My truth

I’ve started this at least 30 times over the last two years and it might be another 2 before I finish it but here goes….

If you’ve ever wondered about my Son’s biological Father then I hope this answers any questions. I feel exceptionally vulnerable writing this but I feel like it’s time to explain.

I worked in a bar in my early 20s. I was as sassy as they came and thought I knew it all. A new chef came in one day and I took a shine to him. On further investigation he was just out of rehab for an alcohol problem. Naively at that point I had no idea the seriousness of this. Who was I to judge? It didn’t put me off and I want to punch myself in the face for saying this but I think it might have spurred me on.I was a fixer you see. Most of the problems in my life were caused by me being a fixer but I learned this the hard way.

T was quiet and placid so the polar opposite of me. He was never charismatic or charming but there was a vulnerability I saw and wanted to help. I was warned off by many and this made me more determined to make it work. I’ve always been a stubborn shite.This isn’t a character assisanation but T was someone you’d describe as non-descript. He didn’t have much about him really but he was kind to me at a time when I needed it more than I knew.

I finished uni and moved in with him almost right away. I was flat sharing at the time but spent less and less time at my own place. I remember telling my Nan I was giving up my flat and her saying she’d pay my rent just to have it empty. Just in case. I should have known then but, as always paid no attention.

I must mention an incident that happened early on as it sticks with me. I was a size 16, maybe 18. I never cared really. T had gathered information on a gastric band for me and showed me it one day. I was angry and hurt. He later apologised but that’s when it started I think. The chipping away of my confidence. Control. I should have packed my bags then but I didn’t.

We had a fairly good relationship. The lack of alcohol was never an issue. I was as supportive as a 22 year old knew how to be. T had a good job and I worked my arse off in 2 jobs so we were financially secure. We did nice things, but looking back there was no real love. We both had rocky upbringings and it was the safety I liked, I think. We didn’t argue and stupidly decided to try for a baby after about a year. After the shaky start we had as kids, it seemed somehow we could but it right by giving a baby a good chance. I now realise how ridiculous this sounds.

We wanted to do it right. We went to the doctor to discuss me coming off the pill. As I’d be on for so long they said it could take up to a year. 2 weeks later I was pregnant. I was over the moon but sadly that’s when the wheels started to come off. The day of my positive tests (all 19) T called to say he was in hospital. Apparently he was so excited he’d cut into his hand at work. I was angry he’d almost stolen my thunder and been so careless. Looking back I’m convinced this was deliberate. I now look back and question everything. You’re about to find out why.

In the early days when we stayed up all night talking, he confided in me that his first love was killed in a car accident. He cried and the story was so horrific I did too. I know now that this was a complete lie.

Anyway the cutting of the hand was the very start. Things escalated very quickly. He started working late and starting early then eventually just disappearing. For days. I didn’t tell anyone except one friend for fear of the “I told you so” chat and also I didn’t really want to admit to myself the reality.

I thought he was nervous and scared. I was too. I was also suffering with hyperemesis gravidium so was in and out of hospital – alone mostly. I just plodded along like the determined little shite I am. Throwing up at the side of the road on the way to work every day with zero support or sympathy.

One day T had been out all night. I was 6 months pregnant. He came in and seemed odd. I asked if he’d been drinking and he said no. He didn’t smell of alcohol but something wasn’t right. I went through his pockets and found diazepam (or valium) and confronted him. T wasn’t a shouter but he was angry. I knew so little about addiction or drugs but I knew the tablets weren’t his. I asked where he’d got them and he told me a local dealer. I was horrified. I shouted, and to this day I still partly blame myself for what happened next. That’s how abusers make you feel though. I now know that.

Heavily pregnant and ready to leave for work he came in the bathroom when I was wiping my tears. My tears of knowing I was 23, pregnant and very much alone. My tears of knowing my naivity had really done it now and I was about to bring a baby into a complete shambles of a relationship. T was like a mad man. He punched me in the face so hard I fell right to the ground. I remember shouting ‘my baby’ and Ill never forget the evil in his voice as he shouted ‘fuck your baby” as he repeatedly kicked me in the stomach.

