Half Marathon Plodder

When I started blogging, someone once asked me if I minded that my main topic was my Crohn's - I guess meant in a way of did I want to write more about me, without the obvious affiliation to my disease. And I didn't really know how to answer it?

The older I've got the more I've realised that it is part of me; whether I like it or not it has an effect on all areas of my life, both good and bad. And the fact of the matter is, I am my Crohn's and my Crohn's is me. Of course there are days when I begrudge the seeming unfairness of it all - especially when I was younger and I was spending more time in hospital waiting rooms than I was at university. And in more recent times realising I really don't have a choice at all in how my body behaves. But my body has also fascinated me by pretty much pretending Crohn's is gone when I've been pregnant with my boys, and it's allowed me to go on and have two very healthy, wonderful pregnancies. Swings and roundabouts, etc.

I had my post-op colonscopy on the weekend and (surprise, surprise), there's still signs of active disease which means upping my dose and frequency of my biologic meds. So yes, it can still get me down. I'm doing as I'm told, I'm taking my medicine... I'm doing all the things the doctors advise AND YET we don't ever really seem to get ahead of the disease.

But despite all of the monotony of a chronic illness and pain, I got my Crohnsy arse in gear and I managed to complete my pledged half marathon distance for Crohn's & Colitis UK. Well done me. 

I aimed to do 7 miles walking as I was waaaaaay below on my iron - normal healthy person optimum iron ~40, I came in with a strong 4. So I packed my backpack and off I went into the wilderness of the westcountry with only my headphones and the cows to keep me company. My main concern was literally shitting in the woods, but alas, no Paula Radcliffe this time round. I found that the walking itself wasn't too bad and I think because of how crap last year was, there was definitely that drive to plod on and keep going. To see donations coming in as I walked was so encouraging (shed a tear by some sheep in a field because I'm a mess?) But it really did spur me on. So much so, that my aim of 7 miles came and went and lo and behold these little tired legs completed the half marathon in one stint. 

I really am proud of myself because I really didn't think I'd manage it. And I did my 13.21 miles in 4hr 23m. Because of my shameless pride I have no qualms in saying the Walk It fundraising campaign ends on 30 June so this is my final call to anyone who would like to donate to Crohn's & Colitis UK.

https://www.mywalkit.org.uk/fundraising/harriets-walking 

I'm going to try and put some videos up of me rambling whilst I rambled. But just want to say a massive thanks to everyone that has donated so far. It means so much to me, as I imagine this is a charity that I will need to lean on many more times in the future.

X

All the Things

Not really sure how to start these posts now, when it’s more of a current health update, as opposed to the woes of yesteryear (NB: 2020). But if I’m going to ramble on about certain IBD situs, then I guess I might as well keep you informed with the now...

Had my appointment with Gastro on Monday. Essentially my bloods say I’m anaemic again and I need another iron infusion; they want to get up my arse with another colonoscopy to assess post-op if my 12 weekly home injections of biologic meds needs increasing to every 8 weeks instead; to try not to lift my sons due to the abdominal hernias and then could I please shit in a pot for a stool sample (my words, not theirs). All this before pending surgery, if covid deadlines allow. So that’s a barrel of laughs ahead!

And whilst I’m dreading any letter that arrives with a hospital postmark in case it’s my kidney operation date, I had one arrive this week for the eye hospital because *spoiler alert* apparently Crohn’s can also affect your eyeballs and get inflamed there too. Specsavers weren’t too sure what was going on in my left eye and thought it best I got referred to the eye specialists. Lovely time.

I mean, I’d be lying if I said I’m ok with the volume of things that seem to be happening in one go? So as a distraction I’m going to try and complete my half marathon walk this coming week. Ideally in one day, but, you know, I’m a little bit broken inside ha. Plus it’s also very warm at the moment - don’t want to be chafing as I stride up a hill with a big stick.

Will let you know when I’ve walked my walk and whether I can stand up by the end of it. For now though, I plan on sitting in my garden in the sunshine and listen to my children play. Make the most of the fleeting British summertime.

