I remember time ago our tale had just begun
With a union of two hearts, soon to beat as one. 
When Cupid struck and took aim to fire
Upon a Girl and Fella,
And pupils locked and hands entwined
Around a pint of Stella.

That moment there, their first to share, of many more to come.
With some containing sorrow :-(
But most filled with fun! :-)

Foundations were laid,
A family made
And a vow to love for life.

When the Fella got down on one knee and the girl became his wife.

Sweet and Tender ~ Bound forever
Wrapped in a love like no other.
In June last year they were blessed, with the gift of Lorelei’s brother!

And the Connolly crew simply grew and grew
With the addition of Ducks, Dog and Cat/
And the Mrs asked for a pig. But the answer was, ‘No and that’s that!’

Light and laughter fills the air of a home generating such love to share.
Indeed enough for the family of four.
In fact enough for even one more . . . ;-)

The pitter-patter of tiny feet could be heard when New Year is near.

For just after Santa comes, a new Connolly shall be here.

A beautiful baby with all it’s charms welcomed into our hearts with open arms.

And we are overjoyed! With a gift as great as this whether it be girl or boy!

 

 
 
Stephanie Connolly, 25 interviewed by Lorelei Connolly, 5.  Enjoy ;-) x
 
Mama Do 19/01/2010
 
Pregnancy is broken up into lots of different phases. I’m sure you’ve heard of them.

First there’s the ‘morning sickness’ phase. The title of which is such a false pretence for something that lasts ALL DAY.

Then there’s the ‘glowing phase’ - when a pregnant woman starts to show evidence of the extra pounds she has gained since being granted permission to scoff for England. And the extra weight makes the plumper woman sweat a little. And we say, ‘My aren’t you glowing!’ because we can’t say, ‘my god you’re so sweaty!’ to a hormonal woman.

Next you have the ‘nesting phase’ whereby the, now, extremely fat and sweaty woman makes a feeble attempt at a little housework, when the reality of the situation dawns upon her and she realises that perhaps she should have done a little tidying and washing once or twice in the previous 8 months after all.

And then there’s the phase that the books don’t tell you about. The one phase I don’t remember being warned of. It’s a secret phase you see. I’ll probably be frowned upon by authors of all pregnancy guide-books world-wide for sharing it with you. But it does indeed exist. And it usually occurs right before your bundle of joy comes *flying out.

I don’t know what its scientific name is, but I call it the ‘FREAK-OUT phase.’

The FREAK OUT phase, as if you need me to explain, pretty much does what it says on the, er, tin. In that it’ll make you, er, freak out.

Of course, there are variations of the phase. No two women will ever experience the same level of ‘freaking-out-ness’ for example. For some it’ll be horrendous. Like that point on a rollercoaster when you are slowly creeping to the highest peak, aware now that the height of the ride is much more impressive than it looked from the safety of the ground. You’re gradually reaching the point of no-return and any moment now you are to be plunged into the depths of the unknown. Spiralling into a series of stomach-churning, knuckle-whitening, thrilling and sickening loops. And there is a chance, just a chance, that you might not make it out the other side.

My own experience of the FREAK-OUT phase was not quite as bad as that, (thank god, cos the older I get, the more I like to keep my feet firmly in my shoes on the ground,) but it was scary all the same.

When I reached the point of no-return, when it became apparent that I was about to become somebody’s Mum, I did what I always do when there’s a crisis. I made a cuppa and then I wrote a blog.

You see I was frightened, not of being a Mother, but of losing my identity as an actual person. I wanted to be a Mum, but I wanted to be a Steph too. And I didn’t know you could do both.

This is yet another piece of advice that I wish I could have shared with my former self, it would have saved such a panic (and thousands of calories in chocolate and ice cream to help cure me from the effects of my ‘Freak-out’ phase.)

Cos I now know that there is no such thing as just a Mum.

A Mum, is a woman who has at least one child or more. She has nice neat hair and wears an apron. (This is my blog and therefore my interpretation.) She is very wise and kind, and insists on ‘teeth-brushed-before-bed.’ That’s a Mum.

I don’t own an apron. Not yet anyway. And my hair is very rarely neat. (It’s long, thick and there’s masses of it, so it’s usually sitting in a scruffy top-knot at the nape of my neck, in case you were wondering.) I am very wise and very kind, but I normally forget to remind my child to brush her teeth before bed. Because I am a Mum, but I am also a Steph. And ‘Steph’s’ can be scatty creatures from time to time.

I wish I wasn’t quite so scatty though. Because there is such a lot that occurs in this house on a day-to-day basis that I would love to have tattooed firmly in my mind for all eternity. Alas my scatty brain destroys most short-term memories to make space for gaining new knowledge. And I find myself forgetting such a lot of good stuff.

