Mother's Little Helper

Benny Boy made me laugh after a recent trip to Sainsburys. They had kid's cereal, healthy cereal and adult cereal. He was gutted that pictures of Pamela Anderson in her hey day did not fall out of his box of muesli.

January has not been full of laughter. I am so sad for my lovely friend that lost her baby. Because she was beyond the date for miscarriage, her baby loss was classed as stillborn. This means that as she was trying to look ahead, she was contacted by the Chaplin at the hospital to arrange the funeral. This means naming the baby, registering the birth and the death.  I never got that far with my pregnancies that nature terminated. How painful, how awful, how truly devastating. I do feel positive though that this special Mummy and her fab husband will have the large family that they have hoped for.

It makes me feel extra blessed when I look at my miracle daughter. I have very few memories of sharing intimate moments with my Mum when I was small. I remember playing with her as she spread the tablecloth, banging my tooth and making it wobbly. Mum was always soft and gentle. She rubbed me too delicately with the towel after my bath; Dad was too rough. I loved it when she picked me up from school. I would be crying if it was too cold. I remember the mental hospitals, the electric shots and the Valium. Those horrible drugs that took my Mum away and made her like a zombie. I remember the terrible breakdown when my Uncle Ron, her brother-in-law died. She bounced back, was a great Avon lady/sales woman and she loved her push bike. At 21, I learnt to appreciate her again, but she was taken away once more when I was 24. She suffered a stroke and once again was zombie-like.

Hair cuts, shopping trips, wedding arrangements were shared with my Mother-in-law. I still have Mum with us in this world so I am very lucky.

She has just been discharged from hospital again after yet another bout of pneumonia. How much more can she fight with just 20% heart function?  Yet she does fight. She is a very strong and amazing lady. God bless her.

You don't bring me flowers anymore

My Husband bought me flowers. Because he loves me? No, because “I’m so bloody mardy” apparently.  Of course I’m bloody mardy – I have to put up with him, work full time, deal with a three year old teenager, clean the house, worry about the cost of childcare makings us bankrupt and look after the oldies! I don’t want friggin flowers. I want to come home from visiting my elderly Aunt after a recent stay in hospital to find the Christmas decorations neatly back in the box up put up in the loft for next December. Oh, and pick up your wet towels while you are at it, throw your sweet wrappers in the bin and take the salt and peri peri sauce off of the sofa and put it back where it belongs!  Yes, I am mardy and peri-menopausal so beware!  Husband, get down the pub – woops, you can’t as it’s “Dry January”. Ha Ha!  Seriously, I am proud of you Benny Boy. So far you have lasted six whole days without a can of Fosters.

Friday night I settled down to watch “Young Victoria” expecting a bit of Posh Spice as a bubba and soon realised that I had my eyes glued to a beautiful love story about Queen Vic. What a Woman. She had nine kids with Albert and it is true, she did go a bit “doo lally” after he popped his clogs, but she was the original Spice Girl and I proud that the Street where I live in was named after her.

The decorations and the tree have disappeared. The house is tidy but looks a bit glum.  I love a bit of flashing lights and Christmas tackiness. We feel cheated as Benny Boy and I both had the flu over Chrimbo. The festive season also bought some glum news. We were advised of a shock relationship break up plus hearing of a few more of our friends that have suffered miscarriages. I am amazed at the amount of people I know that are struggling to make Baby Number two. Yes, they have already been blessed with a child, but also know the joy and happiness that a baby can bring. I kind of know their pain, I certainly feel it and have shed a tear for their loss but nothing or no-one knows how devastating it is, only you, the Mum-to-be. The only person that can fully share the sadness or more is the Dad. The Dad has to watch his partner suffer the physical and emotional pain of miscarriage as well as be there to offer support and help pick up the pieces. Yet, people forget about the Dad and offer lots of sympathy and condolences to the woman. Often the man suffers in silence. Please bear this in mind if you know of a couple that have suffered baby loss. Please remember to extend your kindness to Daddy.

Buy one get three free

Weeks pass by without pen to paper, either because I'm too busy (even to do a wee sometimes) or I am tired, uninspired and have a touch of the old writer's block. Then I get a hundred ideas of what I want to rant about, share or express. This blog is about what is going on in my head right now.