X

My JustGiving page 

Walk It 2021

I have full imposter syndrome about doing sports, but here we are. It's June. The month I committed to doing a half marathon's distance for Crohn's and Colitis UK. 

As I touched upon in my last post, 2020 was a tough year for everyone what with Covid19 and the uncertainty that brought in these unprecedented times. Yet from a personal, Crohn's point of view, it was my toughest year to date. Throw in a global pandemic and WHAT A RIDE. Honestly? When I had my flare up in March, I thought I was going to die and my body had had enough. I've never felt so vulnerable. When it happened again in September I just didn't know what was going on in my insides and what the plan was - if there even was one.

Yes, ok I've had all the operations and procedures when I've flared beforehand and generally I've been fine (?) with that. But I have never vomited *actual* shit before; and all at a time when I wasn't even sure if my husband was allowed in hospital with me when I needed him the most. 

But hey, now it's quite the anecdote and conversation starter at least.

That week in March 2020 was a whirlwind...we had our boys' christenings and the next day at 2am I was blue lighted into hospital with the whole shit shenanigans. At one point prior to ringing 999, I was breastfeeding my baby whilst being sick in a bowl. The rest is a bit of a blur - but to summarise, once in hospital and all the pain relief, I had a CT scan and the strongest IV antibiotic steroids to try and calm down the inflammation in my small intestine, as it was essentially causing a faux blockage. Persevered with a week of meds and the bloods and tests showed things had calmed so off I went home.

Fast forward to September and I was optimistically getting my hair coloured - even though I felt beyond rough (lockdown locks had gone wild, plus I thought the pamper might make me feel better). However, I ended up being sick in her bin in between rinsing the colour off and knew things weren't going to be ok. I rang the other half and said to get his mum round to watch the kids as this was looking to be another 999 situ. Even though my hairdresser was incredible in that situation, I could imagine that the professional part of her must have been like 'Jesus Christ, that bleach needs toner. It's so brassy.'  We simply paused on the 'do and I promised I'd be back to finish it off soon. LITTLE DID I KNOW. 

***

It seems strange writing about September in such a pragmatic way, as I look back at the Instagram posts from that time and I just wasn't ok?? Like I said, I've had like nearly 20 operations but this one hit different: that the inflammation from March never really went away and was now an actual blockage. The urgency of an op, the seriousness of it. The fact that it's not just me; it's my husband and two boys that are relying on me to pull through this flare. 

Because of covid, there were the obvious and expected delays with things which inevitably allows thinking time. When you're on your own in a hospital bed, the mind can really run wild. But I got my op; resection in the small and large intestine, with an incision down my stomach and a new belly button for good measure. The optimism was creeping back in, and now it was all focus on the recovery. That was until I got a temperature, got incredibly distended and couldn't pass wind for days. They say after that type of surgery that your bowels forget what their job is, so to try walking around and what not, trying to encourage bowel movement. Never have I willed on a fart as much as I did during this time. Any sort of humility and decorum had long gone.

The fart never came.

Instead, I got another NG tube and was having litres of dark green fluid syringed out of my stomach. I had another CT scan because they thought I had a leak from where the new bits of intestines were joined together. Fortunately I did not have a leak - I guess things were just going to take their time and test me physically and mentally as we went on. But yeah sure. Was in hospital for a little while and then once I'd done the enigmatic poo we'd all been waiting for, it was time to head home again and start the next stage of recovery.

Recovery took longer than I'd thought and hoped it would, but I also knew I couldn't push myself too much. To go slow, rest, look after myself. And after six weeks or so I was miles off the state I was in before my operation and I felt able to look forward to the good bits.

X

Side note - Probably worth mentioning here that a kidney consultant rang in Autumn last year to discuss the CT scans I'd had when an inpatient in March. Turns out I have a couple of kidney stones knocking around. After many a phone appointment and consultations in hospital since, I'm now actually waiting on another operation in the next few weeks. 

I want to do my walk before I'm back in another post-op recovery period. If you'd like to help my fundraising, the link is below...

Harriet's Walking - Walk It 2021

Thank you in advance, you wonderful people.

