We have had a makeover!

This Charming Boy is beginning to look a bit prettier, don't you think? Thank you so much to +elevatormusikblog who designed the template!

the diary of a groovy chick

During my recent house move, I came across a box where I had stashed all of my diaries over the years, since the age of 11. I had a good laugh reading through them and thought it would make a nice blog series! Starting with this.

My fluffy pink, groovy chick journal. For a reason I can't recall I thought her skin would be much more appealing biro blue. Here is the first entry... for reference, Becky was my best friend at the time, we spent a lot of time together and it's reflected in the diary!

Friday 6th July 2001,

Great week, me and Becky didn't fall out once. I am so sick of her counting in Spanish though. And she has been moaning a lot, saying how much she wants to go out with Johnny, (I don't like him any more, since he kissed me at kissy cats. He is so ugly) I also decided Abby isn't very nice, we find out which teacher we get for year 6, I really hope it's Mrs Garner or Mrs Brown and not Mrs Chatterton, I hate her short hair.

I will write in you tomorrow.

five things that made me happy this week

1) Having one of my closest friends Amy, round to visit. I don't get to see her often as she lives in Blackpool so it was a lovely afternoon! It also gave Freddie the chance to show off his owl costume.

Twit twoo!

2) Going for my first interview since graduating, for an absolute dream job. I feel like the interview went as well as it could have done, if nothing else I gained some more interview experience and got the chance to wear my new cigarette cut trousers.

I usually avoid high waisted trousers because I'm quite hippy. (not in a good way.) But these from F&F at Tesco are lovely! I just hope they get me the job. No pressure, trousers. Also, check out Fred's 'so bored of shopping' face. Sorry kid.

3) Meeting my best friends Jasmin and Cathy for lunch in the northern quarter, (when I say lunch I mean a massive piece of cake) and a trip to the Manchester Central Library. The library has recently reopened after four years of refurbishment, it used to be my favourite place, it is such a beautiful building. The under ground has a really good children's section, with sensory play and more books than a 6 month boy could ask for. Which is none, in fairness.

4) Going on a date with Austin. My mum had Freddie for the night, and we went for a meal in Manchester, (we wanted to go to Red's Barbecue which I can't WAIT to go to but we were starving and the queue was out of the door. We said we would go to whatever restaurant we went past next, which happened to be Frankie and Benny's.) We also went for a couple of drinks in the northern quarter (do I ever go anywhere else? I feel like I write 'northern quarter' all of the time.) and then home for an undisturbed nights sleep. Which didn't happen because I still woke up when Freddie wakes up in the night, which is 5 am, then when he normally gets up for the day at 6:30. Obviously.

5) Today was Mother's Day, and me and my sister's organised a champagne afternoon tea for her at my house after finding out every other place in the world was fully booked. It turned out to be a lovely day and I will do a post this week on how we put it together! It was also my first Mother's Day, which I totally keep forgetting, still getting used to this 'mum' business.

what I wish I had known

I am the only one of my friends to have a baby, and so I always get asked, 'but what is being a mum actually LIKE?' and you obviously have to reply, 'oh its wonderful! I wake up every morning to the birds chirping at my window, and  little swallows pull my curtains open to let the glorious sunshine sweep into the room, while my perfect baby makes ne'er a whimper as the squirrels fetch him a clean nappy and...' something like that. Actually, I am usually banging my head against a wall by about 4 o'clock. Here are the things I wish I had known before Freddie was born, so I could have mentally prepared myself.

1) The kid hates naps. While I was pregnant (and actually in the first couple of weeks of his life) I just took it for granted that babies take nice big long naps. Oh the things I would do with two hours! I could clean, I could make dinner, and read, and watch Friends, and drink brews and bake and... no. Fred soon cottoned on that it was much more exciting to stay awake, even if being awake meant shouting his head off for a couple of hours, having a refreshing 20 minute catnap, then do some more shouting. People told me he would grow out of it but I am still waiting.

2) PMS. Oh god the PMS. Before I had Fred, I never, ever suffered from PMS. Ever. When I heard friends complain about being moody and grumpy I would laugh along and shrug it off. Now, I don't know what happened in the process of giving birth, if all of my hormones had a big meeting and decided to cause some absolute mayhem every month for a week. Sorry Austin.

3) Poosplosions. Do I even need to say anymore?

4) Going bald. Or, if you want the technical term, Post-Partum Hair Loss. Apparently it happens to all  most women, the lush, thick, glossy hair we are blessed with begins to fall out as the pregnancy hormones that made it that way leave our body, along with all of our hair. It isn't noticeable to anybody but me (yet) and Austin, who is always asking me why there is a big hair ball in his sock.