Lorelei lost her first tooth last week (not because I forgot to remind her to brush it, I hasten to add!) And  it was the highlight of her little life (spanning just shy of 6 years) so far. Honestly I have never seen her beam with such pride before. For hours she carried her tiny tooth around with her, to show it to all and sundry and later she began to refer to her ‘gap’ as though it were a new friend or something.

‘I can’t believe today is going to be my first day at school with a gap!’ she explains happily, her little tongue visible through the new hole, ‘I bet some of the children won’t even recognise me!’

Lorelei and her gap have been getting along famously ever since. Even though the Tooth Fairy very nearly forgot to come and leave a pound (still the going rate, you would have thought it would have increased by now?!) under her pillow.

(The tooth fairy as aforementioned is very scatty and adding to this was drinking lots of champagne at a wedding, when said tooth wobbled it’s way out  . . . Such a naughty tooth fairy she is.)

Well anyway, would you believe it, Lorelei’s baby brother has managed to cut his first ever tooth in the same week that Lolly lost hers and, what’s more, Leo’s first tooth is growing in the exact spot where Lori’s new gap is! I realise this may not sound nearly as thrilling to you as it is to me, but I wanted to document it anyway.

I love my role as a Mumma, it's a job and a journey that goes so well with being a 'Steph' too. I love those children more than i could express and I don't wanna miss a thing.

X

 

 

 
 
 
1 year has passed, and with it my life seems to have been catapulted into an entirely new dimension. One that is worlds away from where I was last year.

I married my best friend and he landed himself a new job, and they were the only two positive things to have happened in 2008. The rest, I concluded this time last year, was all negative, traumatic and sad, and would be filed away in the back of my mind in a box marked, ‘bollocks’ - which I would only ever open again when I felt the unusual urge to make myself suicidal or something.

2009 had to be better. It couldn’t get much worse. And though the year before had virtually erased every ounce of faith from my heart and soul I found myself beginning this, the 25th year of my life, with a weeny flicker of hope. Hope that began to glow and glow until eventually it illuminated my entire world and soaked me in a warm light of happiness.

I’ve loved almost every single second of 2009. It’s been the most positive year of my life so far and truth be told, I don’t really want it to end.

So much has altered. So many minor things and so many major things.

Of course the safe arrival of my son, Leonardo, has been a major highlight. The taste of which has been all that sweeter after sampling the bitterness of losing his brother Harry last year.

Harrisons journey from bump to butterfly was never in vain, it taught us all to love and appreciate one another so much more and it reminded us that life, for us, is all about family, friends and looking out for one another.

When we moved house at the end of 2008 we didn’t know a single soul. We’d moved to start afresh, to be a little closer to Jay’s new job and settle somewhere where the pain and memories of sadness weren’t around us every waking moment. We moved again this year, after having a small house fire a few months ago, but we’re still in the same village and our neighbours and the local community have become our friends.

We’ve met some truly wonderful people. I’m so grateful for that.

Having my book published last month is another highlight of course. It’s a dream come true. I can’t help but feel extreme satisfaction at the thought that I was able to take so many negative and traumatic experiences and turn them into something so positive. And my copy of my book now takes pride of place here on my desk in my office. Every time I catch glimpse of it I’m awash with the same kind of pride I feel when I watch my children playing.

2009 hasn’t all been rosy though, we’ve lost a number of loved ones this year. Jay has had to say a tragic farewell to both his Nanny and his Auntie, and between us we also lost an extremely valuable member of our family, our beloved dog, Mr. T.

So there are certainly more stars in the sky now and it pains us not to have them here with us, alas it is a comfort to know that there are others up there helping to take care of my baby boy in heaven.

Mr. C and I have plans to bid farewell to 2009 in style, we’re getting glammed up, consuming the last of the Crimbo booze and are off to flirt with Lady Luck at a Casino in town. How lovely it would be to begin the New Year with a little extra dosh in our sky rockets :-) I plan to let my hair down, (actually strictly speaking that’s not true, I plan on having my hair up tonight, but you know what I mean,) and will be putting my tiny fears aside for the night.

You see for a gal that doesn’t ‘do’ change, it’s gonna be a tough feat for me to let go of the past of which I tend to cling. I’m apprehensive. I know it’s only a day’s difference in the grand scheme of things and that tomorrow probably won’t feel any different to today, (though perhaps tomorrow will bring with it a hangover, as January 1st normally does,) but I’m frightened that with 2009 drawing to an end our new found happiness mightn’t last. I think I’m suffering from ‘Too good to be true’ syndrome.

