an empty space in your life that needs filling with other people's bullshit?
I sometimes wonder what kind of world I will be bringing my child into. How will I be able to help her understand what is real and important? I guess she won't escape the vacuous nature of peer pressure and media ideas on beauty, fame, success and wealth, because she will have friends and peers who will believe in that. Parenting will be a hard job.
On a similar, but ever-so-slightly-more-positive note, I watched a documentary a couple of nights ago about a guy called Alex Lewis who spent 4 years of his young life battling cancer. Now, that is an illness. He did not choose his fate and yet he handled it with such dignity and joy. He tried to live the best life possible while he could. I did think this was going to be just another sad story, but I've learned more about how to live, enjoy and appreciate life from watching this young man and his family and friends than from any famous person's story. Happiness and Success are personal and subjective elements of your life, but I think many would agree that you would have a greater life following Alex's example. Google him, or go to the link (if it still works, they take videos down after a while) and watch this show.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b012p4v6/Alex_A_Life_Fast_Forward/
And so to bed...
Saturday, 16 July 2011
Reboot
Well hello blogger!
I am terrible. I enjoy writing so much, especially blogs because as soon as I start typing a raw emotion flows from my fingertips into the keyboard and it really does feel like I'm talking. I like to let this flow.
I have, however, become complacent. My hormones have not helped and I have to recognise this as a fact; pregnancy hormones can really mess with your head. It's like a recurring, more frequent PMT. I become despairing and lazy and apathetic. I sometimes forget about the beautiful thing that Stu and I have created that's lying peacefully in my midriff, and everything small and insignificant becomes some kind of 'film protagonist' struggle of life and death. In my current state of mind, I know that this is poor.
Don't get me wrong, I had some feelings like this even before I became pregnant. I know I've had mild depression in the past. It took a lot of soul searching and reading and good energy for me to realise what is and is not important, who to rely on and what I really wanted from life. My current feeling is that, despite the increased pressure of thinking about a baby and my mood swings, I am on the right track and this is always going to be a learning curve. None of us are perfect though we strive to be. We measure ourselves against other people's experiences and are taught that the do, be, eat, talk, think better than someone, and to have more, is all that matters. This is balls.
So what I'm trying to do now is be a bit more insular. Not in a negative way, I would never consider myself to be merely an island or act so aloof as to alienate people. More that I am trying to rely on my own energy and feelings about things. I was never a sheep anyway. I had a lot of trouble when growing up trying to understand why it was so important to be part of a crowd, do the same things, wear the same clothes and all that nonsense. I try now to draw power from the right people and situations, think about what I really want from this time we have and how I want my life to be. I've cut a lot of people and things out now that I don't believe are beneficial. I recognise and accept my emotions. I try to think more positively and laugh every day (the one thing we all want ultimately is happiness, right?). My only problems now are procrastination and impatience! Frustration gets the better of me at low points.
All this is making me view the pregnancy, and, more importantly, my impending motherhood and daughter-to-be, in a much healthier light. Where I was fearful and apprehensive, even naive, now I want to experience these things with vigour, examine them, test my strength and appreciate every minute. When my mind goes back to 'shallow mode' and I am moaning about some pain or telling someone about a horror story I read about a caesarean, it's only a couple of quick snaps away from me reminding myself of how lucky I am, or that so many women have been through this more than once and lived to tell a tale of happy they are to have their children in their lives. The recent drought and famine in Kenya and Ethiopia have also helped to sharpen my mind. Women there are walking for 4 weeks with themselves, their husbands and kids suffering malnutrition to camps to get some food or medical aid. Being beaten up or robbed on the way. Leaving less strong family members behind. I think my tubby arse can get out of bed for work, stretch my legs for some yoga or make it down to Sainsbury's to buy groceries without it being an issue!
The mind workout stuff is hard to get to grips with at first, of course, and I will always fall back a little and get all uppity and whiny. Practice makes perfect I suppose. It is so important for me to be at peace with myself before I bring this child into the world otherwise I will not be able to pass on the strength and wisdom of my mother and grandmother to her which is what I really want to do as a mother.
