Closure

Everything comes to an end. On Friday night my pregnancy came to an abrupt end and today my blog comes to an end. Not quite so abrupt but an end all the same.

I reached 6 weeks pregnant last weekend and for anyone following my story, that means I finally got my GP referral to enable me to go for an early ultrasound scan.

I was still bleeding on and off, pretty much light though, and I’d convinced myself through internet research it was fairly normal spotting. I thought when I went for my scan I’d see a little bean and be told there was nothing to worry about.

How wrong I was.

I went for my first scan last Saturday afternoon. I was told there wasn’t any evidence of an embryo in the uterus but there was a 2cm mass near my left ovary. I had probably miscarried but was advised to go to A&E for blood tests that day just to check it out.

Facing up to the reality I had miscarried, I then spent seven hours at the grotty NHS hospital. My scan had been private, through my corporate health insurance, but being the weekend I had no choice but to go back on the NHS trail as I couldn’t wait until the private system woke up again on Monday.

Finally at midnight my first blood test was taken. I was told to return on Monday for a second test and results for both would be known on Tuesday. A second ultrasound scan was booked for Friday just as standard follow up.

Tuesday came and went; Wednesday came and went; finally in the evening of Thursday I found out my blood test results. Over the telephone, the doctor told me it wasn’t an active pregnancy and that I had most likely miscarried. Apparently my HCG levels were dropping but not as dramatically as he would expect. I asked if I should come in for my scan the next day and he agreed, and that a third blood test may also be needed.

On Thursday night I went to bed believing I had miscarried and my scan was merely to check that the mass was a cyst, or Corpus Luteum, as I had been told at the hospital earlier in the week.

How wrong they all were.

My scan on Friday revealed my baby had tripled in size in one week and was now much more identifiable. The scan showed a developing embryo - a baby - in my fallopian tube. I was instantly told not to eat or drink and that I needed surgery. That day.

I was on my own. Husband was at work and I’d dropped Peanut at a friend’s house for a few hours. I was alone, devastated and very scared.

Suddenly my knight in shining armour arrived in the form of a top gynaecology surgeon who happened to specialise in laparoscopy. He made me feel safe; that he would fix me and make everything better. I switched back to a private hospital and he operated on me that very evening.

I came home yesterday. I hurt like hell. The carbon dioxide gas they pump inside you is excruciating, my belly is swollen up like a balloon. I don’t think I’ve had the head space to dwell on what’s happened yet, it comes into my head now and again that I didn’t lose my baby, it was taken out of me. I don’t honestly know how I’ll deal with it all yet, only time will tell.

We can’t try to make another baby for a couple of months, that’s if I’m not too scared to try. There’s nothing like losing one of your fallopian tubes to make you a little averse to running the same risk again!

Right now I want to enjoy Peanut. Savour every ounce of her. Enjoy what I’ve got. Reconnect with my friends. Soak in everyone’s support and care. Realise there are people out there who worry about me. That I’m not all alone. That I don’t have to be brave all the time.

Then maybe one day after all that, I’ll get lucky with another pregnancy. One that hopefully will have a happier ending.

Until then, I wish each and every one of you happiness. And thank each and every one of you for reading my ups and downs over the past few months.

Much love, Agnes. x

Two weeks and counting

This week was pretty rotten but I think maybe, just maybe, I might be climbing over the hill and seeing the rainbow on the other side.

Since my positive test last Sunday morning I've continued to endure moderate and erratic bleeding all week long. I apologise now if this is going to be too much info.

Monday was the loneliest day at work. I had no-one, absolutely no-one, I could talk to about what I was going through. The only person who knew I was trying to get pregnant is on holiday. It was the longest day ever. Each time I went to the loo I would be reminded of my predicament and I would analyse every visit [was it more or less than last time, and if more, what did that mean?]. It’s like I was sitting on a time bomb called miscarriage.

I visited my doctor on Tuesday evening and he told me there wasn’t anything he could do and that, unfortunately for me, I’d found out too early. If and when I reach 6 weeks along I can have an early scan [the heartbeat can be detected at that point] and until then the only thing I can do is play the waiting game. Hmmm.

So, two weeks and counting. On April 2nd I turn 6 weeks pregnant. If I’m still testing positive and bleeding I can go in for an early scan. If I’m still testing positive but no longer bleeding, I can thank my lucky stars and go ahead with normal booking in.

As of this minute, bleeding has been amazingly light light light today so I don’t want to count my chickens but maybe, just maybe, it really has been implant bleeding and maybe, just maybe, it’s coming to an end.

And then there were four

I’m pregnant! Well, at least I hope I still am.

My wee stick this morning showed a very distinct cross - real concrete evidence I am indeed pregnant – however Aunt Flo has been buggering me around so much lately I’m slightly worried nature won’t let me keep hold of it.

She even showed her face for a quick second this morning so I think the best thing I can do is visit my doctor as soon as I can and hopefully he will tell me everything is ok. Then I can get properly excited.

Right now I'm statistically three and a half weeks along so I can’t quite believe I got a positive test so early. I do hope it all works out though. Keep all your fingers crossed for me.

Busy body

Things are beginning to heat up at work so I'm having to rediscover my focus, boo hoo me.

It's been a while since I've had to give a damn, I kind of left my work ethic at the door after Christmas when I had the luxury of a couple of weeks off. Time away from the office made me re-evaluate my priorities and realise how much I wanted to be a stay at home mum.

So now, after 10 weeks of slacking off, I'm beginning to feel tinglings of conscientiousness [or maybe it's guilt?].

Either way I think it's brought on, in part, by the frightening awareness my whole team are about to bugger off on holiday for a couple of weeks, leaving me to lead the whole account with the aid of some temporary support [read: people who won't have a clue what to do and will need everything spelling out].

Which sucks. But at the same time it's good for my 'profile'. God I can't even type the word, that's how much I shy away from office politics!

Oh yeah, and then there's my body.

I've decided my body and I are no longer friends. My weight keeps creeping up even though I've been consciously choosing to eat much better food. Even Peanut asked the other day if there was a 'baby in your tummy?' I told her no, it was just full.

And then, to add insult to injury, Aunt Flo is driving me crazy with her continual visits. Just when you think she's gone, she comes back and pops her head round the door for one extra burst of hello. I have no idea what's going on with her. Suffice to say I am really confused about my cycle, my fertility and everything to do with my chances of conception!