Just how much happiness is a person allowed?

Ah well, Jay promises it’s only going to get better next year. And I have to believe him. He’s never let me down before.

So here’s hoping, darling friends, family and followers, that 2010 is a joyful, fun and fortune-filled year for us all!

Happy New Year all.

Here’s to the future :-)

Steph x x x

 
 
 
Somebody has stolen my hot water. And it isn’t funny because I really want to get in the tub, I need to wash my hair before Santa comes, (Santa doesn’t bring presents to dirty girls.) 

I hadn’t intended on writing tonight, I thought I would be frantically wrapping pressies and tidying the house as is the norm for me at this time of the year. However, (and I don’t wanna count my chickens early and all that) something miraculous has happened. I seem to have Christmas and all the preparations in the bag already ;-)

I don’t know how I did it. I’ve got Steph Flu and everything. Yet despite my poorliness and despite the snow, which is still settled and glistening all over our neck of the woods, I managed to complete mission Christmas with more speed and efficiency than Anneka Rice on speed. And I’m not even wearing a shell-suit.

The pressies are sitting pretty in their newly acquired gift wrap and bows, and the kitchen now houses many a festive treat. The Fridge is full of baileys and beers, the mistletoe hung, the stockings ready, all that is missing is the main man himself. Who of course won’t be coming unless I clean my hair. I hope who ever stole my hot water returns it soon. 

Whilst I am waiting patiently for the emulsion boiler thingy to kick in, (is this right?!) I thought I’d come pay you a visit.

This is my darling son Leo’s first Christmas. Of course he knows very little of the season to be jolly, though he tends to be pretty jolly most of the time anyway, I’ve just tucked him into bed, his little face grinning from ear to ear. He likes to kick the covers off in order to watch is exasperated Mumma tuck him in over and over again. Tis a game he has become rather fond of, he giggles the entire time. Cheeky boy.

I can’t help but think of his big brother at the moment. Especially since we would have been celebrating Harry’s first birthday in 2 days time, if he had have been born on time. I only hope that wherever he is, he’s safe and happy, and that he knows how much his Mumma loves him.

That’s the thing about Christmas, it magnifies ones life and highlights the important things, the things we’ve achieved, the things we haven’t,  those we’ve loved and those we’ve lost. It’s no wonder so many people suffer at this time of year. 

I am looking at my own life in such a positive light though, I know I’ll see my baby boy again someday, but until then I’m enjoying what I do have. I can’t believe I’ve been blessed with two gorgeous, angelic children, I must have done something really good in a previous life to have them. 
 
Material presents aside I am feeling very lucky this year, even if Santa doesn’t come I reckon I’ve already got the greatest gifts I could hope to achieve and I don’t care how corny that sounds.

As well as the Crimbo decorations, and the newly acquired crystals, candles and other bits and bobs we purchased when we decorated the living room the other week, we have two new additions to the lounge. Two rather massive glass awards with Jay’s name on them ;-)

On Saturday night my extremely deserving husband was promoted from Area Sales Manager to Senior Sales Manager. And not just because he’s getting old either ;-) He’s worked his derriere off this year to ensure that the team he manages have risen above the rest and I’m so proud of him.

So proud. Couldn’t be prouder. Very happy for him. Really very happy. *But also a teeny, weeny, tiny bit jealous. :-/

Don’t be outraged. I know I sound ridiculous. I don’t mean to be jealous it’s just that, well, I’ve never won an award before. 

Seriously 26 years on this planet and the closest thing I’ve ever got to an award was the little medal that they give out to everyone that takes part in the Race For Life.

My chosen occupation can be very lonely. It’s just me and my laptop, and my laptop never tells me when I’ve written something good, (though is very quick to put a red squiggly line under any mistakes I might make!) so you see? No team work, no Christmas Do’s in lavish hotels and no awards ceremony. 

As much as I love writing I can’t help but be green with envy. (or is that dirt?! Oh where the hell is my hot water?!!)

Sunday morning,  whilst I was feeling incredibly fragile owing to the Steph Flu and also the amount of alcohol consumed on Saturday night, Jay returned from his 5 star Christmas Do and proudly displayed the awards he’d won, and I smiled and cried at the same time.

I told him how very proud and very jealous I was and explained to him how I longed to be presented with an award of my own. 

And the moment that succeeded this was one I shall never erase from my heart.

Footsteps tinkered down the hall and rustling could be heard in my bedroom before my little princess returned to the living room and instructed me to close my eyes. 

Obligingly I held out my hands and closed my eyes, and when I opened them again I found myself presented with my famous red heels. The same pair I wore in the photo for the front cover of my book.