Oh, and I need to write more often. Do some more progress reports! I am 31 weeks and 2 days now. Francesca is getting bigger and quite wriggly at times, but I still don't have a massive bump. Definitely showing though. Heartburn is a real bitch. I was all about Rennie but another lady who's already given birth suggested the absolute JOY that is Gaviscon! Man that stuff is good. Still get quite tired. It's nice to rest but I really don't want to spend all my time sleeping. I just had some holiday from work which was cool and to get back into the routine of commuting and being at work was a bit strange at first. I have just over 6 weeks left until I go on maternity if little miss doesn't decide to show up too early. It's going to be a long, busy summer!
I am terrible. I enjoy writing so much, especially blogs because as soon as I start typing a raw emotion flows from my fingertips into the keyboard and it really does feel like I'm talking. I like to let this flow.
I have, however, become complacent. My hormones have not helped and I have to recognise this as a fact; pregnancy hormones can really mess with your head. It's like a recurring, more frequent PMT. I become despairing and lazy and apathetic. I sometimes forget about the beautiful thing that Stu and I have created that's lying peacefully in my midriff, and everything small and insignificant becomes some kind of 'film protagonist' struggle of life and death. In my current state of mind, I know that this is poor.
Don't get me wrong, I had some feelings like this even before I became pregnant. I know I've had mild depression in the past. It took a lot of soul searching and reading and good energy for me to realise what is and is not important, who to rely on and what I really wanted from life. My current feeling is that, despite the increased pressure of thinking about a baby and my mood swings, I am on the right track and this is always going to be a learning curve. None of us are perfect though we strive to be. We measure ourselves against other people's experiences and are taught that the do, be, eat, talk, think better than someone, and to have more, is all that matters. This is balls.
So what I'm trying to do now is be a bit more insular. Not in a negative way, I would never consider myself to be merely an island or act so aloof as to alienate people. More that I am trying to rely on my own energy and feelings about things. I was never a sheep anyway. I had a lot of trouble when growing up trying to understand why it was so important to be part of a crowd, do the same things, wear the same clothes and all that nonsense. I try now to draw power from the right people and situations, think about what I really want from this time we have and how I want my life to be. I've cut a lot of people and things out now that I don't believe are beneficial. I recognise and accept my emotions. I try to think more positively and laugh every day (the one thing we all want ultimately is happiness, right?). My only problems now are procrastination and impatience! Frustration gets the better of me at low points.
All this is making me view the pregnancy, and, more importantly, my impending motherhood and daughter-to-be, in a much healthier light. Where I was fearful and apprehensive, even naive, now I want to experience these things with vigour, examine them, test my strength and appreciate every minute. When my mind goes back to 'shallow mode' and I am moaning about some pain or telling someone about a horror story I read about a caesarean, it's only a couple of quick snaps away from me reminding myself of how lucky I am, or that so many women have been through this more than once and lived to tell a tale of happy they are to have their children in their lives. The recent drought and famine in Kenya and Ethiopia have also helped to sharpen my mind. Women there are walking for 4 weeks with themselves, their husbands and kids suffering malnutrition to camps to get some food or medical aid. Being beaten up or robbed on the way. Leaving less strong family members behind. I think my tubby arse can get out of bed for work, stretch my legs for some yoga or make it down to Sainsbury's to buy groceries without it being an issue!
The mind workout stuff is hard to get to grips with at first, of course, and I will always fall back a little and get all uppity and whiny. Practice makes perfect I suppose. It is so important for me to be at peace with myself before I bring this child into the world otherwise I will not be able to pass on the strength and wisdom of my mother and grandmother to her which is what I really want to do as a mother.
Oh, and I need to write more often. Do some more progress reports! I am 31 weeks and 2 days now. Francesca is getting bigger and quite wriggly at times, but I still don't have a massive bump. Definitely showing though. Heartburn is a real bitch. I was all about Rennie but another lady who's already given birth suggested the absolute JOY that is Gaviscon! Man that stuff is good. Still get quite tired. It's nice to rest but I really don't want to spend all my time sleeping. I just had some holiday from work which was cool and to get back into the routine of commuting and being at work was a bit strange at first. I have just over 6 weeks left until I go on maternity if little miss doesn't decide to show up too early. It's going to be a long, busy summer!
