Memory Lane

Memory Lane


We’ve upped sticks and come to my dad’s as the little one (and me) both have hand, foot and mouth!!!  For the second time (argh).  He’s taken her to the park for a bit of fresh air on this lovely Spring day.

I’m just having a quick moment to myself, listening to songs from the 90s (born in the late 70s, the 90s were my teenage years – the music just brings back so many memories).   Just for a short while I’m remembering what life was like before I had any real hassles, when I didn’t give a second thought about my parents’ health or what the future might hold.  The biggest issue was how to get my high-school crush to even register my existence (ha…it did happen…many many years later, and not before he’d turned into the spitting image of his middle-aged dad).   Life does indeed go on but every now and then I just enjoy revisiting a happy time from days gone by and feel totally carefree for a few moments 🙂

Hope it’s sunny where you are, too xx



It’s been a while…actually a bit more than that.  The last bit of 2018 was a bugger.  My dear mum passed away in November after several years of suffering from a horribly aggressive and fast-moving type of Parkinson’s.  In some ways, a release (for her, for my dad, who spent almost every hour of the day with her).  The chatty lady who loved to dance around in the kitchen and took such pride in her appearance…reduced to being bedridden and tube-fed, doubly incontinent.

But now we try to think of the good times.  She was able to meet my daughter..although it breaks my heart that she isn’t here to see the hilarious 18 month old that now has a jolly good time trashing her home.  I’ve started bereavement counselling through work…I don’t know how I’m supposed to grieve.  I’m distracting myself with as much as I can.  We’ll take her ashes to India in the Spring.  It’s all still very surreal.

I had an early miscarriage in December.  I felt numb. I’ve used up so much emotion over mum that there’s not much left to give.  Apart from guilt.  I looked at the little bean (passed in the loo at work, of all places) and felt incredibly wicked that I wasn’t crying like I had for the other two angels.  Like I’d let it down.  #CrapMum.

But..but but but.  I managed to get pregnant.  At 41.  With possibly one blocked tube and some scar tissue.  That gives me some hope.  We’re going to try this year and then maybe call time.  I need to move forward and enjoy the little girl that we’ve been blessed with – I remember the times I thought I would never have a child and it reminds me of my fortune and I owe it to her not to wallow…in anything.


One year on! Of wombs and the pox…

One year on! Of wombs and the pox…

Wowsers…in a couple of weeks I’ll be back at work. I feel like a completely different person…heck, I am completely different.  Physically and mentally..emotionally..all of it!

I’ve changed my WordPress profile picture.  The old one was dark, brooding, melancholy.  That’s not where I am anymore.  Things are far from simple – my wondrous gynae issues rumble on.  I had another hysteroscopy the other day – this one to try to remove scar tissue (caused by the ERPCs or the C-section, who knows).  The scarring wasn’t horrific (yay) but meant that I only had lining on a third of my womb (err)..which explains my very light periods post-bub.  I have to take oestrogen tablets for 2 months to help stimulate lining growth – I do hope it works as we’re hoping to try for another bub before my ovaries go into retirement.

In another exciting turn of events, my transverse vaginal septum (I’ll never tire of saying that in full to medical professionals, many of whom only see people like me in textbooks) seems to have re-grown (!!!)


Thankfully, there’s enough of an opening to not affect periods or the chances of conception (should we be so lucky) but it means I can never have a smear test.  Apparently there’s some alternative that I’m going to be offered instead.  Watch this space.

Bub continues to amaze me.  She’s almost walking.  Delayed slightly by a stint in hospital (who knew a tummy bug could lead to a UTI?) which meant we were there for 4 days, cooped up in a small room.  Then I managed to get chicken pox on my 41st birthday – gutted at having to cancel our planned date night and even more gutted about missing out on the birthday cake my dad was going to order for me! Like clockwork, exactly 2 weeks later, bub got chicken pox.  Right before her 1st birthday.  Thankfully she was scab-free by the time it actually rolled around…but I’ve been left with nice hole-y scars in my forehead.  There goes my chance to model for the cover of Vogue.

Talking of which…I need to get my body under control.  Body, diet, exercise, all of it!  I’d planned for my 40s to be my decade of glam and so far I’m slubbing around the house in my husband’s cast-off jogging pants * cough *

I’m trying not to think about childcare.  I’m going back full-time and for months I was totally fine with the idea of leaving bub in someone else’s care.  Now that the day is fast approaching, I’m slightly less chilled-out about it.  Not helped by the fact that the nursery I want her to go to doesn’t have a place for her yet (been on the waiting list since last year…I never knew nurseries had waiting lists!!!) so we’re opting for a childminder and I’m now wracked with guilt at the thought of her settling somewhere only for me to uproot her.  Argh.