5)The bottom of the washing basket is a myth.

6) There will be times when Fred won't stop crying, I won't know why he's crying, and after about two hours of non-stop screaming I google it, FREAK OUT, then he'll do a huge burp and laugh in my face.

7) You will spend a ridiculous amount of money on concealer and highlighters - start saving now.

8) That he will like to play a game that goes, be outside in the pram and lovely and quiet and napping, go in a shop and start screaming hysterically, go outside and be perfectly fine again. Rinse and repeat.

9) BF (Before Fred) I could take or leave coffee. Now I'm somewhat of a connoisseur.

10) The sheer, ridiculous, unconditional and indescribable love I would have for this tiny boy I made.

what about Fred?

What about Fred.

So, I spend a pretty large chunk of my time, both trying to decide what I want to do with my life, and applying for jobs I think I like the sound of. After deciding journalism wasn't for me, I felt a bit lost. I had always clung to writing, it was just what I was going to do, until I had to face the fact that I didn't actually want to do it. Tricky.

Now what?

Well, I got a call back this morning from an advertising internship company in Manchester, as they liked my CV, and I did a 10 minute telephone interview, and got asked to come in tomorrow to do a video CV. EXCITING. Did I say exciting? I meant ohgodohgodIfeelsicknervousohgodvideo?ohgod. 'Are you free to come in tomorrow?' She asked. Well no tomorrow I am actually very busy but obviously I said YES WHAT TIME I'LL BE THERE 2 HOURS EARLY.

But what about Fred?

Was my first thought. Firstly, who will watch him while I go for the interview? Then, who will watch him for the three months that I am actually there? Then, but who will watch him if I actually get a job out of this? Followed by a barrage of thoughts. Do I want a job? Do I want to leave him? Could I? Freddie is my number one utmost priority at all times, and any decision I make has to be the best thing for him. I have to weigh up being a good role model for him regarding working and ambition, vs being there for him every second of the day. The thought of missing any of his firsts fills me with dread. At almost 6 months old I haven't been away from him for a day of his life, and have witnessed the first smile, the first laugh, the first tastes, rolling over, sitting up... then what? Crawling, steps, words. Would I miss all of that? They won't come round again.

Such a headache. A mammoth, mum guilt head ache. I know I want to work, I have to. I love staying at home with Freddie, but I also know I need to work, for me. So that the last decade of my life slogging my guts out in education and unpaid work experience roles weren't for nothing. But when I sit down and think about what day to day life will entail, it makes me sad. When will I see him? After the commute, I will have an hour tops with him before bedtime. And weekends. I'd feel a bit like a weekend parent. I don't want that.

But, I also don't want to be 50 years old, with my children grown up around me, doing their own thing, and my (eventual, COUGH AUSTIN) husband in a good position in a career he has loved. I love my son, and I love Austin, but a born housewife I am not.

What do I do?

it's not much to look at...

Don't think I don't know my blog is ugly and plain. I know. It hurts your eyes after seeing all of the pretty ones with the flowers and the nice pictures.

I know.

I'm working on it, okay?

isn't that what old people get?

You may remember on a recent post, I mentioned Fred's hospital appointments. (Or not, readers? Anyone? HELLO?) I would like to discuss it here - partly because it is a big part of our lives and I want to be able to be honest as I build my blog, and partly because some parts of the past five and a half months have been very, very difficult sometimes, and it would be quite cathartic to get it all out.

So, the day after he was born, a paediatrician came to do Freddie's new born checks. After cradling my tiny boy and staring at him all night, I was pretty sure everything would be fine. Reluctantly, I handed him over for his MOT. The doctor chatted to me about my first night while she checked his head and soft spots, the roof of his mouth and his tongue, listened to his heart beat and breathing patterns, all (all.) of his digits and his spine. She checked him for clicky hips. She held him and let him drop for a couple of seconds (WHAT? She could have warned me, I think I stopped breathing for a second.) Everything seemed fine. As she peered into his eyes with her, um, eye testing device, her face changed. She frowned. She stood up straight and looked at Fred, changed the settings on her little instrument, bent down and had another look. Still a frown. Oh god. What was wrong? I asked if everything was okay. She forced a smile and said she wants another doctor to come and have a look at Freddie's left eye. Isn't this every parent's worst nightmare? I was on my own at this point, as visiting hours weren't for another two hours. I tried to stop the lump in my throat from becoming full on sobs as a second doctor confirmed that Freddie has no red reflex in his left eye, and that it looked like a cataract. I tried to take it all in, but I felt sick. I held Freddie tight through talks of professional consultations and the rarity of the situation. Austin came as soon as he was able, and tried to remain positive. These weren't proper eye doctors, wait to see what the professionals say. Fred is only a tiny baby and still forming really, perhaps it is just a bit of debris from the birth. Everything will be fine. Don't worry. As visitors came and went, I forced a cheery smile and nodded as everybody said they are sure everything will be fine. But I knew.

