Santa Baby, 

Just slip a sable, (whatever that might be) under the tree, for me. 

I’ve been an awfully good girl. Especially if you ignore the incident that took place a few days ago.

I didn’t mean to throw my middle finger in the air. And I have no idea how that terribly offensive word flew out of my mouth at such volume. Honestly I never normally use such language. Least of all in public. But you see it was raining, and I was drenched. And that car plunged directly into a puddle of about 10 inches in depth causing an almighty tidal wave to come crashing down on me in my new coat and well . . . He sort of deserved what I accidentally called him. 

I know by now you must have made your list and checked it twice so you probably already know who’s naughty and nice. Hopefully the fact that I was punished for the aforementioned outburst, by a major dose of embarrassment as I had to stand in the playground amongst the Mums that had witnessed the scene and now are probably under the impression that I am a tourettes sufferer or something, will mean that the episode of naughtiness is well and truly behind us and you can put me back on the nice list?

 

I promise not to let it happen again. Just this afternoon, for example, I broke the heel on my beautiful boots whilst tottering around Asda and I barely muttered the ‘f’ word under my breath. So there’s a start?!

The thing is Santa Baby, I know bad language is probably frowned upon by you and your Elves, but it can be very therapeutic. And sometimes quite necessary. So I sincerely hope you still come down the Chimney to bring me my presents this year.

So anyway, back to my list. As well as the sable, might I also have a higher metabolism this year too? I’ve heard they are quite necessary for those of us who wish to have the body of a supermodel whilst still indulging in the yummy foods that are compulsory to scoff over the Christmas period? I will of course start my diet on New Years Day, (as I do every year) and will of course be more dedicated this year than any other, (as I am every year) - it’s just that the metabolism might help for the next few weeks. (I fully intend on testing the mince pies for you, you see, before we leave them out on Crimbo Eve.)

Santa Baby . . . I know everyone else is dreaming of a white Christmas, but I’d appreciate it if you could save the snow for the North Pole, cause it’s kinda cold enough this year. Numb fingers and faces all aglow may sound idyllic in carols, but they’re rather unattractive in real life. If my face really must be all aglowing could you ensure it is doing so with Benefit High Beam and Saint Tropez fake tan instead? Thank you. :-)

Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing, a phone. I’ve spilt Diet Coke all over my one and no amount of resuscitating, disassembling and drying in the airing cupboard will bring it back to life this time. I promise in the future to not put opened bottles in my handbag.

Also, Santa Baby, I know it’s not very politically correct these days, but I wondered if you might send me a servant? Or a slave? I’m not fussy :-) It’s just that I don’t want to waste valuable time doing washing and cleaning and bed-making and stuff.  I don’t mind if my slave is human or robotic or anything really, however this request is of utmost importance so please sprinkle a little extra speed dust, (not drugs, of course, but the stuff you use for your sleigh) in order to deliver this present without delay :-)

Now I’d like you to take a moment to think, if you would, of all the fun I’ve missed. Think of all the fella’s that I haven’t kissed . . . ? Next year I could be just as good if you check out my Christmas list?

So Santa Baby, that’s my list and really it’s not a lot. I’ve been an angel all year, Santa Baby, so hurry down the chimney on the 24th.

Love Steph x x x

 
 
 
If your body really is a temple then mine isn't exactly what you'd call 'architecturally outstanding'.




I think it's safe to say that the Taj Mahal I am not, (though I am similar to the Taj Mahal Indian Restaurant down the road, in that I am full of yummy takeaway food.)




I am no longer carrying around a real baby in my bod, but instead seem to have unknowingly adopted a jelly baby in his place, it's not a pretty sight. And since this weeks marks the week of my post-natal check up, and thus means I am officially a 'normal' woman again, I figured that right now is where my temple reconstruction should begin. So hard-hats at the ready please folks, cos this could be dangerous.