I could be pregnant and her outbursts are being caused by a baby snuggling down inside me; I might be miscarrying and not know it; or I might be neither of the above and simply clueless about my dates this month! Thanks Aunt Flo. Do you think if I hang a 'you're not welcome' sign on my nice new front door she'll read it and take heed?

Must go write my very long list of things to do for tomorrow. Talk to you later.

To blog or not to blog

that is the question.

I’m not sure I should carry on with my blog. Why, you may ask?

Well...

My husband reads my blog, which means I can’t always say everything I would want to say if it really were my journal.

My friend reads my blog, and when we meet up she already knows what’s been going on in my life.

Historically, I’m a quitter. I quit ballet, horse riding and brownies when I was little. I paid a full year at a gym but didn’t go beyond the induction. Actually, I’m such a quitter I'm not sure how I’ve managed to stay married and in my job for the past nine years!

I’m really fighting the urge to quit this right now.

I began to feel as if I spent more time writing about my life than actually living it.

I began to resent feeling compelled to post every night because that’s how I started and I felt any less would look to be slacking.

So. I cut back to every other night, which was better, but I still have the urge to quit.

There are millions of blogs out there and I just don’t think I have enough to say that’s any different.

On the flipside, I think if I were pregnant right now I would be fine as I think it would be really nice to record the whole experience.

I also think if I didn’t work full time I would feel better about posting as it wouldn’t get in the way quite like it does now. Right now we put Peanut to bed, eat dinner and then I sit with the laptop attached to me. It’s not exactly romantic and conducive to baby making if you know what I mean.

And then this morning, because I guess I’ve had a few days to myself, I found myself thinking of things I wanted to say.

Maybe that’s it, maybe I just need to blog without obligation, as Huckdoll would say.

Maybe I need my blog to be for me. Or maybe I quit the race and just enjoy being a part of everyone else’s journey.

Hot topic

We all know I’m not pregnant. We also all know what I think about my belly right now. Unfortunately for me I can’t seem to escape conversation about either of them this week. It’s as if the subject of baby versus belly is following me around! I kid you not.

Yesterday a very brave, very gay man at work asked me if I was having another baby. Does he not know you never ask a girl that question?! Apparently the subject was discussed at the pub the other evening. Do they really have nothing better to talk about than whether I spill over my jeans?

And then today, a good friend at work told me his wife had a dream I was pregnant. I don’t even know his wife but she’s seen my picture and somehow that was enough to cause her to dream about me having a baby.

No surprises when I say I didn’t actually mind the latter conversation as he, for once, wasn’t assuming I already was pregnant. And hey, you never know, what she dreamed just may come true! Imagine the spookiness if I fell pregnant this month, how funny would that be.

I am honestly trying to remedy my belly-without-a-baby scenario. You should have seen all the rabbit food I packed for lunch today. At one point my craving for chocolate was nearly out of control but I hung in there and by the end of the day I was feeling much less bloated, even a tiny weeny bit lean.

In a rather silly move on my part, I just totally buggered all my hard work because husband wanted chicken curry for dinner and I’m now completely stuffed!

Looks like I’ll be wearing another smock tomorrow. Let them talk!

Bad daughter, good daughter

Today is Mother’s Day and it’s one of the main reasons we decided to visit my mum and dad this weekend. Together with it having just been my birthday, it seemed a logical reason to visit this particular weekend, as opposed to any other.

Except I’m a bad daughter.

I forgot to load her card and present into our car and didn’t realise until we were an hour into our journey! I tried my very hardest yesterday to treat her to a new item of clothing to perk her up but nothing seemed to ignite a spark. Even though we did pay for our family meal out last night, nothing really gets past the stupidity of me forgetting her present! Sorry mum.

On the other hand, Peanut is a very, very, very good daughter.

While I was not alone in my absent-mindedness [husband also forgot to pack my present], he was off the hook as I could at least receive my gift from Peanut when we got home.

And what a nice gift it was. I received a huge Cinderella card, plus Series One of Grey’s Anatomy on DVD! She is such a good daughter, nine whole episodes of Justin Chambers and McDreamy!

Between husband’s sport and Peanut’s cbeebies I’m not sure when I’ll get to watch it. Though, if I remember right, husband is out this Wednesday evening so I think a night in with Justin may be on the cards.

Well, he will go out and play football…

I can see clearly now...

...the rain has gone.

For the past two days we’ve had the most amazing transformation happening at home. After seven years of suffering rotten, leaking windows, and doors that wouldn’t close without a hefty kick, we gave in and signed up for replacements.

They’re not sash but they are sympathetic to the style they should really be, which is a marked improvement on the 70s casement style that was here before.

Plus they aren’t covered in heavy condensation so I can actually see out of them, which is a complete novelty. Strange but true. Of all the nice things I received for my birthday, I have to say my new windows are just lovely. It feels like our house has been swaddled in cotton wool to protect it from the outside world.

Hmm, moving on from my peculiar subject…

My birthday didn’t quite work out as I had hoped but it was nice all the same, and not once did I dwell on my new age. I spent the day with husband and Peanut, and while she was an absolute horror for a while [we even had to give a time out in the middle of a department store!], on the whole it was much nicer to be with them than at work.

It was also nice to be able to play the ‘birthday card’ to get out of doing stuff! Cheeky I know but you only get it once a year!

We didn’t make it to The Portrait Gallery and I didn’t quite get to shop till I dropped but I did get to buy some new stuff. I only managed to spend my birthday money [lots of cash presents must mean I’m difficult to buy for!?] so I still have all my own budget still burning a hole.

We also did get to demo all the Bugaboo’s and I have to say husband wasn’t entirely put off. He blew me away slightly as he came away preferring the new Bugaboo Bee, a model I hadn’t even considered as I thought he’d consider it weird. He liked that it folded down all in one [you have to take the seat off the others first], plus he didn't really want the Gecko carrycot as he doesn’t think we have anywhere to store it [fair point].

Funnily, I’m not sure about the Bee because it seemed really tiny but hey, it may be a fair compromise. Slightly fraudulent of us to even look at them, considering I’m not cooking a baby, but fun all the same.

Right now we’re off to my mum’s for two days of being looked after…yum.

Birthday Eve

I’m really excited. I have three whole days off work. Which, when you tag on the weekend, is really five. FIVE whole days. Yippee!

Today was supposed to be a total ‘me’ day. I was going to drop Peanut at nursery, even though I didn’t really need to, and head out for a serious dose of West End shopping. All by myself.

How amazingly luxurious would that have been. I mean, I would actually have been able to saunter around perusing the racks until I found something I liked, instead of my usual grab and run.

