Dearest 2011.

What a pleasure it has been, becoming acquainted with you these past 11 days. Granted my sense of enthusiasm and excitement may have not been immediately apparent to you, because I must confess I have been, what you might call, a miserable bitch for most of this new year. Alas I’d just like you to know that my generally stroppy disposition is by no means a reflection on how I feel about you. I promise.

I didn’t greet you the way that I usually greet the New Year. Usually, I would have wobbly welcomed you, toasting gleefully with a bottle of bud in one hand, and someone to kiss, (usually my husband) in the other. I would have cheered loudly and attempted a little leap of joy in heels purchased especially for the occasion. And then, like everybody else in the country I would have sang the mandatory ‘Old Mans Eye’ song, without any idea what the actual lyrics are, (despite my singing it annually for at least 15 years or so.)

Later I may well have thrown up a little, confessed my undying love for a taxi driver and then vowed to give up something that I seriously had very little intentions of quitting. Like eating or breathing, or shopping. And I would have tumbled into my bed where I would have stayed until lunchtime on New Years Day at the very least.

When you arrived however things were extremely different. I woke, for example not with a hangover but with a feeling of ultimate anticipation.

And every day since then I have woken feeling the same.

‘Will today be the day he chooses as his Birthday?’ I wonder. And this thought is swiftly followed by, ‘is it possible to die from impatience?!’

Because, (and I’m hoping for lots and lots of sympathy with this next statement, preferably in the forms of chocolate, money and shoes,) the latest addition to our little brood is officially 2 whole days past his due date and never before has my patience been tested so.

You see, 2011, I hadn’t expected my body to still be housing our creation under your reign at all. I’d had so many signs and signals that ‘L’ day was fast approaching, that I seriously would have bet my last Rolo on this little bundle being a 2010 baby. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined I’d still be sat here, with a bump like a bowling ball and a squirmy, wriggly little person bobbing about upside-down in there.

My naughty body has teased and tormented me for the past 3 weeks with all the signs under the sun. And it’s got to the point where I now feel exhausted, tortured and beyond sorry for myself. And this show hasn’t even begun.

I’m trying to be positive. I try to remind myself of how lucky I am to be awaiting one of the most magical moments a woman can ever experience. I think about how many women would kill to be where I am right now, about to meet one of the most precious human beings that will ever touch my life. Some people wait a lifetime, I’ve got just a week or so at the most.

Well I am counting my blessings, I promise I am. Yet that doesn’t mean I’m not entitled to have a little moan. After all I am a pregnant woman, and moaning kinda comes with the territory.

So here we are, my little family and I, once again on the brink of another life-changing scenario. It seems so surreal, but so exciting all the same.

Actually I have a sneaky suspicion that you’re going to bring many changes to our lives this year. By the time you leave us, our world will probably once again be in another dimension. Who knows where we’ll be?

I’m bracing myself, but I’m not scared. On the contrary, I’m kinda getting used to the adventure that’s also known as, ‘Stephs life.’

It’s pretty obvious to me now, at nearly 27, that it’s doubtful I’m going to get the simple, laid-back, run-of-the-mill, ‘normal’ life that I’ve always craved. I’m just not that kinda person. Some people go through life existing on the correct amount of oxygen, requiring little more that the ability to breathe evenly, in and out. I’m the kinda girl that often needs reminding how to breathe properly. (‘In through the nose, out through the mouth,’ Jay often has to tell me.)

I think I’ll probably always be in pursuit of the kind of security I’ve craved since I was a little girl, and life will probably always keep me on my toes, (though hopefully those toes shall always be adorned in gorgeous shoes!) But I have my man and my babies, and a gal really can’t ask for more than that can she? (Especially when said man and babies really are adorable!)

We had such an adventure at the end of last year, my family and I. I think it was possibly the only adventure we have ever consciously and willingly volunteered ourselves to face. I’ve wanted to blog about it for months now, I’m dying to document it all, to capture the intensity of our experience on paper in my own words, before it escapes my mind and I forget exactly how crazy the entire experience was.