X

Oh hello again...

I mean, I’ll be honest when I say I thought this initial post would essentially be a quick catch up from the last post with a nod to the hiatus. But it seems I haven’t posted since April 2019 and in the words of Ted Hastings from Line of Duty: “Mother of God!” Haven’t things changed since then!?

As I don’t have 2 year pregnancies like elephants, I did of course go on to have our second baby in the Summer of 2019; a little boy who decided to arrive 5 weeks early. He’s a dreamboat who’s now 1.5yrs and doing wonderfully. My eldest son is due to start school this year and we’ve just got a Cockapoo pup. We’re a busy little unit, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. Oh, also not sure if I mentioned at any point that our cat now only has three legs? We can save that for another time. We must press on!

But where do you even begin with the shitshow that was 2020? Apart from the obvious angle of a global pandemic which turned the whole year (and world) upside down. I feel like if ever there was a year when I should have been writing as a therapeutic tool, it was probably 2020. But I didn't. I suppose 2020 felt like frequent information overload and so subconsciously I spent time to take in what was happening around me. And now I guess it feels a bit like maybe it's worth trying to vocalise my adjusting to the ‘new normal’, negotiating through the uncertain future plans and what that might look like. Equally it is impossible for me to look at last year and not acknowledge that from a Crohn's point of view, it was the hardest year I've had in bloody ages. What. A. Joy.

I want to talk through all that in separate posts though, as it was a wonky old time and, I don’t know, it feels a bit heavy. However I need to put it out there so I can finally process it all? From shielding and being an extremely vulnerable to the time I actually shat out my mouth due to an intestinal blockage - it’ll be quite the literary ride!

Hope to have you join me. It’s nice to be back.

X

Woah to 2

WE ARE HAVING ANOTHER BABY *klaxon*

We're going to be a family of 4. Two children. A second spud due for arrival in September. Woah.

I still find it quite mind blowing that my husband and I coped (?!) with the secrecy of those early pregnancy days, whilst our first born was having the worst health experiences of his little life so far. Such a dramatic overlap.

The six weeks of knowing there's a new human growing, but weren't yet scanned and in the 'safe zone', all the while being tested in ways that you hope to never be tested as a parent... I found that really tough. My emotions went through the ringer; wanting to do everything for my son yet trying to stay calm for the unborn. I wanted to shout from the rooftops that we were expecting another child, so please bear with me if I seem wildly overemotional. And yes I would like some gas and air in the ambulance, thank you please. However, we had to make sure our son was all right and another few weeks of sshing about the bab wouldn't hurt. Now we've been scanned. We've seen the tiny spud. My rooftop shouting can really take off.

We actually found out we were expecting the day before our son's first seizure episode. Talk about highs and lows in a condensed space of time! But due to terrible period maths on my part, I had no idea how pregnant I was. I did guessing based on whether I took multiple tampons to my Christmas do - even with that, I wasn't sure if that meant I was nearly finished or had just come on? So in short. No. I don't know when my last period was. I just knew that the four different tests all suggested that there wasn't going to be another period anytime soon. All sticks pointed to POSITIVE.

It was all very surreal because that technically meant that we were going to be parents of two. Jesus. The toddler terrible twos are very much a thing we're in the middle of - so what happens when you have a toddler and a newborn?! I once heard the phrase that when it comes to multiple children, two is a zoo. And there we were... positively pregnant with a second. Zoo, here we come.

Did the relevant admin with the midwife and got booked in for our dating scan. We were so close to being able to tell people (as long as all was well) and I could sense the anticipation of no longer having to dress in a sack and walk like Quasi Modo to hide the bump. Yet as I mentioned with my bad period maths, our scan meant we were actually only 10 weeks pregnant. So not able to officially announce the second bab - and equally not pregnant enough to have the first set of screenings, either. This also meant another due date after measuring the little thing. Back in two and a bit weeks to do the proper dating scan then!