So that was my plan, unfortunately Peanut thought of a different one.

Both Monday and Tuesday evenings Peanut has been a horror. Screaming, crying and misbehaving from pick up to bedtime. So, last night I decided I would keep her out of school and take her shopping with me. Hmm.

This morning she was still really grumpy and I just couldn’t face it, I knew it would be a disaster waiting to happen. An hour travelling by tube either way and an intensely busy city where she would need to be on the tightest of leashes to ensure I didn’t lose her. All of which would probably cause her to self-destruct.

So, no surprises when I tell you I decided against it. Thankfully for me husband has gallantly said I can shop on my birthday instead. All three of us are heading in to town tomorrow. I’m going to hit up the flagship stores for both Topshop and Zara [the bigger the better to give me the greatest selection of belly covering items to choose from!].

At husband’s suggestion we’re also going to give a Bugaboo a once over. I know, I can hardly believe he suggested it either!

And if I’m a really lucky girl we’ll go to the National Portrait Gallery to check out the Vanity Fair exhibition. Shopping and celebrity photos, what more could a superficial girl want.

When panic sets in

I was getting ready for work this morning and reached the part of my daily prep where I put my jewellery on.

Necklace, earrings, watch, ring on right hand, wedding ring, engagement ring...where's my engagement ring? Crap, where did I have it last? When did I take it off? I hope I didn't lose it at swimming lessons yesterday?

I start to rummage through the four dresser drawers, on top of which I always place my jewellery last thing at night, thinking it may have been knocked down into one. Nope, no metal clattering noises to be heard.

Shit, I really have lost it. Husband is not going to be impressed. And I kinda don't want to have lost it either - it's got 42 bloody diamonds in it! Ok, I admit, 41 of them are like fairy dust but one isn't, and anyway, I love it.

Cue Peanut who walks in to see what all the fuss is about...

Me: Mummy's lost her ring! What's mummy done with her ring???

Peanut: I got it. It’s in my pocket.

Me: What? What pocket?

Peanut: In my trousers. Yesterday.

Me: Really? [thinking to myself: where on earth are her trousers? won't it have fallen out? oh crap, they're in the washing machine!].

I rush to the kitchen and search through the dirty laundry in the machine. I locate the offending article and reach with two of my fingers into a very small pocket.

Sure enough it was there. Expensive diamonds hiding inside cheap kid trousers.

I didn't tell her off as, after all, I found the ring and everything was just fine. With its happy ending, it was quite cute and funny really.

I have a picture in my head of Peanut quietly, while no one else notices what she’s up to, reaching on top of my dresser and taking my ring as her special treasure.

Though I think tonight I'll be putting them that little bit further out of the reach of her tiny hands.

Pick me up

I don’t want to write a ‘woe is me’ post, I really don’t. But at the same time it would be false of me to pretend everything in my head is fine and dandy.

So what’s wrong? Well, truthfully, nothing major. Just a bunch of little things that mean I’m beating myself up, and then down again.

It’s my birthday this coming week; I’m going to turn 34 on Thursday. I don’t like it much as a number and I certainly don’t want to be associated with it.

It feels like only a blink ago I was 25, fresh home from Australia, falling in love, planning a wedding, making babies, oh and of course, spending money for England.

So where am I now? Old, unattractive, too fat for my clothes, without money to buy any new ones and really hoping to get pregnant but so far not succeeding. Like I said, woe is me.

My mind has been filled of late with silly thoughts like these:

Am I too old to be wearing a hoodie? Why am I even wearing a hoodie? Cheap and warm would be the answer to that.

Why do I feel like I’ve lost my game? Actually I can answer that too. I’ve lost my game because I can no longer afford to play. In a world where image matters I can no longer afford to participate. The irony is that I can’t afford to play anymore because in my twenties I played the game a little too hard and now it’s biting me on my fat, old, ugly ass.

I also had a dream the other night about Milo Ventimiglia [being representative of men my own age-ish]. He didn’t even notice me. I mean, why would he notice a past her prime mother with bad hair when he’s dating an 18 year old?

So anyway, as I see it I have two choices: I can wallow in my own self-pity or I can do something about it all.

How you look affects your self esteem, there’s no escaping it, so I’m going to choose the latter. As my birthday [usually] falls on the last day of February I have a tendency to consider March 1st as my second chance at resolutions. It is, after all, the first day of my very own New Year and that’s good enough for me. It means I get to start over on the resolutions I made in January that haven’t really stuck.

With that in mind, I went out for a walk this afternoon. On my own! Peanut was at MIL’s causing a riot with her cousins and husband was snoozing. I think I needed that hour to myself. Just me and my iPod, walking through town with the fresh winter breeze in my face, blowing all my cobwebs away.

It felt good. Just the pick me up I needed.

Negative

I'm not pregnant this month. No test required. There's nothing more I can really say right now.

I hate mornings

I hate that more tube delays sucked an extra 30 minutes out of my day. Making me late for work. Again.

I hate how my job is boring me senseless. After 3 years of doing the same project again and again it's soooooo dull.

I hate that Peanut was so tired and grumpy this morning she called me a 'poo poo head'. Nice.

I hate that Peanut told me she didn't want to go to nursery today, knowing I couldn't grant her wish to stay at home.

I hate what I'm wearing today. My new Gap top has turned out to be more tent like than I imagined. I know, I know, I bought it because it would be good 'in the long term'. Unfortunately, even I think I look like I 'could be pregnant' so lord only knows what the gossip hags read into it today.

However, on the flip side, I love that I got to spend an unexpected hour with my friend this morning. Tube delays are good for some things.

Baby pink or baby blue?

Legend would have us believe that the ancient Chinese gender prediction chart was found in a royal tomb over 700 years ago.

If you believe in its abilities, it’s apparently able to predict the gender of your unborn child based on your age at the time of conception and the month in which you conceive.

I don’t know whether to believe in it or not but for curiosity, and to keep my mind off other aspects of my non-pregnancy, I decided to look it up again today.

I say again because I also looked it up when pregnant with Peanut and I have to say on that occasion it was spot on. It’s said to be over 90% accurate, but we’re also warned to take it all with a pinch of ancient salt. There isn’t much scientific evidence to back it up, but some say it’s meant to have something to do with the phase of the moon and the acidity in the woman’s uterus. Hmm.

So anyway, here’s how you use it…

To predict your child’s gender [or try to confirm the gender of your unborn baby] you need to use your LUNAR age at the time of conception. To work out your lunar age, just add two years to your real age.