After what seemed like forever he just took himself to bed. I left quickly. Terrified he’d come after me. I was covered in blood but in a complete state of shock I left for work. My neighbour saw me. I didn’t know her but she grabbed me in her house without even thinking. I told her what had happened and she cleaned me up and hugged me. She told me I had to call the police. I knew I did too but I had to get to work. Or I thought it did. I was a store manager and didn’t want the shop to not open. Again I think the shock just didn’t allow me to realise what had just happened. I went to work, opened the store and calmly called the police. I was in a complete trance. I didn’t want to be that person. People like me weren’t battered woman. I was strong. Not anymore.

Did you know most domestic abuse starts during pregnancy? When a woman is at her most vulnerable. Neither did I.

I left work. I made my excuses and headed straight to hospital to get checked. All I could think about was my baby. I really want to tell you how supportive the hospital were but sadly that just wasn’t the case. I was made to feel small and I was judged. I was treated like a victim. It must be so frustrating for them to see woman in that situation time after time but I really do feel there are better ways to speak to people. I’m hoping I was an isolated incident and other people have had better experiences than I did. They also didn’t scan me as they assured me the baby was ok. I was terrified so booked an emergency private scan. I’m so grateful I was in a position to do that as I couldn’t imagine going through my pregnancy not knowing for sure.

The police came next. I’ve got a knot in my stomach writing this as never in a million years do I want to put anyone off reporting abuse. It really needs reporting. The reason so many people get away with this shit is because it’s not reported enough but the police…weren’t that helpful. I was made to feel like just another stupid battered woman. I was made to feel like I’d go back for more and give them more work. Again I was judged. Also I wasn’t aware that all domestic were reported to the social work where kids are involved. It makes perfect sense but it just hadn’t crossed my mind. The way I was told this made me feel under fire as a parent. like I was about to be investigated. I’ve never been so terrified in all my life.

I didn’t charge T. The police made it clear it was my word against his and it seemed like more hassle at a time I didn’t need it. A decision I’ll always regret now but it felt right at the time. I wasn’t protecting him – or at least I thought I wasn’t. I was leaving him and I did. 6 months pregnant and sleeping on my aunt’s floor. It wasn’t how I’d envisaged my third trimester but here I was.

I left him with everything and just didn’t go back. I’d gone from financially secure to virtually penniless in the space of a few weeks. I’ll never forget my best friend when I told her. She was the only person who didn’t judge me. She didn’t give me the look of pity I was so used to but instead she helped me sort the practicalities. She bought me a bed the day I told her. In all the shit going on that’s the one act of kindness that sticks out. Always look for the helpers.

Her Mum gave me advice on getting a place to stay and I’m so fortunate that within about 5 weeks I had a flat from the council. It was hardly the dream and had blood splattered up the walls when I moved in but with help from my family it quickly became home.

I’ll never forget having to tell my grandparents. At that point my Grandad was ill and I didn’t want to make things worse so I kept them in the dark until I was settled. Deep down I think I was ashamed and stupidly protecting T too but I couldn’t bring myself to cause them distress at such a hard time. My Nan never judged me. Not once. Calmly I told her I left him and why. She told me it was going to be ok and she was right. She was always bloody right!

I didn’t hear much from T after that but I do know he quickly went downhill. He had been drinking and I found out he was heavily addicted to diazepam and a pretty impressive collection of prescription drugs too. How could I not have noticed that you’re probably wondering but I was throwing up 30 times a day, working a really stressful job and coming to terms with the fact I had a baby on the way. That’s how!

He wasn’t apologetic. He didn’t actually seem to think he’d done anything that wrong. He played a great victim.

Something else I have to mention was something I’d never even heard of until I’d met T. I was sick to the stomach when I found out and it still makes me shudder now. T was a smoker and often left cans of gas lying around. I didn’t smoke but knew they were forfilling lighters. Or so I thought. From the beginning I found them all over the house. It didn’t sit right with me but I wasn’t sure why. One day I found a bin bag with at least 50 empty butane cans in. I knew then, I think but chose to take his word that nothing way wrong. After he beat me he then mocked me with the fact I was so stupid for believing him. He was addicted to inhaling gas. I still can’t believe people do that. It seems like such alien, grim behaviour but then that’s addiction.

Addiction is selfish and it doesn’t care. Once you’ve witnessed true addiction your eyes are opened. As much as I hate T for everything I genuinely wouldn’t wish addiction on anyone. It rips through life and reality like a hurricane. It doesn’t give a fuck.