The longest two weeks of all time, yet there we sat, looking at the new bean on the screen. I cried. I've felt so emotional this whole pregnancy - not sure if it's because of the timings/circumstances around when we found out? Or that my awareness has heightened with regards to pregnancy not going the way it's supposed to. It's most likely a combination of all, but at least I had the take home from that appointment that our new bean was doing well. Everything looked as it should. We also had another due date now they could actually measure crown to rump...it's a late September baby! (Minus a week or so due to elective c-section so my arse doesn't fall out in pushing, thank you Crohn's). So yes, now we can tell friends and family the good news. I can be preg and proud.

I'm so pleased that I took the time to blog every week when pregnant beforehand - and despite my slack writing since then - I have decided to do it again with this bab. I'm currently 15+6, my turn of the weeks being on a Wednesday. I want to document all the iddy biddy feelings and share how different (or not) they are from the first time round. And I'm going to try and be a trendy mum-to-be with an outfit post each week too. Because my word, this bab has popped right out. Muscle memory, or whatever it is... I don't know how I'm going to dress this speedy bump. Unitards? Tents? I'll be sure to share the weekly outcomes regardless.

X

Second Fitting

I say second; it was the second occasion and only one seizure, as opposed to the first instance of multiple seizures with what seemed like no end in sight.

It was our son’s outpatient appointment on Friday following up from everything that went on 6 weeks ago. Off we sent him to nursery, as per, on the basis we’d be picking him up at lunchtime to take him to the hospital. He’d been a bit snotty that morning so we gave him some Calpol – as you do – but didn’t think too much of it because he was fine? I got a call an hour later from the nursery to say that they’d taken his temperature and it was up past 39 now (considering he’d had medicine less than an hour prior, this didn’t sit too well). My husband went to collect him and I said how I’d meet them at the hospital as planned, later on that afternoon.

But then I got another call from the nursery, from my husband’s mobile. Not to panic, but he’s with our little boy and the ambulance is on its way as he’s having a seizure. My heart sank. I cried a bit.

I left work and drove straight to the nursery to find my two boys in the back of the ambulance, critical care on its way and prepping to do blue lights into town to the hospital. From what I could gather, there was only one seizure this time… but it lasted twenty minutes. So, it’s still atypical. We still don’t know why it’s happening. The only constant we have so far between these two occasions, is that his temperature had spiked. Except this time there were no obvious leads into the fitting, as in he wasn’t visibly ill on Thursday. Whereas last time he’d been a bit clingy and feeling sorry for himself that week and you could have said he was under the weather, somewhat. But off we went with the sirens to A&E at the children's hospital.

However this time I felt a strange sense of calm. He’d only had one fit. He’d stopped on his own. He didn’t need additional intervention for anything. Just some oxygen, I mean sure, his little bod was stressed. But he was talking, and he wanted to eat and he wanted to drink. As long as there were no more fits, we were just going to be observed by the doctors: the usual obs plus prepping his arms with ‘magic cream’ in case we needed bloods and (somehow?!) we needed to get a urine sample off of a toddler who is still learning how to wee in a toilet. Help.

Long story short, his obs were fine and remained stable the whole time we were there. The only bit of drama was when we tried to do his urine sample; he ended up doing a weewee all over his Daddy’s leg like a scene out of Dumb & Dumber. Little bit of a dribble to start with which we knew wouldn’t be enough for them to test. But then the wee just kept coming! The pot was filling up and then the power of the weeing meant it was now going in and essentially straight back out onto my other half. Oh how we laughed. The delirium/relief/tiredness from the morning’s events had kicked in. And there we were, in A&E, sick and injured children around us. And we were laughing. One of us covered in piss and the other one holding said piss, in a pot. And our boy, naked from the waist down looking at us like we’re mental. But the wee was fine. He was fine. We were allowed to go home.

So until he fits without a temperature, we’re assuming febrile convulsions, as before. If he fits otherwise then we most likely have an underlying issue that needs to be found. We’re due an EEG in the coming weeks to check his little head and then the rearranged outpatient appointment to follow.

It’s obviously just going to be one of those things and we simply have to hope that each time it happens, the seizures are few and far between and that we’ll get to the bottom of it sooner rather than later. Because it just makes you realise how fragile your little person is. But equally, how tough they are too.