Look up your lunar age along the top row of the chart below [click on the chart for a bigger, better look] and then find the month of conception down the left-hand column. Follow the column and row until the two intersect and hey presto you have the gender of your baby!



Which means that if I am indeed pregnant right now and I just don’t know it yet, I would be having a boy!

Sarah, give it a go and let me know whether it’s right for Lance and what it predicts you’re expecting now…let’s test this ancient theory!

Camouflage anyone?

I know I’m perhaps thinking too far ahead but I have clothing budget burning a hole in my pocket and I want to make sure I’m sensible with it. In the naïve hope I’ll find myself pregnant sooner rather than later I’ve been giving thought to a capsule maternity wardrobe.

Looking back on it, my first pregnancy was a fashion disaster. It was a winter pregnancy and I got away with lots of velour jogging pants and Ugg boots [blame Juicy Couture for that fashion phase]. If I get pregnant right now I’m all set for a high summer bump, not something I would have wished for but I will be thrilled with that option, now that perfection no longer matters.

Before I was ever pregnant I had an idealistic image in my head of glowing pregnant women. Mostly derived from reading too many celebrity magazines, all of which led me to believe everyone looks like that when they’re pregnant and everyone gets skinny again within a week. How wrong I was!

Thing is, when you’re pregnant it seems wasteful to spend lots of money on clothes that are temporary so you just ‘make do’. And that was in a life before debt awakening! I dread to think what I’ll end up wearing this time round, now that frugality is in the mix!

I’ve been looking up my options for maternity jeans and I quite like these ones on the Topshop website. They look quite normal and cheap. All of my regular jeans are Seven For All Mankind but they all pre-date debt awakening last year so I can’t afford £200 for a maternity version of those!

Does anyone have any style/fashion/budget tips for how to pull off my hopefully-soon-to-be-impending yummy mummy bump?

Cabin fever

Some weekends we're really busy, rushing from a to b. Other weekends we have so little to do we don't know where to begin. This weekend was one of those.

Back in the days when financial frivolity was the norm, I'm sure we would have made a list of things we needed and places we needed to go. After all, there's no bigger fix for boredom than buying something new and lovely, and the ensuing rush from taking that item home to play with and admire.

Except we don't live like that anymore. Apart from our grocery shop on Friday, and asking next door's builder to fix a broken bit of our footpath yesterday, we haven't been near anywhere that required us to part with money.

Which is great for our bank balance but not always so great for our minds. Husband always gets cabin fever on a Sunday if our weekends are too quiet. Despite a busy day yesterday [football with his nephew in the morning and a family walk in the great outdoors - lake & forest - in the afternoon] he was still grumpy quite a bit today. I called him McFrosty this evening but I don't think he got the reference.

As for me, my mood has been surprisingly ok today so maybe my optimism can hang in there a little while longer. After all, there's only room for one person with pmt!

Day 27 tomorrow...

What's a girl gotta do...

…to get pregnant these days? While I don’t have hard evidence either way, I can just feel I’m not. I can feel Aunt Flo packing her case for her visit in the not too distant future.

I may be wrong, and frankly I’d be delighted to eat my own words, but the pointers are all starting to face the same direction. I’ve had a little bit of lower back ache and the occasional lower tummy twinge. The biggest indicator by far though is that I was in an absolutely fine mood this morning and then, just like flicking a switch, I became melancholy and irritable in a flash early this afternoon.

Signs do not look good.

Which quite frankly sucks, as we’ve made a concerted effort to get pregnant this month. We’ve been ‘trying to make one’ at least every other day just like the books recommend, and I’ve even been taking a folic acid/multi-vitamin every day.

The sensible side of me knows there’s nothing wrong with how long its taking, I also recall it took two post-pill visits from Aunt Flo before I got pregnant with Peanut so we’re still ahead of that timeline.

However, I also know I was 29 when I got pregnant the first time and in two weeks I will be 34. It just feels like a big difference, but then maybe I’m looking for reasons we could be failing.

But then, you never know, it may not be PMT that hit me this afternoon. It may just be that my husband was annoying me! Only time will tell which way the pendulum will swing.

Antithesis of romance

When I was a little girl I used to pronounce the first word in my post title as antee-thee-siss. For a couple of reading tests in a row I failed on that word alone, you’d have thought I would have gone home and asked my mum how to pronounce it but I never did, so I kept on failing.

So now it’s a word that sticks in my head: ant-ith-isiss, a thing that is the direct opposite of something else. And that’s exactly what my evening was last night, the opposite of romance.

I came home from work on a busy tube with delays, raced to the nursery, made it by the skin of my teeth, and drove home with Peanut [who was thankfully in a reasonable mood].

Husband and I exchanged cards, but I know we only bought them because we ‘should’. We don’t really believe in the commercial push behind the day, I guess that’s a twist of us both working in industries related to marketing. We know the base line of most things in life is to sell, sell, sell. And I guess we don’t believe you should be told to be romantic [even though as a girly girl I would love to be showered with gifts!].

Anyway, Peanut fell asleep immediately after I read her a short Snow White story so that was quite painless. Husband’s football team were playing an important European game so he had that on television and I set about cooking dinner.

Except I got distracted and burned the dinner, and it was only Carbonara! The simplest meal in the world was ruined - I tasted it and all I could taste was charcoal. I even burned the wooden spoon that was resting on the edge of the pan; it nearly burned through completely – whoops!

We ended up having different dinners. I had pasta with a ready-made sauce and husband had heated up mini chicken tikka fillets with microwave rice, both very bland. They didn’t even come together at the same time so I’d finished eating mine before his was ready. Hilarious really.

After dinner we watched football together but both fell asleep on our separate chair and sofa. We were in bed by 10, a consequence of it being Thursday and being worn out from the treadmill of our working week.

When we got into bed I tried my luck for making Baby Number 2 but sleep was deemed the priority. I guess a girl can’t expect it every day, not after 8 years, not even if there is a baby to be made!

Our evening was definitely the antithesis of romance. But hey, I’ll take a loving relationship all year round if it means skipping one evening when it’s ‘supposed’ to be all candlelight and roses. At least it makes a silly story.

My Valentine

I saw this Q and A on Latte Mommy the other day and she kindly said within her post, despite it being a meme, anyone could give it a go. In honour of it being Valentine's Day today I wanted to be all romantic and take a walk down memory lane. And a lovely walk it was. I also wanted to post during my working day [ssshhh, don't tell my boss!] so that I'm not glued to my Mac tonight at home!

