6 years ago today . . .

"15 February 2004"
Quick update...
Spicy foods eaten? Check
Fresh Pineapple consumed? Check
Reflexology performed? Check
Backache? Check
Contractions? (despite whether or not they are 'practice' ones) Check
Baby? Still in tummy :-(

Have been having tightenings, every 5 minutes or so, getting quite painful and have been lingering around for about 4/5 hours now... lasting about a minute each. Not very happy, and will be in a foul mood if by this time tomorrow I still don't have my fresh baby on the outside world... Fingers, toes and everything possible crossed this is it?

Steph & Bump x
(38+6)"
Stephanie Connolly Feb '04
February 2004
And 8 hours later I became a Mummy for the very first time :-)
Lorelei Jasmyn
Lorelei Jasmyn ~ March 2004
Picture
Lori ~ Dec 2009
"There is a rock on the banks of the River Rhine in Germany where a beautiful mermaid sits and sings.  Her beauty so radiant, her voice so powerful, and her song so alluring, that many a sailor has met his fate distracted by her presence.

Her name is Lorelei.

So too was the character played by Marilyn Monroe in the 1953 hit-movie, 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.'

Many poems have been written, many songs too, all inspired by the magical qualities of which the beautiful Lorelei possesses.

Mumma's darling girl,  your name suits you to a tee.

Lorelei Jasmyn, you are but five years old and already you are making your mark on our world. You are so intelligent, so knowledgeable, so inquisitive and the more I get to know you day-by-day, the more certain I am that you are destined for great things.

You're an absolute blessing to me, you always have been and you always will be.

When you first made your presence known your Mumma was just nineteen years old, in college, studying Music, working part-time as a waitress. I knew very little of the meaning of life, but you changed all of that.

Fate had decided that that Summer, 2003 would see many a new discovery in my life. And before I started my second year of college I packed my Rainbow Stilettoes into my back-pack and jetted solo across the globe to spend the season with my best friend in the land down under.

Together Katy and I travelled along the east-coast of Queensland, Australia. We swam in the Great Barrier Reef. We rode horses along the beach. We got lost in the Rainforest. Got stuck in a cable-car high in the mountains. We sang in bars, slept in hammocks under the stars and survived on a diet of watery beer and instant noodles. We had an absolute blast.

That was to be my last Single-gal Summer.

And by the time I set foot on English soil again I knew you were there.

I couldn't eat anything. Couldn’t stand the scent of food full stop, never mind the taste. And my hormones were shot to pieces. The in-flight movie on the way home, Bambi, had me sobbing almost hysterically.

It wasn't a big shock when the pregnancy test proved positive. But it was terrifying.

Nobody teaches you how to be a Mumma. And babies don't come with instructions. I was young and society often frowns upon young Mummies. But determined to prove myself I tried endlessly to do as good a job of raising you as I possibly could.

Often when Babies are born Mummies can suffer from something called Post Natal Depression. Nobody really talks about it. Perhaps because nobody likes to admit it. But Post Natal Depression can leave you feeling desperate, lonely, sad and unhappy. And because babies bring so much joy, when a new Mummy feels unhappy she also feels guilty. And guilt has to be one of the worst emotions to feel.

I thought perhaps I wasn't very good at being a Mummy at first. Nobody tells parents whether they are doing a good job. Instead people only point out the things that a new Mummy or Daddy is doing wrong. Not holding the baby correctly perhaps? Or bottle-feeding instead of breast feeding? There are endless reasons to feel guilty as a parent and very little recognition for the things that you do perfectly.

I had wanted everything to pan out perfectly. To feel the instant rush of Mothers Intuition, to bond with you as they do in the movies. Yet it was a slower process for you and I. At the time I felt I couldn't tell anybody. I painted a smile on my face to hide my fear, and I cried in my bedroom, where nobody could see. Because I thought I was alone. I thought it was different for everybody else and I thought you would be better off with somebody older and wiser, who knew what they were doing.

Yet my gorgeous baby girl it was you who saved Mummy from feelings of utter despair. Your first smile, at three o'clock in the morning, about 12 weeks after your arrival, was a moment of euphoria that shall never be forgotten. The way that you gazed at me. Your eyes wide and full of love. And it was at this moment that I knew. You needed me. I needed you and together we would be okay.

And as you grew you showed so many signs of love and appreciation. And you'll never know what that means to me. To hear you say, 'I love you,' to watch your face seek mine for approval and encouragement. To feel you in my arms and to watch you blossom into the most beautiful little lady I have ever known.

You have given my life a real purpose Lorelei and I pledge to you that no matter what I will always be the very best Mumma I can be."

~Excerpt taken from my book, 'Give a girl the right pair of shoes . . . And she can conquer the world.' ~

Happy 6th Birthday Lori!!!
Mumma loves you very much!!
x x x

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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

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