I was looking at old photos of myself on Timehop (God bless Timehop, the regurgitator of past lives!) and realised that I was really skinny. This was something of a surprise to me as I spent a good proportion of my life and most of my adult life feeling fat.
It's like a lot of my old life is something of a shock to me now. I remembered with a jolt the other day that I didn't wear trousers for five years because my ex told me my legs looked a bit like sausages in them. Five years! When did I allow someone else to have such agency over my body?
Even before I met my ex, I think I had some pretty disordered eating. Not quite anorexia – I never really was one for seeing things through – but I did maintain a pretty low body weight that is significantly lower than I am now. (For context: I am around 5'2", and I used to be a UK size 8-10, and now I'm about a UK size 12. Generally not considered "overweight".)
I'm not sure when my disordered eating and strange body image first started. A lot of people (especially girls) start this around puberty, and perhaps that's what happened for me. I think it's a bit deeper than that, though. I was adopted as a baby, transracially, and I grew up around white people so all my life I've looked different from most of the people I was around growing up.
When I went to a predominantly white school, all of this got amplified. I remember that it was a shock because I slowly realised that I was "less than" because of my race. I realised that I was supposed to be blonde haired and blue eyed and I was about as far from that as possible. I started to find myself ugly (and people started to tell me I was ugly to my face). I never had the skinny white girl legs. Mine were muscular and I was just a different build. Really average for my race, as it turns out. But you don't know that as a child if you grow up with people who don't look like you.
Adoption is complex, and I don't know how much of this was tied up in adoption, but I do know I can't separate out being a different race from my overall experience of growing up. My feeling of not fitting in, even though that was all I knew. Anyway, I got kind of chubby. Although looking back, I wasn't chubby. I don't think I was ever actually chubby – I was just short, and not lanky.
Then one time when I was around 16, I went away on a holiday (to learn a language) and when I was there I got pretty sick and I couldn't really eat anything. And I dropped a load of weight. When I got back, suddenly everyone said how amazing I looked because I was skinny. I was suddenly approved of, and I liked it. So I maintained it.
I maintained it for a really long time. The thing is, I'm not naturally meant to be that weight. (It's about 20-30kg lighter than I am now. I don't know exactly how much as I don't know how much I weigh now.) So I got by on some disordered eating that kept me at my magic weight. My magic weight crept up over time… I kept in a 5kg weight range through school, and then it kind of crept up during my time at university, until it was +10kg, and then it was about +15kg in my last few years with IVF and everything. And even +20kg post miscarriage.
For me, I always thought I was "happy" when I was a lower weight. But when I look back, I was always kind of unhappy. I was happy that I'd managed to keep my weight down but I always felt a kind of anxiety about it. I used to weigh myself every day. The number on the scales made me feel like I was achieving something or I was failing something.
When I met T, after I'd split up with my ex – I had to adjust to a new way of being. I was always very controlled with my ex. He wouldn't think he was, but he controlled a lot about me. He had a huge effect on my feelings of self worth (or not). This was someone who had always dated very skinny women and even told me I was the fattest person he'd ever been with. It made me feel pretty bad about myself that I was that. The whole thing with my ex was that I never felt good enough. With T, I felt good enough. He really didn't care about weight. I actually met him when I was still pretty skinny and I piled on the relationship pounds… I let myself go.
I'm still conflicted about how I feel about it, because I recognise that my magic weight wasn't magic at all, but a strange idea of how I was supposed to look. And T tells me he loves me the way I am. But it was hard in the beginning putting on pregnancy weight – not just because of the weight itself, but the fear that it might be for nothing, like our first IVF and pregnancy was.
This pregnancy that gave me B also gave me a lot of weight. Firstly I had to take IVF drugs which make you put on weight. And also I had to take steroids which make you put on weight also. I got to halfway through pregnancy in a state of fear that it wouldn't work out, but then when I got halfway I decided I was going to try my best not to fear it any more.
I also decided to stop weighing myself. I have weighed myself every day, sometimes multiple times a day, since I was a teenager. I even recorded my weight every day in an app so I could see how much weight I put on. It's a bit crazy obsessive.
When I was properly pregnant, I gave myself permission to stop weighing myself. And I let myself relax into the pregnancy.
And you know what?
The strange thing is, I have no doubt I'm at least magic weight +20kg. Possibly +30kg. And I definitely have my moments of feeling a bit concerned about it (especially if I catch a glimpse of myself coming out of the shower – stretch marks and overhang and pendulous mammaries hanging out) but I generally feel absolutely awesome.
I don't know how it works for other people but for me – my body was always this thing that failed me. I wasn't the same as my white friends. I looked different. I was ultimately not enough – I wasn't enough for my birth mother to keep me; I wasn't enough for my ex to love me how I needed to be loved; I wasn't thin enough or attractive enough or whatever.
But having B was like all vanity went out of the window. I love myself now, because I know I'm just the same as anyone else – I'm fallible and imperfect, but my messed up body gave me B and I love myself for that.
I love my ridiculous humungaboobs that feed B like a dream… when his dad "flies" him over to me for a feed, he giggles and opens his mouth to latch on. They may be saggy and baggy but they do exactly what they need to do to feed my baby, and I'm proud I've been able to do that and even to pump for him so he's been exclusively breastfed for his entire life, for half a year.
I love my saggy stomach. (This one requires a bit more imagination!) I love that it carried B safely (even though he needed cutting out at the last minute!). I love that I got to experience being gloriously, amazingly pregnant. I once had a big bump that I never thought I'd get to have, and I grew a human in there, and if it looks like a fleshy deflated balloon well – so be it. My bikini days are over anyway and I have an awesome very flattering swimsuit with tummy panels!
I love my fuller face. (Again this is a hard one!) I love that it's the face that my son loves. His eyes light up when he sees me. He giggles and reaches his arms out. We even had to hide the cushion with my face on because he kept staring at it! Yes, I don't have the cheekbones I used to have but they'll come back one day. Or maybe they won't. But I refuse to hate my face because it looks a little bit like my boy's and I love his.
Anyone who sees me now probably thinks I've "let myself go". And I really have.
I've given myself permission to breathe out. (You kind of have to if you had a caesarean, just saying.)
I've given myself permission to not care. I don't have to listen to the whispering voices of bullies from the past, who said I was fat and ugly. I'm not fat and ugly. I am the size I needed to be to carry my baby into existence. I'm the face of my ancestors, who I'm finally beginning to connect with through adoption forums and same race groups, and I refuse to be ashamed of my non-whiteness because I don't ever want to see that shame in my son's face.