1. Where/how did you meet your husband?

We met through work back in 2000. Our companies merged, and as part of the integration they took us all away for an overnight trip to ‘bond’. He was dressed up as David Beckham and I was Wednesday Adams [well, I had two plaits in my hair, a black shirt dress with the buttons open to the top of my legs and knee high boots, so I was more a naughty school girl!]. Let’s just say we bonded!

2. How long have you known each other?

We met in September 2000 so it’s coming up for eight years.

3. How long after you met did you start dating?

Instantly. The day after our ‘away day’ we returned home: him to his mum, me to my parents. He promised he’d call on the Sunday afternoon but half of me didn’t believe he would, though call he did. And from what I’ve heard, it seems he spent all day Saturday talking to his family about how ‘he’d met a girl’. Very sweet.

4. How long did you date before you were engaged?

Seven months. We got engaged midway up the Spanish Steps in Rome the following April. It was quite late at night after being out for dinner so we were alone [if you’ve ever been to Rome you’ll know what I mean, during the day would have been very different!].

5. How long was your engagement?

A year and a bit. We either wanted to get married in September or April [when we met and when we got engaged]. The first September was only a couple of months away and that felt too soon, the following April wasn’t going to work for someone who I wanted to travel from Australia so September the following year it was .

6. How long have you been married?

Six years in September.

7. What is your anniversary?

September 15th. Exactly two years to the day after we met.

8. How many people came to your wedding reception?

A little over 30. We wanted to keep it very small and only have our favourite people there.

9. What kind of cake did you serve?

We had a light fruit cake which was made from a hundred year old secret recipe. MIL’s cousin had her wedding cake made by the same people about 30 years earlier so it felt right. It was covered in simple ivory icing with real rose petals strewn around. It was yummy.

10. Where was your wedding?

We were married in a tiny hamlet in the Cotswolds, a really picturesque part of England. The ceremony took place at 4pm, and after Champagne and a few photos we sat down for dinner, speeches and then music. I think we were back in our suite by midnight.

11. What did you serve for the meal?

Our wedding was on a Sunday so our main course was a traditional roast beef dinner of the highest quality. It was mouth-wateringly delicious. We had a soup to start and apple tarte-tatin for dessert. I wanted it to be really simple and wholesome, as I love traditional English food, and this was a lovely way to serve the best of it.

12. How many people were in your bridal party?

Only one, my best friend from back in Australia.

13. Are you still friends with them all?

Yes but I’m rubbish at keeping in touch and owe her an email.

14. Did your spouse cry during the ceremony?

Neither of us did, though I nearly cried and wanted to throw up just before walking in. During the ceremony I gripped his hand for dear life and then as soon as it was over I felt like I could breathe again. Nothing like a room full of people staring at you to make you nervous!

15. Most special moment of your wedding day?

I think after signing the register, and heading out into the sunshine for photos, I started to relax and enjoy the day. The most special moment for me was the amazing release; and the realisation that after months of planning and anxiety we could finally relax, enjoy ourselves and feel amazingly close and bonded by our vows.

16. Any funny moments?

Our photographer wasn’t your standard wedding type, he was more used to shooting celebrities and advertisements, but he did a great job of adding a fun spirit to it all. When he appeared out of a window at the very old stately home [now hotel] to take an elevated group shot was very funny, and took the edge off the formalities.

17. Any big disasters?

Not that I can remember. Even my MIL and FIL tolerated each other for the day and they were our biggest worry in the build up.

18. Where did you go on your honeymoon?

Jimbaran Bay, Bali. Heaven.

19. How long were you gone?

Two and a half glorious weeks. For the first few days of our honeymoon we were still walking around with a nip to our pace - we referred to it as our London walk. By the end of our time on the island we had definitely wound down and slowed to the Bali pace of life. Why can’t every day be a Bali day?

20. If you were to do your wedding over, what would you change?

Probably my hair.

In retrospect I think I would have worn it loose and softly waved instead of poker straight. I think I would have also kept it really long and not listened to my dressmaker who told me to lop inches off it so that it didn’t go below the top of my corset. Nothing major though, just something I see when I look at my photos, but I also see how healthy, happy and relaxed I look.

I also think I should have worn a veil.

Slight sore point also hangs over my hair as I also rejected a diamante headpiece my SIL hand-crafted for me. Though I don’t regret choosing not to wear it.

21. What side of the bed do you sleep on?

The right when you’re in it, the left when you look at it.

22. What size is your bed?

King, but I think we need a bigger duvet.

23. Greatest strength as a couple?

As we vowed we would, we ‘share all things’.

We also both strongly believe in not quitting and not being part of the throw-away society we now live in.

He knows me better than anyone else and together, with Peanut, we’re a family.

24. Greatest challenge as a couple?

Definitely my debt-awakening last year. Sleep deprivation after Peanut was quite tough as I think it led to us being slightly finger pointing about who was pulling their weight. Also, my husband’s knack of going from 0 to 100mph in 5 seconds; he can blow up without waiting to listen to rationale so you end up pussy footing around his fuse a bit. That and he’s a bit glass half empty sometimes so you have to pump him up. I’m no walk in the park either, when I want something I want it now and I also want things just right. He thinks I mumble and use the Mac too much. But hey, we all have our niggles.

25. Who literally pays the bills?

Me. Husband knows what’s going on and can check our bank account at any time, but he leaves the admin to me.

26. What is your song?

Madness: ‘It Must Be Love’. They are his favourite band so it resurfaces quite a lot for us.

27. What did you dance your first dance to?

While we didn’t have dancing at our wedding, we did at our post-honeymoon party. We danced to ‘It Must Be Love’ on that occasion.

28. Describe your wedding dress.

It was hand made by a designer in London called Annette Carey. It was her ‘Grace’ design and it was lovely. It was ever so slightly ivory, slim-off-the-hip with a reasonably long train. The skirt was taffeta and then had a layer of silk georgette over it. The corset was ruched and was again taffeta overlaid with georgette. It’s really hard to describe but it was beautiful. There’s a pic on Annette’s website which may do more justice than my words are able.

It made me feel like a princess, and with my 4 inch Jimmy Choo’s I glided around with my shoulders back and a beaming smile on my face all day.

29. What kind of flowers did you have at your wedding?

White and palest pink roses. Minimal foliage of only pale green Eucalyptus leaves in honour of my Aussie past. My small, hand-tied bouquet was beautiful. The next day my mum placed it on her mum’s grave so that she became a part of our day.

30. Are your wedding bands engraved?

Yes. I have his name and he has mine, and we both have our wedding date [just so he can’t forget!].