Of course the simplest and easiest way of getting back into shape and looking a million dollars is, as everyone knows, to apply to be on 'Extreme Makeover.' To have ones imperfections carefully perfected by the surgeons knife, courtesy of the lovely people at LivingTV. Naturally this is at the top of my to-do list, but on the odd chance that they don't pick me I'm gonna begin the journey by taking the old fashioned route, diet (yawn) and exercise.




This is not gonna be an easy feat for a gal like me. I love food. I love to cook. And most of all I love to eat. And I eat all the naughty stuff too, like pasta and bread and chocolate. If it's even slightly sinful I'll have it. Mealtimes are a big deal in this household, I cook, Lori lays the table, together we eat and usually watch an episode of, 'Come Dine With Me,' whilst we enjoy our grub, then Jay washes up. It's a ritual we've always enjoyed and would love to continue. Nope, as much as I'd love to, I don't think I'll ever be one of those, 'just a stick of celery and a bit of carrot please,' kinda girls.




Exercise, on the other hand, should be fine. In theory. In practise however I appear to lose more dignity than actual weight.




The other morning, for example, whilst exercising my hands with the wonders of the Sky+ remote (which i very rarely get to hold since it is almost always attached to my husband,) I stumbled upon the 'FitnessTV' channel where I found a whole array of workouts and programmes including one, seemingly produced specifically for me, called, 'The High Heeled Workout.'




Within minutes I had kicked off my slippers and stepped into my very beautiful Roland Cartier stilettos and I was shaking my hips and strutting my stuff in my living room-come-dance studio with 'Natalie' as my very own personal dance instructor.




About a half hour in, with my glass of water in hand and my butt giving Beyonce a run for her money, I found myself getting a little hot and thus slipped off my t-shirt so that I was down to my bra, pj bottoms and heels. Of course this was the moment that the postie decided to cycle right past the living room window and (rather rudely) peer in. Oh the shame.




Still I shall not be defeated by the embarrassment that my exercise regimes seem to induce, (click here for a reminder of my running escapades, - am I the only one that can't perform physical activities without making a fool of herself?!) - I am keeping my head held high, (after all tis my head that's the only part to date that I can hold up high and that has not been defeated by gravity.)




I've noticed lately that I'm not the only one that's watching her weight, lots of my Facebook pals and fellow new mummies are also fighting the fat from what I can gather. Now that we have our babes in arms it's time to get our bods back and we are determined women, (after all we have survived the wonders of pregnancy and child-birth, so what's a little dieting?!) together we can do anything ;-)




I've mentioned before that one of my er 'hobbies,' if you will is, (and i say this with slightly shame at the sadness of it,) making lists. I write lists all day long. To-do lists, shopping lists, wish lists, lists of clothes I'm taking when i go on holiday etc. And I'm thrilled therefore to have stumbled upon a site that will combine both my love for lists and indeed my new temple reconstruction. It's called, Fitday and it' a website for tracking ones weight, diet, exercise regime and even moods. I've been using it for the past three days now and every day before bed I've been logging a list of absolutely every* calorie I've consumed during that day, as well as every form of physical activity I've performed. (* when I say 'every' I obviously discount the odd sneaky bite of chocolate, since that doesn't count – chocolate is good for you, it's a scientific fact. I think.) Tis a very useful website, I'd definitely recommend it if you're also about to embark in a reconstruction of your own temple.




I imagine this could take a little while, (after 14 months of pregnancy it's bound to be a bit of a mission,) alas I am determined to have the bod I once had.




Temple or no temple, either way it deserves to be worshiped ;-) Now . . . Where's Mr. Connolly with that massaged he promised me . . . ?




Steph x

 
 

Now before I continue I would just like to state, for the record, that I am ordinarily a very good girl with a very pure mind 0:-)

It is therefore necessary that I warn you that the contents of today’s blog may shock and/or disgust some. (And at the very least it may leave you with an icky taste in your mouth. No pun intended.)



