My boobs are not small, they are low fat.

Quote from an unknown petite chest, fab perspective lady.

Today my inspiration is all about boobs and my boob journey. I just got into bed and had an epiphany about life (as you do), so I began to type it out. It may be useful for breast feeding mums, but actually I’m hoping you’ll see it’s not about boobs at all.

When I was twenty-two years old I remember walking out of the doors of our local shopping centre with my Mum and I began the sentence with ‘when my boobs stop growing…’ she then interrupted and broke the news that they were done growing and what I had was all that was coming my way. I obviously knew this deep down but I guess the Disney princess in me was hoping for a extra handful, plus my Mum has more than her fare share so I was clutching on for some of her genes. Turns out I’m my Dads daughter and match his moob size.

Life went on and I learned about wonder bras and perfected scaffolding techniques that meant I now have a back up industry should I ever need a new career.

Then just when I was at my lowest they let me down by being amazing. After we came home from the hospital without our new bundle I was told that due to my emergency caesarean, stress and how long it had been I was unlikely to get any breast milk through. Mr F took me ‘home’ not to our house (too many baby items ready and waiting that I couldn’t bare to look at) but to my Parents. He surrounded us with love and my bestie came to stay over night. In the morning I woke and cried at the realisation that the nightmare we was living wasn’t a dream but our new reality. It was during this emotional outpour that my boobs exploded with milk. Useless milk that was too late, that meant my body didn’t know what my mind did…the baby had died, it didn’t need to be fed and I certainly didn’t need reminding. It was another stab and firm reminder that my body wasn’t my own. Luckily, it soon dried up and I have to say months after I was pretty proud that my fried eggs had it in them to produce milk. They worked.

Four years later we decided to ‘not try to try’ and have a baby. During this pregnancy it was worse, denial was my only hope of sanity as any interaction with the reality of ‘this could happen again’ was too much for my heart to cope with. I read nothing, I only went to appointments that I absolutely needed to and I worked as close to my due date as possible. Then I had my planned Caesarian (I already had the sunroof , why not use it?) and with a tug and a pull a healthy baby boy. With this came a new game plan: Get him home. In the UK this means approximately 3 days of monitoring and a lot of wee to produce for midwives that like to measure it by the pint. I have never drunk so much water in my life to satisfy there wee desires. My milk didn’t kick in straight away so we fed him with a little cup and some formula, I also breast fed – it began straight after he was placed on me for skin to skin contact and he literally sniffed by breast and attached himself; his Dad always gets good value at an all you can eat buffet, so I wasn’t that surprised. Did I know what I was doing? Hadn’t a fucking clue. If it hurt – I pulled him away, if it felt nice I let him stay until he had got bored. Now before we get into breast feeding Vs bottle formula, I couldn’t give a scooby doo, I had mission ‘Get him home’ everything else was irrelevant. I kept Midwife’s away by telling them what they wanted to hear, I kept my curtains closed and counting the sleeps down one by one. I even gave the scary cow machines a go (keep the Midwife’s happy) and expressed pretty much nothing. We continued to cup feed and I knew my boobs could do it.

We managed to get little dude home and then the next mission began: Keep him healthy for the next eighty odd years. Generally I breast fed and Daddy gave him one bottle a day. I kept the formula because it served three purposes – bonding for Daddy, a break for me and it also released some new mum guilt that I was producing by the bucket load of ‘if I’m not producing enough then at least he is getting something’, this is where the breast feeding journey should end but life’s a b*tch and just when you figure things out a new born likes to screw things up – he rejected my right breast. Apparently this is to do with me being left handed and how I was holding him, I then expressed the right, fed from the left and Daddy did his one evening formula…until I lost my sanity, expressing wasn’t for me, it felt totally unnatural and dull. It took over lives as I had to be near the express machine for every other feed which meant our house became my prison.

I then read an article about mums of twins who feed each baby on each breast (not sure how triplets do this?) and thought ‘screw you right express boob, I’ll just feed from the left’. And so until we introduced food this is what I did. The right boob dried up, he only drank from the left side of the bar and had one Daddy formula before bed.

Now to relate my boobs to life. I think if you over complicate things (breast feeding) then you’re likely to fail. I honestly didn’t know how to attach a child to my nipple – he did it himself. I went with the flow and made it work for me. I also scaffold those bad boys like Amazon packaging – the gift inside isn’t always as big as the box it comes it, so don’t be fooled by how people package their life, social media tells a lot of ‘amazon boxes’ and people like to post only the best of themselves, it doesn’t mean they are better than you or have anything worked out. I truly believe we are just winging it, day by day.