After I moved we spoke more and more. About the relationship he’d have with the baby. I refused to be the person who kept a child from his father. I so wanted to do the right thing but I genuinely didn’t know what that was. T confided in me one day. He said he’d got his act together and he had panicked as we’d got pregnant so quickly. He reminded me we had a good thing and asked if I’d consider putting the baby up for adoption so we could continue with the way things were. I said no obviously but still couldn’t help feel slightly sorry for him. I know that probably sounds insane but the pressure was just too much. I blamed myself for agreeing to a baby and felt robbed. This wasn’t what I’d signed up for. I was now alone but very much ready to do this. I wasn’t going to let that baby down.

T swore he’d sorted himself out. Everyone believed him. I almost did too but once you’ve been hurt like that you’ll never really trust someone. I could never have made it work with him. Wondering. I agreed to let him be part of the babies life.

I had a visit from the social workers to discuss the situation. Unlike the police and the hospital they were great. Their priority is always the children and that’s 100% how it should be. They come under fire a lot but they had my back. They were obviously glad I’d broken away and happy to support me in any way they could. My parenting abilities never came under scrutiny. They put me on to the woman’s aid who were also amazing! I can’t stress that enough. The police and the hospital are on the front line but woman’s aid and social workers have all of the real experience and tools to help. I really wish that was publicised more.

Anyway I digress. In the last 2 months of my pregnancy, social workers called me about 5 times to make me aware of failed suicide attempts by T. They had a duty to keep me in the loop and once again my life was taken over by fear. It’s round about then thatthe threats started. T lived 5 minutes from me and in 2 months my tyres were slashed and windscreen smashed time after time. He followed me and watched me coming home. He made it clear if I didn’t take him back my life would be hell. The police rolled their eyes at every call I made. Just another domestic you see! Even if you’re spilt up it’s still a domestic and then there were no stalking laws in Scotland.

I remember my aunt telling me once the baby was born my sense of loss at my relationship with T would diminish. She couldn’t have been more right. This little bundle was mine and I didn’t care about anyone else. That baby saved my life. I threw myself into motherhood. I did baby massage and reflexology in between constant abuse and threats from T. I just cracked on with it. To this day I don’t know how I did it.

One day I was about to have some well deserved time off and go out with my friends. I got a picture message of T slicing his arm. My friends we’re supportive as the night was cancelled while we waited to give a police statement. He loved the control. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to make my life hell.

On one of his many failed suicide attempts I got a call to say they weren’t sure if he’d make it through the night. Religious I am not but I swear that night I prayed so hard he wouldn’t. The months of hell I’d endured I felt like him dying was my only way to happiness with my son. He made it though the night. The hell continued.

Eventually I begged social work to stop telling me what was going on. They were satisfied I’d left him and did. That angered him too. He needed my attention. My Son was never his priority it was always me. I sort of wish it was because he loved me but really I know it’s because he hated himself so much be just wanted to make me miserable too.

For legal reasons and to protect an innocent party I can’t explain how, but on one day after many a death threat I found out T had spent 7 years in prison. I won’t go into it but think about the sort of thing you get 7 years for. He didn’t steal a bar of soap put it that way. That day I found out a lot about him I was never supposed to know. It was only then I realised the seriousness. I had to get this man out my life.

I changed my number and got some very quick legal advice. I had no idea what I was doing but I knew this hell needed to end. Within 2 days I had an interdict with power of arrest. This is the Scottish version of a restraining order but due to the closeness of our flats meant he didn’t have to stay away from me. He wasn’t allowed to cause me fear. I felt safe at last. Naively. He stood and watched my every move. The fact he couldn’t contact me made him angry. When I reported him I was told that being near me wasn’t a crime. I just had to accept that and stop wasting police time.

There were too many incidents after that to mention as I realise this is already far longer than I wanted it to be. T struck up a friendship with my upstairs neighbour. How convenient? He could now watch me all day long from the comfort of my building. Thank you Scottish law for that technicality!

This went on and on. As soon as he realised we were over our Son never came into it. Other than to tell me I was a bad mother for keeping him away from his Dad. I only spoke to him via lawyers and advised he could see the baby in a safe place provided he was clean and sober. This never really materialised apart from a handful of empty promises.