Tears in my eyes I glanced back to my sweet daughter, her face lit with excitement. And watched in awe as she started to clap her little hands. 

‘To you Mummy,’ she said in her little high-pitched voice, ‘your award for being the best Mummy and Writer in the world.’

And my heart melted then and there.

Okay so I’ve not quite conquered all in my world. I’m not yet the greatest writer on earth (a girl can dream though,) and I’m not yet worthy of an award of my very own, but I am, in the big blue eyes of my offspring, the bestest Mummy. And who could ask for more than that?!

Merry Christmas and love to all!

Steph x

 
 
 
  I suspect that some of you may have found yourselves accidentally seduced into reading this post solely on the temptations of the rather suggestive title . . .  Tut, Tut. How naughty you are ;-) But just to clarify . . . Who dear? Me dear? Explicit dear? No dear! What kinda gal do you take me for? Lol

 

But seriously, I’m sorry if I’ve lured you in under false hopes. But I really couldn’t think of a more appropriate title for what I am about to disclose.

 

So please do take heed and only read on if you are a fully fledged member of Adulthood. For this post could shatter dreams and cause heartache everywhere if it were to fall upon the eyes of the innocent. And I seriously don’t want to be responsible for that.

 

I am already carrying the increasing weight of a ton of guilt. And each and every time I look into those big blue eyes of hers another ounce is added to the load. She wants to talk about it all the time now that Christmas is fast approaching. And I feel awful for keeping up the pretence of an entire tale of complete fabrication. Honestly I don’t know how I can sleep at night.

 

It’s been five years already. And once a year, as the day draws closer I find myself obliged to tell lie after lie after lie. And as my Nan says, ‘what a web we do weave, when at first we choose to deceive.’

 

The web of lies surrounding this time of year, or one specific night to be exact, is becoming more and more tangled. And I wonder how I’ll ever be able to get myself out of it when the time comes. The dreaded time when I am expected to confirm the suspicions of a child growing more cynical with age. When she asks me outright and I have to confess that A. He isn’t real. And B. Her Mummy is a liar.

 

You see, I know all parents are expected to say stuff like this, but she really is a bright little girl. She’s intelligent beyond her years and for this reason alone she has earnt my respect. I don’t like to lie to her. I like to answer her questions with honesty. And so my Lorelei looks to her Mummy for guidance. For facts. For love and comfort. And for the truth.

 

And I wonder whether she’ll ever be able to trust me again when the truth comes out?

 

It broke my heart the day that I discovered the truth behind the web of lies woven by the adults around me when I was a kid. I remember it distinctly.

 

Mum was in the tub. I sat with her on the toilet seat, as I always did, swinging my legs and chatting away happily. It was the beginning of December and my 8th Christmas was fast approaching.

 

I’d heard the rumours already. From the more sophisticated and worldy members of my class at school.  But I didn’t want to believe them. In fact I concluded that they would be the unlucky kids, crossed off the list for disbelief and punished with empty stockings and uneaten mince pies. But just to be really sure, I went to the one person I knew I could trust to tell me straight. And so slowly I sought the truth. With my heart pumping and a heavy weight in my tummy.

 

‘Mummy, is it true that Father Christmas isn’t real?’ I spoke.

And several slow moments later my response came in the form of a guilt-ridden nod.

 

At that point in time I found myself forced to question all the characters in my life that I had never seen but always believed to be there. The Easter Bunny. Jack Frost. The Tooth Fairy. And one-by-one those characters that I’d based my foundations and life philosophy upon faded into oblivion.

 

I am all too aware that one day my children are going to know that their Mummy was actually the bearer of a lot of bullshit over the years. And I hope they can forgive me.

 

Yesterday Jay and I took the kids to ‘Gullivers’ theme park in Milton Keynes. We had a fabulous time, the park was great. Although I am thinking that perhaps ‘Gullible’s’ might be a more appropriate name.  For tearing around in the cool winter sun was a million little gullibles, completely oblivious to the fact that they are so obviously being mugged off by their own ‘rents.

 

  We ate doughnuts, (the kind that cannot be recreated by ever the best bakers, the kind that you can only get from fairs and stuff.) We drank Hot Chocolate. We watched shows. Rode on carousals. Sang Christmas carols underneath the softly falling (pretend) snow and walked through a winter wonderland on route to see the big man himself.

 

Lorelei sat next to him, old Saint Nick, and on her best behaviour and displaying her very best manners she politely introduced herself, humbly asked him for the things she so desperately hopes to receive on Christmas morning, (a Baby Alive, a Nintendo Wii . . . ) wished him a Merry Christmas and waved goodbye, (explaining her hopes to meet with him again on Christmas Eve.)