3 YEAR OLD BULLIES:

There are two "dominant" characters that I aware of at Charlotte's nursery. One of her little boyfriends is getting pushed around by another boy. His mother tells her son to push the boy back, I can see her point. Boys need to be tough and to be able to fight their own battles. We tell Charlotte never to hit or push anyone. She is upset as says that another girl hits her and pushes her. This could be an attention seeking tale. The nursery workers say there is a little girl that is a bit bossy towards the other children. I never thought that it would upset me so much. Ben told me off for teaching Charlotte to be a bitch as I tell her to say "whatever" or "talk to the hand" but mostly I say to walk away from it and play with other friends; to concentrate on the nice children. It is a shock that bullying starts at such a young age. Though if I analyse this it is human nature. Wild animals kill each other. At 3 do kids know right from wrong? Probably not but the parents and grown ups do. Now is the time to teach our children to be kind and giving little beings.

MENOPAUSE STUFF

Two of my friends are getting night sweats and their periods have stopped. Starting the flipping things at age 11 was crappy but exciting too. I became a woman. When the time comes for me for them to stop, I will feel sad. It will mark the end of an era.

MOBILE MADNESS

This is something that I come up against working in recruitment. HR Managers complain about it fashionably. Why do young people of today have a crazy obsession with their phones? Many are glued to the bloody things. When I started work and to this very day,  I arrive at my desk miles before 9am, take a sort lunch break and rarely take a personal telephone call. That was so taboo. I know and love dearly a young person who checks her phone during zumba and even doing 90  in the fast lane of the M25!!

DEATH BECOMES HER

At 3, I have already had conversations with Charlotte about the birds and the bees. She knows that once upon a time she was a twinkle in my eye, then a bump in my belly and that she was made because Mummy and Daddy love each other. Well, she does ask where she comes from.  I was thrown when she asked if we will die, what happens when we die and then told me that she died when she used to be a big girl and then acted it out (she dropped her head and pretended to be asleep). Eek!! I thought she was an old soul and had been here before, but that kind of freaked me out.

Miscarriage

Christmas Eve 2005. I was sitting in the Family Church Service feeling extremely emotional. This time next year I would be a Mummy. Every time I hear the Christmas Song, "Little Donkey" I get the urge to burst into tears. I have no idea why. This Christmas was no different. My hormones were completely up the spout. I was so happy and so proud and feeling fantastic. Only this feeling didn't last for long as a little over a month later the baby was gone. No more. Over.

"It wasn't meant to be". "There must have been something wrong with it". People mean well but the comments didn't help.

Each time I lost a baby, and I know thousands of women feel the same, I wanted a reason. "Why me?". It just wasn't fair. Life isn't fair.

I think about my babies more and more as I reach the end of my fertile years. Their Birthdays are written in my little book. Are they Charlotte's guardian angels? Will they be watching over her? Were they boys or girls? I know the answer to that. Let's call it a Mother's intuition. Would they have been ginger too? I could have them playing the Weasleys in a future Harry Potter film.

A woman becomes a Mother the moment she sees that blue line (or little pink dot if you go to the Pound Shop). Once we know there is a new beginning inside of us, we nurture that growing being and love he or she unconditionally. Miscarriage is unbearable and anyone that has experienced such a loss knows how intolerable the pain is.

This Christmas I will be praying for women that have suffered this terrible thing. Hang in there. The future is bright and there is so much help out their to guide you through the grief and give you hope.  That is why I am chuffed to bits that Ben and Rash are running the London Marathon 2013 for the Miscarriage Association.

I will never ever forget my babies that are not on this earth. All four of them.

Confessions of a Twentys Rep and a Club Rep out in London..

Many years ago, when I was a girl-around-town I had a night out in London with a group of friends.  We met a group of boys and sat huddled around a table in a trendy bar having fun and fighting each other for the attention of the gorgeous one. It was an outrageous night and as we got drunker, we were doing the best we could to get a date with Mr Gorgeous. My mate, the Club 18-30 rep succeeded in swopping numbers with Mr Gorgeous and boy, did she gloat. Good for her though, the best girl on the night won the prize.  The rest of us were a tiny bit jealous but had such a wicked night it didn’t matter.

The date was actually a disaster!  Club Rep met Mr Gorgeous the following week in a bar and immediately noticed something about him that none of us had noticed on a drunk dark night in the West End of London. She excused herself to go to the ladies to powder her nose, then swiftly ran away never to see Mr Gorgeous again! Ok it may not be politically correct, but there is a lot of pressure on young single women to look good, feel good and quite simply vanity and expectations get in the way of kindness and sincerity. The nicer things in life are more important to us as we get older. 

I told this story to the girls in the office this week to see what they would have done when they noticed that Mr Gorgeous was not as perfect as we had first thought. We had honest bitch that would have said, “sorry but this is just not going to work”. We had Coward Bitch that would have also made a very quick exit and me, who would probably have married the guy, loved him forever and had 2.4 children.

The moral of the story is: Do not judge a book by its cover.

The Girl is back in town.....

I want the life of Mrs Jones, my Friday night dream. She has got rid of her lazy arse husband, snogs her son’s oh-so-gorgeous mate (Billy’s eyes are to die for) and even has one of the Dads from the school gates going gaga over her. Okay, so the Dad is a total bell-end but he’s handsome and he fancies Mrs Jones.  She’s skinny, youthful and attractive and she’s 41. I would love to get some male attention, preferably from my husband, but if not him, anyone!  As long as it’s a red blooded male and at least a little bit hot that’s all that matters. I am craving romance.

Maybe botox and liposuction will help. Blue skies and sunshine would be nice. SAD syndrome is not attractive. Gloomy and dull is not sexy and my mood is matching the weather.

I have fun at the Emirates Stadium watching the Arsenal. How I used to crave a kid to take during my baron years as a goner.  I was a lone Arsenal fan during the nineties and noughties. I would stand next to a random child and sing football songs hoping nobody would notice that I was a dribbly-billy-no-mates.  All fellow Gooner buddies had long since grown up and found other interests. Yet my passion for red and white from my childhood days just never went way. That was until my own red haired beauty, Charlotte arrived in the world.

Well, my passion for Arsenal is back and I even found it touching that the result on Saturday was 1 nil to the Arsenal.

Arsenal Arsenal Arsenal

Help. I have SAD Syndrome!! Fifty Shades of Grey - I wish! There is just one shade of grey for the sky at the moment. Its damp, it’s miserable and I have not seen blue sky and sunshine for over a week. Is it the end of the world?

I have just about recovered from giving a speech at my sister’s wedding and making the big KT Cunstall Gaff. Sorry lass – you are great but I got my K’s in a twist as well as my knickers. Little Charlotte tried hard to steal the show at such a beautiful event; she flirted with all of the boys especially the photographer, she pulled off the buds of her flowers after about five seconds, got grass stains all over her pretty tights and dress and rugby tackled the beautiful bride and managed to get her to fall on her bum in her finery.

Jimmy Saville has managed to monopolize the news for the last month. What an absolute disgrace that was. I wrote to Dear Jim’ll when I was 10 with my best friend Sally. We wanted to host a chimpanzee tea party.  Thank goodness our request was declined. What I don’t understand is why these people did not come forward when he was alive! I can understand the vulnerable girls not speaking out, but what about all the people in authority? BBC Chiefs, medical professionals, charity chiefs, managers of schools – shame on you!!

I am still stressing about Charlotte going to school next year.  What on earth am I going to re work? How I long to be at the school gates to pick up my little terror.  Its life now I suppose so I shall just have to suck it and see.

I am watching the Arsenal tomorrow with my little nephew Luca; my first game in four years. I was up the duff last time I cheered on the Gunners.  My love of Arsenal (Ben aside) was the absolute passion of my life!  Liam Brady, Frank Stapleton, Charlie Nicholas and later on Bergkamp, Ian Wright and Thierry Henry. I probably can’t name more than three players now – little Luca will have to educate me.

My love affair with Arsenal began around 1979. I fell in love with Highbury, the long walk from Highbury Corner to the ground and the old men selling hot nuts.  My Pop Pops used to drive up there with half the kids in the street. I think it cost £3 to get into the North Bank.  I can still hear the noise now the moment I stepped out overlooking the pitch.  Those were happy days. Charlotte says she supports Arsenal – even though the kit will clash with her red hair. I hope I get the opportunity to take her to some games when she is a little bit older. For tomorrow, I will enjoy shouting from the terraces with Luca – lets just hope it’s a goal fest! I am so excited.