After a night out, baby was at my Dads and I came home about 2am. Guess who was in my stair? He followed me in the house and I told him to leave. He was drunk and calling me a bad mother for leaving our Son. I was drunk and obviously feeling brave cos I tried to push him out my front door. I didn’t have the strength and he pinned me against the wall by the neck. He said he would kill me and at that point I knew he was serious. I genuinely thought that was it for me. All I could think about was my child. He left eventually.Leaving me in a heap with strangle marks all over my neck. I knew I had to get out the house.

I ran to a taxi office and called my brother. I didn’t know what else to do. I put a scarf on a told my brother we’d had a falling out. He still wasn’t aware of the situation as I was stupidly protecting T. I knew my brother would go nuts and I didn’t want a backlash so I thought it better to just sit quiet. Years later my brother told me at that point he’d already guessed what was going on.

Domestic abuse is the single most confusing thing I’ve ever encountered. I went from wanting him dead to feeling terrible as he was the father of my son. I hated what he had done but also mourned the person I thought I knew and loved. That was the hardest part.

I didn’t go back to my house after that. I was sure he’d kill me. I went to live with my Dad and took steps to find somewhere else to live. I was so low at that point I didn’t even realise. I had no quality of life. I was frightened to go out and embarrassed of the mess I was in. Through it all I still blamed myself for allowing this to happen. I didn’t event realise how much this man had broken me until now when I just wrote this paragraph.

One day I got a call from my Nan to say that T had text her to say he was going to kill her. He said he was going to set fire to her house. My Nan knew half a story at that point so didn’t take it too seriously but after much persuasion called the police. My Grandad as so ill at that point and I was ashamed by the drama I brought at the worst time. The police explained how difficult it would be to charge T and advised my Nan it could end up being a stressful process for her. I sobbed and begged for her to charge him but understood her decision not to. That was that. Once again there were zero consequences for him and yet again I was living in fear.

I continued to live at my Dads trying to maintain a normal life for my Son. One day I went to check my house as it was empty. Baby and I were in the house for a matter of minutes and I was so scared he’d come and hurt us. I went to leave and my carpet was on fire. He’d put lit paper thought my letterbox in a attempt to set fire to my house. I quickly got it out, left and called the police. They got him on his way back from mine. He denied it of course.

It took weeks to investigate but I was sure that justice would prevail. It didn’t. They couldnt even charge him. Not enough evidence. It would be funny if it wasn’t so fucking tragic. In the few weeks it took for the investigation I moved house. Far enough away that he couldn’t find us. I lived in hiding for a while and had nightmares for about 5 years. I went on medication for anxiety as I suffered panic attacks. It took me years of counselling to rebuild my life but I did. My boy is 8 now and is aware he has ‘another’ Dad but that’s all he knows. My husband raised him from 3 and is not just his Dad but a wonderful father.

I’ve never told my husband everything but he knows bits and has pieced things together. I don’t like to talk about it, so feel that by writing this, it’s out there. Violence scares me and I can’t deal with men shouting. My husband understands and luckily is the kindest, gentlest man I could have asked for.

So there it is. That isn’t even it all, but I’m aware this is now longer than my dissertation was so thank you for reading this.

One final note. I have noticed how many people who have been victims of domestic abuse and don’t like to talk about it. I, more than anyone, can understand why, but sadly this means there is a massive lack of awareness. The stigma is very much still there and until more of us speak up it will remain. We need to work at removing the shame and victim blaming surrounding the issue.

I was extremely fortunate with the amount of support I had and not everyone does but there is ALWAYS a way out. Even if it seems impossible at the time. Abusers don’t change and it’s never your fault. You are worth so much more.

Yvonne (@champagneandsnottynoses)

https://www.womensaid.org.uk

http://www.nationaldomesticviolencehelpline.org.uk

https://www.nhs.uk/Livewell/Addiction/Pages/addictionhome.aspx

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Who is she? 

Hi I’m Yvonne but you’d be forgiven for knowing me as Lewis’ and Joy’s mum or even Steve’s wife. I am all of those things too but firstly I’m Yvonne. I love long hot baths, reading and dancing in the living room with my husband to 90s dance. Im sarcastic to a fault, Im obsessed with beauty products and you won’t catch me wearing a mama jumper. I’m a proud mother and wife but I refuse to be defined by my children or marital status.