Blue Wednesday

Hey.

Today has been very flat, and not at all full of good cheer.

At my office, one person I know was made redundant yesterday, four more were chopped today, and another six are due to go tomorrow. As you can imagine the atmosphere is very solemn; in fact it's like working at a wake.

To top that, the two new jobs husband has been going after look to be leading nowhere. One he has written off himself, and the other, which he quite fancied, well they just don't seem to know what criteria they want to recruit!

Which means he's not feeling too chirpy, and on top of that he's been on a course for the past two days and has had to sit in traffic for HOURS. He hates sitting in traffic.

Plus, Peanut is tired and irritable after a late-ish night on Saturday, and busy days on Sunday and Monday!

Woohoo! Hey, at least we're all ok physically. No winter colds or vomiting bugs [Latte Mommy, Oh Mommy].

Roll on the weekend.

Virgin Meme

I got my first meme tag! [Thanks Huckdoll!]. After 45 days and 48 posts I now feel like a proper blogger in a world of proper bloggers.

Unfortunately for Huckdoll, her meme is about reading. Something I rarely do, well not fiction anyway [far too bloody practical for that]. It’s either magazines or non-fiction ‘how to’ books beside my bed!

Anyway, here are the instructions for my ‘Page 123’ meme:

1. pick up the nearest book [of at least 123 pages].
2. open the book to page 123.
3. find the fifth sentence.
4. post the next three sentences.
5. tag five people and then post a comment here once you post it to your blog, so I can come and see.

Here goes…

My book is ‘Honey We’re Killing The Kids: The Ten Rules For Healthy And Happy Children’ by Kristina Murrin. Page 123 is within the ‘Discipline and Boundaries’ chapter.

If you can’t say no to yourself as an adult, your life will be driven by whim and impulse and you will find it difficult to delay gratification; falling victim to the ‘I want it now’ syndrome.

Although no is a negative word, it can be used to teach your child positive lessons. It’s a powerful word, however, so it’s important to learn how to use it properly.

I tag the following five lovely people, who I’m sure read more interesting books than I do!

Bliss in Bloom
Clever Girl Goes Blog
Latte Mommy
Life of a Valley Girl
Life with Lance

Crush me

A very young, very single, girl at work recently gushed over images of Patrick Dempsey. Which led me [despite my age, marital and parental status] to think about all the celebrities I kinda like the look of. Very juvenile I know, but very indulgent all the same.

Clichés like Brad Pitt and David Beckham aside, here’s my list of celebrity crushes [in alphabetical order so as not to show bias]:

Josh Holloway


Justin Chambers


Justin Timberlake


Milo Ventimiglia


Patrick Dempsey


Do we see a theme emerging...?

Oh and husband, this definitely doesn't, in any way, mean I love you or lust over you any less. They're just teenage girl-like harmless daydreams. x

Swim little fishy, swim

Every Sunday afternoon we take Peanut to a swimming lesson. We’ve been taking her for nearly 3 years and after all those lessons, when it was just splashing about and group songs, we’re finally starting to see a return on our investment.

Husband used to go into the pool with her but since New Year she’s had to go in on her own. We thought she’d hate it but it seems to have done her the world of good. Before she wouldn’t put her face in the water or jump in on her own, now she does all of that. We sat proudly poolside applauding her achievements as she smiles the biggest smile back to us, full of pride in herself.

Where she goes for these lessons is a very big, very old, private school on the edge of our town. It reminds us of Hogwarts from the Harry Potter films with its quadrangle, manicured lawns, and ‘tradition for excellence’.

While waiting for husband and Peanut to emerge from the changing rooms, in amongst all the sports team photos dating back 50 years, I noticed a handwritten poem hung quietly on the wall. It read like this:

If you think you're beaten, you are,
If you think you dare not, you don't.
If you'd like to win, but think you can't,
It's almost certain you won't.

If you think you'll lose, you've lost.
For out in the world we find -
Success begins with a person's will,
It's all in the state of mind.

If you think you're outclassed, you are,
You've got to think high to rise.
You’ve got to be sure of yourself,
Before you can win the prize.

Life's battles don't always go,
To the stronger or faster man.
But sooner or later the man who wins,
Is the one who thinks he can.

While we could never entertain the £100,000 fees for Peanut to attend, I could feel today what this money was going to buy. A will to succeed. A will to do well. An attitude towards life perhaps only the very best State schools could instill. Luckily for us the State school Peanut is [fingers crossed] hopefully going to attend is one of the very best, so she should do ok.

You can lead a horse to water

but you can’t make it drink. Or maybe that should read: you can lead a nine year old to the dinner table but you can’t make it eat.

We went to dinner this evening at mother in laws place, with sister in law, her husband and her three kids [nine year old, and two year old twins – all boys!].

Complete chaos and extremely noisy but nothing new there. It depends what mood we’re in as to whether we can handle it, or whether it drives us crazy. Tonight was fairly reasonable, we managed to stick it out for nearly 3 hours which is good going.

Anyway, I digress. The nine year old is a reeeeaaaaaalllllly fussy eater. I’ve known him since he was nearly 2 and he pretty much always has been. He was an only child until he was 7 so maybe he was allowed to get away with it for too long. Plus, when the twins came along I think it just became important for him to eat, no matter what it was.

He seems to only eat pizza, tinned pasta and ham or chocolate spread sandwiches. I’m sure he has a greater repertoire than just these but it’s all I seem to witness.

As a family we’re all trying to say that if he wants to be good at sport [which he does] he needs food for energy. This hopefully changes it from nagging to something he needs for himself. He agrees in principle but then can’t quite bring himself to follow through.

Having witnessed his behaviour, and the shouting/crying it generates, we’ve always insisted Peanut eats what we’re eating. If we’re all eating at the same time, and especially when we’re somewhere else, Peanut has what we have. I’ve never fussed over and given her something different. And even so I still think she’s a bit fussy; or perhaps manipulative so she can eat rubbish!

Maybe he needs to realise that dinner is his only choice? That if he doesn’t eat his dinner he actually will be hungry. But there’s the dilemma: do you want him to eat ‘something’ now or do you want him to eat ‘good’ always?

Just before we headed home he was eating pitta bread, just so that he ate ‘something’.

Kids!

Trying too hard

‘You’ll never have that kind of relationship in a world where you’re afraid to take the first step because all you’re seeing are the negative things that might happen ten miles down the road’.