A couple of weeks later, at a local eye clinic, a lovely doctor in a spotty bow tie confirmed Freddie had a cataract, and that his vision in his left eye was severely compromised. His right eye was perfectly fine and healthy, which was a blessing. My auntie came with me to the appointment, which I am so grateful for, she listened to what the doctor said while I tried to catch my breath through tears. I would be fine, and pull myself together, and all it would take was one glimpse at Freddie, sleepy in his pram and unaware of what was going on. My perfect baby boy. He explained that when you take a picture with a flash on, and you get that annoying red eye, if somebody were to take a picture of Freddie with a flash, he would have no red eye in his left eye, because in a healthy eye, the light would go to the back of the eye and bounce back out, but there was a dark cloud obscuring Freddie's lens and causing a blockage of light. This doctor referred us to the Manchester Royal Eye Hospital, to see a doctor who specialised in childhood cataracts, who discussed the next possible steps with us. We were told that for any possibility of saving Freddie's vision, they had to operate ASAP. At this point he was three weeks and two days old, and his operation was scheduled for the day he turned four weeks.

after the doctor mentioned the flash effect, I looked back over my pictures of Freddie and found this one. I hadn't noticed the cataract at the time, but it is quite clear if you look close.

When the day of the operation rolled round, me and Austin were a bag of nerves. We weren't allowed to feed him anything for four hours before the operation, as his operation was scheduled for 9 AM, he had last eaten at 5, and as would obviously be the case, the operation was delayed for an hour and Freddie was tired and hungry. After going some preliminaries of weight, age, and allergies, the nurse called us in, and asked which one of us wanted to be with him while he was put under anaesthetic. Obviously we both wanted to do it, but I had to go. I couldn't have not been with him through that, and this, for me, was the worst part of Freddie's entire journey with his eye so far. He was screaming and kicking while the anaesthetist put the mask over his face, and as he was crying and breathing so hard it worked almost straight away. The lump in my throat turned into full on sobs as the doctors wheeled him away into theatre, and the nurse hugged me and assured me he was in the best possible hands. I knew that, the doctor operating on him is a leading researcher in congenital cataracts, but there is nothing that could have prepared me for this, and I counted down the hours until we were called back in, two hours later when it was finally over.

a brave, sleepy boy.

We found Freddie in the arms of a nurse, groggy and sleepy, with a big bandage around his eye, and a cannula bandaged to his little hand. He was too sleepy to eat, even though he hadn't had a bottle in seven hours. He stayed asleep all day, waking occasionally for a little whimper and went back to sleep. Me and Austin stayed next to him all day, taking it in turns to go on coffee and magazine runs. Eventually he came round, just as Austin had to go home. Me and Freddie stayed in overnight, him still hooked up to machines. Neither of us slept a wink, until I gave in and begged the nurses to take him off the monitors at 5 am, I put him on my chest and he went straight to sleep.

The next few weeks were a blur of contact lenses, eye patches, 16 eye drops a day, ointments, and weekly hospital visits. Now, at 5 and a half months, everything is much easier. No more drops, 6 weekly hospital visits, and no more contacts! Freddie's vision has improved much, much faster than they expected, and they don't prescribe contacts for his prescription, so he is wearing glasses, for a few hours a day. Very cute, but also very impractical, he has no problems pulling them straight off his face. But we are getting there.

one intelligent looking kid

If you made it to the end of this blog post, congratulations! I know it isn't the most cheery, or relevant post. But as I said, I plan on treating this blog as my diary, and no doubt in future posts I will be referring to Freddie's patch, or glasses, or the hospital, or future operations. When Freddie was first diagnosed, I scoured the internet for information, or somebody who has experienced what we are going through, but Fred's condition was so rare, I couldn't really find anything, so I hope that anybody who has to go through the same thing will find some comfort from the fact that they are not alone! And it really does get so much easier. At four weeks old, the doctors predicted Freddie's vision will be perfect when he is 5 or 6, reception age we were told, but since then, he has improved so rapidly it is now more like 3 or 4. The kid is made of kryptonite.

five things that made me happy this week

1) Looking outside, seeing glorious sunshine, throwing our coats on and going for a walk in the hills around our house.

