*I started this blog post a month ago, it's been sitting in my draft box for that long!*
We are now on the eve of my favourite month of the year, October. I love this time of year because the weather starts to get colder, the night time seems to last longer, I have a good excuse to buy cosy and warm clothes and the onset of October means Halloween is nearly here.
I love the celebration of Halloween, as even thought I am the biggest scardy cat alive I love how the night itself is always crisp and clear and very very dark.
October is also the anniversary of me & himself, nine whole years together, from I was 16 and he was 21.
At times when I think back to 9 years ago it seems like a lifetime away, other times it seems like yesterday. With 9 being my favourite number I think this year we are on a high, a high that is only going to get higher and higher....
1. I love that he loves chocolate more than any woman I know.
2. I love that he thinks I am a great cook and can cook his steak better than any chef!
3. I love that we can snuggle up on the sofa and just laugh about our life and the crazy things we do together and just be happy doing that.
4. I love that together we have made two amazing children.
5. I love that there is a very high possibility we will make more soon ;)
6. I love that we share our dreams and try to carry them out.
7. I love we share memories of things we have done together that no-one else will ever know about.
8. I love that he works so hard for our family. (who else's hubby sometimes works an 80 hour week!?)
9. And finally I love him most for just being him. The original joy to my life :)
Happy anniversary hon xxx
Wednesday 30 September 2009
Tuesday 29 September 2009
Am I a breastfeeding cheater?
There we go I’ve done it again…………
No, not ran off into the hills with a tall, dark and handsome stranger………..
I’ve given my ten week old baby boy a bottle of FORMULA! And I feel very guilty about it, so guilty I often have conversations with myself in my head over why I’ve been secretly doing it. I haven’t even told my closest friend I do it. It really does sound like I have a very dark secret lurking behind my blue/green eyes- but no, atm my only shameful secret is that I have given my baby a bottle of formula milk.
Here’s how my guilty secret started…
At six months old my first baby had never taken a bottle. Full stop. Never a bottle of anything, not my pumped momma milk, not formula, nothing! And it wasn’t for the lack of trying, I tried, oh boy, I tried, but she was a persistent little bugger. It was something I vowed to change second time around. So, once the wee man reached six weeks I tried to pump milk. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. I couldn’t get any milk. (turns out it was my pump, not me) by week seven of his life I was getting itchy feet fretting that I’d missed the boat on the bottle front, so I tried him with 2oz of formula- just until I got the pumping established. Understand?
Well, three weeks on, the new pump still takes pride of place on my hall table, boxed in all it’s newness and instead I now give the wee man a bottle of formula every couple of days. He gulps down the 3oz I allow him in seconds. And for a split second I feel good that ‘yes he is still taking it.’ Seconds later I feel bad that I have given it to him and I don’t even know why, it’s not that I’m pumping petrol into his body through the tempting allure of a Nuk latex teat, it’s just because I feel bad for wanting him to take a bottle in the first place.
I only want him to take a bottle so that if the situation arises I will be able to leave him for an evening. One evening. That’s all. I don’t even know that this evening or event will ever occur, but if it does I’m going to be a good girl scout and ‘be prepared!’
I think the real reason I’m finding this situation so frustrating is because I like to moan and dare I say bitch about women who won’t even give breastfeeding a try. A friend of mine is due to give birth in a couple of weeks and I know she would rather die than breastfeed, her view is “Whats the point in me doing it when he can do it from a bottle?”
This view makes me sad because I know she will never feel certain things breastfeeding mothers feel. Amongst others the satisfaction you feel why the scales read WWWWAAAAYYYY over the weight the baby started at and you know that was all down to you. That’s a moment when you can feel very very smug!
When did parenthood get so thought-provoking? (Humphhhhh... & folded arms)
No, not ran off into the hills with a tall, dark and handsome stranger………..
I’ve given my ten week old baby boy a bottle of FORMULA! And I feel very guilty about it, so guilty I often have conversations with myself in my head over why I’ve been secretly doing it. I haven’t even told my closest friend I do it. It really does sound like I have a very dark secret lurking behind my blue/green eyes- but no, atm my only shameful secret is that I have given my baby a bottle of formula milk.
Here’s how my guilty secret started…
At six months old my first baby had never taken a bottle. Full stop. Never a bottle of anything, not my pumped momma milk, not formula, nothing! And it wasn’t for the lack of trying, I tried, oh boy, I tried, but she was a persistent little bugger. It was something I vowed to change second time around. So, once the wee man reached six weeks I tried to pump milk. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. I couldn’t get any milk. (turns out it was my pump, not me) by week seven of his life I was getting itchy feet fretting that I’d missed the boat on the bottle front, so I tried him with 2oz of formula- just until I got the pumping established. Understand?
Well, three weeks on, the new pump still takes pride of place on my hall table, boxed in all it’s newness and instead I now give the wee man a bottle of formula every couple of days. He gulps down the 3oz I allow him in seconds. And for a split second I feel good that ‘yes he is still taking it.’ Seconds later I feel bad that I have given it to him and I don’t even know why, it’s not that I’m pumping petrol into his body through the tempting allure of a Nuk latex teat, it’s just because I feel bad for wanting him to take a bottle in the first place.