After Lewis (my first) I made the mistake a lot of us do. I thought becoming a mother should change me so when I the urge to skip through a meadow singing the sound of music didn’t take me I really thought I’d failed. The urge to have a social life took me and that made me feel even worse. I forced myself to baby signing, baby reflexology and fucking baby shiatsu (honestly that’s a thing ) in a desperate bid to become more like the Julie Andrews character I thought I should be.

It took time and good advice to realise that wasn’t how it had to be. Once I finally allowed myself to see that I was so relieved. Lewis was relieved too as his Mum was now back firmly in her comfort zone and he didn’t have to attend 18 ridiculous classes a week.

I think we’re all guilty of it but we need to take time to remember who we are. I love my children and I take them to classes I think will benefit them and not bore me to tears but I also have a life of my own. I existed before them and once they’ve flown the nest *sobs* I will continue to exist. I know all the nursery rhymes but also I can drink 5 Sambuca shots and recreate the whole video for single ladies- albeit badly.

I’m not offended when people introduce me as a mum or wife. I do it too. On a recent (rare) drink with some friends I introduced my friend as ‘Archies Mum’ and instandly thought shit! She’s not JUST Archies Mum. She’s Jackie. She loves make up, wine and singing Proud Mary. She’s a person too. In her own right and she deserves to be introduced as one.

So what was my point here? Don’t feel guilty for still being who you were before your children. There’s no doubt having children changes you but we are still entitled some escapism once in a while. Get drunk now and again and have sex on the kitchen floor. Whatever works for you! Never apologise for that. Remember who you are and introduce your friends by their name.

Yvonne x

Try not to be a dick 

Once upon a time I was a dick. I didn’t mean to be. Dick is maybe not right…. delusional is probably fairer. 7 years ago I had a baby. Baby Lewis. He was a happy little thing, ate well and slept through the night from about 6 weeks. That actually is a thing. Who knew?

I can almost guarantee a few people already hate me at this point. I don’t blame you really. I wasn’t smug but admittedly I took the credit. He was a good boy and I was clearly born to parent the shit out of life. As soon as I wrote that I realise how fucking smug that actually make me sound. Sorry! Never once did I look down my nose at people who had non sleeping, unsettled babies. I may have been delusional but I’ve never been THAT person.

I suppose I just didn’t really think in all honesty. When you have a child you know your child and their ways and quirks. Other children didn’t really come into it.

When Steve and I decided to try for a baby 6 years later I still didn’t really think. “you never get two the same”. Many an old dear told me but I didn’t really take it in. Who wants two the same anyway? I want my kids to be their own people!

Along came Joy. Our beautiful, sassy Joy. 6 weeks in and she didn’t sleep. Obviously I wasn’t worried as I knew Lewis was in the minority. Fast forward a year and I was starting to realise that sleeping all night wasn’t really Joys thing. That was quite hard for me to accept. It’s easy to think you’ve failed as a parent, especially when you’ve had a ‘textbook’ child first. 16 months in and I know I haven’t failed. Joys thriving, she’s smart, funny and she sure knows her own mind. What more could I ask for? Actually a full nights sleep would be nice but let’s not push it eh?

Joy suffered with colic and reflux. She didn’t settle without a boob in her mouth for 5 months. She was a screamer and we’ve never left her to scream. Judge away! Lewis would wimper for a few minutes at bed then drift off. Joy could scream herself into projectile vomit and that’s just not something I’m willing to let happen.

We co-sleep (mostly) and Joys a complete Mummys girl. Many a time I’ve cooked the dinner with her in the sling and she gets stroked to sleep like the Lady of the manor. That’s what works for her- and us and that’s what we’ll continue to do.

If I had a pound for every time I’ve heard the old “rod for your own back” I wouldn’t need to do a lotto. Funnily enough it mostly comes from people with no children or people who had theirs when dinosaurs still roamed the earth.

I adore both my kids. I don’t always like them but I love them immensely- and equally! They’ve taught me everything I know about parenting and now I know just how different they can be. I’m not a dick anymore and I’m certainly not delusional. You get what you’re given and you love them regardless.