2) Some excellent eBay buys! I snapped up a Topshop coat, a vintage floral Gap blouse, and a lovely dungaree set for the kid, all for £11.

3) Skyping my grandparents - they live in Spain for half of the year, and I know how much they miss  us poor souls back in rainy old England. It was Freddie's first Skype date, unfortunately he was much more interested in staring out of the window.

4) Meeting my best friend Jasmin for dinner in Manchester. We went to Annie's, which is Jenny McAlpine's restaurant. This was only the second time since Fred was born that we have spent time alone together, I often see her through the week for brew and cake dates with the little one, but it was nice to catch up over a lovely meal without having to protect my food from chubby hands.

5) Meeting my sisters for lunch and planning our mum's Mother's Day surprise! I don't see enough of my sisters, as between the three of us we are quite busy, and I also recently moved further away. It's lovely when the three of us can get together though.

I might make this 'five things' a regular blog post, it's easy to get to the end of a week feeling a bit worse for wear, it would be nice to remember the best bits!

very Art Nouveau dad

So how exactly do you entertain a five month old baby? He is at an age where he is interested in everything. He is understanding more and looks around in wonder whenever he is somewhere he hasn't been before, even if its just a baby changing room. At the minute, poor little Fred is often dragged around with me. Coffee, food shops, daily errands, visiting friends and family. I did take him to the park a couple of weeks ago and put him in the baby swing, but he looked absolutely tiny in it. We have a while to wait before Blackpool Please Beach calls eh kid?

As Austin works full time, and is learning to drive at the weekends, entertaining Freddie is usually down to me. Fred is already somewhat of a hipster kid. We often meet my friends for lunch in the Northern Quarter, rummage the charity shops (he usually comes out better than I do) or just pop in for some cake on our own on our way home from hospital appointments. (More on that later) We wander around town, as he is often at his most content having a good nosey around in his baby taxi.

But recently, the three of us lay in bed of a Saturday morning and found ourselves with nothing to do, so we hopped on the bus to Manchester. We did what me and Austin used to do every week, pre baby. We went for breakfast at our favourite cafe, wandered around the shops (read - spent about £10 in the traditional sweet shop) and then, we went to the Manchester Art Gallery.

I love the art gallery. It has one of my favourite paintings, Hylas and the Nymphs, and I could look at it all day. I also love that it has a huge collection of Lowry and Valette - and their representations of places I recognise in Manchester, in all of its grim beauty.

(so much fun)

Freddie loved it. No, we didn't discuss the pre-Raphaelites, impressionism and different brush strokes, but he was enthralled by the bright lights, the colours, and the major fun of being taken out of his pram and carried around. He was very well behaved, and had some good fun pretending to be a professional art critic with daddy.

If you ever find yourself in the vicinity of the art gallery, I would really recommend it, especially for older kids, as they have lots of interactive art for kids too. (Which is also fun for you, dressing up as a 1950's chemist anybody?!)

Going to an art gallery probably wouldn't be the first thing you think of to do with your five month old baby. But seeing as though he gets the same enjoyment from hitting himself in the head with a spoon as he does going to the park, my thinking is that I should make the most of doing things I enjoy while Fred is a placid kid - it won't be long until I am cutting Lego-land and Peppa Pig World vouchers out of the newspaper.

I am planning on taking Fred swimming next week, and facing my fear and forcing myself to attend my local baby groups. How do you keep your littles entertained?

on finding my feet

I have been what you might call a 'blogger lurker' for a while. Beauty blogs, parenting blogs, fashion blogs, review blogs, photography blogs. I had them all bookmarked so I could easily find them - as I didn't have a blog myself.

Because I didn't know where to start. I knew I loved to write, but how? Where? Who would read it? How do I start? What do I write about?

I'm still not really sure what to write about to be honest - I plan on just using this blog as a diary, and write as if I was talking to my best friend. I don't want to categorise myself into one blogging genre, because I'm not only interested in one thing. I am a mother, and my son takes up a lot of my time and thoughts, but I don't want my blog to be a parenting blog alone. So I will write as things happen to and interest me, and hope that I don't bore everybody in the process.

Bare with me?

big surprises and little arrivals...

I was still at university when I fell pregnant. In my final year, head a dizzying cocktail of finals exams and dissertations, I had gone for lunch and a drink to celebrate finishing an exam with my friend Jane. Ordering a typically me breakfast of massive fry up (no granola here thanks) and a bottle of cider (it was after 10 AM okay?) my head was spinning while I was waiting for my food. Putting it down to hunger, I began to tuck in, when I felt my stomach lurch. I put my fork down and took a deep breath. Perhaps a swig of cider would help. Little did I know that would be my last drop of alcohol for 9 months. I picked up a pregnancy test on my way home, peed on it, and heaved when I saw it show positive.