Please continue to read with caution and if you happen to be a relative of mine, (particularly an older relative—Mum, Dad, Nan, etc) please refrain from reading any further. Otherwise family BBQ’s may never be the same again.



You see, ladies and gentlemen, today’s letter is ‘S’ and the topic is ‘Sperm.’



(You see Dad, told you you wouldn’t want to read it!)



In keeping with my ‘GET THIS BABY OUTTA ME,’ experiment I have found myself stumbling upon sperm, (not literally, thank god!) as yet another method of naturally inducing labour.  You’ve heard it all before no doubt, how ‘getting jiggy’ is a sure-fire way of kick starting contractions?! Well it turns out that this method is less about the love sword and more about the nuts, (the tadpoles to be more specific.)



For the purpose of my experiment I have decided to investigate the theory a little further.—So if you wouldn’t mind holding my bag ladies, I’m going in. ;-)



I’ve conducted a fair amount of research for today’s blog, (can I get an, ‘Oooooohhhh’ ?!) - Not practical , nor oral research, (though I fear that part is *ahem* coming,)  but certainly a fair amount of scientific research in theory, so I’m hoping you are suitably impressed with this, since, as you know, I am not a scientific kinda gal. But you see I felt it was necessary to gather the facts before I go recommending you hook up with any old Tom, Dick or Harry in order to get yourself into labour. (You see, I am so caring and lovely.)



At risk of sounding like a bimbo in a shampoo advert, here is the science part . . .

Semen contains hormones known as prostaglandins which help ripen the cervix and thus make it dilate, (the cervix needs to dilate to around 10cm’s for the baby to pass through.) If you’re past your due date your doctor would probably use a prostaglandin gel to get you started. It’s the exact same hormone as found in semen. :-)



It is thought that ingesting the er spunk (is it odd that I am making myself blush with these words??! Lol) is even more effective in helping the cervix soften than actually applying in topically.



So there you have it, it would seem that the answer to all my personal prayers could be ready and waiting in my husbands pants. (Wipe that smile from your face now please darling, thank you.) ;-)



Unfortunately though there is very little evidence to show how effective this method of inducing labour is, because apparently, (and I’m not sure I can quite believe this) - the method of using semen to start labour hasn’t been tested enough.  (Are they serious??! Not tested enough?? Is there a pregnant woman in the world who hasn’t tried to straddle her man in an attempt to get his creation to vacate her body?! Ah well, apparently not, according to the experts.)



Clearly we are going to have to take matters into our own hands ladies. YES. There is only one thing to be done . . . And it is in the interest of generating World Peace (amongst heavily pregnant women, their partners, families, friends and any other poor soul that has to put up with the whinging.)



And so if I could invite you all one-by-one to put down your Gaviscon, stand on your poor swollen footsies, grab your man, (or any man for that matter) and come forth . . .  (I am aware that this post is littered with all kinds of innuendoes and for that I apologise lol)



This appeal is for pregnant ladies everywhere to um, (how to put this . . . ?!) please, for the good of the group, include a little semen into your diets. That’s right girls, semen on toast, semen in tea. Whichever way you like it. Let us get these baby’s outta us, one for all and all for one! And, just as The Beatles once suggested, let us sing at the tops of our voices, ‘Come Together, Right Now . . . Over me!’



(I told you this blog post would leave you with an icky taste in your mouth! - I’m so so sorry! And if it’s any consolation I feel sick now too!!)



Please remember to use my comment form to post your success rates and of course any other tips you’d like to add! (Recipes perhaps?!) You can report back anonymously should you wish, just as long as we all know the results of our very scientific project.



Go forth ladies and good luck! Report back with progress :-) (And I will too of course!)



With Love (and toothpaste on hand.)



Steph x



P.S—If you do decide that to conduct your experiment in the conventional way, (by humping) please be aware that orgasm and nipple stimulation is also meant to kick-start contractions too :-)