Of course I don't advocate being unhealthy. (Well, chocolate notwithstanding.) The thing is, I'm a size bigger than I was pre-pregnancy. But there's a freedom in letting myself have this. I have told myself I won't diet until I finish breastfeeding. Right now, I don't know when that will be. I want to do at least a year. In fact I'm enjoying it so much (never thought I'd say that!) that I joke I'll do it till he's 15… although I think he might decide to wean himself before then! (We have started baby led weaning but B is not interested in the least… It's a messy business!)
I will start exercising again when I have the time, for sure. But it will be just for myself. I miss the enjoyment I used to get from exercise, a bit, but then we are pretty active as we walk almost everywhere and we have Dog, and he gets us out and about. Plus I do swimming with B once a week, if bobbing around in the shallow end counts. (Yes it does!)
The important thing is that I want B to have a healthy self esteem and be happy. And a huge part of that is having happy healthy parents. I don't want him to see his mother dieting or hating the body that he changed by coming into existence. I don't want him to hate half of his race that came from me. We've taken steps… He's in a diverse nursery in the diverse area we live in. So he will never have the experience of feeling the odd one out, like I did.
And his parents are currently happy together and don't argue that much! (And when they do, it's his mama's fault… Hopefully the hormones will have died down a bit by the time he's more aware!) We are hopefully moving to our new place soon, so he'll even have a bit of outside space. And he has an awesome Dog for a buddy, and a load of new buddies at nursery… Life is good… and we are going to focus on the good things we are grateful for, rather than the bad things we wish we didn't have.
Those of you who have followed my blog for a while will know we are massive Disney fans. We have booked to bring B to Disneyland Paris this year, because even though he won't remember it, it's our happy place (and we will save Orlando and the transatlantic flight for when he's older!). We have been every year apart from last year (heavily pregnant) as a couple and now we're going back as a family.
And of course, one of the best Disney songs ever is from Frozen: Let it Go. I don't tell that many people this, but I can barely ever listen to that song without wanting to cry. It's the perfect song that sums up so much of how I feel. (Which is strangely embarrassing given I'm an almost-40 year old definitely not Scandinavian most likely not a princess archetypally buttoned up British-by-adoption person.)
Let it go, let it go
And I'll rise like the break of dawn
Let it go, let it go
That perfect girl is gone!
So here's the thing… I never was perfect. But I was trying to be, and it was exhausting.
And I never realised that all this time I needed to find acceptance. Not from other people, but from myself.
Back at work and working on a bid response from the local coffee shop. You’d think this was a good thing as I like bids, but not when you have to collate submissions from about 15 different teams, and the total submission is limited to 20 pages and they send you about 15-20 pages each! Ahh!
I love work most of the time but last night I worked until around 02:30 and then was up again at 06:30 to get B ready for nursery and to start everything again!
I’m one of those people who does like pressure but it’s a lot different now I have a baby… With T and Dog it wasn’t an issue to work late, whereas B demands my attention and isn’t happy when I’m tapping away at the laptop! And of course I’d rather be snuggling and feeding him than cutting through swathes of technical jargon.
Anyway! Here’s my coffee shop view! As you can see – summer doesn’t dampen my urge for hot chicolate!
I don’t know how this happened but life is just whizzing by lately. I’m not even sure what I do with my days!
Since I last wrote, the following has happened:
- B started nursery and T went back to work
- I organised a stonking hen do (whoop whoop!)
- I saw my BFF who lives overseas
- I’ve been “working from home” for a few weeks
What has not happened:
- I haven’t had a shower every day. I just don’t seem to get round to it and I don’t have to when I’m working from home!
- I don’t seem to have done that much actual work.
- Our flat STILL hasn’t gone through. House buying is a marathon here! I’m hoping we are in the end stages.
B is fantastic. I still thank my lucky stars every single day for him. I am utterly in love. I know every mother thinks their child is the best child but I know mine is. 😉 He’s just so chillaxed all the time. People always comment on it. (Of course, in my paranoid states I sometimes think maybe he has some sort of developmental problem but he’s very happy interacting with people so hopefully he’s okay.)
Nursery start went better than I really thought it could do. I think the anticipation of it was worse than the actuality. The nursery is good and bad. I mean, obviously it’s not as good as being a SAHM (the dream – who’da thunk it that I would actually want to do this?) but it’s pretty good in that they do a lot of activities with them and they genuinely seem to love the babies. I know they could be acting but there are always loads of them around (they have certain ratios they have to stick to) so I think it would have to be a mass conspiracy if they were secretly beating them or something.
Given B is averse to taking a bottle – he’s taken to it like a duck to water. Maybe it helps that neither of his parents are there. He now seems to be on about 8oz a day which seems good. Sometimes more, sometimes less. It has been super hot here so maybe he’s having more. He is more of an evening drinker. (Aren’t we all?!)
Pumping… Well, contrary to my previous excited post re pumping, I seem to be having more trouble getting as much lately. I can still get a decent amount overall but it’s not all in one go any more. So I maybe get 8-10oz but sometimes it takes a few goes to get it. I think what has happened is that my boobs have decided they don’t need to feed B when he’s not there! It’s really frustrating as I don’t want to spend time pumping when he is there. I am trying to do maybe 8ish oz per day to cover nursery so I have been trying to pump to a more regular schedule. Anyway, it’s a massive PITA and I’m not happy about it.
Work is weird. I’m back but I’m not back, so I have hardly any work to do. Which is kind of nice in a way but it’s not like I can just go on holiday or something and it’s really weird when B is in nursery a few minutes away. I suppose I could take him out of nursery but then I wouldn’t be able to get anything done, when I can now get a small amount done. But really my boss just seems to be waiting for a new piece of work to come in and then presumably I’ll be busy with that.
Overall the return to work has been a bit odd like that and I don’t think I can really say I’ve had a positive experience with continuing to breastfeed. It’s the whole reason I’m not back full time in the office, because they can’t accommodate it. It seems crazy in this day and age that they can’t provide one private room to pump in. In one office it means I have to travel over an hour each way and I have to book the videoconference room at least 24 hrs in advance, and then when I get there and each time I want to pump have to go and get the room ready, which involves sticking paper over windows and putting a sign on the door saying don’t come in, because they don’t have any rooms that lock.
In the other office they don’t even have a bookable meeting room so I have to do it in the disabled loo! Which I’ve been banned from doing in the other office. It’s ridiculous. Luckily I have my pumping bag which has a built in cool bag and so on, but really I’d be up the creek otherwise. (Slight review update on the Sarah Wells pump bag: The size is good. The coolbag is good. The straps to use it as a rucksack are terrible.)