Oh my god. Oh my god. What? Oh my god. With Austin waiting outside the door, 'George, what does it say? Are you okay?' I opened the bathroom door and just showed him the test and burst into tears. It was those proper tears, you know, when you can't catch your breath or talk, and your throat hurts from the effort of trying.

It was just such a shock. We had always been so careful. I couldn't understand. We lay on the couch in silence with QI on in the background, until Austin eventually said 'we should go to bed.' Where he told me everything was okay and not to worry. Obviously he was right. But it didn't feel like it at the time.

When you imagine finding out your'e pregnant, you imagine it to be an exciting affair. You symptom watch and pray for your period to remain behind hell's door where it belongs. You buy a test, and squeal with excitement at the result, and do another and another and another just to be sure. You have big plans on how you will tell your other half. He will be OVER THE MOON and tell you that you are a fantastic natural earth mother and he would have no other woman bear his children. Okay perhaps I'm getting carried away.

My reaction to finding out I was pregnant is my biggest, and I suppose only regret in life. Especially now, as I watch him in his jumperoo, bouncing away, and occasionally looking at me to give me a big dribbly grin and a giggle. I look at him and I get a lump in my throat. How could I have ever felt that way about him? How could I have ever, ever contemplated anything but letting him grow in my tummy, safe and warm until he was ready to come out, and change our lives forever?

The truth is, at that moment, in January 2013, I was not a mum. I was 22. I was a student. I had deliberately picked the cheapest house I could find, because spare money was to be spent on clothes, MAC lipsticks, going out and holidays. I was about to graduate, and apply for a Masters in my subject, to avoid having to get a 'grown up' job. But when I did get a grown up job, I would have worked HARD for it, and would work my way from the bottom to the top. We had travel plans, Thailand, South America, Japan, Route 66. Although we had been together for for four years, marriage and kids were a distant dream, and something to think about when the fun was over.

But on that day in January 2013, all of that changed. Life as we knew it changed before our eyes. Austin got a 'proper' job in a bank. We began to think about moving somewhere more child friendly. I thought about the logistics of deferring the continuation of my studies. I wondered how I would work with a baby in tow, and how our current finances would stretch to everything a baby needs.


As soon as he was born, all those worries and fears disappeared. He was put into my arms and I looked at him and knew I would never need anything on this planet again as long as I had him. As long as he was healthy and well, he was mine and nothing else mattered. Everything else seemed so insignificant.

Having a baby is the most life changing, monumental and amazing thing that can happen, whether you are 22 or 42. They come and they turn everything upside down, and show you what it means to love unconditionally. How to have patience when they are sick on their fifth baby-gro of the day, and when they just WONT. STOP. CRYING. Quite the achievement really, when you would previously have no problems letting ASOS feel your wrath should a parcel arrive late.

And today, we learn together. Nap times, feeding patterns, favourite toys and people. We fit into each others lives like a jigsaw. How could it be any other way? Coffee with friends requires more planning than it did previously, and I have become quite acquainted with eBay. Some days are spent doing nothing but drinking milk (him) and double espressos (me), napping and taking it in turns watching Friends and Strawberry Shortcake.

He is the single best thing that has ever happened to me, and I still struggle to believe sometimes that I am allowed to be his mummy, despite my flaws. Every single day he learns something new and I burst with pride and happiness.

I love you Freddie bum.

#nomakeupselfie

Have you seen the latest Facebook craze, the bare faced selfie to raise cancer awareness? When the first few pictures popped up on my news feed, I rolled my eyes. How is taking a picture of yourself, with secret concealer on and excellent lighting, going to help cure cancer? It looked to me like exploiting a terrible, terrible illness for vanity. I prayed I didn't get nominated to join in, because I didn't want to draw attention to the fact I felt this way.

But, as more people joined in, and more people were pairing their picture with a donation to Cancer Research UK, I began to change my mind. The last I read, the movement has raised an amazing £2 million for the charity over 48 hours. I began to want to get nominated! I wanted to be a part of this. Could I nominate myself?

 

(okay, I found some good lighting.)

My family has been touched by cancer, as have so many others. In July I will be doing the Race for Life too - inspired by this craze. For all its criticisms, if there is one thing #nomakeupselfie has done, is to give everybody a good kick up the arse. Cancer could affect any of us, or people close to our hearts at any time, and raising awareness and funds is all us mere mortals can do.