…and relax!  It will all be fine.  Everything will work out, wonderfully.  Repeat x100. (!)


Here comes the sun!

Here comes the sun!


The sun’s out (at last) and things are good!  I was just reading back over my last post – I sounded a bit tired and dreary (oops).  Bub is now 9 months old and I finally feel like I’ve somewhat hit my stride.  The highlight being our first trip in central London last week – a wheel on our pram fell off and rolled under the train at London Bridge (!) Somehow I made it home with a lop-sided pram and a screaming child.  I feel a tad superhuman now…ha.

I’ve also finally treated myself to some new summer clothes – I may not be the shape I was hoping for at this point in time, but I’m cool with that for now.  This summer is going to be about regaining the colour in my life (years of gynae issues etc have meant being stuck in black jeggings for fear of leaking in public..nice).

I’ve got some KIT days coming up and am rather looking forward to popping into work again – I can have a lunch break….and a cup of tea!!!!!!!

I’ve also picked up my pen and started writing letters again – it’s so nice to receive smiles in the post. Slowly but surely, I’m finding myself again. Yay!

I love this quote:

‘There’s always a story.  It’s all stories, really.  The sun coming up every day is a story.  Everything’s got a story in it.  Change the story, change the world’ (Terry Pratchett)

I’ve amended it slightly (sorry, Terry) to ‘Change your story, change your world’.  That’s what I’m going to do!!!


Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day


Strangely, Mother’s Day hasn’t felt quite as I’d imagined.  I hope I don’t sound horribly ungrateful – I’m really not.  I spent many years wondering if I would ever have a little someone to celebrate the day with and I’m incredibly happy to now be in that position.   I definitely got a little teary-eyed when my husband handed over my first ever Mother’s Day card on behalf of bub.  But that’s about it.  I think part of it is that every day is now a sort of Mother’s Day (in all senses of the word – the lovely and the less-so!) and I finally begin to understand why my own mum didn’t care that much for it.  There isn’t time! ‘Thanks for the card, dear….right, let’s get dinner on’ (!)

On that note, I’m sad that my mum is bed-ridden (thanks, Parkinson’s, you absolute bastard) and although I’m thankful she’s still with us, these celebratory days just aren’t quite the same.  Birthdays, anniversaries, etc etc.  Not that we mope our way through them, far from it, but life just goes on and I guess I care about them less.

How am I doing at trying not to sound ungrateful?!

I do also think about the little monkeys that didn’t make it.  One happy, healthy baby is a miracle indeed but you never quite forget about the ones that could have been here but aren’t.

I suppose my celebration will be low-key…cuddles with my bub and spending some time looking after mum.  Reaching out to friends who I think might need a hug across the miles, today. 🙂

6 months later….

6 months later….

Crikey!  It’s actually been almost 7 months since my bub arrived.  I don’t even know where to start.  I’ve experienced highs, lows, tears (happy and sad ones) and all of a sudden I realised why my parents would sit up and wait for news from me on my nights out, even in my 30s!! The realisation that life will definitely never be the same again now that I have this little being to take care of and nurture.

I won’t lie – it’s been beyond challenging.  There have been times where I have lost it (and felt immense guilt straight afterwards)…but I’ve met some lovely mums at my local Baby Sensory class and we’ve all been muddling along, keeping each other sane.

Life is a mix of slow moments and whirlwind moments.  Sometimes I can just about remember my name! Other times, bub has a (rare) long nap and I can put my feet up and enjoy a cuppa!



This morning I decided to give myself permission to feel tired…to feel frustrated…to feel whatever I’m feeling.

Because of the nature of my journey to motherhood, I’d told myself that I could never feel negative emotions because isn’t this, a lovely healthy baby,  what I would have killed for last year? Stay upbeat, be grateful. That was my mantra.

Only that hasn’t worked out well. Or doable. The colic and early issues with the mother in law (long story) have had a cumulative impact on me that I need to try to stop suppressing.

I realised after a good cry this morning that to help resolve my problems I need to accept they exist and let myself feel the very normal emotions that I’d told myself I had no right to feel.

So yes, every now and then it does get on top of me. My baby is beautiful and I love her beyond words but yes, some days it is hard. When nothing will soothe her, or I can’t even find time to shower or eat a decent meal (me and Uncle Ben are firm friends now), then I feel not so bubbly. Not so overwhelmed with joy at my blessing.

All I know is that it will get easier. For now I’ll enjoy beyond words the happier moments like having her sleep in my lap, little hands clinging to me.  She won’t be this little for long. She’ll likely be demanding for life (ha) but that’s what I wanted. Ultimately that’s okay. We’ll all get better at dealing with it, learning as we go.