Saturday, 14 May 2011
Brain!
Keep forgetting to update this, bad, very bad!
Well, not forgetting, more I'm too damn tired all the time. I just stayed up to watch the yearly farce that is the Eurovision Song Contest (and believe me, I would be saying that even if we did win) because I'm a Fag Hag and I love all that kitsch shizzle. Anyway, we came 11th. Which is better than normal. The song was not amazing so it was fine.
My little Girl (yes, see, I never got round to do writing about that) has been squirming about regularly in my stomach. Still not at the 'uncomfortable' stage, but still a little unsure as to what's going on. I feel pregnant about 60% of the time. Feel like I should be doing more, finding out more. And so many other women around me are pregnant now, going through their own journeys. I can't wait to meet our daughter. Labour and Birth still scare me. Actually watched 'One Born Every Minute' for the first time a couple of weeks ago, was not very helpful! Silly overreacting screaming woman who couldn't take pain.
Want to write more but must sleep. Work tomorrow, then I'll get back to this.
Well, not forgetting, more I'm too damn tired all the time. I just stayed up to watch the yearly farce that is the Eurovision Song Contest (and believe me, I would be saying that even if we did win) because I'm a Fag Hag and I love all that kitsch shizzle. Anyway, we came 11th. Which is better than normal. The song was not amazing so it was fine.
My little Girl (yes, see, I never got round to do writing about that) has been squirming about regularly in my stomach. Still not at the 'uncomfortable' stage, but still a little unsure as to what's going on. I feel pregnant about 60% of the time. Feel like I should be doing more, finding out more. And so many other women around me are pregnant now, going through their own journeys. I can't wait to meet our daughter. Labour and Birth still scare me. Actually watched 'One Born Every Minute' for the first time a couple of weeks ago, was not very helpful! Silly overreacting screaming woman who couldn't take pain.
Want to write more but must sleep. Work tomorrow, then I'll get back to this.
Sunday, 17 April 2011
Glow
I've just had a fabulous weekend with my very lovely 'mum' Janny P and some of the Jamily crew. Twas very good fun, albeit a little strange at times (that's not how I remember Michael Jackson...!) but honestly, I can say I'd forgotten how good it is to be happy, tired and to have cheeks that hurt from laughing and smiling so much! I suppose it breaks up the mundane. If only life could be like that every day...
So, Sturica Bump has been to his/her first 2 gigs; Jamiroquai @ the O2 and Incognito @ the Bunn Leisure/Bum Pleasure park (hahahaha!). As Peggy said, this is going to be one funky baby! I might as well sort out his/her musical tastes early. My mother told me she used to play Stevie Wonder when I was in the womb. Babies can hear music and familiar sounds and recall them once out of the womb, so I'd like to think if I play enough funky, soulful vibes they'll grow up with a solid back ground of old school music which will lead them to good artists of the present and future.
Right, flaming tired as always and Stu is already snoozing behind me. Thank goodness I still have one more day off!
So, Sturica Bump has been to his/her first 2 gigs; Jamiroquai @ the O2 and Incognito @ the Bunn Leisure/Bum Pleasure park (hahahaha!). As Peggy said, this is going to be one funky baby! I might as well sort out his/her musical tastes early. My mother told me she used to play Stevie Wonder when I was in the womb. Babies can hear music and familiar sounds and recall them once out of the womb, so I'd like to think if I play enough funky, soulful vibes they'll grow up with a solid back ground of old school music which will lead them to good artists of the present and future.
Right, flaming tired as always and Stu is already snoozing behind me. Thank goodness I still have one more day off!
Wednesday, 13 April 2011
Return
Hola!
As per flaming usual I have neglected something I started which is the basis of my whole life. That sounds like a bad omen for having a child, eh? Ha, of course no such thing ever happens when that situation or person is so important.
Between our trip to Scotland (very nice, weather was a bit funny here and there) and having a horrific cold (and a lovely cold sore to boot, the first for about a decade) I have been quite occupied and tired.
