I want another baby…

I want another baby. The thing is, I don’t really. I know deep down that I don’t – but my body and mind are in cahoots to fool me.

I decided pretty quickly after Little dude was born that I was done having babies and for 16 months I have stood by that choice I made. However, two months ago I joined the marketing team of a well-known baby brand – and that’s changed everything!

I talk babies all day long, I’m surrounded by baby paraphernalia, and I get to meet the most gorgeous babies too. My hormones have gone in to overdrive and my ovaries are practically screaming at me to get cracking on baby number 3. But you see, it’s only the newborn baby bit I’m craving. That lovely moment when you hold your newborn for the first time, those lovely newborn cuddles.

My little family have just entered what I consider the next chapter for us and I know that in reality I am done with the baby phase. Plus, I was no good with pregnancy, in fact I was rubbish at it.

Here’s why I think I want another baby:

• Scans – seeing that little bean for the first time and the excitement.
• The feeling of having a baby inside you. Feeling those little kicks and movements really is magical.
• That indescribable feel-good feeling the moment you hold your baby for the first time.
• Gazing at your newborn in sheer wonder and feeling completely at ease with the world.
• Those absolutely amazing newborn cuddles.

And here’s why I know I don’t:

• Morning sickness. I had it with Little miss and Little dude – 24/7. I hate being sick.
• The worry that comes with pregnancy. Having miscarried twice I find pregnancy very scary and stressful. Every twinge sends me in to meltdown.
• I suffer with IBS and pregnancy seems to send it in to overdrive. Not pleasant.
• Breastfeeding. Twice I have wanted to do it with every part of my being. Twice, despite my best efforts I have failed, and twice it’s caused me stress, misery, and senses of failure.
• PND. I struggled big time after both of my babies. The tears and meltdowns people saw and the tears and meltdowns I hid. Feelings of isolation and misery. Anxiety attacks that I still struggle with. I don’t think my sanity could take those months post-birth again.
• Sleepless nights. I like my sleep and I don’t cope well with the whole getting up in the night thing.
• The expense. The purse strings are stretched to their limit with two!

So in conclusion. Babies are seriously cute, but I don’t want another one. Hear that ovaries, I don’t. I don’t, I don’t, I don’t….

Gorgeous newborn Little miss…

…and gorgeous newborn Little dude.

Dear youths who stole my phone…

Dear youths who stole my phone,

I would like to thank you for walking over to where I stood that Friday evening. I would like to thank you for crowding me and stealing my phone straight from my hands. Yes, I thank you. Here’s why:

• You’ve made me realise that it doesn’t matter how well I know my surroundings, that it’s daylight or that I’m surrounded by people. Always be on guard – always!
• You’ve alerted me to the fact that, although I may feel safe with my phone in my hand, ready to use should I need it, it in fact probably makes me all the more vulnerable.
• Phone security. The fact you hacked my Twitter account using my phone has made me damn sure that when I get a replacement phone, it will be secure; GPS, passcodes – you name it.
• I have always known what a special ‘community’ I am lucky to be a part of on Twitter. But, when you decided to tweet on my behalf I was reminded just how special that community is. the support I received from people I have never even met was overwhelming.
• You have reminded me to back up all photos. You see, that’s what upset me the most – the photos I have lost. I had irreplaceable pictures of my children on that phone. I will regularly be backing up any photos I take in the future.
• And finally, thank you for taking the phone. I am so thankful that it was just a phone. There is so much in my life that I treasure above all else – my phone wasn’t one of them.

Kindest regards,

Rachael

New Job #SatCap

Yesterday was a big day for me. It was my last day as feature writer for a leading dog magazine. I have been with the company for over five years and it has been a big part of my life. I’m going to miss it, but it’s time for a new challenge. I’m stepping in to the world of PR for a well-known baby/parenting brand and I’m excited, and maybe a little nervous too.

Anyway, this is my leaving card – quite possibly the best leaving card ever! Hubs and I would have rocked those roles. I can’t help but feel this is screaming for a caption.

Once you’ve capped this, head on over to the mighty Mammasaurus for more.

* Seriously considering going brunette now.