 

The way her little face lit up when she saw him. I doubt I’ll ever be able to confess now.

 

You see the thing is I actually find myself going out of my way to keep up the whole pretence. It is not enough for my children to merely believe, oh no, I have to go the whole hog to prove he’s real. He eats the mince pies and drinks the beer, for example. Sometimes he even leaves muddy boot prints on the carpet. And Rudolph munches the carrot we leave for him too.

 

Though I must confess that whilst Santa is amazing, he never brings Lori the bigger presents on her list. They always come from Mummy and Daddy, (obviously can’t let him take all the credit!)

 

The thing is I believe that imagination feeds the soul. Without imagination I for one, would find life a little crappy. So at the expense of being known to my kids as a bullshitter I am continuing to try my utmost to create magical childhood memories for my little cherubs.

 

And for all the lies told, the stories made-up, the ‘ooohing’ and ‘ahhing’ and ‘look who’s been?!’ it’s totally worth it just for the precious expression of amazement on her face when she rises on Christmas Morn.

 

Your turn now! :-) Can you remember the moment when you discovered? Do you play it up for your own offspring?

 

Let us all repent our sins together :-)

 

Steph x

 
 
 
My darling baby boy.




I know you're there. I can sense you around me every day. It's a wonderful feeling. Your presence wraps around me like a warm cocoon, and I'm so very grateful, Harry, I really am.




It should have been my job to make you feel safe. I should be guiding you, teaching you, loving you. I wanted that so much. Alas I regret I know now that I could never have rescued you, the way that you have rescued me.




I've been thinking a lot about when we had to say goodbye to one another. It was exactly this time last year. August 4th 2008 in a little hospital room in Peterborough. You laid peacefully in your crib. Your tiny head barely bigger than the single yellow rose that lay by your side. I left you sleeping, of course your soul had already gone and the image that haunts me now is just that of your little shell.




Walking away, down the corridor, whilst my son slept in a little crib in a room all by himself was the hardest thing I've ever had to do Harry, and I'll never forget the emptiness, the loss, the fear and the panic that I felt when I had to leave you.




I don't know why we had to experience that loss. Why you and I didn't get the chance to get to know one another the way that a Mummy and her child should. I still don't know what caused the problems you had with your little shell. I guess i never will.




When a life is formed, so too is a sense of hope. The stronger the heart beats the larger the hope grows. Thoughts of the future, plans, aspirations all begin to form. Yet for us those hopes were weakened with every hospital appointment, every ultrasound scan. Until, bit by bit, we were left with a very different future ahead of us.




I knew you were destined for great things, my gorgeous man, but I had just assumed that i would get the opportunity to witness your achievements. Your first smile. Your first steps. Your first day at big school. Yet fate had different plans for you. Greater roles and tasks.




That morning, a year ago today, whilst Mummy was in labour with you, a single black and red butterfly searched for an escape between the blinds and the hospital window. He fluttered back and forth, for hours, desperately seeking the rush of air to free him. Eventually, of course, he found it and off he flew into the blue skies. Some creatures are just meant to stretch their wings.




He comes back to visit me, that handsome butterfly. He was here, in our house the day we moved in. He once sat with us in a restaurant, peacefully perched next to Lorelei and I took a picture on my phone. I use that same picture now as my screen saver. Last week he was trapped in our fish-tank and yesterday he was sat on the wall outside my kitchen, watching me do the washing-up.




Every cloud, they say, has a silver lining. Well it is only very recently that i discovered our cloud is dripping with a silver lining so sparkly and bright it makes the crown jewels look plain. My silver lining is so beautiful and precious and such a blessing. My silver lining has my eyes, framed with Daddy's curly eye lashes and he is as handsome as his big brother Harrison and as amazing as his big sister Lorelei.




I see now that in order to give us the gift of baby Leonardo you had to sacrifice your own life and time with Mummy and Daddy and Lori. If we hadn't of endured the pain and heartache of losing you, our precious son, at the halfway mark during our pregnancy, we would never have been blessed with our second son, little Leo.




Bitter sweetness is the expression I think they use. So very bitter and yet so very sweet.




Harrison Connolly, my little love, you will always be with us, in our hearts, Mummy and Daddy and your big sister Lorelei shall continue to think of you every day and to pray for you every night. And your baby brother, Leo, shall never live in your shadow, yet shall learn of the miracle his arrival was and what a gift he was.




I've always said you'd be my hero Harry and boy have you done me proud.