Once you’re an adult no one gives a shit about how much you sleep so I’m not sure why we put so much pressure on babies.

If you’re reading this and you have a Lewis please don’t panic. This isn’t to put anyone off. They are all worth it. I promise! If anything this is to let all the parents with the non sleeping, non settling kids know that they are brilliant. It’s not a reflection on us and we can sleep when we’re dead right? 😉

Yvonne x

Dear Rose… 

Dear Rose,

I bet you have to think before you even remember me but I often think of you. I don’t think you would have forgotten me although I wouldn’t blame you if you did. You probably see people like me every day. 

You were my health visitor and I was a naive 24 year old with not an ounce of common sense. 

I planned a baby with someone I thought I knew. I really didn’t but the less said about him the better. For the sake of my son. 

So I found myself 24, pregnant and very much alone. That wasn’t my plan. I was angry at that fact for so long. I didn’t want to be that person. Who does? 

You showed me that ‘that person’ could be anyone. Most of all you believed in me when I had zero faith I could make this sorry situation work. You gave me strength and never once looked down at me- and so many others did. 

You made sure I didn’t just make the situation work I fucking rocked it and you made sure I knew I did. Little comments of praise and texts here and there. They were the small things I really needed and I could tell you meant it all.

I genuinly believe there are some truly great people in the world. I’m not talking the Kardashians and all these other ridiculous people were constantly confronted with. Proper role models who make a difference to people’s lives day after day. People like you.

I was at my lowest ebb when I had Lewis. I hid it well as I always do but you saw through that. You supported me through it all like the guardian Angel I needed and you gave me the confidence to continue alone. 

When I moved house I got a new health visitor. I felt a bit sad to be leaving you but by this point I’d met Steve (my now husband) and we were ready to plan another baby. I text you to tell you and as predicted I got the loveliest response. 

My health visitor with Joy is nice. I see so little of her but she seems lovely. I don’t really need her and I just hope she’s spending her time with the people who do need her. Like you did with me. I do hope you guys realise the impact you have on our lives. 

I don’t think I ever got to properly thank you but I hope you know how much I appreciated everything you did for me and I have no doubt that you’re still making a difference to others. You rock Rose! 

Thank you! 

Yvonne (and Lewis) x 

Life after death

IMG_20160202_193038Recently I’ve suffered a loss. I hate that stupid term. She’s not lost is she? she’s dead. My dearest Nana. Who raised me along with my Grandad so they were my parents.

My Grandad died almost 4 years ago and that was the first death I’d had to deal with. Quite lucky that I’d got to 26 and not had someone close die. Not so bloody lucky it was my Grandad. I didn’t deal with that very well. I didn’t really deal with it at all truth be told. I’m not the best with feelings to be honest. So I swept it under the carpet and acted like a fool mostly. Then boom. One day about 2 and a half years ago I though right. Let’s do this. I had some short term counselling. How American does that sound? No offence to any Americans mind. I was dubious but it really helped. So much so that I recommend it to anyone who mentions so much as a headache to me. It’s not for everyone but it done the trick for me. I’m not over it. Of course not but I can speak about it and be happy and also be upset like a normal person. There are so many memories I have. All good. Worth having and not sweeping under a carpet. I miss my Grandad every day. He was poorly and he was ready to go. None of us wanted him to but that wasn’t for us to decide sadly.

My Nana coped so well. She was a tough bird. A bit like myself and not the most open with feelings of sadness but she was affectionate and loving with me always. I told her everything- like everything. She wasn’t a prude. Raising me made sure had no choice and she loved a grotty conversation almost as much as she loved Jeremy Kyle. She often heard things and asked me to explain. Ever explained sexting to and 80 year old? Nice eh?

She was so full of life and she didn’t want to die. Absolutely not and I was not ready for her to go. She found out she had cancer just before my wedding and was so upset in case she ruined my big day. So selfless but she fought it off quicker than most deal with a common cold. She was really remarkable.

Recently she had been ill with some stomach issues. Nothing serious she was told but it went on too long. I was starting to panic and kept at her to get to the hospital. They did tests and tests and kept saying it would just go. I think she knew it wasn’t a bug. I did but I’m a pessimistic bugger. The next thing she was in hospital. Within 24 hours she was gone. I won’t go into the details as it’s a bit much. One day she had a bug and the next she was gone. I’d joked with her a few weeks prior that she better not dare die while I’m pregnant and she did. The cheek of it? She had a bit of a sick sense of humour, like me and our banter was something many could never understand. I didn’t want them too, it was ours.