So get snapping everybody, and text BEAT to 70099!

a good book has no ending...

Reading has always been my 'thing.'  Growing up, my family were never stuck for ideas for my birthday or Christmas. I'd hear my mum on the phone to my nannna - 'Oh just get her a book, She said something about a new hardback version of Matilda...'  My nanna in fact is responsible for a lot of my early reading, she passed down an entire collection of early edition Beatrix Potter books, the full Encyclopaedia Britannica, (a staple for any 8 year old) She also brought me a copy of War and Peace home from a car boot sale when I was about 9 as a joke - I read it. Albeit over the course of about 3 years. My grandad used to ask, 'How are you getting on with War and Peace, George? Are they still at that party?'

When I was in year 2, 4 of the best readers in the year were chosen to have weekly reading sessions with the headteacher to read more advanced books, and I was one of them. Looking back at the comments she left in my notebook, 'she doesn't listen!' and 'Read the whole book when I only asked for the first chapter.' I was so excited to have this new, 'older' book in my hands, I would zone out and secretly turn the pages while Mrs Moran spoke about verbs and nouns. I would inhale books.

By the time my family emigrated to Spain when I was 11, I packed up my books and alphabetised them so I knew how to rearrange them when we arrived at the new house. My mum came upstairs to check on my packing progress, and sighed at the huge piles of books around me, because she knew I would insist on bringing them all.

English was always the only thing I was good at. I was 'okay' at other subjects, and horrific at maths, but would be a straight A student in English, so my chosen university course was a no brainer, I didn't even consider any other course. What else was there but books? I graduated from the University of Manchester, clutching my English Literature degree while my mum sobbed in July last year.

Since graduating, my reading hasn't slowed down. I am constantly looking for new books to read, and get emailed book lists from different genres all the time, and every few weeks sit down and order them all on Amazon, cheerfully flicking through and sniffing that book smell when they come through the door.

So as reading is such an important part of my life - I will be reviewing books here as I read them. If anybody has any recommendations for me, (I will read anything.) please let me know!

10 irrelevant facts

Here are ten things about me that you probably don't want to know.

1) I have a baby boy, and his name is Freddie Ray Little.

2) I also have a friend who is a boy, (and technically a fiancé) his name is Austin and we have been rolling our eyes at each other since 2009. (Is that two facts?)

3) I have a degree in English Literature.

4) I spent my life up until about a year ago, desperate and determined to be a journalist. This dream faded fast with an internship at a newspaper which was the most boring two months of my life. I do however have quite a few little articles published here and there, and I will continue to write for pleasure.

5) This also means I am still deciding what I want to do with myself. I toy with the idea of teaching, but then I also like the idea of copy writing, or working 'in advertising' in some fashion.

6) I wrote my dissertation on the representation of the working classes in post war fiction. 

7) I LOVE things. I have no other way of putting it. Maybe I should say I love SHOPPING. I even love going to Tesco. There is something so satisfying about tapping in my PIN and walking out with bags of stuff that is now MINE. 

8) I don't have any fears, or phobia's. I didn't like needles, but pregnancy soon cured me of that. I don't particularly like flying but I wouldn't say it fills me with dread.

9) I love to travel. I know everybody says that. I haven't 'properly' travelled, gap yah style (although I did have a gap year - I just used it to work and get drunk) but I have been to New York, Paris, Barcelona, Rome and Prague. You could say i'm more of a city person.

10) I LOVE baking. I love it. Sometimes I dedicate whole days to it and will end up with lots of baked goods and not enough tupperware to store it. I also rarely eat what I bake, I love baking for others, and just for the satisfaction of the finished product. 

There. Nothing like a good spot of self indulgence of a Thursday evening.

I am not a photographer

Many blogs are accompanied by beautiful photographs. A few of my favourite blogs, I follow just for the photographs. But alas, I am no photographer.

I don't own a DSLR (are those even the right letters?) I do own a trusty Iphone, and a Diana camera - which I sometimes use, and would use more if I didn't have to take out a loan every time I wanted to print them off.

So any pictures you see here are likely to be grainy, perhaps out of focus with terrible lighting. But they are more often than not likely to be of my baby boy or food, and surely the subject is the most important thing?

Who knows, perhaps blogging will inspire me to learn how to take 'proper' pictures...

where it all began. (kind of)

I love a good birth story. When I was pregnant I devoured them. I would be reading tales of induction and ventouse and epidurals with One Born Every Minute on in the background, occasionally breaking from my reading to frown and feel queasy at the crowning going on.