Bear in mind that the legislation about not discriminating against breastfeeding mothers came in 2010 and it’s now seven years later. It seems ludicrous to me that they can’t accommodate it. But even more disappointing has been some of the attitudes. (I posted some of these in my previous blog post, How Not To Pump At Work.)
Oh and to add insult to injury, the older lady who just joined is probably going to replace my boss (who I love) as he wants to decrease his direct reports. You know when you just meet a woman and you realise she’s one of those kind of Passive Aggressive Against Other Women women? Yeah, she’s one of those. It’s weird because I love my new company and all the women I’ve met so far have been kind of *solidarity* so she’s the first outlier. I’m trying not to let it bother me but I don’t feel that pleased about it. So far she has:
- Told my boss that she didn’t need to pump when she went back to work after having her kids. (So now he thinks I’m being precious trying to pump at work… Never mind that it’s protected by law!)
- Told me that she’s worked in [my industry] for years and that I couldn’t wear what I was wearing that day around her clients. (How condescending… This woman is over a decade older than me and I’m 1-2 grades more junior than her… I’ve done okay. And I’m old enough to judge what to wear to meet clients, and never had any complaints. For the record I was wearing an on trend floral jacket and she was wearing a scratty cardigan!)
- Told me a story about how she went back to work after having a kid and continued to breastfeed (yeah, like I’m trying to do) but got sent overseas so her husband quit his job and brought the baby and traveled with her so she could continue to feed and work… “But of course, I was at that point in my career.” (Implying I’m not.)
- When she found out I liked Disney decided to tell me how they were going to Orlando for their holiday and how they always travel First Class and the holiday cost THIRTY THOUSAND POUNDS. £30k!!! Who does that?! (I did think she probably didn’t get a good deal!)
I was telling someone else about her and I said it was like I didn’t meet a woman – it was like meeting a man. I have this saying – w*lly waving – which is what I think men do when they get into a situation where they want to demonstrate their superiority. It’s like showing off. Peacocking. She was spreading her tail feathers and showing off how superior she was… and I wasn’t even interested in playing. (The cruder terminology is that she “flopped it out on the table”…) Anyway we shall see what happens because it doesn’t really bode well… I’m hoping that she softens up before becoming my boss. 😦
On the baby front, it’s weird being back at work when the others are all off work. I decided to put a bit of distance between me and them (the other mums in the area I know, mainly through NCT). I guess our experiences have diverged quite a bit. Last week I ended up going for lunch with them twice (because I was working from home) and it just brought it home to me that it’s not that pleasant being around other people with babies when I can’t be with my baby. Of course I could have gone and got him from nursery but it would be very disruptive for him. He seems to have settled in really well and my next door neighbour who’s an ex nursery employee said not to disrupt him in his first few weeks.
Anyway throughout lunch, their babies screamed and cried and I just found it all a bit gross. Maybe being around B means I make more oxytocin and therefore find babies more tolerable?! I felt like I had felt in my pre baby days – that babies are a bit distasteful. Haha. Also I found we have diverged in parenting techniques quite a bit so perhaps it’s that. The others I usually hang out with are kind of up tight about stuff and want everything very regimented. Their babies don’t sleep very well and they cry a lot.
We are more laissez faire parents, and just sort do it through intuition. We don’t have B in any sort of regimented routine (though obviously he has a vague routine as he has to get up to go to nursery, or swimming at the weekend, etc). We never put him down on his own to sleep – though he’s miraculously developed the technique of tolerating this at nursery – so he just goes to bed when we do, although he tends to fall asleep in my arms before then. I breastfeed him on demand including at night when we co-sleep so he settles back within a couple of minutes. I babywear him pretty much all the time and he rarely goes in the buggy. And I haven’t tried to wean him at all, at almost six months.
The others are always desperate for time off from the babies. I guess this is where infertile people and fertile people diverge. I spend so much time being super happy that B exists, that I really couldn’t give a flying sh*t if he wakes me up at night and I’m not trying to escape him in any way. I mean, I asked for it! And really he doesn’t wake me up much. He kind of stirs, I roll over, feed him and we both go back to sleep (sometimes mid feed). I figure it is such a short time before we can go back to “non baby” life that it doesn’t bother me not to be out on the town all the time or anything like that. For sure I’d like to have a shower a bit more often, but B loves to have a bath with me so it’s not all bad.
They’re also super competitive about trying to get them to do things like sit up, roll over (like dogs?!) and eat stuff, so the ones who are still breastfeeding can stop breastfeeding. It just seems like they always seem to be in mild competition, but maybe I’m misreading it. I mean I got asked the other day why I hadn’t bought B Sophie la giraffe and I was like, I don’t like giraffes! But you must get it! It’s the best thing I’ve ever bought for her! Err no, I really don’t think one teething toy is going to be a game changer… I still have all my teeth and I never had Sophie! And I always get these comments about B being “so chilled” and “always asleep” (because I carry him in a sling all the time so he just sleeps instead of screaming in the buggy).
I guess the thing is, against my predictions I’ve turned into something of an earth mother / crunchy mom (UK/US). I am not really either of those things because I’m not white (which the vast majority of EM/CMs are) and also I don’t really go in for the organic, no plastic, cloth nappy thing. (I think scraping poo off a nappy is a step too far.) But I’m not into the whole trying to get them weaned / onto formula etc. As long as I can nurse him, I’m going to do it if he still wants it, because it’s so much easier! And he seems to settle easier too. I do privately think it’s sort of funny that I’m the least bothered about doing all this training them stuff and my baby seems the most chillaxed. I just hope that doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with him!
So yesterday I finally muted our whatsapp because they all decided to buy a sleep training course and so I received about 250 messages about a regimented nap routine. I guess there’s a difference between sleep training and CIA (Cry It Out – controlled crying) which is something that massively divides parents. And it probably makes me sound mega judgy but I don’t feel like I’m super judgy… I just am not that interested in their style of parenting, which mainly seems to be about being upset when the babies don’t do exactly what they want them to do. I don’t know what will happen going forward as they are my main mum friends. Thing is, maybe I’ll just go back to hanging out with my pre-baby friends!
Other than that, the hen do went amazingly! I was so happy because my friend seemed to love it. She even sent me some dog shaped biscuits from Biscuiteers as a thank you! I was so relieved that it all went according to plan and we had a great time. It was a fun group of people, and probably the right amount of activity. The important thing was my friend had an amazing day being the centre of attention!
Some photos. We started off with brunch, followed by a candy making class, afternoon tea, comedy and a bar!
The other cool thing that happened was that one of the adoptees I “know” online came to London on holiday, so we met up! It was so great to meet someone I kind of know! There are lots of blog friends I’d love to meet too! (Hit me up if you’re ever in London!)