That was 2 months ago nearly. It feels like ages ago and 5 minutes ago all at the same time. This time though I made a promise to myself. To grieve and I did, and I am. Someone and I wish I could remember who told me to “be kind to myself”. I’m was 24 weeks pregnant and the time and that made perfect sense. I took time off and by God did I need it? After my Grandad died I went right back to work and that was the worst move ever. I wasn’t doing that again. I didn’t just have myself to think about but a baby as well as a 6 year old and a husband too.

L and my Nan had a truly beautiful bond. They adored each other. She said to me just before Christmas that when she did die I’d have my own feelings to deal with and his. Imagine pointing that out eh? She was right though. I feel terrible for him. He forgets and he’s confused, but generally he’s OK.  It’s amazing how resilient kids are and he’s a happy go lucky wee soul so he content thinking she’s watching over him and goes to the cemetery to talk about what he’s been  up to that week. His attitude always helps as he’s mostly so accepting. There have been times he’s just insisted on going to see her and got angry that he can’t see her or have a two way conversation with her. I know how he feels and that’s the worst bit.

She wouldn’t want sadness or anger at all and that’s what keeps me going. I’m also mostly ok but there are the days the even getting out of bed is an issue and not just cos of the growing bump. I’m being kind to myself as advised and some days I think wow! I’ve done loads and I am supermum and others I think shit all I did was put on some clothes, but those days I’m still like “well done you!”. It’s the little things. I’m doing my best and that’s fine.

Check me? Taking loads of credit for how well I’m doing. Truth is without my friends and family I wouldn’t have at all. My husband is pretty amazing. He’s much better with words and feelings than me. We’re a bit like my Grandparents in that sense. He’s my biggest supporter and backs me up always. We really are a team and recently he’s stepped up while I’ve quite often been just useless. He’s forced me to take time, take it easy and sometimes eat cake for breakfast. He doesn’t judge at all and for all I’m shit at talking I can always talk to him and he always listens. This is more cringey than I’m used to but I couldn’t have done any of this without him. I mean just keeping on.

I’ve went off on so many tangents and what I’m really trying to say is that it does get easier. Then you have one shitty day and it feels like it doesn’t, but it does. Life goes on and I really hate that saying. So blasé and cliché and probably other words that end in é like dické. It does though whether we like it or not. I really am OK too and it’s nice to be able to say that. I’m coping and I’m looking forward to so many nice things. It’s terrible my Grandparents aren’t here but I am just so grateful for the years I did have and that will never go away.

Hopefully my Nan can tell my Grandad that I’m happy and settled. He would love that and that pleases me.

I didn’t want this to be sad and I really hope it’s not. I’m happy as I type and I’m sorry if it seems at all self pitying but I’m also not sorry. I suppose it’s just nice to write this down. Therapeutic almost (here I go again with the Americanisms).

As they say in showbiz: The show must go on.

Yvonne x

 

 

Think before you compare

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Social media is everything now isn’t it? Surely everyone knows it isn’t really life though? Or do they? I think we’re all guilty of looking at someone’s pictures on Instagram or Facebook and feeling a bit envious but we need to think about the bigger picture.

They amount of lovely pictures I share of my family having a great time is nice. It doesn’t show my son complaining about not wanting to go outside as he’d rather play xbox though. Or my pregnancy ailments making it such a struggle to even walk to the car.

We tend to paint an idealistic picture and that’s normal but I do think we need to be aware of this. The grass isn’t always greener, so water your own grass and stop worrying about other people’s. The person you may envy for always being out sipping fancy cocktails may well be envious of our family life and would do anything for a child (however whingey). You just don’t know. We all have a story and we don’t always want to tell it.

My life is far from perfect. My son misbehaves and I shout (a lot). I use so much profanity in everyday life I should have been a sailor and mother earth I am not. I’m messy and love a good drink. My husband and I argue like normal people but luckily he see I’m usually right and it’s all good (chances right?).

We post nice pictures as when we look it’s the nice things we remember. Who wants to remember the time your kid pissed everywhere? Or broke the TV with buzz lightyear? Not me, although sadly the Buzz fiasco will always haunt me. I’ve never forgiven Buzz for that. My son is now in the clear though.  Just.

The moral of the story is: Be thankful for what you have and be happy for other people. Easier said than done eh? Unfollow people you don’t like too. That’s not good for anyone.

Yvonne x

 

 

recent baby binge

How cute is next Spring/Summer range? I couldn’t resist a few of these. Having a boy I’m so used to Blue and dinosaur everything. There is so little choice for boys. So having a girl this time has been a novelty- and very expensive. It’s so hard to resist all the frilly, pink, floral things.

With such a gap I totally forget how much I need.Sleepsuits, vests, actual clothes etc. I’m not going mad with newborn as L was in it for about 2 weeks and I love them in sleepsuits all day. They are tiny for such a short time it’s just nice to let them be tiny and comfortable.

I’ve been told the new baby will be really big although I’m taking that with a pinch of salt since I was told the same with L and he was 7 4.5lbs 5 days late. She’ll be what she’ll be as I’m sure if I don’t have enough I can send my husband to the shop with a list. I’m having an elective caesarean at around 39 weeks so she will be a bit earlier than her brother.

I didn’t need any of my recent purchases, except the sleepsuits but how could I not buy them? So sweet. I love next stuff.  it’s easy to wash and dry and the sleepsuits have built in mits which are a saviour for baby who scratch themselves. £16 for 3 sleepsuits isn’t bad going at all and I found cheaper ones are a false economy as the are thin and don’t wash well at all.

My husband picked the frilly white dress surprisingly. Hes loving the idea of a Daddy’s girl so needless to say he also picked the Daddy and me sleepsuit. He does have pretty good taste- obviously as he married me.

The tops and leggings mix and match so I thought that was good value and the soft colours are just lovely. You can never have enough leggings eh? Let’s hope we get some sun so the dresses can be worn with just some frilly socks. We can dream eh?

If anyone has any tips on how much is enough please let me know… as otherwise I’ll just keep buying and will have no money for champagne after the baby is born.

Mrs S (Yvonne) x

 

 

 

 

 

 

Welcome

Welcome and please be patient. This is a work in progress.

Hello ladies- and perhaps gents. I’m Mrs S and this is my first, no doubt poor attempt at a blog. I decided to write some of my (hormonal) ramblings as I fear I’m boring my non mumsy friends. Also the recent lack of alcohol has left me a worrying amount of free time. Once the baby comes along this will have to be rectified.

Anyway a quick introduction: I’m 30, been married almost a year. Very happily- although my husband may disagree at times.  Due baby no. 2 in 8 weeks… not that I’m counting and already have a 6 year old boy (from a previous disastrous relationship). My husband is the only father our son knows so he is Dad in everything except biology and our Son L is a happy well rounded little soul.

I’m not a mumsy mum at all really. My son isn’t perfect. I’m not perfect. We’re both dicks at times. As is my husband, but we’re only human and I can’t stand people who create the perfect persona for the purpose of social media. I swear, I get drunk- when not pregnant and I make mistakes. I’m here in support of all the other mums who can be dicks and get things wrong. While pregnant it’s pretty much going to be all pregnancy related stuff on here and as soon as the baby is born drunken ramblings will resume once again… Hopefully.

We both work full time and I don’t do well with too much time on my hands so this is an attempt to keep me busy on Mat leave. I’m a busy bee and I’m hoping  (stupidly probably) the new girl will allow me time to blog when she comes. I’m a mum but mostly I’m a woman and I like to eat, drink and do other non mum stuff. When pregnant I always find its hard to remember you were fun before as it does tend to consume your whole life. I certainly do not enjoy being pregnant. Does anyone really? I miss not being bloated and swollen and not worrying about falling over stupidly.

Slightly daunted AKA shitting myself by the prospect of a new baby as it’s been a while for me and I was alone with my son so having a helper will be odd, but nice. I’m a total control freak though so it may take some getting used to.

I use Instagram a lot so I’m creating a new profile for the purposes of this blog. please feel free to share both and any ideas, hints, tips and constructive criticisms are welcome.

Mrs S x