X

Bad Fit

Clearly the universe gets the vibes when everything is lovely and settled because BOOM. It all went to shit over the weekend.

As a parent I am aware that there will be many occasions where as much as I want to, I cannot simply wrap up my son in cotton wool until he's 37. He will fall over at school and hurt himself. I'm sure there'll be times when he doesn't look where he's going and headbutts a wall. There have been times when he is beyond snotty and I just want to make him feel better. And then there are times like Friday evening when you simply feel like you cannot do anything to help your child and you're helpless.

My son had a temperature and I was asked to collect him from nursery on Friday (he'd also been teething), so naturally didn't think anything of it. We spent the afternoon on the sofa watching The Greatest Showman and having all the cuddles. And then just before tea time, he was laying on my tum - he looked up at me and it is a look I will never forget. He was trying to focus on me and went to put his hands on my face. But he couldn't. He couldn't focus. He couldn't reach me even though I was right in front of him. And then his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he began to fit.

I put him on his side on the floor as I wasn't sure if he was choking at the same time. Fortunately, (and god knows how it was at the EXACT time it happened), but my sister-in-law arrived and she's a paediatric nurse. We knew straightaway that we needed to call an ambulance - and my word, that conversation was the longest 11 minutes before the crew arrived. My husband was with our brother-in-law and they both raced home once we'd spoken. Seeing the father of my child burst through the door to quite the scene, must have been really tough for him. I knew how I felt about it all unfolding in front of me; I can only begin to imagine how he felt, too. In a nutshell, my son had three seizures before the ambulance arrived. Vomited twice. Shook. Was stiff. Was unresponsive. Couldn't focus. And I've never felt more useless. My sister-in-law did a sterling job as I flapped around the edges, packing a bag for the hospital and whenever we were able, hold onto our boy to tell him his Mummy was here, Daddy's here. We love him.

Everything is a wee bit of a blur and I guess by my writing about it now, is in some way a coping mechanism for what went on this weekend. The post may get a tad lengthy, but a lot happened that I need to get my head around.

In the ambulance, we had two pit stops: one to collect another member of ambulance crew to administer some medication whilst we went blue lights a'flashing through town. And then another to pick up the air ambulance doctors who had 'Critical Care' emblazoned on their jackets (!) My little boy was on the bed with all of these people around him, and I just sat there with my seatbelt on, holding the gas tank because I had nothing else to bring to the party. And my husband, bless him, sat in the front of the ambulance similarly helpless. We got to the children's hospital and headed straight to A&E - to resus - where what seemed like everyone who worked in the hospital was waiting for our arrival. [Anyone who's watched any kind of real life hospital programme on the tele knows it's not the best if they ring the red phone. The critical care doctors had rang the red phone before our arrival. THE RED PHONE.]

Never have either myself or the husband wanted to pick up our boy and tell him that everything is going to be ok...and it actually be ok. In that instant. Be able to make it better for him now.

Unfortunately despite all the medicines in the world for seizures, nothing stopped him fitting. Until they stuck paraldehyde up his tiny bottom; a last resort before a general anaesthetic. At this point, one of his seizures had lasted 50 minutes - and I thought that 11 minute phone call had seemed like a lifetime. Jesus, was I wrong. They ran a CT scan as well as did a chest x-ray and as far as we could tell, there was nothing major to report on either of them. We just had to play the waiting game on the High Dependency Unit overnight.

Fortunately there were no more fits on our first night in hospital (his body must have been exhausted and that makes me so sad for him), but we waited to see the neurologist team that following morning anyway. Our little person who we made was struggling to bear any weight on his own two feet, he was still really floppy and lethargic and had the oddest gurning going on; his tongue kept coming out like a camel's and his speech was all slurred. All we could do was hope that these symptoms were down to the fact he was off his little rocker the night before and that rather than them be symptoms of something more serious, they were instead side effects of the drugs he'd had. Hopefully with a good night's sleep they'd wear off and disappear? The consultant decided that it wasn't worth the risk and that our son would need to have a lumbar puncture. In case you didn't know (we didn't) a lumbar puncture is a procedure in which they put a needle in between the bones of the lower back, into the fluid around the spinal cord and the fluid can then be extracted for testing. We got told we were testing for meningitis - as well as anything else that might have caused the seizures. They tried to do the lumbar puncture with some sedation, but despite not being 100% himself, our little lad was too wiggly for them to do it on Saturday.