I have been meaning to do a post about adoption and having a baby, but there really are a lot of feels and I don’t really have the words yet. And also I probably should do an update on how I’m feeling about adoption and social justice. I don’t really feel the same as I used to when I first started blogging, but that’s for another post too.
Anyway, we went for afternoon tea, which was hilarious as she thought we were going for a cup of tea, rather than a meal! I’d told her about the cost beforehand to check if it was okay, so I said to her she must have thought that was the most expensive cup of tea ever!
We had an amazing time because we had so much in common when it comes to being adopted transracially. It is a bit like when I met T that we understood about adoption – he is also adopted. So this was even more similar because we were both POC (people of colour) adopted by white families. We just talked nonstop and I really think we could have gone on for hours! Her husband kindly left us to natter whilst he took their child for a walk around somewhere else, so we had to stop in the end! It was so cool to meet her though.
Finally, we are still waiting on details of our house move! I’m hoping it won’t fall through as it really is the dream flat, but you never know. The whole house buying process here is soooo sloooow. You never know what is happening. We are hoping we will manage to move by August – we were originally planning on July but it hasn’t happened yet. Hopefully we will exchange in the next week or two and complete by August, in time for B’s naming ceremony in September! We are hoping to have a little do on the terrace if/when we have moved in. T has put me on a strict budget so it will be home made afternoon tea and BYOB! More on that later…
My friend C and I are as thick as thieves. So much so that she invited me to be her bridesmaid! (So exciting… I’m ancient and I’ve never been a bridesmaid – only a groomsmaid!)
Being one of her bridesmaids means that I am organising the hen do. Such responsibility! (Aka Bachelorette, bridal shower etc – it’s what we call it here in the UK.)
Now, I love organising things. I even organised my work summer party and Christmas parties last year. I really should have been an events planner or something. I love it when a plan comes together! There’s something very satisfying about it.
But then I got to thinking… C and I have been on quite a few hen dos over the years. And what can I say? We like to have a little b*tch about them when the plans aren’t planned with the military precision we like to say we personally would have used…
So now C’s hen party will be the test! Ha!
Now I know she will be happy whatever happens. She’s a very unassuming person really and we only ever b*tch in private. (And we do enjoy the parties! We just like to say what we would have done differently!) In fact it’s probably putting it a bit strongly to say we b*tch… Maybe you could say we provide constructive criticism! I mean, you need to have a few things to make a good hen party.
Off the top of my head, these are:
- Something the bride-to-be likes to do / that summarises her.
- Opportunities for everyone to get to know each other.
- Drinking. (We are British. It’s the law.)
- Some kind of activity.
- An opportunity to dress up.
- Something where you talk about the groom-to-be and their relationship.
- NO strippers!
I then had a bunch of requirements from the hens. In particular her sister-in-law (brother’s wife) who had a very restricted budget. The reason being that she’s been on maternity leave for months. (Her baby is a few months older than B.) Now I know statutory maternity pay is terrible. But these people are renovating a house… and it strikes me as a bit mean that the bride’s own brother won’t give her some money to go to his sister’s only hen do!
As a comparison, a lot of stag dos (the male equivalent) start at around £300 and end up even more. Stag parties seem to go overseas a lot. C was keen that we do something that was in everyone’s budget and something in London to keep costs down (because we all either live in London or nearby and transport in and out of London is good). So I asked everyone what their budget was and it turns out that her SIL wanted something for around £150 including accommodation!
As a guideline, most London hotels don’t come in under £100 a night. And even a budget hotel won’t give you much change from £100! So that wasn’t happening. We agreed I would do something that came in within budget but not including a hotel…
Let me tell you about C. She’s one of my best friends. When we first met, I thought she was kind of snooty because I was a brand new grad at work and she’d been there a few years. She used to sit right near us and not talk to all the young ones! I thought it was because she was snooty but really I just think she was shy.
She’s one of the most quick witted people I know. She looks the picture of innocence but then she will come out with some comment and have you in stitches even before you realised she was even listening. She is so sharp I don’t think that you even realise she’s doing it. She’s really a born comedian but in the vein of someone like Jack Dee or Stewart Lee, very deadpan rather than slapstick.
A few years ago she took a year off work and went to cookery school. Like the actual catering college you do if you want to do it for a job. And then she went right back to the office job. I mean, other people on her course went for apprenticeships in big kitchens and one even opened his own restaurant (that we went to, to show solidarity). But C was just doing it for her own satisfaction and nobody else’s. (This does mean we have catered between the two of us for another hen party we went to.)
She’s generous to a fault. I’ve had some excellent (mainly food related) presents from C. Like personalised champagne and cheese hampers. Or home made chocolate truffles. She isn’t selfish at all. She even offered to sub her SIL on the hen do but that is not the tradition! The hen isn’t meant to pay for anything!
Most of the time I’ve known C, she hasn’t had any boyfriends. She’s had the odd person on the go but she was busy climbing the greasy pole that we all do in the city. I mean she was the archetypal career woman. More so than me. I mean I defined myself by my job – but my job always involved drinking and socialising with men whereas hers involved working long hours with no time to go out.
Plus she’s a slightly intimidating prospect to men. She’s not a girly girl, and yet she is in a way. She is pretty but she’s also smart. She doesn’t flirt in the typical way (a way I honed over the years of working in a male dominated industry). Some men just wouldn’t get her. Especially the wry jokes.
So for years I was on at her to find a guy (I mean because she said she wanted one! Not because I thought she needed one!) and she never did anything about it. For someone working 12-14 hours a day on average just isn’t going to meet the love of her life unless he happens to work in her office (plus many workplaces frown on that sort of thing).
So I started a campaign. I started telling her all of the stories about friends who had met their partners online. Also I sent her a Marie Claire article I found where it rated all of the dating sites. We decided Lovestruck had the most city types on (people who work in the city) so would be a good place to start. (I couldn’t find the article online but I found the one I scanned so will post below!)
Anyway she wrote her profile after me hassling her for like a year, and long story short she met the love of her life and they got engaged! Hurray! I mean why not listen to Dr Nara in the first place?! 😂
The funny thing is, C is like the opposite of a bridezilla. She’s like a can’t be bothered to make too much fuss bride. It’s like she really doesn’t want to make a fuss so she doesn’t act bridezilla ish at all! So I wanted to make her a lovely hen do because I knew she wouldn’t try very hard to be the centre of attention or anything (like I would! Ha).
On the very limited budget I managed to plan out the day…
Brunch – We kick off the day with brunch at a cool east end cafe. We can even add on bottomless bubbly and bloody Marys for a mere £15! (A drink in London usually costs £8 so it’s not bad.)
Activity – We are going to do a candy making masterclass! I figured she would have done most cooking before but probably not candy making. We can make lollies and sweets and take them away with us. Plus we each get a little bottle of bubbly to get us in the mood!
Afternoon tea – We are going for a girly afternoon tea where we all get to dress up and pretend to be real ladies! (Well getting nicely dressed is optional but the opportunity is there.) We will chat, give C some gifts, I have a Polaroid camera and we will make her a photo book, plus we will play a game of Mr and Mrs which I prepared with answers from her Groom.
Show – We are going to one of C’s great loves, a comedy show. I got her a t shirt from the club which I’m going to decorate if I get the time… We have VIP seating so we definitely get seats and we will also get there in time for happy hour!
Bar – We have space booked in a bar after the comedy. You’d be amazed how difficult it is to get a space in a bar in central London without paying an extortionate fee!
I think we covered all the bases? I steered clear of anything too tacky and hopefully it will be nicely personal. There are only ten of us so it won’t be like a massive gang of shrieking women and anyway we are all on the “mature” side (like closer to 40). I know most people so it should be a good group of nice people. I didn’t go with t shirts but I got some floral headbands for us all to wear (possibly just for the first two activities!) to tie it all together…
It will be a long day apart from B! I will have to pump in advance. I guess like when he’s at nursery although I’ll be back later than usual and at least he will be with T. T has just gone back to work so it will be a bit of a shock to the system for him too!
I sent the invitation to C via a tiny message in a bottle, which got anonymously delivered to her. She was very excited!
Now all I have to do before the big (but not biggest!) day is:
- Fabric paint C’s t shirt. I bought stamp and paint and brushes and I can totally see myself not bothering because I’m too lazy. Bad me!
- Pack up her presents. I bought her a Liberty of London coin (it’s really nice to give as most women I know love Liberty and it’s the nicest gift voucher I’ve seen – a real metal coin in a pouch and box wrapped up with a ribbon and then a bag! Also a scarf with dachshunds on as she loves them. Maybe some chocolate too.
- Decorate her guest book and prep the camera. I got a Polaroid camera and we will take pictures on the day and everyone can sign and decorate the pages with stickers and photos etc. I was going to make a photo book but nobody got their act together and sent me photos so I thought I would take the easy way out!
- Decide what to wear. I’m probably going to wear a dress for the daytime and maybe take some jeans / sparkly top for the evening. Just because! And it’s London so flats for walking around in, and heels for standing! Depends on the weather though.
- Pump! And pump! Now that B is at nursery I’ve gotten into a routine of pumping during the day for the next day, more or less. But he doesn’t have so much as I’ve pumped so I should easily have enough for the day away from him. Plus I have a massive freezer stash that hasn’t even been touched.
I’m not really sure when I’m going to get the time to prep… It would be nice to get some sleep! Ever since B started nursery my routine suddenly involves a lot less sleep. (We would always sleep in otherwise.) I guess we will get used to it after a few weeks!
So – a toast to true love. And the power of internet dating!
Article from Marie Claire:
In London, where I live, we’ve had so much bad news over the last few weeks.
Already the Manchester suicide bombing of the Ariana Grande concert shocked us all. How anyone, least of all someone who was the child of a refugee, could do something like this to innocent children is beyond our understanding.
And then suddenly it was close to home. Borough market and London Bridge – places we know and love and went out to in the evenings. It’s the last thing you’d expect in those hazy summer evenings spent at after work drinks, that people would go on a rampage. Just too close to home. And not long after the Westminster bridge attack.
And then Grenfell tower. A large tower block of residential apartments, many or all of them social housing, up in flames. Hundreds presumed dead. A “stay put policy” the reasoning behind why many stayed in their homes whilst the building burned around them. But also the impossibility of escape when so far up.
I live in a block of flats. Not so high up but we don’t have a lift (elevator) and we are right at the top. It makes me think. I think our building has better fire proofing than Grenfell. We have fire doors and dry risers. And it’s an old building, lots of brick and stone. But still.
It’s the human stories that get me. With any of these, it’s the little things. I’m not saying I didn’t have the capacity to feel before. But since becoming a mother there is something primal I feel whenever I hear about children.
At Grenfell, someone threw a baby out of the window from the 9th or 10th floor. The building was burning. Imagine what it must take, the terror in your heart, to throw your child out of a window in the chance they might be saved. Knowing that you probably won’t be. If either of our lives end, I want B to be with me and yet… a parent has chosen to be separated from their child at the point of likely death in the hopes that their child will live. I just can’t imagine the pain. (The papers are reporting the child survived. But nobody knows what happened to the parent.)
Another story: a 12 year old girl calls her mother in a state of fear and terror. She’s trapped on the 20th floor. Her mother is a cleaner working night shift. She rushes back to the tower and people hold her back. It’s too dangerous to enter. But her little girl, her baby is trapped up there. The smoke is too thick. She doesn’t get out.
Grenfell is so terrible because it was not an act of terror – which is terrible in itself – but an act of negligence. Someone, somewhere approved the cladding that apparently created a chimney of inflammable material. Instead of the hour or so expected that residents would be safe in their flats, the entire building went up in a matter of minutes. The fire started on the fourth floor which meant those in the upper floors had little chance of survival.
And the residents of Grenfell were from the poorer ends of society. Immigrants, Muslims, social housing, a diverse set of people living in a tower block just a stone’s throw from some of the richest. Kensington is one of the richest parts of London but side by side with some of the poorest. The great paradox of London – wealth and poverty side by side.
The inflammable cladding was probably an aesthetic decision to try and protect the rich neighbours from the “eyesore” of poorer people on their doorstep. Part of an apparent £6m refurb project that didn’t fit the building with sprinklers or fire protection or alarms. Those people were often living with multiple occupants in flats, with larger families, which is why the death toll is predicted to be so high. Many of the residents were Muslim, and this happened during the holy month of Ramadan, which is why many were still awake at 1am when the fire broke out, otherwise the death toll might have been higher.
In London everyone pulls together. People galvanised within hours to offer shelter, and bring food and drink and clothing and toiletries to the Grenfell residents who survived. Their immediate material needs can be met. But their emotional needs cannot. The horror of anyone who escaped dwarfs the horror of those who had to watch, helpless, as a tower block full of innocent people burned. And yet all any one of us can feel is horror. The stories of people trapped in their own homes, where they should feel safe.
Today is the fifth anniversary of my friend’s husband’s death from cancer. He fought bravely through limb amputation – he was amazing, doing sports without a care in the world. But five years ago he passed away in his sleep. My friend now has a new husband and baby and she talks about the pain of knowing that her husband wanted her to be happy with someone new – and she is – versus wishing he was still here. It’s a painful paradox.
My other friend who has cancer has finished chemo and first surgery and she’s recovering before her reconstruction surgery in a couple of months. I’m glad they caught the cancer but I hate what she is going through. It’s so taxing on her body. And it’s the second time she’s had cancer. I don’t know how she gets through it. Somehow she does. I try and let her know I’m thinking about her every day. But really I wish I could just take it all away and there was no such thing as cancer.
It feels as though there has been such horror lately. It hurts to think about it. On a personal level I know I live in immense privilege, the fact that I have a roof over my head and a longed for baby and a great partner and dog, and I’m healthy. I am lucky to be here. And in any of those disasters we think: It could have been us.
We have to be thankful for what we have. And I truly am, but in the past weeks I have been even more. With these horrible things happening all we can do is hold our loved ones a little tighter and enjoy every single moment. I thank my lucky stars every single day for what I have. Life is short and you never know what’s going to happen. Be happy.
It wasn’t until I had a baby that I realised how sexist the traditional nursery rhymes are. Especially The Wheels On The Bus!
The wheels on the bus go round and round…
The mummies on the bus go chatter chatter chatter…
The daddies on the bus go shhh shhh shhh…
I’m sure there are lots more examples although I’ve tried to block a fair few out of my mind… (The Farmer Wants A Wife springs to mind!)
On a slightly related note, I realised how much I like singing and clapping along to the B-I-N-G-O song.
There was a man who had a dog and Bingo was his name-o
B – I – N – G – O
B – I – N – G – O
B – I – N – G – O and Bingo was his name-o!
(Repeat ad nauseam)
You can thank me for the earworm later…
So tomorrow (Wednesday 31 May, 2017) is meant to be my final day of maternity leave. Actually Monday 22 was meant to be my first day back at work, but I took annual leave to eke it out until the beginning of June. Somehow that seemed easier.
My boss had told me he didn’t want me to go back to my previous client and to go to our base office instead. It’s 1hr away instead of half an hour so not ideal, but hopefully I’ll be back on a client soon. (My last client was a bit… interesting, and probably doesn’t warrant me working on them full time.)
So I was calling around HR and the office manager to see if they’d get me a room for pumping (as per UK law for breastfeeding mothers). The office manager told me she had told my boss they don’t have anything suitable and so I should work from home!!
Now ordinarily I’d think this is a great idea but realistically it’s just not going to work. The whole point of me going back to work is to get back to my career and do a good job and hopefully get promoted. Much as I’d like to sit around in the sun at home, my job is based on client work or being in the base office and other than occasional wfh Fridays it’s not really practical to spend all your time at home.
I said I was totally willing to give it a go in our office. There’s a small videoconference room / phone booth I could use but there’s no lock on the door so they’d have to put a sign on (“Do not enter under any circumstances”) and there’s the small matter of papering over the window, but I was willing to try it.
Thing is, this is a job that pays more than I’ve ever been paid and it’s miles better than my old one (no obvious misogyny/ possible racism for starters!) so I want to try and do well at it and keep it!
Anyway the office manager was completely against it and told my boss that it was unacceptable. (I think the law is in the UK that they need to give you a private room with a lockable door and power source… that’s not a disabled bathroom. Or something.) I said I didn’t mind trying it. As I said, realistically my job is not one you can do from home in the long term so I need to try and do something that works in the longer term.
So my boss calls me and says he doesn’t want me to come into the office yet as he doesn’t think we can accommodate the pumping… so to work from home for my first few days until I meet him on Tuesday! I think he’s afraid I’ll sue them or something.
So that’s three days I get back. I mean, I’m not sure how I can really work from home other than checking my emails… and maybe do an online course or something… but really. Not much work to do.
It’s a strange feeling as I’d psyched myself up to start work in two days on Thursday and now I don’t have to go in until Tuesday. But to an office that’s an hour away rather than half an hour. With no pregnancy bump to use to get a seat! Ah well… We shall see.
Some photos… mainly of food!
So… a few days reprieve! I’ll take it!
Apparently there are two types of breastfeeders – those whose boobs grow to gigantic humungaboobs™ and those whose boobs remain petite, perky and lovely.
Guess which one I am?
Yeah, it turns out that my already fairly moderately sized 32C pair have turned into full on funbags. All the better to feed you with, B. (Aside: Baby B is such a chunker I sometimes think he looks like a mini sumo wrestler.) I really wish I could be one of the perky ones but alas, it’s not to be.
Anyway, I’ve been wearing soft bras for the time being, because they’re comfortable and I am a lazy lounger at heart. (Currently wearing a mumba bra but I also have cheaper ones from Sia on Amazon, and H&M nursing bras.) They are the opposite of sexy, but it’s comfort I’m after right now. (Not sure how T could possibly find the gigantic boobs sexy, but he’s a boob man and we have a baby so I think he’s grateful for anything remotely sexy!)
As I was planning to go back to work and having to figure out bf appropriate clothes, I’m on a breastfeeding clothing group where people post bf-appropriate clothes that you can find on the high street. It’s actually really good for getting general ideas about nice clothes for all different figures, and a bit of inspiration for when you’ve been out of the loop for a while.
One of the things they push on there is the idea that most women are wearing the wrong size bra – whether they’re breastfeeding or not. The measuring site is called Boob or Bust and there’s a calculator there to work out your bra size (and it works whether you’re pregnant, nursing or neither).
Now, I’m wearing the soft bras right now so they’re not sized like bras. Just small, medium and large. And they can vary in size throughout the day due to breastfeeding and milk supply. But I thought I’d check it out anyway just to see what my post pregnancy breastfeeding boobs were.
Well! Apparently my post pregnancy recommended bra size is 32H! 😮😮
Now, this sounds crazy until you realise that the number relates to your back size and that cup size is not all the same with every back size. You’d think it is, but the increasing circumference of your body increases the cup size for each letter cup. Who knew?!
This is best illustrated below:
I had been wearing a 36DD in pregnancy and this was clearly an effect of being larger in the cup… but it seems counterintuitive that I’d have gone up in circumference once the baby was out! I always kind of wondered how I could be a 36DD. But 32H seems like a kind of scary size!
So… I may go back to a standard sized bra rather than soft nursing bras (not really recommended before six months), at which point I’ll remeasure and see if I can get some decent bras to fit. Soft nursing bras may be comfortable, but they are not particularly supportive or pretty! Who knows… I may fit back into my 32Cs one day…
Give it a go if you dare, and let me know how you get on!
Mother’s Day in the UK was a while ago, but I saw this video on Facebook from the Today show and it made me cry.
Mother’s Day message – Today
Everything has changed for us with the arrival of baby B, after many years of infertility, medical intervention and loss. This time last year I had just got my positive pregnancy test for B and I was so scared it was going to go the same way as our previous year’s pregnancy, little PB who was lost to miscarriage.
For Mother’s Day here in the UK I posted this message on Facebook, with a picture of my mum with me and one of her with baby B.
“It’s my 39th Mother’s Day as a daughter and my first as a mother. Heading to see my mum, who first met me when I was a few days old and has loved me ever since. She’s now [Grandma] to B but she’ll always be [Mum] to me.
Both of us had a long and difficult journey to be a mother. Thinking of all the mothers out there today, especially the mothers without children and children without mothers. I promise not to take it for granted. ❤”
I hope for anyone who finds this day difficult that you know that we see you. And I hope that next year you’ll be celebrating Mother’s Day with happiness.
Before I embarked on this journey, I worked in an office. I’m a not-very-bigwig in the corporate world. And for years I defined myself by it, so I find myself applying “work” lingo to this new and amazing world of parenthood…
Hence: the QBR. At work, the Quarterly Business Review is a chance to look back on the last three months and assess what was good about it and what you’re going to work on next quarter.
I don’t seem to have any time for blogging nowadays. I never wanted to be one of those infertility bloggers who drops off the face of the planet when they have a baby, but there you have it. I’m still here, but right now I’m soaking up all I can of the experience.
I have to go back to work early for the UK – usually people take a year, but I’m on unpaid leave (due to starting my new job pregnant so ineligible for paid leave) and this (just over four months) is all we can afford. Hence my sparse postings lately. I’m sure when I’m back at work and have a commute again, I’ll be able to write a bit more.
Anyway, here goes!
Performance: B’s development
Following the developments a baby makes is like trying to catch a wave upon the sand, as the nuns in The Sound of Music would have it. B changes every single day. It’s amazing to watch.
It’s totally out-of-this-world amazing and totally run-of-the-mill normal at the same time. I absolutely know I’m not the first and last person to have a baby, but I can also now see why mothers get a bit obsessed.
Things B can do (not an exhaustive list, because I am not on top of things like that):
- Smile. He smiles all the time now. It’s like a magic mood lifter. How can you be anything but happy when a little fat baby is grinning a toothless grin at you?
- Halfhearted roll. He started rolling out of bed – his side sleeper cot, onto our bed. I bought a Sleepyhead bed nest which now contains him. He can roll halfway from his back to his side, but doesn’t seem motivated to roll fully (and we aren’t motivated to encourage him!).
- Hold his head up. We do tummy time when we remember (#badparents) and he easily holds his head up and tries to crawl a bit, but is a long way off, thankfully!
- Dribble. My boy is a world champion dribbler. Apparently this means maybe he’s started teething. He doesn’t seem particularly upset.
- Babble. In the last week or so, he’s just started to enjoy the sound of his own voice. T is convinced he can say “Hello” and it does sound like that sometimes, but I think it’s unlikely!
- Enjoy playing. For a while, I wondered if he was really enjoying playing, but now he definitely does. We do Baby Sensory once a week and he can now engage a bit in activities. He laughs when he enjoys things. And he has started batting toys at his (incredibly tacky) Baby Gym, finally, rather than just lying there and expecting them magically to entertain him!
In short, he is the most awesome beautiful baby in the world and I am fully in love.
Review: Parenthood after infertility/loss
During this whole thing, I’ve always been conscious of being infertile and of needing so much intervention to have B. On the one hand, I’ve passed into motherhood / parenthood and in many ways it feels like something I always was supposed to do. By which I mean, it feels natural. But on the other hand, I’m really conscious that pregnancy and birth did not come naturally to me. And I don’t want people to think it came easily or that I’m not grateful.
I thank my lucky stars every single day that I have B. It feels like a journey I never thought I’d get to make. It’s awesome. I also in the same breath thank my lucky stars for T, his father and my partner. And Dog, the best dog ever. It is nice to have a little family of my own. Of course I’ve always been a part of my family that I can remember, but it’s weird to have started my own. And even weirder to have someone who looks like me. People comment that all the time. I can totally enjoy that because having been adopted, I never had that.
I feel a need to explain to people that it wasn’t easy to have B, because I feel like on the one hand it’s hard to imagine him not being there, but on the other it’s weird not to reflect on the many more years I had of being childless with no idea if I’d ever not be. And I want people who are trying to conceive to know that we went there too.
Does the pain ever go away? I know some people say it doesn’t, and I respect that. For me, it’s immensely healing to have B. That’s not on him. He’s not responsible for my happiness. I just feel that the pain of infertility and loss has become more distant in my everyday thoughts. It’s not “worth it” as such but it doesn’t really intrude because I’m too busy enjoying him. It’s amazing how babies change and grow and learn stuff every single day. I’m in awe. And I’m so happy to get the chance to experience this. It feels like a dream come true.
I guess one thing this journey gave me was an intolerance of people who complain a lot about having a baby. I just can’t. I know so many who would give their right arm to be pregnant so it annoys me when people whinge on about pregnancy and motherhood. I know they have a right to, but I just don’t like to hear it. During pregnancy I almost relished the back pain and discomfort because I knew it meant he was coming. And now, I have almost infinite patience when he wakes me up during the night or cries, because he’s here and healthy and he needs me and I wanted this. Of course I get tired, but I look at his little face and think, You are so wanted and loved.
Review: Motherhood after adoption
Although I feel like I started this blog to talk about infertility, it became clear that I had many thoughts on adoption, and having been adopted as a baby. I probably have a whole post on this, but for the purposes of this QBR I can say it’s been on my mind a lot.
It’s literally amazing to me to see B’s face every day and how much he looks like me. I never realised how much I missed having kin before I met him. I have my (adoptive) family and I think we are a pretty close family. And they’ve embraced B as one of their own, because he is. But for me it’s just mind blowing to meet my actual flesh and blood. Finally.
If you’ve followed my blog a while you’ll know T is also adopted. So B has two parents who don’t have bio family in their lives. He is it. It’s kind of huge but it’s kind of normal as well. It’s a nice kind of normal. I like that he won’t grow up wondering who he looks like or feeling weird for being a different race from everyone else.
We purposely moved here to a diverse community so he won’t stick out. It’s awesome to see how there are lots of interracial couples here, and lots of mixed race children. I feel a sense of parental responsibility that I can do that – make a conscious choice for him. I was speaking with my cousin who is in an interracial relationship with mixed race children, who felt the same about making sure they fitted in. Racial mirrors are important.
Crunchy mom score: 10
I seem to have turned into a hippy. My friend the Earth Mother (who sometimes reads this blog *waves*) is my role model here!
Breastfeeding is this huge thing I never thought I’d get into, but a quarter in (almost a third now I’ve finally gotten round to finishing this) and it seems to be my superpower. I know this is no credit to me and some people just seem to find it easier. It’s nuts. I’m so glad it has gone well. I had the difficulty getting and staying pregnant, the messed up birth, so I deserve something, right?! Actually was totally happy just to have a healthy baby, but I’ll take it.
Babywearing is another one. It’s European Babywearing Week this week, and I’m going strong! I’m still wearing B in the wrap but have gone a bit full on down the rabbit hole of babywearing madness. Again something for a longer post but suffice to say I’m a convert to wrapping and I have another two in the post! I’m not really sure why I bothered with the pram as B loves babywearing and I do too, so he screams blue murder if he has to go into his lovely designer pram, but he’s happy to be wrapped like a little burrito and strapped to my front, and I feel like a warrior when I do it!
I want to do both of these things as long as possible and as long as B still enjoys it. I’m hoping I can breastfeed for at least a year, although I’ll have to express when I’m back at work. B is so not into taking expressed milk – we’ve tried once a day to see if he can get used to it, but he has a definite preference for milk from source. In a way it makes me happy he loves me best (as a good source anyway!) but I’m concerned he will feel thirsty or hungry when I’m out at work. Hopefully he will adjust.
Exit strategy: Going back to work
It’s not so much an exit strategy as enforced retirement (in QBR parlance). I so don’t want to go back to work. I know I’m going to cry my eyes out. I can finally appreciate why maternity leave is usually a year. I honestly had no idea babies were this interesting (well, I mainly like mine… the others not so much!) and how much of a wrench it would be. I’m already less than a month to go and it feels like sand slipping through an hourglass at high speed.
I’m with him all the time and I don’t want to miss anything but I’ll have to. I’ll pump for him, and I know I’ll do everything possible to make sure he has the best start, but really I wish I could be with him every day, all day. I guess it’s no easier going back when they’re one, though. I hope he’ll take after me and sleep a lot!
Clothes have been a challenge. Who knew maternity and nursing wear seem to be double purpose? It’s so odd that the clothing manufacturers have decided the two go together. My mum kindly gave me some money to buy some back to work clothes and get a haircut. I think she realised how awkward I feel carrying the extra weight and with massive nursing boobs!
Pre pregnancy I was around a size 10 UK and now I’m maybe a 12, bigger than I’ve ever been (well, apart from pregnancy!). During pregnancy I embraced bodycon because it meant I was actually pregnant. Post pregnancy I’m avoiding it for the reason that it makes me look pregnant! My boobs are out of control. Pre pregnancy I was 32C and post I am 36DD or by Boob or Bust (a nursing site) measurements I’m 32H! Which is crazy talk! I’ll have a few weeks to find some decent nursing / pumping clothes. I don’t want to sit pumping in a meeting room with my top off, or worse still with a dress off, in my underwear! There’s a great fb group called Can I Breastfeed In It? Which I’ve been stalking for inspiration. Sadly most nursing stuff is casual or occasion wear rather than office wear. I’m half thinking I need to make a group for prematurely working mums!
In order to try and get organised, I ordered a Sarah Wells designer nursing bag from the US. Breast pump bags literally do not exist here in the UK. Probably because mothers don’t go back to work until the babies are weaned. Most take a year off. Unfortunately it isn’t possible for us as I’m on unpaid leave so minimum amount of wages (a small statutory allowance from the government which I’m grateful for, but barely pays rent!). Anyway I was super excited to receive it until I got hit with a customs charge of £39! Wtf. You live and learn. That bag better be amazing! I’ll have to post a more in depth review later.
I’ve always felt it’s so important not to neglect your relationship when you have a baby. And yet I’ve realised in the past few weeks that I really haven’t focused on T so much as B. I’ve also probably neglected Dog a bit as T tends to take him for walks whilst I feed B. I think we are okay. T says he doesn’t mind (especially the lack of bedroom antics!) but I am conscious of it.
We are very loving and in many ways having B has solidified that. I mean, we are inextricably linked now. But we are more tired and we sometimes get quite far through the day before we kiss, which is something I always thought of as important. That said, we are around each other all day – T is on shared parental leave – so we don’t kiss each other goodbye.
Having a baby and the resultant disturbed sleep (he goes back to sleep easily but I still have to wake up and comfort him even if he’s co sleeping) and probably hormones does make me grouchy. So I need to watch out for that. I feel like my moods are way more loving-whoops-now-I’m-crazy! than they were before. T is very good natured but I’m probably stretching it a bit! I absolutely love being an Earth mother type but I need to develop some hippy vibes!
We got back to the – ahem – babymaking (well it never worked!) right on schedule. Actually a day early after the doc said it was possible after a c section (6 weeks). So we made sure everything was still in working order! But frequency is way down. T says he doesn’t mind, but I feel bad for him considering last few months of pregnancy was also a no go!
I feel really self conscious of my post baby body – for the first time in years I feel a bit ashamed of my body. Before I was a bit more vain and perfectionist – not to say I had the best body but I felt it was within tolerances and was kind of proud I wasn’t overweight. Now I feel a bit saggy and my stretch marks are still very visible so that’s affected my confidence. It just about passes in clothes but my bikini days are over! So that affects how I feel about getting naked. I am hoping over time it’ll improve. At the weekend we stayed in a posh hotel for a family do so we had a bath – for the first time I didn’t want him to see me naked. But he did and we had a nice bath! I guess it takes time. I still feel massively proud of my body for getting B here, and I know T still loves me, I just have to start feeling attractive again.
All this makes it sound like our relationship is suffering. I don’t think it is particularly- but I do think having a baby changes it. We are still great friends and we still love each other, but it’s not just the two of us (plus Dog) any more. We are parents. It’s weird to recast ourselves. I suppose it takes time to grow into our new roles. I don’t think I had to love him more. I already did. He’s the love of my life. Having a baby is something a part of us and also outside of us. A seismic event. And we are still evolving.
Next quarter’s focus
- Back to work
- Bottle feeding (expressed milk)
- New house! (Hopefully still happening… slowly!)
- Relationship stuff (not forgetting to be us)
- Austerity MkII (because of new house!)
- Teething (suspected!)
Appendices: In pictures
If we are friends on fb, you’ll have seen the pics of B. I’m obsessed by how cute he is! Meanwhile here’s a taste of what we’ve been up to lately.
As before, comment and let me know what you’ve been up to! I haven’t had much time to read other people’s blogs but if you comment then I’ll read! Hope you are all well. X