My family and friends thought I was mad. 'Why are you doing it to yourself?!' I was terrified of giving birth. Terrified and curious. When I first found out I was pregnant, my honest first thought was 'oh my god. I am going to have to give birth.'

At ten days overdue, I was getting frustrated, and annoyed. And annoyING no doubt. I ached. I was tired. I couldn't look another Rennie in the eye. My feet were swollen, so for the past two weeks I had been wearing Austin's shoes. Turning over in bed required military precision planning and most of all - I was bursting with excitement to meet my baby boy. So at 3 AM on the 10th of October 2013, I woke up for my four hundredth wee of the night. Sighing at the effort it was going to require to get out of bed, walk down the stairs (we had a downstairs bathroom.) I heaved myself up off the bed, and felt a trickle run down my legs. I thought nothing of it, (once that dark cross appears you will never be able to rely on your bladder again,) and went about my business. An hour later, I needed the toilet again. This time I stood up and felt more of a gush. Okay, so I definitely hadn't wet myself, something was occurring. I got back in bed, and lay there, as I felt my tummy tighten up and release, not hurting at first. I I turned my stopwatch on my phone on and timed them, they were very irregular so I thought it was either I false alarm, or very slow labour. I turned over and tried to go to sleep.

Oh sleep, how you have eluded me from this very point. Safe to say, I could not sleep. The pain was getting worse, and beginning to feel like period pains, lasting for about ten seconds at a time. This was at about 5 AM, and I debated waking up Austin. What if it was just a false alarm? 'Austin...Austin...AUSTIN... (he's a deep sleeper) I think something is happening.' That woke him up. As the pain gradually increased, I thought I should get a move on. I rung the birth centre where I was planning my water birth and told them I thought I was in labour, they told me to come in to get checked, but I would probably get sent home at this early stage. I got in the shower, and hunched over wincing as each wave of pain came over me. Must...condition...hair...must...exfoliate...elbows...

I rung my dad, who was our designated taxi driver, and rung my mum at work. But warned them both to not get excited, it was probably a false alarm. I remember my dad coming to pick us up, and he brought his present for the baby, a mobile for the cot. In my pained and emotional state I almost cried. He is a man of few words my dad, but he looked like he was about to burst with excitement.

The pain hotted up in the drive to the hospital, and I was breathing heavily as my dad and Austin chatted about football and the weather, and aware of Austin worriedly watching me as I closed my eyes and leant my head back. When we were shown to a room in the birth centre and the midwife came to check me, the first thing she said was 'look at those feet! Has somebody been keeping an eye on them pet? Any headaches? Lets check your blood pressure.' She suspected pre-eclampsia, and if I did have it, it was extremely dangerous as I was so overdue. She checked to see if my waters had gone, and confirmed my back waters had gone, which is why I hadn't felt that famous 'gush.' 'I may aswell give you another sweep while I'm down here pet!' Oh god. I stared at the ceiling and held my breath as I tried not to cry. There are no words to describe what it feels like to have another woman's fingers 'sweeping' your cervix. She frowned at the monitor as my blood pressure was checked, it was very high. 'Looks like you won't be going home pet. I will have to send you to the ward for monitoring.' Turns out being 'monitored' is having some bands strapped to you, while you sit in the worlds uncomfiest chair behind a curtain, I felt like the man behind the curtain from the Wizard of Oz, except he probably wasn't half naked in a 2x2 room, with three people excitedly watch the screen as it monitors your contractions. After about an hour of this, the pain was really beginning to increase. A lovely midwife on ward (the only 'lovely' midwife I encountered unfortunately) came in to offer me some pain relief. Anticipating a long road ahead, I opted for some cocodamol, wanting to pace myself. After being monitored for almost two hours, and coming to the conclusion that I did not have pre eclampsia, just Shrek's feet, I was put into another room, while I waited for a bed on the antenatal ward. As Austin, my mum and my dad snacked on ham sandwiches and ready salted crisps from the over priced hospital shop, I began to feel like I was losing control. I walked in circles around the room, with Austin following me and rubbing my back, and letting me lean against him when I needed to. At this point the pain was at a level which made me want to sob. It felt like it would never end, and when a doctor came in to tell me I was only 2-3 centimetres dilated, I think I did, especially when she informed me they expect first time mothers to dilate a centimetre an hour. At some point, my mum made my dad leave. It was getting to the point where I couldn't formulate a sentence, and I began to want to be left alone.