A few weeks ago I posted about how rubbish I am at beginning friendships, and even more rubbish at maintaining them. I am totally rubbish at it.

Partly because I think people won’t like me, find me interesting or find me good to be around. So instead of waiting to be rejected, more often than not I don’t put myself in a position where I could be.

Similar feelings of paranoia crept into my head today. The same friend I so enjoyed spending the afternoon with a few weeks back came round to my house today. It was her first ever visit in the two-plus years I’ve known her so I felt a bit like I was revealing my whole self.

I was totally looking forward to her visit, though with slight trepidation as our house was not just untidy, but downright filthy!

In preparation, I scrubbed the mould in our bathroom with bleach to try to make it disappear and tidied everywhere else to within an inch of its life. Partly because it just needed it anyway, partly to make sure my friend didn’t run a mile.

While my house is very white, it is quite used to having all sorts of crap spilled over it and being completely messy. So while all my efforts today may have presented its ‘best side’ to the world, I fear I may have overdone it slightly.

I hope my best intentions didn’t make her feel uncomfortable, if they did I can only apologise. I just wanted her to like my house and not think I’m dirty and disorganised.

Why do I beat myself up like this? Why do I think too much? Why do I try too hard? If my other recent post is anything to go by, hopefully she didn’t mind what my very small, very inadequate dwelling is like. I also hope my fondness for ‘pretty things’ didn’t make me look like a superficial idiot.

My friend rocks, I just hope she had a nice time. Next time I promise to listen to her full back-story, talk a lot less and not tidy up as much.

Blogging under the influence

I have a confession.

I’ve been drinking a little bit of Champagne this evening, therefore my ability to write original prose tonight is kind of null and void.

I have good excuses though I promise: we won an award for our work yesterday [Best Magazine bla bla bla], our big huge project finally went to print today, and it’s my sister-in-laws birthday. Plus it was vintage Moet and it was lovely.

So instead of writing about my busy day at the office I thought I’d share more silliness about myself. Here goes:

1. Were you named after anyone?
Not that I’m aware of.

2. Do you like your handwriting?
Sometimes. If I’m taking my time, it’s quite nice and floaty. If I’m rushing, it’s scrawl.

3. If you were another person would you be friends with you?
Probably not. I would no doubt be able to sense my likelihood not to keep in touch as much as I would like or intend to.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?
Oh yes.

5. Do you still have your tonsils?
Yes.

6. Would you bungee jump?
Already have.

7. What is your favourite cereal?
Quick porridge.

8. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off?
Not always, just like I didn’t tonight. I always regret it when I come to put them back on the next time.

9. What are you listening to right now?
The semi-final of the African Nations Cup [Ivory Coast v Egypt] is on tv in the background.

10. If you were a crayon what colour would you be?
Pink, or orange. Quite like a fruit salad sweet.

11. What did you watch on tv last night?
Nothing. Husband played the Wii while I washed and blow-dried my hair.

12. Rolling Stones or Beatles?
Neither!

13. Do you have a special talent?
Um, not that I know of. Annoying my husband?

14. Where were you born?
Wales.

15. Have you ever broken a bone?
Not yet but there’s plenty of time.

Bugadoo or Bugadon't?

Does anyone have good or bad reviews to share about the Bugaboo Gecko? I'd really like one for Baby Number 2 but have no actual experience of handling it and need to convince husband we need one!

I want one for three reasons [ok, maybe four]:

1. they look compact and easier to get around small spaces than the enormous 3-wheeler we had first time round [it’s also half the weight of our 3-wheeler so I’m thinking it won’t be as hard to get in and out of the car].

2. I really want a carrycot next time, rather than my baby being squashed into a car seat attachment.

3. I’m not sure why but babies always look so comfortable in the pushchair seat, so laid back and content. I always found with Peanut she sat further forward than the seat would allow and therefore wasn’t resting her back.

4. Ok, ok, a little bit of me wants one because they're cool.

Any advice or suggestions?

Bubbleicious

I can’t explain it but I feel a lot happier this afternoon. Much less stressed, much more excited and hopeful.

The stress was my own doing really; I’ve been slacking off a lot at work since Christmas and I’ve shot myself in the foot a little bit by leaving stuff to the last minute. I always do, procrastination is one of my faults.

My receding stress levels are being replaced by increased excitement and anticipation about the possibility of Baby Number 2. We’re mid-way through our second cycle of trying to make a baby; no doubt in a couple of weeks I’ll bore you all again with my ‘am I, aren’t I?’ dilemma!

Right now I’m feeling hopeful. We’re doing pretty much all we can to make a baby without being too military [I’ll save that regime for when I really start to get impatient] and I can only hope it works.

It’s that little glimmer of excitement, which puts a smile on your face and a spring in your step. You don’t know if you are, but you could be. The word ‘could’ represents a whole manner of positive possibilities. A bit like living in a bubble of happiness and hope, and I think it’s nice. Now I just have to hope no one comes along to burst my bubble.

Peanut-isms

I didn't make it home from work today until it was past Peanut's bedtime so in her honour, and because it will make me smile, here are some of the funny things she says or the funny ways she says them.

If I tell her off and she doesn't like it, she says:

You sad me now.

When she wants me to recount the details of her day in a third-person bedtime story [always starts 'One day there was a little girl called Peanut...'], she says:

Tell me little girl.

Her wish list for 4th birthday presents:

A piano, a trumpet and a remote control.

Cute mispronunciations:

Banklet instead of blanklet
Chimley instead of chimney
Moosic instead of music
Flies instead of lies

She has a habit of adding extra bits to words she's trying to say, I have no idea why as she can't read and can only be learning from what she hears [which is not what she says!], here's just a few:

catch-ed me instead of caught me
hurt-ed me instead of hurt me
got-ed me instead of got me
fetch-ed me instead of fetched me

I know these things don't mean anything to anyone else but Peanut is the centre of my world and I love her more than she’ll ever know. So instead of wallowing in my inability to get home in time, I'm instead celebrating her loveliness.

And as much as I want her to sleep in tomorrow, I also can't wait for her to wake up.

Tummy Mummy

I’m having a particularly bloated, rounded, fat tummy kind of day. Make that month. Or few months.

I’m genetically pre-disposed to be the shape of an ‘apple’. My mum is, all her sisters are, my grandmother was, as were all her sisters. It’s great for my behind; with my tummy being round the rest of me therefore isn’t ‘pear’. It does suck though to always look a bit pregnant, especially when you’re not and you’d actually like to be.