The human body is amazing. Seriously I made 2 tiny humans with 2 basic ingredients and a shed load of percentages against me. I’ve probabaly insulted my boobs more times than reality TV stars have told the truth and they fed my son regardless. I think we need to start loving ourselves and especially what we perceive as our flaws way more to be happy, healthy humans. Life (much like a new born) likes to throw a curve ball every now and then and we like to get stressed, frustrated and angry – when really we need to take a step back, breathe and may be a little like Dory and look for another direction to swim in.

So a toast, to boobs, moobs and the miracle of life! We can make it work, overcome anything thats put in our path, which I think its something seriously worth toasting. Stay blessed and if like me you have low fat boobs be grateful they are healthy.

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I got my own back 

Quote from one of my favourite females, Maya Angelou

I’m an only child. There are myths that I was lonely, isolated and spoilt as a child because of just this ‘fact’. However, I was never lonely and was always allowed a friend for tea, or would take part in extra curricular activities in whatever my flavour of the month was (I’ve always lacked commitment). My parents lives revolved around me and I was spoilt with time and opportunities, when it came to material objects I was like every other child and had to wait until Christmas or birthdays, that said I don’t remember going without.

I loved being ‘just me’ and am truly grateful to my parents and family for all the wonderful memories we grew together and don’t panic, I was socialised and therefore can share should the occasion arise.

One of the things however that people don’t associate with only children is that I’ve got my own back. It’s an awesome skill that has given me resilience. I’m not saying siblings can’t have their own backs to; after all it’s your back to do what you like with it, right? That said I know many siblings whose relationships have bought hostility and also others with unity, again they can have their own backs or not. 

However for me personally growing without siblings has meant I have had to be my own competition, I set the goals and with heinsight I’m my own little team. I’ve also expanded my family with a few close friends who I know I can count on. I’ve always had just one very close friend and then people that surround that relationship. If I’m honest I’m very much a ‘people’s person’ who doesn’t really like humanity. As I have grown older I’ve definitely become picky about who is on ‘team fridge’ and many a human has had the fridge door shut in their face. Sometimes it’s warmer in the fridge without negative vibes.

Recently my son (only child on earth) was playing in our local park and his little friend was playing with some other children, the boy announced that my son couldn’t play with him. My heart ached for him. However, my robust little dude continued to play happily by himself and whilst I was watching and dealing with my own emotions, it was Mr F that pointed out that our little dude wasn’t bothered. Not convinced I obviously had a chat with him on the way home and I realised that he really wasn’t bothered, in fact he said “it’s okay Mummy, if ****** doesn’t want to play then he doesn’t have to.” That’s when I realised that my awesome little dude had his own back. Kids are harsh and our little dude is no more innocent or lovely that any other – humans are cruel, but being your own number one has got to be of benefit.

You are the only person that has experienced everything you have, been with you 24/7 – for better or worse. This is why self love is essential, it gives you a worth that will radiate to others, but if for any reason it doesn’t radiate – self love means it doesn’t matter what others think, you’ve got your own back.

Maya Angelou was such a wise human (there are a few) and her quotes are my all time favourites. I think the reason I like them so much is they remind me of things I’ve learnt but sometimes need reminding of, we all need that right?

If life has drained your self love to an all time low, why not pop this simple quote on your bathroom mirror, or somewhere near the front door. Its a timely reminder that you are awesome, just the way you are. It may also help your self love to increase – people often think this is egotistical or selfish, but actually by putting yourself first (at times) means you’re often a better version of yourself for loved ones around you. So this week make sure you are no.1 and you’ve got your back, it might just be the making of you. 

He can call me Flower if he wants to…

Quote from Bambi

Okay, so when you are ‘up the duff or ‘baking a bun in the oven or just plain ‘with child’ everybody likes to give you advice. It’s usually horrific advice where men tell tales of sleep deprivation and a loss of reality and women share intimate stories of vaginas and stitches (seriously, why has nobody told these women the phrase snitches get stitches?) because frankly when your bun / duff or child is growing inside you and you’re overwhelmed with hormones,the thought of impending responsibility FOREVER and feel the size of a house – you don’t want to hear any advice or the downsides of your situation, in fact this advice should be placed on the side of condoms packets.