Forever blessed,




Mumma x x x

Picture
Butterfly - M. Carey

I have learned that beauty
Has to flourish in the light
Wild horses run unbridled
Or their spirit dies
You have given me the courage
To be all that I can
And I truly feel your heart will
Lead you back to me when you're
Ready to land

Spread your wings and prepare to fly
For you have become a butterfly
Fly abandonedly into the sun
If you should return to me
We truly were meant to be
So spread your wings and fly
Butterfly

I can't pretend these tears
Aren't over flowing steadily
I can't prevent this hurt from
Almost overtaking me
But I will stand and say goodbye
For you'll never be mine
Until you know the way
it feels to fly

 
 

Never mind airing my own dirty laundry, what I really wanna do is tell you all about my best friend and her sagas. Seriously Katy's life is so much more exciting than mine. Hers is a never-ending twisting tale of woven plots, peppered with more characters then Eastenders, it would make a fabulous novel which one day I shall pen, but until then, despite receiving permission to use her life as blogging material, from Katy herself, (when she's drunk, which is probably about 70% of the time) I am keeping schtum and proving myself a loyal friend with very good secret-keeping skills.




Besides which I am saving the dirt for future blackmailing ammunition, should I ever require it :-) (Hear that Kate? You really should buy me more presents to keep me quiet ;-) lol)




It's odd really, how very different our lives now are. It used to be that I was the troublesome one and Katy the sensible friend, forever coming to my rescue and bailing me out and always on hand with good advice, (which of course I would never listen to.) Oh how the tables have turned.




I've married and had babies and learnt how to be a home-maker (lol Not that I actually 'made' our house, but, you know what I mean . . . ) and Kate has gone travelling, joined a women's football team and learnt how to drink any respectable man under the table. (Meaning she has learnt until she has, herself, fallen under the table. Literally.)




Yep, she's a bit of a wild-child is my best friend, alas so long as she is happy then so am I.




Despite speaking almost everyday on the phone, I don't get to see Katy that often these days, in fact I don't get to see many of my friends since we moved 'up north.' (technically we live in the Midlands but anywhere north of the Thames is classed to most of my London and Surrey buds as North.)




My social interactions lately have been conducted mostly via the wonders of Facebook and the World Wide Web and thus have been, 'virtual.' - (i.e. We've drunk virtual champagne – (and gotten virtually drunk) have virtually poked each other (Oh god I hope you know what i'm on about or i'll sound like a right odd-ball) and we've commented on each others status' and it's got to the point now where I spend such a lot of time socialising on Facebook that I 'think' in status' now . . . ('Stephanie is walking up the stairs,' 'Stephanie is switching on the bathroom light, 'Stephanie is running a bath . . . ') - Does that make any sense? I think i am slightly insane. Or should that be? 'Stephanie thinks she is slightly insane.'?! Lol




I love the net, for many reasons, not just because you can chat to ex boyfriends about how fabulous your life is now, whilst you sit in your spotty pyjama's with greasy hair and not a scrap of make-up on, (not that i do this of course, honestly Jay darling i don't lol) but also because it requires very little effort. Yet I don't want to be idle and lazy. And now that I can wear my heels again i owe it to them to get out and about once again in the real world.




So i've been on a mission to meet some new people and make a few new friends in the area. Specifically a few pals who, like me, spend their days watching Peppa Pig, changing nappies and wiping snotty noses. And where better to look than the Bumps and Babes session down in the town?




Bumps and Babes, contrary to what my friend Corny expected, is in fact a mother and baby session, aimed at pregnant women and mummies of babies, (Pretty self explanatory unless you're a young man with a one-track mind and thus imagine that the 'Bumps' part probably indicates boobs and the 'babes' part means sexy women.)




Sure there are breasts on display, (behind the heads of hungry babies, so not exactly sexy) and of course there are yummy mummyies there too, but the group mainly exists so that we Mummies can form new friendships.




Except making friends isn't that easy when you're grown up. Not unless you're drunk. And they don't allow drinking at Bumps and Babes, (actually I don't know whether that's true or not, perhaps i will ask next week?) - Making friends is especially not easy when you're ordinarily a shy gal, (what do you mean 'Bollocks?' it's true! I am! Lol) So considering it's now Summer holidays I decided to take my lovely Lori with me today to show me how it's done.




At five years old my Lori has very little inhibitions. Almost the minute we walked through the door she was peeling her layers off (rain mac, cardigan etc) and yanking off her wellies before chucking it all in a heap on my lap. And then she was off. Constructing a tower out of soft cushions, dressing up as a fairy in the dress-up area and then riding around like a lunatic on a little car meant for a two year old.




Within about 5 minutes she had shacked up with a little blonde-haired boy. Whom she made friends with by sticking her little face close to his, her eyes twinkling with excitement, and giggling, 'Chase me!' before setting off in the opposite direction.




I eyed the room as I settled down on a chair with the baby. I spotted the only man in the room and toyed with using Lorelei's friend-making tactic but concluded that the man's wife might not have been at all impressed by my gesture.




We spoke to a few of the other Mums, Leo and I. (I say, 'we' because I'm ashamed to admit to being one of those people who constantly refers to her baby as though he is involved in the conversation, 'Oh we've been there too, haven't we Leo?' lol (baby, meanwhile sleeps peacefully on my shoulder, oblivious to the conversation he's participating in.) - We also had a cup of coffee and a bottle. And then we said goodbye at the end of the session and headed out in the pissing rain to trek on over to ASDA's.




Oh yes. I am quite the social butterfly with engagements that Paris Hilton herself would be envious of ;-)




We're going again next week and I'm full of optimism. There are plenty of new friends to be had, we just gotta keep at it :-) (And if all else fails I will sneak some vodka into my handbag for next time! Haha, Just kidding!)




Love to all





Steph x `

 
 

My laptop is broken and so too is a little of my heart. Coincidence? Probably not. I think I'm getting writing withdrawal symptoms. I am, therefore, attempting to write my blog today on our teeny, weeny ickle laptop with the teeny, weeny, ickle keys. Not an easy feat for a lady with talons that are much too long and a tendency to type very fast and with great force when pissed off.




I shouldn't be pissed off. Not really. It's a waste of energy that, thanks to sleepless nights, I don't really possess at the moment.




What I really want is a cigarette, alas I no longer smoke. So I'm settling for a Latte instead, in which I pretend I have poured a shot or so of brandy.




My gorgeous little boy, (and he really is gorgeous, though I say it myself) is two weeks old today and absolutely perfect in every way. His Mummy on the other hand has sort of gone to pot . . . (Oh how I wish I was actually going to pot . . . still you know what I mean.)




It's been a tough two weeks I have to admit. Not because of my darling baby, not at all, but more because of my body and my recovery rate.




I thought I'd recovered pretty much overnight, alas I hadn't. A week after giving birth, (this time last week in fact) I found myself with feverish symptoms and travelling, once again in the back of an ambulance to the hospital, where I spent the entire night laid on a trolley in one of those hideous open-backed gowns in A&E having things done to me that would actually give you nightmares. I can't tell you too much about it, not without dying of embarrassment. I'm trying to claw back any dignity I still had after the labour and erase the events of Bedford hospital from my poor memory forever more. But just for the record, after Douglas Road, last Saturday night will officially go down in history as the second worst night of my life.




My body is still not 100% back to normal, but it's getting there slowly. My mind is another matter. Maybe it's hormones? Maybe it's the dreaded PND or perhaps it is just me? I don't know, but I do know that I haven't managed to get through longer than about 12 hours without crying for some reason or another.




Lorelei is still getting grief at school from the brat a few years above her. It breaks my heart to think of her suffering at the hands of some hairy and considerably ugly seven-year old, especially when life at home has suddenly become so very different since the arrival of little Leo. I've been so concerned for Lori having to suddenly adjust to the new member of our family anyway that it's made me so angry to think that this little brat is ruining Lorelei's school time. Seriously it takes the piss when your 5-year old is too frightened to go to school for fear of being bullied. I have to leave the matter for the school to deal with, I know that's the sensible thing to do, and I'm gonna give them this their third (and final) opportunity before I strut round to Brats house, guns (and hormones) a-blazing and have it out with her myself.




On Tuesday morning I had my first major breakdown as a Mumma of two. Lorelei's sports day. Leo's first Bumps and Babes session. Jay back at work after only one week of his 2 week paternity leave, and my first attempt at being Supermum. We were late. Lorelei's Summer dress was un-ironed and subsequently I got to just around the corner from the school before practically collapsing into a heap and acting out a very public display of emotions. (Thank god I had my shades and could hide the mascara trails and panda eyes in manner of a Hollywood starlet.) Fortunately I was rescued by a couple of my friends and neighbours passing by.




We've been permanently busy since little Leo's arrival. We've been up to Lincolnshire and down to London. We've had relatives visiting, friends over and we've attempted a night of letting our hair down, (Monday night, which, come to think of it, probably contributed greatly to my subsequent breakdown on Tuesday morning) We've tried to keep on top of the mountains of washing and continuous housework, we've squeezed in a few trips to sit in the pub garden and we've attempted to juggle everything and to be honest with you, dear blog, I am so exhausted already.




Looking after the children alone, spending time with them, feeding, bathing, clothing and cuddling them is an absolute dream. It's the shit that comes with it that I don't like. (Excuse my swearing . . . alas this latte is not enough, even with the imaginary brandy.)




The other thing that's effecting me immensely at the moment is Jay and his work commitments. I don't want to say too much on the matter, because it's his business and I don't want to cause any upset, but my husband is in demand at the moment, work need him more than ever, as do I. Yet I cannot afford to pay for his services . . . and thus work wins.




I know, I know, Money makes the world go round, who am I to argue with that? And now we are a family of four, (if you exclude the 2 dogs, 1 cat and 2 ducks) we need the extra dosh. But God I hate money. It is absolutely the root of all evil.




I knew Jay would have to get back in the work saddle and we'd all have to learn to adjust but I didn't know he'd have to leave before I'd recovered from the entire, 'producing another human,' ordeal. I sort of feel like I've been thrown in the deep end before I even had a chance to dip my feet in the water. I'm home alone, absolutely miles and miles away from my family and closest friends. I have no car during the day and live in the countryside where buses do not exist, (though you can get hold of just about anything else in our village lol) I'm isolated and alone and I miss my best friend, partner in crime, boyfriend, husband and baby's daddy more than ever.




The trouble is I know he's finding my high maintenance at the moment. Not because I'm demanding lots of clothes, shoes and handbags (not yet anyway . . . ) but because I need quite a lot of TLC. I'm more temperamental than, well . . . , something very temperamental, (add your own, I cannot think of anything lol) and I'm a little too hot to handle right now. (Ooooh, the weather. More temperamental than the British weather, there you are, that'll do.) - Even I am getting pissed off with myself.




It's like that Katy Perry wrote that song about me . . . ('You're hot then you're cold . . . ') and I don't even like her. Lol You see one minute I have everything under control. The babies are both fed, clean and happy. I'm cooking up a storm in the kitchen that even Ramsey would be impressed with. The washing machine is whirring away and I'm happy as Larry, (whomever Larry might be) and the next thing you know I'm in bits crying and wailing and throwing things around like a mental woman. (I like to throw objects when I'm cross. Especially breakables. They're my favourite.)




Jay tries so hard to keep me sane. He puts in such a lot of effort. And then I feel guilty for the amount of weight he's carrying on his typically Taurean (and extremely sexy) shoulders, and fall into self-pity mode whereby I spend hours and hours wondering and over-analysing (as only we women can) until I conclude that he has no reason whatsoever to want to be with me . . . And then I yell at him, as if to demonstrate my unworthiness. I know I should stop. I should remember that Jay and I are compatible in almost every way possible and that we, under normal circumstances have a cracking relationship, one which I hadn't known could exist prior to us getting together. Yet when you've just reached the end of almost 14 months of pregnancy, have been through labour, have been poked and prodded like a bloody animal in a zoo and are tender, sore, looking a little shabby and feeling a little sensitive, it's hard to imagine you're worthy of anyone's love and attention.




We'll get through it. We all will. We've been through a lot worse. I just wish that with all this money Jay's earning we could buy a little time for ourselves now.




Steph x x x

 
 

Yesterday my 5 year-old daughter, Lorelei, had her lovely blonde locks pulled by a nasty little brat 2 years above her in school.

I was called to the classroom and told of the incident, which occured whilst the kids were waiting in the dinner queue. Mia, (hereby known as brat-face) had, for some unknown reason, decided to get her grubby little hands on one of my daughters plates and had yanked it out, resulting in lots of tears from Lori.

This isn't the first time she's done it either. She's pinched and pushed Lorelei in the past, but this time she was caught out by one of the teachers. She was asked to write a letter of apology, (in which she demonstrates really shit spelling, which makes me loathe her even more - yes I know she's only seven but that's no excuse,)  and Lorelei, (who is normally a very bright and happy child) was clearly upset about the whole thing, ('she doesn't pick on anyone except me, she obviously hates me . . . ' she tells me whilst sucking on her little thumb.

It broke my heart and I know this is going to sound completely unreasonable, so i apologise in advance for this next statement but the idea of ANYONE picking on my little girl has me so outraged and pissed off and underneath it all i'm battling furiously to refrain from hunting brat-face down and  tearing her hair out.

Of course this wouldn't get us very far, (other than jail perhaps) so i have opted to take another, less satisfying route. I'm letting Lorelei stand in her own two shoes. After all we all know that bitches exist in all corners of the world and she's gotta suss out a method for dealing with them for herself. Still this is not a lesson I'd anticipated she'd have to learn quite so soon.

She's cool though, has put the incident to the back of her mind and is back to being her usual entertaining sweet-self. So i'm putting my faith in her abilities and I'm sure it'll all blow over.

And if not? Well then it'll be handbags at dawn! :-)