I’m tipping the scales today at my heaviest natural weight [excluding when I was pregnant and shortly after]. I take a little comfort in knowing I was this exact same weight when I fell pregnant with Peanut - maybe it’s lucky?

Half of me wants to find the self-discipline to diet, the other half knows I’m trying to get pregnant so that’s not a sensible thing to do. Hopefully soon enough my tummy will no longer be fat, it will be pregnant. When that happens the pressure will be lifted from my shoulders - at least for a year anyway.

When I’m happy I eat more, not loads, just more rubbish and bigger portion sizes. It’s as if I relax and believe I can do what I want without it have any consequence. When I’m stressed I go off food and anxiety burns it all off anyway. This time last year I was at my skinniest, coincidentally I was also in the middle of major stress.

Since we worked through our ‘debt-awakening’ last summer, my boosted feelings of security and confidence have caused me to take my eye off the ball [and transfer my eye to the junk aisle]. The result being that I’ve kinda let myself go a bit.

It’s probably not enough for anybody else to particularly notice but, in myself, I feel huge. I hate having to dress to hide my tummy and I hate my clothes feeling tight. But do I hate it enough to stop eating?

The lazy side of me wishes I could find out I was pregnant tomorrow so I could postpone worrying about it. The other side of me knows I should eat sensibly for pregnancy anyway.

My other worry is, when I was pregnant with Peanut I used it as a license to eat whatever I wanted, and I ended up feeling enormous by the end. I promised myself I would have a much better second pregnancy; one where I actually looked like a yummy-mummy with a neat bump, rather than the size of a truck with a face like a soccer ball.

Part of me thinks [knows?] I eat crap and drink caffeine to prop up my adrenal glands, which are probably exhausted. Going without all that rubbish will probably be like going cold turkey, dramatic perhaps but most likely true.

Why can’t I find the willpower to live a healthier way? Why is it easier to be lazy, rather than setting a good example to Peanut? Why am I beating myself up about my body image, rather than cherishing and fuelling the only body I have? What message am I sending my daughter, apart from eat rubbish and then trouble yourself over it?

Chocolate bar or piece of fruit anyone?

End of the road?

Despite believing our cat had made a miraculous recovery, despite believing maybe she really did just have an ear infection, this morning she suffered a big relapse. Out of the blue she just couldn't walk properly, struggled to stand and her head was a bit wobbly.

Husband and I just know it's the end of the road for her. Peanut is slightly prepared, we've been talking to her about how the cat will need to go and live with someone who knows how to look after wobbly cats. Peanut seems ok with that in theory but I don't suppose it will be that easy in reality.

We're going to see how the cat is over the weekend and, I guess, if she's no better by tomorrow night then we'll have to make the call.

I guess there is a positive we can all take from this; the treatment the vet gave her at New Year at least gave us a month with her where we could be nice to her, spoil her and give her lots of affection. In some ways, come to terms with her not being well and say goodbye.

A month ago, when it all first happened, we would have taken the time we've just had as enough. And I guess now it will have to be.

Marital makeover

If you’d asked me a year ago what the vital ingredients were to make a good marriage, I would have said love, trust, honesty, communication; all the usual stereotypes.

Now, while I would still say those things, I would also add sex and money. If those two things are going right, then I think everything else falls into place around them.

The reason I know this to be true is because our marriage a year ago was in a very different place to where it is now. A year ago I was still burying my head in the sand about our financial predicament; building a brick wall between myself and my husband to ensure our [my] predicament stayed my own. My stress levels were off the scale and I had to keep all my stress to myself, how could I explain why I was stressed if no one but myself was aware of the underlying cause?

Then something happened which could so nearly have unravelled us but in reality has been the best thing ever. Husband found out about our [my] predicament and understandably, and expectedly, hit the roof. At the time, I didn’t think he’d ever come down. At the time, I didn’t think he would even stay, but stay he did. It took a while but we got past it. We sat down and worked out a budget where we actually lived within our means [a novelty for us, believe me], we looked at ways to bring in more money and cut our spending.

I’m really proud of how we’ve worked together to turn it all around. Back in my darkest days I never imagined we could be where we are today. In the eight months since what I call ‘debt-awakening’ [the moment I woke up to having to deal with it] we’ve managed to sort ourselves so much that we’ve saved thousands of pounds - enough to pay off one of my loans just before Christmas. We’re now busily saving away to clear the other. I can’t wait for the day when we can say we have no debts to pay and all our money is our own.

One of the best things to come out of sorting ourselves out is the chance we now have to revolutionise our family life. A year ago our finances were so screwed up I could never imagine being able to afford a second baby; now we’re actively trying to make baby number 2. And most definitely a year ago I could never imagine being able to stay at home with that new little baby [whenever it may come along]; now we have plans for exactly that.

I can’t thank my husband enough for allowing me [us] to get past our mistakes and my silly frivolity. I’m loving that we’re now a proper partnership, who know where we stand and where we’re going. I'm loving that we've fallen back in love and turned back time.

So like I said at the beginning, everything else may be really important but if your money and your sex life are ok, everything else just falls into place.

Wicked mother

For a while there I thought Peanut had reverted back to sleeping through to her routine wake up time of 6:45. I happily assumed all our early rising issues had sorted themselves out. Oh no. Yesterday she made a grand entrance at 6 and this morning, earlier still at 5:40.

Nothing wrong with that, in the sense that if she wants to start her day with the birds then who am I to tell her different. Except that's not how it works.

Last night she was exhausted, slept badly and this morning was a royal pain in the bum [moody, cheeky, whiney, miserable, ignoring everything I asked her to do]. I know she's only behaving like this because she's tired [and being day 4 of our working week we probably both are]. I also know, as the grown up, I should know better than to get snappy at her in return.

Unfortunately not. She was driving me crazy because I knew her mood was self inflicted. I knew if she'd stayed in bed for another hour, neither of us would be going through this crabby start to our day. My own frustration and stress at getting us out of the house on time meant I started to bark orders at her. To get dressed, and chastising her for anything else she did which was out of line. Which then left me drowning in working mum guilt:

If I didn't work and put her in nursery for 10 hours each day she wouldn't be so tired in the first place. [And if she wasn't so damn tired maybe she would sleep better, and the circle goes round].

If I didn't work I wouldn't have to berate her to get dressed as we wouldn't be under such pressure to leave the house.

If I didn't work I wouldn't being trying to get myself ready quite as much and would be able to focus on what she needed.

If I didn't work none of this morning's crabbiness would have happened.

Does this make me a wicked mother, or does this make both of us victims of modern day circumstance?