Pooh

No you haven’t read that wrong, the title of this post is ‘Pooh’. Yes, pooh –  you have been warned.

Pooh, it’s great isn’t it? No? Well my very nearly four-year-old disagrees, she happens to think pooh is fantastic. She’s obsessed with it. You ask her about her day she says “pooh”, ask her who she saw “pooh”, what did you have for lunch “pooh”, what did you play with at nursery – you get the idea.

Where has this fascination with excrement come from? She thinks it’s hilarious to talk about it. I don’t find it as hilarious when she’s chatting animatedly (and loudly) about it while sitting in Morrison’s cafe. I hope this phase passes soon, but can’t help but wonder what the next fascination will be…

* I have just found tagging this post ‘pooh’ rather amusing – Little miss is right, pooh is funny.

So there you have it, as promised, a post about pooh.

Living with anxiety

I thought I had it sussed, thought I had won the battle. However this week I have been reminded that this isn’t battle I will ever win. Maybe that’s my first mistake, calling it a battle, that implies that there are winners and losers  - I am never going to win this.

I have always suffered from anxiety. It was always fairly mild and manageable. Then I had Little miss and mild anxiety became anxiety attacks (more of that here). It was a hard time, but I got through it. Then I had Little dude and once again they returned. Now 16 months down the line I had a handle on them. If I ever felt one coming on I recognised it and managed to control it, because that’s the big thing with anxiety attacks, recognition, recognising that it’s nothing more than your body toying with you. However, this week anxiety found me and tore me apart. I had been fine all day and had enjoyed a pleasant evening. By the time I was settling down to bed I felt ‘odd’, my insides felt like they were going to burst, and a crushing weight had settled on my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I was scared, certain that my heart was about to give up on me. I really thought I needed an ambulance, but hubs had recognised what I was failing to. I was having an anxiety attack, quite a severe one. I couldn’t get my head around it, couldn’t accept that it would eventually pass, all I had going round in my head was: ‘It’s not just an anxiety attack this time, this is it – the end,’ dramatic huh? Of course it did eventually pass and I fell asleep shaky and exhausted. The next morning, I knew immediately that hubs was right and it was an anxiety attack. Why couldn’t I have seen that while it was happening? Because that’s what anxiety attacks do, they mess with your head and turn you inside out. They are all consuming, terrifying, and very convincing.

I think I have to accept that anxiety attacks will always be a part of me. I have to accept that while nine times out of 10 I will be able to control it, there will be that odd one time where it consumes me.

The next stage

Look at this…

Bye bye bottles.

This is a bag-full of Little dude’s bottles, a bag destined for the bin. A sad sight isn’t it?

This evening I have had to wave goodbye to my baby’s bottles. If it were up to me I would have let Little dude have his bottles a bit longer, kept him my baby that little bit longer, and I loved the cuddles that came with giving a bottle too. But, last night hubs wondered if Little dude still needed bottles. So last night’s bedtime milk was given downstairs in a beaker. There were a few tears at bedtime, but nothing major. Little dude then had this morning’s milk and tonight’s bedtime milk via a beaker, no tears either time. The transition has been surprisingly easy, for Little dude anyway.

I can’t help but feel a little sad. This is definitely it for the baby stuff. I now have a little girl and a toddler. While I’m excited for this next stage, I’m also mourning the end of the baby stage. I will have to make sure that I get to give my mini nephew his bottles when we visit

2013

Happy new year!  Thank you for sticking with me for another year and I hope that you continue to read in 2013.

Here’s wishing all my readers lots of love, fortune, happiness, and laughter for 2013.

2012 was an interesting year. I returned to work after having the Little dude, we have celebrated his first birthday as well as Little miss turning three. Over this last year I have watched Little miss make the final transition  from toddler to little girl while Little dude is  no longer my baby – he’s now a toddling little boy.

There have been some hardships, with my own little demons to conquer and there has been great sadness too – especially within the parenting blogging community very recently. Due to these events there are no new year’s resolutions for me this year. I simply intend to keep being happy and appreciating my little family, and never taking for granted how  lucky I am.

So, 2013 here you are – let’s go forth and make it a good one.

xxx

Happy new year from us!