Which leads me onto Sunday. Our son had been treated with antibiotics from arrival as if it was meningitis, whilst also having antibiotics for all things viral and bacterial; it's gibberish to me, but all you need to know is they were so on top of his care from the moment I dialled '999' and I am forever grateful to the NHS.

But yes. The needle in the spine. Poor chap was nil by mouth from 6am Sunday morning as he was due to go into theatre in the afternoon. My husband and I took him down and as only one parent was allowed into the anaesthetist bit, I went in with our boy after my other half kissed him and told him he loved him. Now I've had 17 operations. 16 with general anaesthetic (one was a c-section, so a jazzier op than anything Crohn's related). Yet holding him in my arms as they administered the knockout fluid through the cannula in his little hand was something else. Hearing my little boy say it was 'chilly' and holding his arm as the cold fluid travelled up his forearm - a feeling I knew so well. And then just like that, within no more than 2 seconds... he was asleep. I kissed him on the head and told him I loved him, too. Told them to look after him and went out to meet my husband. And we waited.

We got a call exactly one hour later: we left him at 2:44pm and the ward called at 3:44pm to say we could get him from Recovery. As before, only one parent could go so this time my husband went to collect him and I waited to give them both a big squeeze.

Should probably throw in for good measure here that our son was definitely feeling more like himself that morning as he was able to do standing. And walking. Or as he ended up doing, a quick turn near the only cupboard in the room and split his eyelid open on his brow bone. So for dramatic effect, we then ended up with not only a lumbar puncture scheduled in - but a few stitches too for the newly developing black eye and laceration. Don't do things by half son! With regards to theatre though, all went to plan and the results from the lumbar puncture were due to trickle through over the next 24 hours. My husband and I continued to tag-team the hospital nighttime shifts and had everything crossed for some good news.

Unfortunately for the little one though, there were a few moments in the nighttimes where he had to have his cannulas removed/changed for his antibiotics. Hearing your child scream out for Mummy and Daddy whilst sobbing because of pain is so so tough to see. When the final cannula was removed on his last night, he turned to me when he woke up and just announced that 'baddy...gone' and gestured to his blood-stained foot. My heart melted for him.

But onward and upwards we went! The test results were starting to come in and we were looking good for it not being meningitis. However the fact it was still being mentioned due to some outstanding test results, meant none of us could fully relax just yet. He was definitely more like himself. But we wanted to make sure we were going to leave with the best case scenario: that being that it was a complex febrile convulsion, and hopefully there's no lasting damage - with these fitting episodes few and far between.

And that is what we got: complex febrile convulsions. That was our diagnosis on the discharge letter yesterday.

So after 5 days in hospital (and what seemed like forever) we were going home, together.

X

NB: I had febrile convulsions myself as a child until I was around 9. I knew what they were - but under no circumstances did I think I would see my own son have a seizure in front of me. Multiple seizures, in fact.

Apart from writing this post as a way for me to process the weekend's activity, I also wanted to put it out there because it was such a scary unknown for us as parents. That guilt I had was horrible; that maybe I should have been able to stop the seizures happening. But the doctors explained that generally speaking, with febrile convulsions it'll kind of happen regardless. As in, he didn't have a fit because I didn't do enough to make him feel well. 

And now we know that if it's to happen again, we just do exactly as before...ring 999 and let the emergency services do what they do best.

10 Year Challenge

You may have been aware of the latest internet craze called the #10yearchallenge? Essentially a then and now (or at least a 'then') from 2009. Why someone felt 2019 was the year to look back from is beyond me? Surely 2020 would have been better, as a multiple of 10. Or maybe I'm just thinking too much about this.