When I joined the world of blogger-sphere I also learnt that every Mummy blogger has at least one blog on ‘new mum advice’ and every Dad has some army survival themed post on adjusting to life after birth or preparing for the big day. Not one to follow in the paths of others, I’ve avoided these posts like my son avoids holding a pen because I know that deep down no new parent really wants to hear what I have to say and frankly they’ll work it out.

UNTIL NOW.

If there is one piece of advice that nobody gave me, id want to know the details of what I went through this week because frankly Disney let me down. Regular reader will know that Walt is one of my Best friends and pretty much every Disney film offers me some form of advice in which I apply to my life and impose on you. 

Disney is my equivalent to Breakfast TV or the news, Disney is my go to, my google and my fountain of knowledge. Im constantly applying Mermaid philosophies to my studies, letting it go and loving like the beauty I am and the beast that Mr is when he hasn’t shaved  (I look past the prickles and try to visualise the man he was before he realised that razors are super expensive and beards are vaguely in fashion).

When raising little dude we have always encouraged Disney and he has a DVD collection to be proud of, his favourites are the Toy Story series and Car’s – our Goldfish are proudly named after key characters; Mater and Lightening McQueen and a relaxing afternoon in our home usually involves a Disney DVD, now here comes my advice to all parents, new, young, old or frankly lacking in Disney knowledge…

If you truly love your child more than life itself NOTHING GOOD CAN COME OF WATCHING BAMBI. (please read this like I’m shouting at you)

Forget ‘breast is best’ advice, what nappy you recommend, please pass this on to all new parents and i’ll tell the tale of the traumatised four year old and the Mum who f*cked up by trusting in a classic.

Firstly, Ive seen it before, I should of known better. When the hunter first tries to kill Bambi’s Mum (it came out in 1942 so I don’t feel like I’m throwing any spoilers into this) I was quick to tell him that Bambi’s Mum had died….only to see B’s Mum bounce off into a field, I was then branded a liar by my small child. Fast forward ten or so minutes and Bambi’s Mum does get shot. At this point my son looked at me, eyes fully dilated and brimming with tears screaming at me to tell him it wasn’t true…I was lost for words.
We then had to pause the DVD whilst I reassured him that his Mummy (yup me) wasn’t going to be shot anytime soon (its not in the insurance policy) and that the hunter lived far away and wouldn’t hurt any of his friends at preschool or our dog, fish, stick insects or African snails.

With the tears under control I pressed play on the remote (we call it a ‘magic’ in our house – because frankly a remote is like voodoo) and then a bush fire consumed the screen, with my son stuck to my face we watched as a racoon build a raft to a small island, we watched carnage run through our happy Disney place and all the while I was thinking what the hell am I doing to him? Seriously, a cute rabbit with a speech impediment and a giant thump doesn’t really make up for the neglect I had subjected him to. Nobody cares about ‘drip drip drop little April showers’ after Bambi is left traumatised in the snow.

The ending is happy, Bambi and his hot Deer Mumma Faline make Bambi twins, but even this confused him and he thought Bambi had been born again. He also asked how they made the baby Deer’s but frankly by this time I was still speechless and distracting him with chocolate bribery to protect his precious mind from the horror that is Disney’s Bambi.

So, don’t believe the certification of U that the film industry gave it, instead warn all parents everywhere, all Grandparents and anyone who is vague human…or perhaps a Deer (they wouldn’t like it either) to NEVER watch it. His Godmother hit it on the head when I was retelling her my traumatic Bambi failure “Actually there isn’t an age where anyone wants to see that, is there?” Nope, there is not wise Godmother that I selected for my precious bundle, nobody ever.

This is all my parental advice from two pregnancies, a four year old and way too many years of teaching teenagers. 

Best of luck. 

Embrace the glorious mess you are in.

Quote by Elizabeth Gilbert

I often write when the family has settled (AKA doing other things away from me) or I have some time to allow my thoughts to type themselves up – its true, I often haven’t a clue what I’m going to write about, I just have an urge to type or my head feels overwhelmed and there is an inbuilt need to ‘type it out’.

Today I feel overwhelmed to type and armed with a cup of green tea, my MacBook Air and a vase of pretty flowers my bestie bought me you’d think i’d be ready to write in solitude and Instagram greatness…look a few inches from my dining room table and my son has turned my living room into a scene from a horror film, Star Wars is blaring from our TV and chaos incapsulates my home as the kitchen looks like a bomb has hit it, Mr F is stomping around the home looking for something he has put down several days a go (I’ll give him a few more minutes of searching and then put him out of his misery, as I locate said item in thirty seconds with my inbuilt mother vision detective device; seriously I’ve got skills when it comes to finding lost socks, cufflinks or keys since giving birth).

My son has just interrupted me to ask me to read him a story. I stopped typing and read to him.

I read a lot about motivation, affirmations, letting go, manifestations and goal setting. Whilst I realise that to move on and up we need to visualise, make progress steps and surround ourselves with positive people, today Ive decided to embrace the chaos.

Letting go

Sure my entire home isn’t the way id like it, I hate my kitchen (new kitchen coming soon), there is often too much clutter and everything doesn’t have a place. Working full time means I don’t always have time to clean to the standard I would like and this can cause me to become anxious, although saying that I probably prioritise family over dusting if I did get a day for such things. Beyond the home, balancing work and play often gets befuddled and there are periods of time when the plates I’m spinning crash to the floor and slowly with the help of loved ones I brush myself off and pick up the pieces of plate scattered around me, often there is also a phase of life where there are sharp edges all over my life that I have to avoid stepping on – broken plates like life often throw a pointed edge into the mix. However, if I look at my living room and past the chaos, my son is happily playing in a giant box in the middle of his toys. The box is Gotham city and he is jabbering contently about Batman saving the city from ‘the clutches of the Joker’. I’m learning that if you let go over the negative, a positive scene is often playing out right before your eyes.

Im not adulting today

Growing up I thought that adults had it made, that they knew everything and had all the answers, its probably why we all step up the ‘growing up’ phase in the teenage years in hope to get to the good bit. Only to find its a trap.

Being an adult is a bit like a toddler in a pushchair; you spend your entire shopping trip trying to convince your parents to let you out of the chair and the rest of the trip trying to get someone to carry you or let you back in the chair for a comfy snooze. I am that adult trying to avoid making decisions, stepping away from responsibility and avoiding paying bills like the plague.

Every now and then I allow myself a day or a few hours from being an adult, today is that day. My son can eat chocolate for every meal if he wants and the house chores can wait until tomorrow. I may prioritise painting my nails and I will certainly be wearing stretchy clothes because I am bound to also eat far too much chocolate and the extra elastic will help. I will drink far too much tea and may play some of my vinyls too loud. I will play with my son the games he wants me to play, even though I haven’t a clue about ‘The force’ or the galaxies he finds delight in.

I will submerge into the now and let go of the routine… tomorrow I’ll adult and use ‘The Force’ that I’ll learn about later today to clean this place up to an adult standard, tomorrow I will discipline and create structure…but today I will let go and enjoy the glorious mess that life has given me, I’ll choose to see through the mess and enjoy the moments of sparkle.

Now lets put that kettle on…

Exercise is therapy 

Quote unknown. 

Before you think I’m preaching in this post…I’m once again writing by the side of the pool whilst the boys swim – so I am no Lycra maniac or green kale chick addicted to spin classes and lifting weights that are…well, heavy. 

I use to like the odd aerobic class before my little dude was born and have always had membership to a gym or taken part in something, but in all honesty I prefer a swim and sauna than anything too strenuous. That said, I left that life behind after motherhood…I already work full time away from my boy and don’t wish to miss anymore of his moments due to my need to look slimmer on a beach and peddle in circles like a hamster caught in a wheel. 

Little dude is now four years old and in September 2016 I felt it was time to find some movement and motivation for me. Some me time and something that wasn’t for the working me, the mummy me, the family me but just me. This is when I found my therapy.

I couldn’t find a class that suited by timetable or didn’t interfere with family time so I have private 1-2-1 classes of yoga on a Sunday morning before the world wakes that suit my needs. It’s expensive but worth it. It is my therapy and I know this because when I can’t go or my instructor can’t attend – my world is a little dim, my Monday morning is a little more intense and I lose me in a world of demand and needs by others. 

Walking the dog is another one im partial too, especially as we can do this as a family. We have a Labrador and last night the sun was out so she even walked us to the local pub for a summer toast. What a thoughtful pooch. 

Exercise is a form of therapy, it makes you feel good and tighten your core. I find yoga keeps me free of health issues and allows me to challenge certain muscles to perform certain moves. However, I think you have to find the style that works for you, otherwise giving up is easy and as I said family time is precious to waste. 

I’d love to know how others find their therapy? Comment in the box about how you make exercise work for you…