But for fear of being thrown into Reality TV jail for being in breech of contract I can’t spill just yet. (I don’t like to be naughty and orange really isn’t my colour!)

I don’t know whether it was an act of bravery or just a phase of foolishness, that we, Mr. C and I (with lots of encouragement from our little lady, whom it would seem is destined for stardom anyway,) opted to put ourselves forward for a TV adventure. But some opportunities just need to be grabbed, and we would have undoubtedly regretted it if we’d declined the chance.

By the time it was all over though I felt like the most exposed being in the world. Like a nudey-dudey plucked chicken, stuffed and oven-ready and feeling a little bit silly for strutting around these last few weeks being so cock-sure.

It was like I’d had layer upon layer of my character removed, scrubbed and analysed, until my very core was left cold and vulnerable for the world to see. I’d cried away my dignity, pushed myself to the limit, leapt far from my ‘comfort zone’ and invited the world in to witness the entire ordeal under the façade of ‘Entertainment.’

And actually, now that I’ve typed all that I feel a bit of a wally for taking part in the first place.

I’m a total reality TV junkie. I love it! I find human beings and the way we conduct ourselves, communicate and interact with one another absolutely fascinating. So I watch them all, but I especially love the shows with ‘normal’ people and not just celebs.

I’ve always said that I would never want to be famous, because I’d never want to be judged. Or rather I’d never want to be judged and subsequently disliked, for whatever reason. But I’d never given a minutes thought to the fact that whilst this show will doubtfully catapult us into the world of the rich and famous, somebody out there will probably watch, and much the same as I would, will probably spend the entire programme judging us. And therefore somebody, somewhere will probably watch, judge and conclude to dislike us. And that thought makes me sad.

We have no idea how we’re gonna be perceived. We don’t know how the show will be edited. And so I find myself constantly replaying scenes back in my head, trying to find the angle from which the shows producers will take. I hope they don’t include the scene where I slipped in the mud and fell on my arse on the dales. Or the bit where Jay had to gut a rabbit and bring it home to me. Or the time when we had a ‘discussion’ in the pub and Jay started to really piss me off, so I tried to send him telepathic messages telling him to shut up, but he didn’t, because he just doesn’t have the magic powers that I do. J

We don’t know how many people will watch our adventure either? Other than our friends and family I mean. It could go unnoticed? Or be viewed by the entire country? We could be in ‘Heat’ magazine? Or be invited to Elton John’s ‘White Tie and Tiara Ball’? Or be given our own show like Richard & Judy? (Oh dear! Think I’m getting carried away again!) Ah well, whatever happens I’m going to try not to regret it. Instead it shall be an experience that I shall file away under the term ‘Character-building,’ with all the other strange things I’ve done in my life.

This time last year I created a list of aspirations, of things that I wanted to achieve in 2010. They were mostly normal things, like losing weight, being healthier, helping to look after orang-utans in Borneo, sponsoring a roundabout. That kind of thing.

One of the things was to audition for the ‘X-Factor’ (not that I’m a fan of the show, I’m not really, just have this bizarre ambition to be in receipt of one of Simon Cowell’s legendary winks.)

I didn’t do it, (though my gorgeous Lorelei auditioned for Britains Got Talent in Dec (we’ll find out the results in Feb/March time)) but if you’d have told me that instead I’d be taking part in a reality TV show for C4 I would have laughed and told you not to be so daft.

Likewise if you’d told me that I would be beginning 2011 not-so-patiently awaiting the impending arrival of my third child I would never have believed it. We weren’t planning on having any more babies. We didn’t want to push our luck. Yet here we are, eager and excited and desperate to meet the little person who will one day call us, ‘Mumma and Dadda’

You see 2011, your predecessor proved to be quite the little trickster. So what, pray, will you have hidden up your sleeves?

Only time will tell J

Love & Best Wishes to everyone reading!

Steph x