Went for another midwife appointment yesterday. What I said on the way home about the NHS shall not be repeated on here, but I am happy to let all that trivial stuff that used to really grind my gears blow over me now. Yes, I still get angry, but not for long, and I know I have a lot to be thankful for. Anyway, it was nice to hear the baby's heartbeat again (heard it last week when Stu and I went to the Ante Natal clinic at the hospital for another appointment). So magical to imagine this little thing is not only growing beautifully inside me, but that it's also having a mini rave to pass the time! 149BPM+ the midwife measured his or her heart rate at yesterday. Considering I constantly worry that something bad must have happened because... well... nothing's happening. Everything is fine.
I know it's silly to worry and it's really part of my nature that is amplified at the moment (mainly due to hormones). Obviously this is all very new to me, and the little I knew has been completely blown out of the water by what I've learned in the past 3 months. I worry if I am sick, I worry if there is random pain, I worry when I feel a flutter, I worry when I don't feel anything all day, I worry because my symptoms have completely calmed down (other than the odd sick moment or headache), I worried about the cold and the cold sore but apparently that isn't a problem and my immune system is going to take a battering during this time. I worry when I wake up lying face down in bed (pointless as the little thing is very well protected in there, and by the time it gets bigger I won't be able to do that anyway!), about eating something 'prohibited' by accident, about money (although Stu has just started a full time job so that's taken the pressure off and made us both really happy), about putting on too much weight, about not eating enough, about losing weight afterwards, about getting so flaming big that I can't bend over to tie up my shoes, about me or the baby becoming ill before the birth... and on and on and on it goes. This is probably why I can't sleep, huh? Well, that and a constant need to empty my bladder.
I am sure of this, though - my worrying means nothing. My sixth sense is pretty good and if there really was something wrong, I would act upon it rather than sitting about fretting.
The thing I worry about most is giving birth. It's the one thing I said I would NEVER EVER do, mainly because it looks and sounds far too painful to be something you just casually forget. All my brain keeps saying is "How is that big thing gonna come of that small hole?" which yes, I know the technicalities of the process, but physically and psychologically it freaks me out. I always said if it came to the crunch I'd have an elective Caesarian. Now I'm more informed (because I have to be, grrrr) I understand the potential issues with that and how it will affect my body in the important months after little Sturica Bump is here. I don't think it's always about being 'too posh to push'. I don't think many women really want to be almost literally gutted and then spend months recovering (though if they decided to do a tummy tuck while they were there, that could kill 2 birds with one stone and be more attractive ;-p). Honestly, I am leaning towards natural birth now, but I am still very scared and avoiding the issue for as long as I have to. I even skip those pages in the books and magazines I read and I have not seen one episode of 'One Born Every Minute'! I will have to face my bete noir eventually but for now my head is buried rather firmly in the proverbial sand.
As per flaming usual I have neglected something I started which is the basis of my whole life. That sounds like a bad omen for having a child, eh? Ha, of course no such thing ever happens when that situation or person is so important.
Between our trip to Scotland (very nice, weather was a bit funny here and there) and having a horrific cold (and a lovely cold sore to boot, the first for about a decade) I have been quite occupied and tired.
Went for another midwife appointment yesterday. What I said on the way home about the NHS shall not be repeated on here, but I am happy to let all that trivial stuff that used to really grind my gears blow over me now. Yes, I still get angry, but not for long, and I know I have a lot to be thankful for. Anyway, it was nice to hear the baby's heartbeat again (heard it last week when Stu and I went to the Ante Natal clinic at the hospital for another appointment). So magical to imagine this little thing is not only growing beautifully inside me, but that it's also having a mini rave to pass the time! 149BPM+ the midwife measured his or her heart rate at yesterday. Considering I constantly worry that something bad must have happened because... well... nothing's happening. Everything is fine.
I know it's silly to worry and it's really part of my nature that is amplified at the moment (mainly due to hormones). Obviously this is all very new to me, and the little I knew has been completely blown out of the water by what I've learned in the past 3 months. I worry if I am sick, I worry if there is random pain, I worry when I feel a flutter, I worry when I don't feel anything all day, I worry because my symptoms have completely calmed down (other than the odd sick moment or headache), I worried about the cold and the cold sore but apparently that isn't a problem and my immune system is going to take a battering during this time. I worry when I wake up lying face down in bed (pointless as the little thing is very well protected in there, and by the time it gets bigger I won't be able to do that anyway!), about eating something 'prohibited' by accident, about money (although Stu has just started a full time job so that's taken the pressure off and made us both really happy), about putting on too much weight, about not eating enough, about losing weight afterwards, about getting so flaming big that I can't bend over to tie up my shoes, about me or the baby becoming ill before the birth... and on and on and on it goes. This is probably why I can't sleep, huh? Well, that and a constant need to empty my bladder.
I am sure of this, though - my worrying means nothing. My sixth sense is pretty good and if there really was something wrong, I would act upon it rather than sitting about fretting.
The thing I worry about most is giving birth. It's the one thing I said I would NEVER EVER do, mainly because it looks and sounds far too painful to be something you just casually forget. All my brain keeps saying is "How is that big thing gonna come of that small hole?" which yes, I know the technicalities of the process, but physically and psychologically it freaks me out. I always said if it came to the crunch I'd have an elective Caesarian. Now I'm more informed (because I have to be, grrrr) I understand the potential issues with that and how it will affect my body in the important months after little Sturica Bump is here. I don't think it's always about being 'too posh to push'. I don't think many women really want to be almost literally gutted and then spend months recovering (though if they decided to do a tummy tuck while they were there, that could kill 2 birds with one stone and be more attractive ;-p). Honestly, I am leaning towards natural birth now, but I am still very scared and avoiding the issue for as long as I have to. I even skip those pages in the books and magazines I read and I have not seen one episode of 'One Born Every Minute'! I will have to face my bete noir eventually but for now my head is buried rather firmly in the proverbial sand.
Wednesday, 23 March 2011
Always Tired...
... which is why it seems like I've abandoned this before I've really begun!
Stu is poorly today so I'm doing a little bit of 'Nurse Erica', but not too much.
Currently looking about for funky maternity clothes. I've decided I want to be a Funky Mother. I might as well let my fun side out. I want our child to be a happy, funny and proud individual. If I'm not out there being who I am and enjoying life, how will little Sturica Bump develop his or her personality? I don't want to set any bad examples. Easier said than done, eh? Everything is within us and is in our power as parents, so we can try our best.
I believe I'm currently experiencing what they call 'quickening', the little butterfly wing flutters. I say 'I believe' because God knows I've never felt anything like this before and I could obviously be mistaking wind or bowel movements for this feeling! From reading tons of websites and the books and magazines lying around I don't think I'm meant to be feeling this so early because I'm quite overweight and I'm a first-timer so my uterus isn't as thin as women who've already done this. But hey, as I keep being told 'every women is going to have different experiences'... blah blah blah.
Indigestion is a proper bitch too. I can have a day where I eat like food's going out of circulation and I'll be alright, the next day I force down 2 slices of toast and rest of the day anything I eat feels like it's stuck in my throat and I'm bloated.
I'm also wondering when I'm going to start looking more pregnant and less fat? If only I'd gotten skinny before life dropped the B-bomb on me.
I worry a lot. My next post will be about worrying.
Stu is poorly today so I'm doing a little bit of 'Nurse Erica', but not too much.
Currently looking about for funky maternity clothes. I've decided I want to be a Funky Mother. I might as well let my fun side out. I want our child to be a happy, funny and proud individual. If I'm not out there being who I am and enjoying life, how will little Sturica Bump develop his or her personality? I don't want to set any bad examples. Easier said than done, eh? Everything is within us and is in our power as parents, so we can try our best.
I believe I'm currently experiencing what they call 'quickening', the little butterfly wing flutters. I say 'I believe' because God knows I've never felt anything like this before and I could obviously be mistaking wind or bowel movements for this feeling! From reading tons of websites and the books and magazines lying around I don't think I'm meant to be feeling this so early because I'm quite overweight and I'm a first-timer so my uterus isn't as thin as women who've already done this. But hey, as I keep being told 'every women is going to have different experiences'... blah blah blah.
Indigestion is a proper bitch too. I can have a day where I eat like food's going out of circulation and I'll be alright, the next day I force down 2 slices of toast and rest of the day anything I eat feels like it's stuck in my throat and I'm bloated.
I'm also wondering when I'm going to start looking more pregnant and less fat? If only I'd gotten skinny before life dropped the B-bomb on me.
I worry a lot. My next post will be about worrying.
Tuesday, 15 March 2011
Names...
Some things to explain:
The name of this blog page is Sturica. This is not some vain attempt to name our child after ourselves in some kind of messed up 'Brangelina' fashion. It was just something Jan said jokingly and, until we know what gender our little one will be, I'm calling it 'Sturica Bump'.
The name thing in general is contentious. That wonderful old-fashioned notion we all have of men wanting a son and women wanting a daughter obviously hasn't reached our brains yet (we really don't care, as long as (s)he is healthy and happy!). We are all done and dusted with a girl's name! Well, to be honest, I had her first name in my head since I was a teenager, even though I seldom believed I would have the chance to bestow it upon my own flesh and blood. Middle names are in tribute to family.
Boys' names on the other hand... You know when you are in the honeymoon period of your relationship and you're playing the 'just supposing..' game? Stuart mentioned during this time that if we had kids he'd like to have a boy called Pedro. Yeah, I can see you reading this and doing the same face I did! Erm, for SO many reasons... 'No'. He mentions this again when we're on the way back from the hospital after my first scan. Apparently, it's 'Urban and Gritty'. Yeah, and one step away from my child being called 'Pedo' in the playground! Hell no. He know says he wasn't that serious about the name, but is rather keen on Carlos instead. I do not understand this obsession with Spanish names, but anyway... *rolls eyes* Anything I suggest gets vetoed because they sound too posh or too regal. I love Alexander, Thomas and Lewis. All the men in Stu's family have rather sensible, Scottish-ish (ish?) names like George and Andrew.
We are agreed on no stupid, fashionable chav names like Alfie and Charlie. And no Old Men names. Who wants to be a 3 year old Albert? And no random biblical names either.
So, yeah, that's why I have the 'Don't Vote For Pedro' picture on this blog. It's just wrong.
If anyone is reading this and has a sensible suggestion that Stu won't screw his face up at, let me know. :-)
The name of this blog page is Sturica. This is not some vain attempt to name our child after ourselves in some kind of messed up 'Brangelina' fashion. It was just something Jan said jokingly and, until we know what gender our little one will be, I'm calling it 'Sturica Bump'.
The name thing in general is contentious. That wonderful old-fashioned notion we all have of men wanting a son and women wanting a daughter obviously hasn't reached our brains yet (we really don't care, as long as (s)he is healthy and happy!). We are all done and dusted with a girl's name! Well, to be honest, I had her first name in my head since I was a teenager, even though I seldom believed I would have the chance to bestow it upon my own flesh and blood. Middle names are in tribute to family.
Boys' names on the other hand... You know when you are in the honeymoon period of your relationship and you're playing the 'just supposing..' game? Stuart mentioned during this time that if we had kids he'd like to have a boy called Pedro. Yeah, I can see you reading this and doing the same face I did! Erm, for SO many reasons... 'No'. He mentions this again when we're on the way back from the hospital after my first scan. Apparently, it's 'Urban and Gritty'. Yeah, and one step away from my child being called 'Pedo' in the playground! Hell no. He know says he wasn't that serious about the name, but is rather keen on Carlos instead. I do not understand this obsession with Spanish names, but anyway... *rolls eyes* Anything I suggest gets vetoed because they sound too posh or too regal. I love Alexander, Thomas and Lewis. All the men in Stu's family have rather sensible, Scottish-ish (ish?) names like George and Andrew.
We are agreed on no stupid, fashionable chav names like Alfie and Charlie. And no Old Men names. Who wants to be a 3 year old Albert? And no random biblical names either.
So, yeah, that's why I have the 'Don't Vote For Pedro' picture on this blog. It's just wrong.
If anyone is reading this and has a sensible suggestion that Stu won't screw his face up at, let me know. :-)
Saturday, 12 March 2011
Shall We Start At The Beginning?
My dear friend Janny P suggested a few weeks ago that I should start blogging again. I think secretly it's because she's like all my friends, a nosy cow (!!) but I think she has a point. This is a pretty weird and wonderful time for me, so it would be good to get everything down from my head and onto 'paper'. So, here goes nothing...
Anyone who knows me, what's the one thing I said I would NEVER do?
__________________________________________________________
'Once upon a time there was a lady called Eleanor who lay awake on a very cold January night. She had been poorly for at least a week, growing hot and cold, tossing and turning from the persistent pain she suffered within her body. As her unknowing partner snored lightly beside her, she began to feel a now familiar feeling creep across the bed and slowly slide under the soft duvet. A fear, which had started off as a small seed of doubt, now grew so looming and dense in the dark of the early morning. This fear wrung her insides to pulp and spread all through her flesh like a cancer. "Cancer," she thought. That's what it must be.'
I've written the above paragraph melodramatically for a reason. 1. Because it was a good way to open this blog, and 2. Because now I realise how bloody over-the-top and theatrical my mind must have been when I self diagnosed.
So on Tuesday 25th January I made the decision to find out what the hell was going on with my body.
I'd been sitting around feeling the old 'flu blues (I swear, I did have 'flu at first. Or a really heavy cold. Man 'flu?) but it changed into something I didn't understand. I'm not very good at being ill, I mean, who is? Normally I mentally gee myself up to feeling a lot better/stronger after 3 days because I get so friggin' bored of sitting around watching cack TV and not being able to go outside. After a week of phoning in sick and establishing an unhealthy relationship with the Maury show (there's not much funnier than watching a teenage black girl with a ridiculous name go into histrionics when the 3 men she's brought to the show all turn out *not* to be the father of her equally-ridiculously named child), I was fed up, bored, even more tired and afraid.
Stu and I went to the Doctor's surgery. I explain myself, she pokes me a bit, asks the usual questions then smiles and says, "I think you're pregnant." I'm like "Oh hell no!" inside my head. Outside I probably pulled a face resembling a Muppet about to fart. She sends me to buy pregnancy tests (bastards, the NHS, they don't even give them out for free anymore!) and says to come back straight away with the results. We wander down to a chemist in the bloody cold, I buy a 2 pack (always need that second opinion) and get back to the surgery. In the loo, I figure I might as well do both tests at the same time. This apparently is not advised in the notes they supply with the kit so don't follow me if you're mistakenly using this blog post as some kind of 'How To' manual. The double pink lines. Bloody hell, never seen those before.
I shall never forget this bit. I came back into the waiting room to talk to the receptionist so I could see the Doctor again. Stu was sat right on the corner of the seats, and he looks up at me and says "Was it...?", and I just nodded like I'd suddenly become dumb. He did have a half-smile on his face, as I recall. We sit and wait to be called again for what seems like forever, his arm around me, both of us very still and quiet. This is pretty much how we spent the rest of the day, going to the hospital, having the scan and seeing what was essentially a white dot with a heart beat on the screen, finding out I was 6 weeks, everything becoming very real and focused, seeing nurses and doctors, me giving samples, and in between we're clinging onto each other. I'm not sure it was just one emotion. Not for me anyway.
What to do?
Really?
Fear.
Relief.
What does he think?
Can we do this?
Can I do this?
Erm.... What?
I think we both looked so odd, not like a happy couple expecting good news. Stu is not one of those people who registers inner turmoil on his face, he can be very laid back and thinking a lot. So when the specialist was talking to us, there was a lot of talk about "making some decisions" and "not much time if you choice is to abort" and other such stuff. We shuffled out of the hospital in the evening and went to be picked up by my brother. My father hadn't helped matters by telling him there'd been some kind of massive emergency (old people). Found Maccy D's on the way home and sat in the kitchen digesting all this information as well as my food. Man, I was hungry.
We'd muttered a little to each other during the day about what we should do, but our general conclusion was we were going to have to talk about it a bit more. No sooner had we finished eating, Stu called his mother, his older sister and his 2 best friends and told them.
"So," I thought, "I guess we're having this baby then?"
Anyone who knows me, what's the one thing I said I would NEVER do?
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'Once upon a time there was a lady called Eleanor who lay awake on a very cold January night. She had been poorly for at least a week, growing hot and cold, tossing and turning from the persistent pain she suffered within her body. As her unknowing partner snored lightly beside her, she began to feel a now familiar feeling creep across the bed and slowly slide under the soft duvet. A fear, which had started off as a small seed of doubt, now grew so looming and dense in the dark of the early morning. This fear wrung her insides to pulp and spread all through her flesh like a cancer. "Cancer," she thought. That's what it must be.'
I've written the above paragraph melodramatically for a reason. 1. Because it was a good way to open this blog, and 2. Because now I realise how bloody over-the-top and theatrical my mind must have been when I self diagnosed.
So on Tuesday 25th January I made the decision to find out what the hell was going on with my body.
I'd been sitting around feeling the old 'flu blues (I swear, I did have 'flu at first. Or a really heavy cold. Man 'flu?) but it changed into something I didn't understand. I'm not very good at being ill, I mean, who is? Normally I mentally gee myself up to feeling a lot better/stronger after 3 days because I get so friggin' bored of sitting around watching cack TV and not being able to go outside. After a week of phoning in sick and establishing an unhealthy relationship with the Maury show (there's not much funnier than watching a teenage black girl with a ridiculous name go into histrionics when the 3 men she's brought to the show all turn out *not* to be the father of her equally-ridiculously named child), I was fed up, bored, even more tired and afraid.
Stu and I went to the Doctor's surgery. I explain myself, she pokes me a bit, asks the usual questions then smiles and says, "I think you're pregnant." I'm like "Oh hell no!" inside my head. Outside I probably pulled a face resembling a Muppet about to fart. She sends me to buy pregnancy tests (bastards, the NHS, they don't even give them out for free anymore!) and says to come back straight away with the results. We wander down to a chemist in the bloody cold, I buy a 2 pack (always need that second opinion) and get back to the surgery. In the loo, I figure I might as well do both tests at the same time. This apparently is not advised in the notes they supply with the kit so don't follow me if you're mistakenly using this blog post as some kind of 'How To' manual. The double pink lines. Bloody hell, never seen those before.
I shall never forget this bit. I came back into the waiting room to talk to the receptionist so I could see the Doctor again. Stu was sat right on the corner of the seats, and he looks up at me and says "Was it...?", and I just nodded like I'd suddenly become dumb. He did have a half-smile on his face, as I recall. We sit and wait to be called again for what seems like forever, his arm around me, both of us very still and quiet. This is pretty much how we spent the rest of the day, going to the hospital, having the scan and seeing what was essentially a white dot with a heart beat on the screen, finding out I was 6 weeks, everything becoming very real and focused, seeing nurses and doctors, me giving samples, and in between we're clinging onto each other. I'm not sure it was just one emotion. Not for me anyway.
What to do?
Really?
Fear.
Relief.
What does he think?
Can we do this?
Can I do this?
Erm.... What?
I think we both looked so odd, not like a happy couple expecting good news. Stu is not one of those people who registers inner turmoil on his face, he can be very laid back and thinking a lot. So when the specialist was talking to us, there was a lot of talk about "making some decisions" and "not much time if you choice is to abort" and other such stuff. We shuffled out of the hospital in the evening and went to be picked up by my brother. My father hadn't helped matters by telling him there'd been some kind of massive emergency (old people). Found Maccy D's on the way home and sat in the kitchen digesting all this information as well as my food. Man, I was hungry.
We'd muttered a little to each other during the day about what we should do, but our general conclusion was we were going to have to talk about it a bit more. No sooner had we finished eating, Stu called his mother, his older sister and his 2 best friends and told them.
"So," I thought, "I guess we're having this baby then?"
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