Anyway. I hopped on the bandwagon on this drizzly Wednesday, after many a day of scrolling through various social media platforms seeing people's throwback to a decade ago. Glow ups, etc. Lovely time. And I put up a picture of me from ten years ago.

But it wasn't until I started looking through my own photos properly from 2009 that it dawned on me: I've been having my own 10 year challenge. January 2009 was the month I got diagnosed with Crohn's. 2009 was the year that what I thought I knew of my health was all change for forever more. A whole decade of diagnosed IBD.

I pretty much spent all of my 20s - in one way or another - poorly. In hospital. Lying down because it hurt to get up. Sleeping on a narcoleptic level. Fat. Thin. Steroid moonface. Taking medication. Injecting medication. Having an IV for medication. Keyhole surgery. Robot surgery. Slice me open surgery. Hospital admissions. Inpatient. Outpatient. Too many perianal abscesses to mention. Too many visits to a toilet. Too many medical professionals looking up my asshole.

In January 2009 I was presented with a challenge I didn't know I'd have to face; a challenge that had mini-challenges en route. But Jesus Christ it has absolutely been the making of me.

And here we are now! Yes OK, I'm like 17 operations in (who's counting?!) But I am in my 30s. Married. Mama. Now a homeowner (what a palaver that was - will pick up that topic of convo another time). Back working on a magazine portfolio that I love so much. Things are actually really good! And I'm so happy that everything finally seems to be falling into place for me and mine.

Sure, I still have to do an assessment of where all toilets are if I'm out for a family walk. Or there might be times where Mummy just needs to have a quick powernap before we watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for the 6th time that day. There might also be times - like now - when I'm sitting on a train and I catch my reflection in the window and it's apparent that my tired bags have developed their own bags. Eye bags on eye bags. It's quite a look and I don't think any form of makeup layering is going to help this face out.

I don't mind you see, because besides being rather tired, I am content. I have spent three days in London doing meetings and what not for work and it brings me joy. But not as much joy as stepping off the train to be greeted by my husband and son will bring me. My boys. My little team.

To be honest...I'm not sure where this blog post is going. Am I waffling? I just knew that I had to take a moment to acknowledge the ol' decade long anniversary of knowing my insides were broken. And that however shit things might have seemed at times, it works itself out. Ish*

Here's to the next ten years.

X

*I mean nothing is a guarantee. But all in all, I guess if you can find the positives where possible and then just ensure to have a ruddy good time?

PS: I'm running out of sentences to apologise for my MIA blogging. I do get annoyed with myself that it's so infrequent. But I guess it's going to have to be as and when, probably the best way forward. So until next time...(whenever that is!)

Who Am I?

It seems my blogging hiatuses are getting wildly out of hand. Over seven months this time. Maybe you're wondering who I even am? It's been so long!

I suppose my main reason for the break was to focus on getting better from the crazy flare I had over Winter, and to try and get back to 'normal' with regards to routine in both work and home. And I got there! Ish. I mean, I've been back at work properly since February and am also now in the depths of trying to buy a house which can go on to become my home.

Whenever I have a break from writing it's always quite a challenge for me to get back on that hypothetical bike; there's always that moment of WHAT IF NOBODY WANTS TO READ THIS ANYMORE?! Yet I've decided that actually, that's fine. Because I know I find writing therapeutic. I know I enjoy sharing my thoughts.

So for anyone that is reading/cares, brief summary of (essentially) 2018 thus far:

• Back working full time
• Been a wife for nearly eleven months
• Off all meds to try and reset my body/see what state it's left in
• Turned 30
• Continued to watch my son become the funniest little human 
• Trying to buy a house

I don't know if it's because I've had a milestone birthday?? But I've done a lot of thinking this year. And more recently in particular, I've done a lot of thinking about what direction I want my writing to go.

I think I've mentioned it before, in that this obviously began as a way for me to talk about my Crohn's and was started at a time where I was due the largest operation I'd had. I was shit scared. I didn't know what lay ahead, but I was already aware of the duff hand I'd been dealt re my health. