‘Chase Me’ Cats, Barking Dog Equates to a Distracted Baby

Anyone who knows me, knows I live in a bleeding mad house. And yes, this is completely my own doing (or fault depending on the day *smirk*).

Today, my mad house tested me to a limit I haven’t seen in a while. The limit what requires some self assessment once hit. It started at Delilah’s 4.30pm nap (last snooze in the day before bedtime). It’s been crazy windy hear today, and every time the bastard wind decided to throw the wheelie bin lid back on the recycle bin the dog barked. This happened persistently through the day. Every time the baby fell into her nap, the lid would blow off the bin and the dog would go nuts. I’m talking full on fizz bomb, spine fluff on end, ear perked as thought we’re under a zombie attack kinda barking. Which makes Delilah jump out of her skin, scream her head off and wide eyed awake from her nap – even though she hadn’t had ten minutes. Urgh. Sleep is already enemy number one, I didn’t need a zombie prepared dog to help her reject sleep.

Anyway, back to her 4.30 nap. She slept for about half an hour (fanbloodytastic, little dinosaur needed it) so it’s her teatime. Brilliant concoction “baby smoothie” made with a pear, strawberries, organic oats and baby milk. Loves the stuff. She’s sat in her high chair, bib on ready for her smoothie mix. My three kitties decided to play bitey catch, the game where they run from bedroom to bedroom after each other. When a kitty is caught one of them bites the other and the game continues. But, the dog is in the living room because he wants to play the game too. If I let him play he ends up licking his wounds when the cats beat him up. Poor boy.

So as I mentioned earlier, dog is on zombie attack mode and any sounds are setting him off. Cats running from room to room are actually the undead coming to get us in dogs mind, so every cat noise is met with an energetic shouting from him. Meanwhile, Delilah is looking at the door for the dog or cats to appear (she’s a little fur crazed at the moment), thus meaning baby smoothie is smoothied all over her face and I might as well be trying to put the stuff in her ear. I put the dog on his bed, shut the cats out the kitchen as to minimise distractions for her. Cats still chasing, dog still barking at impending doom and Delilah most certainly distracted from her dinner. My blood is boiling. Gets the dog and makes him sit in the kitchen, now Delilah has her fluff fix to stare at while eating her dinner sideways.

Dog won’t sit still, I feel like I’m talking to myself when giving him instructions and Delilah had her hands in the smoothie bowl. Dog sticks his nose up on her little table top. Then it happens. Words I never thought would come out of my mouth. “Don’t lick the dog” Delilah has her mouth open and tongue hanging out ready to give doggy kisses. Luckily she misses and give a him a good old smoothie covered pat pat instead with her little grabbing hands.

Deduced from today, my temper is on short fuse but my daughter has amplified my love for animals in her own way. Dog, is so very sweet with her and the cats (well India at least) has tolerated Delilah’s little paws all over her. Mad house has a plus side.

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Impromptu

So the thing about impromptu anything – it’s supposed to be last minute, a bit random you know the kind of activity you don’t plan for.

I had planned to visit my grandparents today. BUT I was feeling a bit meh (yes, that is the technical term) and called to see if we could reschedule. We agreed to lunch on Thursday. Then being completely backwards, I dressed the baby up for the outside world and headed off to pick up a parcel for man. I want to tell you it was an in and out job, but the baby in a car seat always adds another five minutes on to what ever your doing. Oh, and of course the woman in the queue that had brought out the wrong ID to retrieve her parcel. Yeah, she spent a blur of moments trying to flirt with the young man (At least 15 years her junior) at the counter for him to release her package. Needless to say he didn’t let her have it, nor did the fella fall for her charms. So she rescheduled for Saturday. Let’s hope she gets it, you know for all the time she wasted. Got my parcel pretty quickly – I did have the right ID. Not to brag or anything. Bundled the baby back into my Mini, which was parked in a normal tight spot because there are no parent and child spaces at the delivery office. Thank you Royal Mail?

Decided to trip to asda to buy man’s diabetic pep juice, commonly known as Lucozade. Ended up buying a cake because I felt guilty for cancelling today’s visit. Delilah blowing raspberries randomly and waving her arms about in the snowsuit that is slightly too big, we paid at the slowest cashier desk ever. The tool scanned the cake and put it upside down on the packing part of the till – This is what I’m dealing with people. My guilt cake was now upside down. My unnecessary guilt cake, because I hadn’t cancelled I only rescheduled. Even with that in mind, my brain takes more convincing that I haven’t actually abandoned the oldies and I will be seeing them tomorrow. Delilah, me and the guilt cake piled into the car, which again was parked in a normal tight spot because the parent and child spaces are completly full. And according to most supermarkets, there are more disabled people that parents with a child under twelve. Not sure how true that deduction from car park logic is.

Poor Delilah at this point has barely napped, and falls asleep as soon as we set off to the oldies place. Hoping to not disturb her I take her car seat out, but being a two door Mini she woke up. One bottle later and centre of attention by all parties the child is the happiest, smiliest girl on the planet. This is a huge hit with all parties. She will most likely be the girl at the centre of any future drama. I’ll be keeping an eye on that…

The guilt cake worked for my mentality- no longer feel guilty for nothing. And if the snow isn’t there in the morning, Delilah and I will be curtain shopping with the oldies. Not sure how that happened, but they are on our list of fave people. Thus meaning, even though shopping ain’t our bag, we’ll sort it. That was my impromptu, but planed then rescheduled visit. Go figure… the inner workings of my mind.

6 weeks Big – Our Birth Story

On Monday the 14th august I got up for my early morning pee stop and went back to bed. I was, at this point, 9 days over my due date and feeling whale like and sluggish. One hour later, I rose for the day and as I did there was a whoosh of liquid from down south. Uncomfortably wet, I showered and dress and didn’t think too much of it because there were no pains, no cramps and certainly no “one born every minute” style drama. I binged watched the first season of Devious Maids and lunch time had arrived.

Man called to check if I was still okay and still pregnant, to which of course my sarcasm replied and told him I thought my waters had broke. He demanded I called the labour ward. I refused, telling him I didn’t want to waste there time, I was having no pains – so on and so forth. Intense name calling and 2 arguments later, I called the labour ward and they told me to make my way in. This was followed by a phone call to man to come get me and a very brash “in your face/told you so” style laugh from him.

Arriving at the hospital at about 4ish, I was examined and told that I wasn’t dilated and they could still feel the waters in front of baby’s head. I assured them my waters had certainly gone and I hadn’t peed my pjs. So they gave me a stretch and sweep, which by the way is not so comfy – not actually that surprising when there is a midwife with her fingers up to your cervix. They told us to go back in the morning and sent us home at 10pm with a pack fully of pads thicker than house bricks (not comfy in your knicks) and some super little thermometer sticks.

It was a sleepless night. Went to bed and had mild cramps, mild enough not to kill and have me doubled over in pain. Which is how it should have gone in my head. Labour was meant to be real noticeable, not niggling mild cramps. But regardless it kept me awake. Got back to the hospital at 6ish for another exam, which proved I’d gotten to 2cm dilated. They offered to “pop the bag” to which I said of course. They did, and I spent the next moments bent over the bed leaking what was left of “the bag”. I kid you not, there is nothing more attractive than a woman leaking amniotic fluid in a maxi dress.

A couple of hours later and another exam. I was no further dilated, but the contractions were getting stronger. They gave me a codeine and ten woosy moments later I projectile vommed over man while trying to aim into a cardboard bowl. Goodbye codeine. Next contraction came and they put an IV in the back of my hand which hurt more than the contraction (which hurt a fair bit). The midwives were sure they were going to induce me, hence the IV. They had me walk to the labour ward from the birth centre (I was really hoping we could stay on the birth centre, but by this point I just wanted to meet my baby). This was a difficult walk. Imagine a bloated old aged John Wayne just off a horse, who had been hit in the Johnson with a red hot sledgehammer and you’ve almost got the perfect picture of how that walk went.

The midwives hooked baby and I up on the monitor. One band for baby’s heart rate and one for the contractions. Handed the gas and air and got told that they are going to arrange the anesthetits to hook me up to an epidural. A couple of hours later, the pain was pretty intense and I informed man that it felt (and i quote) “like someone was trying to jam a football out of my pelvis”. Man said the line on the graph was off the chart, and I remember screaming (something I’ve never done as I wouldn’t class myself as a screamer -but hey, no judgement, it was painful). Man was watching the graph and decided enough time had passed and we needed some assistance. He hit the big red button.

A midwife from the ward popped in and tried to take a quick look at the graph. This new midwife said something along the lines of “I’m just going to get your midwife”. Great. I had no idea what was going on. Some stranger was looking at my graph which I couldn’t see AND I had no idea what was going on but it hurt.

My midwife turned up half hour later and tried to take a look down there. Now, I thought I’d be really conscious about this. People looking at your lady area, but it’s so true what they say about leaving your dignity at the door. I still has my ultra attractive Muppet knickers on (they had Animal on them), and taking them off while contracting was a task! Really though, not an utter shit was given that a strange woman I’d been introduced to once was looking at my vagina – and I’m pretty body conscious. Meanwhile I’m off my face on gas and air. This made me sound like a drunken person trying to not be drunk to get in a club – I swear I dont normally talk that slow but I was trying to avoid slurring.

No time for pain killers, baby wanted to arrive and she was waiting for no induction or anesthetic or pain killers. No pain killers. Remind myself that one must stop whaling and push a watermelon sized human out of va-jay-jay.

1.47pm Delilah Ivy arrived weighing 7.3lb. At 2.40pm ish, after skin to skin and the first feed, mummy was up and in the shower. Now even though I dripped blood across the room floor, and even though Daddy failed at the baby grow, I was feeling more human than I had done for the last 3 weeks and finally we had our little love bug.

A Sob Story

I cried because I looked at the pram I ordered. The thought “I’m having a little girl” came to mind and I was gone. I paused and got a grip, but as soon as I looked back at the cute Polka Dot Pram picture (http://venicci.co.uk/shop/new/new-polka-dots/) I was off again. I intend to post a review once we are using it. I’ve been told I’m not allowed it at the moment, according to my mum, its bad luck to have it in the house before baby is here. I won’t risk the superstition.

Apparently it is one of them days where I cry at anything. Baby D is wiggling like you wouldn’t believe today, but still not strong enough for her dad to feel. It worries me Man doesn’t feel part of the experience yet, and I’m eagerly anticipating the day that he can feel involved. I don’t want to do it all on my own, and feel like that will end up being the case.

I’ve been told I’m not allowed (his instructions and other family members) to not do anything too much and the plan to sand the woodwork in Baby D’s room and the stairs/hall isn’t going to plan at all. I did a mornings worth of work but the amount of back ache from doing so was crazy. I was ready to fall asleep in my tea that day. It didn’t particularly help that I’d had a moment of ‘baby brains’ and forgot we have an electric hand held sander in the cellar somewhere so did the work manually. Must get some new sand paper to fit the blasted thing. That’s a job for tomorrow morning I think since I’m finding myself alone again due to Man working. I bet it won’t take half the time with electric mabob, and I probably won’t ache half as much.

On the nail business front – I invested in a Trushine Gel System and I freaking love it. It’s an easy application and easy cure with the fancy curing lamp you get in the kit. It’s even too easy to remove the gel once you’re through with having it on your digits! I wore mine for 14 entire days and there wasn’t a scratch, a mark or a chip on them gels. So worth the start-up cost. It was £120, but this buys you the removal packets, base coat, top coat, a colour coat, a set of alcohol wipes for nail prep and the curing lamp. You can see my pictures below and considering I haven’t painted my nails in a year – I don’t think the outcome was too bad.

And on that very mixed note of a blog post, I’m out for today. But back tomorrow with a recipe – which there hasn’t been one in ages.
Love and best,

L xox

I Would Call My Fashion Sense…

I would call my fashion sense “clothes that still fit”. 

Spent an entire Sunday walking round Halifax to find maternity clothes as I amcurrently down to one pair of jeans due to having cut my second to last pair of jeans down the front with a pair of kitchen scissors. Hey they fit, but they were mighty uncomfortable and in the heat of the moment a pair of scissors seemed like the best option. So Sunday was undoubtedly a good day because I was taking mum out for belated Mother’s day celebrations and it was lovely. But not so good because everything thing I tried on fit but cut in the wrong places…. cut mid bump isn’t flattering. Having two bumps is not attractive. Not one single shop stocked maternity wear. Not one single shop!

So in the safety of my own home, in a dress that is getting shorter by the day due to a growing mid section, I ventured into the world of online shopping.  The world of New Look online shopping. And my goodness I had fun adding it all to the basket and picking out a few tops to go with the jeans and work trousers I’d chosen. 

Today my choices arrived, I waited patiently till I got home to pull the garments out of there neat plastic bags. I even waited right before bed time before trying the new purchases on. BIG MISTAKE! 

I don’t know which was the biggest mistake, thinking online shopping would be easy or thinking I’d look as sweet as the models did on the effing website. Now I don’t class myself as a “big girl”, normally a size 8. But my goodness, the shapelessness of the tops I’ve ended up with makes me look positively mammoth. And I know my boobs have swelled to 2 cup sizes more and I known my waist is slowly disappearing into a gelatinous mass. But dear New Look; my size 8 ass still fits in my size 8 jeans I just can’t do them up because of impending child. 

There was one point where I announced  our pregnancy, a “boy” (and I use the term boy because that exactly describes some people I know) said that “it wouldn’t matter what you wear, you will end up looking like you’re wearing a tent anyway”. Well gee thanks! I hope that if you are one day lucky enough to get someone pregnant (thats assuming you managed to get laid first) you finally understand what that set of kind words has done to a woman’s complex. As if it wasn’t difficult enough to adjust and accommodate AND to grow a human child?!  

So all the shapeless tent tops are going to be returned. Luckily the jeans and work trousers are a win, I’m sure I can squeeze my ever expanding waistline and baps into stretchy vest tops I own at least that will mean I don’t have to wear pj’s to work. Which by the way is looking like a mighty fine option right about now. 

Dear child of mine, it’s a very good job that my love for you is beyond measure. No one has ever been worth my waistline until you. 

Blessings from the waist (it’s bigger than my heart at current),

L xox

Duck or Bump?!

Excuse the messy hair and bed… it’s cleaning day. 

Can’t work out if that lump is duck related or future child related? Today I’m officially 16 weeks meaning there is only outwards to grown now. Which I’m classing as a good thing. I have been having an issue with just feeling podgy, and until Thursday I was wearing my own jeans still. I refer to these as my own jeans because maternity pants just don’t look like they belong to me. Elasticated waist bands, oh so attractive and not my thing really. Comfort points to elastic now and encourages me to go shopping and buy work parts that fit my ever expanding waistline. But hey, it’s inevitable, so embraced this change will be. 

Wish me luck. Heaven knows I’ll need it.

L xox 

Erm What Just Happened?! 

Today I: Got told that it wasn’t going to matter what I wear because I’d end up looking like I was eventually wearing a tent anyway. Told said person to shut up as I might cry or rip their throat out.
I yelled at a fellow worker and gave him a demonstration of how to wipe the kitchen surface down with a dish cloth and anti-bac (not toilet paper which he was using). 
I bluntly pointed out to another fellow worker that saying “I think its aesthetically pleasing” whilst talking about Nazi’s needed more elaboration. Apparently he was referring to Hugo boss and not the blonde hair blue eyes crazy… but dude, specifics, please! 
I cried because I watched a cat rescue a puppy on a fb video.  


And greatest achievement of the day was ordering crispy duck. Now my closest will know that I won’t eat duck because I think they’re cute (completely legit fact) I’ve never eaten duck. Future child wanted duck (must get it from it’s dad), future child had womb service. I ATE duck… what the actual?! 

Tomorrow = who knows? World domination? Crying in to coco pops? Maybe I’ll stay in bed.

Love and best 

L xox