After another couple of hours in this room, I was taken to ANOTHER room, this time on the antenatal ward, where I did most of my labouring. The other women on the ward were there for monitoring, or appointments, and I was the only one in labour. Aware of this, I was trying my best to stay quiet. I rocked on a birthing ball and got on the bed on my hands and knees, walked around my bed, anything buy lie down. Lying down felt like the most unnatural position. I began to get snappy with my mum and Austin at this point, my mum's favourite memory of this day (apart from the birth obviously) was when a midwife came to ask me if I wanted shepherds pie or lasagne for dinner. "Neither thank you, I have some breakfast bars in my bag.' I replied, polite as polite can be. When she left, Austin said 'Do you want me to get you a breakfast bar then babe?' to which I replied 'NO I DO NOT WANT A BREAKFAST BAR. DO I LOOK LIKE I WANT A BREAKFAST BAR?'  I began to feel like I needed the toilet, if you know what I mean. I would go to the toilet on the ward, repeatedly, just to find I didn't actually need the toilet. At the time I thought I did, but what I was actually doing was pushing. I burst into tears. 'I can't do it. Mum I really can't do it. Please give me something. Go and find a midwife and tell her I want diamorphine, I can't do it.' As the midwife went off to fetch me the diamorphine, another midwife came and told me a delivery suite was available. "Do you want a wheelchair or do you think you can walk? It isn't a long walk.' If somebody had checked me at this point, they would have found that I was fully dilated and pushing. I replied that I'd walk. My mum and Austin looked at me horrified. It soon became apparent that I should have accepted the wheelchair. After a few steps I fell against the wall, crying through a contraction. As it passed I carried on walking, and again, fell against the wall and sobbed. I was aware of patients and visitors staring at me as they went past, I remember an old man asking me if I was okay. No not really old man, but thank you for asking. About five feet from the delivery suite, I screamed and fell into Austin and clung from his neck. He was also holding all of my labour bags, so this was quite a lot of weight to bear! "Okay we need to get her onto bed." The midwife said. As she opened the door I ran past her (as fast as I could...) and into the bathroom and locked the door. I was pushing. I don't know what possessed me to do this. It honestly feels so much like you are going to poo, and you don't want to do that in front of your mum, boyfriend and a stranger do you?! That is the only way I can describe it. 'Georgia! Open this door right now! OPEN IT!' My mum and Austin hammered on the door as I cried on the bathroom floor. I could hear my mum telling the midwife I had locked myself in, and her trying to open the lock. I reached up and opened it myself, my mum and the midwife picked me up and dragged me onto the bed. As the midwife checked me, she said 'She's fully. She's ready to push!' I didn't believe her, and I remember my mum telling Austin to pull himself together as his face clouded with panic. With Austin and my mum holding a leg each and my mum pushing my chin into my chest, I began to push. 'You might feel a bit of a burning stretching pain here now love but it will only last a second!' This was the part I had dreaded the most - you hear so much about the pain of crowning don't you? But I don't know if I was so eager to get this over with or just to meet my baby, but I honestly don't remember it being that bad. When he was part out, the midwife told me to stop pushing him and pant him out, to allow you to stretch gradually and hopefully avoid any tears. Unfortunately she may aswell have asked me to drop to the floor and give her 50, because stopping pushing was not something I was capable of doing at this point. I paid for it later though with two hours of being stitched up. I ended up pushing Freddie out with about four pushes. I heard my mum say 'Georgia you did it!' I looked at Austin and he was crying as he kissed me and said 'George you did it he's here!' I looked down and saw my tiny baby, purple and slimy. 'I love him! I love him so much' I shouted. There were a lot of tears. I have a lump in my throat as I write this - it was such an amazing moment. I will never forget the look of happiness and wonder on Austin's face, and the look of pride in my mums. After the midwife wrapped Freddie up and handed him to me, I looked at his tiny face and kissed him. I would do it again a million times over for him. Those few minutes at 5:33 PM on the 10th of October 2013 were the best of my life, and indescribably magic.

Austin walked slowly around the room holding Freddie while I was stitched up, which took almost two hours - ignoring the midwife's advice to pant him out had earnt me a second degree tear, with internal muscle lacerations and an external graze. (GRAZE. What an insult.) I remember being desperate to hold him, but I was clinging on to the gas and air, which was the only time I had touched it, while I was stitched up. Again, I don't remember this being so bad, I think the worst part was the 15 little pin pricks of the local anaesthetic onto very, tender, sore and bruised parts. The sensation of the tug of the thread is something that will never leave me, and that one time she stitched somewhere she had forgotten to numb...

So there is my birth story.

I never did get that diamorphine.