I only want him to take a bottle so that if the situation arises I will be able to leave him for an evening. One evening. That’s all. I don’t even know that this evening or event will ever occur, but if it does I’m going to be a good girl scout and ‘be prepared!’
I think the real reason I’m finding this situation so frustrating is because I like to moan and dare I say bitch about women who won’t even give breastfeeding a try. A friend of mine is due to give birth in a couple of weeks and I know she would rather die than breastfeed, her view is “Whats the point in me doing it when he can do it from a bottle?”
This view makes me sad because I know she will never feel certain things breastfeeding mothers feel. Amongst others the satisfaction you feel why the scales read WWWWAAAAYYYY over the weight the baby started at and you know that was all down to you. That’s a moment when you can feel very very smug!
When did parenthood get so thought-provoking? (Humphhhhh... & folded arms)
Tuesday 15 September 2009
Riding the rollercoaster.....again
I have definitely decided that life is one long, long rollercoaster full of ups and downs, loops and sudden breathtaking drops.
I once had to do a filming project on a rant- a subject that really got under my skin. It took me days to think of a subject, and eventually I settled on ranting about my nosy neighbour's because they were always trying to get juicy gossip out of me and my brothers about my mum and dads divorce. In the end it was a half-hearted rant, because really I didn't give a flying **** what the neighbour's thought, but today approximately five years on if I was asked to do that project again, I would truly excel at it.
I suppose it's part of being a grown up and a parent, the part in you that becomes more wingey, more cynical, more, well overall more aware of life and the crap thats happening around you.
So far maternity leave for me this time has been a dream. It's had it's up and downs but so far the bubble hasn't smothered her younger brother, and said younger brother is growing up so fast and already at eight weeks old has moved on from his real baby baby stage. The only thing thats getting me and in fact my whole household down is that little old nuisance- money.
The problem with it is that no matter how much we have we always need more and about ten minutes ago it just hit me like a dagger in the heart. Himself works full time, as a well paid, probably undernourished and most definitely sleep deprived lorry driver. I (usually, when not having children) work four days a week as a magazine editor. Not well paid, not usually sleep deprived and positively NOT undernourished. Bearing these two facts in mind (the two full time workers, not the nourishment factor) why then when I was changing my bedlinen today did I realise that we don't own one duvet cover that is the same pattern as the pillowcases. Thats correct not one bed set do we own.
On realising this I texted himself to invite him to comment on the fact and got a smug reply 'Eh, buy one.' That was it, I just had to phone him and said I couldn't purchase such a luxury because, and I was only surmising, I figured he wanted to eat for the rest of the month, I also presumed the two mortgages we have probably needed paying (A-totally-nother story- in brief, we foolishly bought a plot of land to build on, couldn't sell his mums house to finance build and now have to pay for stupid bit of grass and a portion of his mums mortgage which we used to finance deposit for aforementioned stupid bit of cow feeding land. Bitter? maybe).
And there we have it, this is only two rivers our money flows down there are more, many, many more and at the minute I don't know where it will end, unlike this ranting blog which is ending now.
I once had to do a filming project on a rant- a subject that really got under my skin. It took me days to think of a subject, and eventually I settled on ranting about my nosy neighbour's because they were always trying to get juicy gossip out of me and my brothers about my mum and dads divorce. In the end it was a half-hearted rant, because really I didn't give a flying **** what the neighbour's thought, but today approximately five years on if I was asked to do that project again, I would truly excel at it.
I suppose it's part of being a grown up and a parent, the part in you that becomes more wingey, more cynical, more, well overall more aware of life and the crap thats happening around you.
So far maternity leave for me this time has been a dream. It's had it's up and downs but so far the bubble hasn't smothered her younger brother, and said younger brother is growing up so fast and already at eight weeks old has moved on from his real baby baby stage. The only thing thats getting me and in fact my whole household down is that little old nuisance- money.
The problem with it is that no matter how much we have we always need more and about ten minutes ago it just hit me like a dagger in the heart. Himself works full time, as a well paid, probably undernourished and most definitely sleep deprived lorry driver. I (usually, when not having children) work four days a week as a magazine editor. Not well paid, not usually sleep deprived and positively NOT undernourished. Bearing these two facts in mind (the two full time workers, not the nourishment factor) why then when I was changing my bedlinen today did I realise that we don't own one duvet cover that is the same pattern as the pillowcases. Thats correct not one bed set do we own.
On realising this I texted himself to invite him to comment on the fact and got a smug reply 'Eh, buy one.' That was it, I just had to phone him and said I couldn't purchase such a luxury because, and I was only surmising, I figured he wanted to eat for the rest of the month, I also presumed the two mortgages we have probably needed paying (A-totally-nother story- in brief, we foolishly bought a plot of land to build on, couldn't sell his mums house to finance build and now have to pay for stupid bit of grass and a portion of his mums mortgage which we used to finance deposit for aforementioned stupid bit of cow feeding land. Bitter? maybe).
And there we have it, this is only two rivers our money flows down there are more, many, many more and at the minute I don't know where it will end, unlike this ranting blog which is ending now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
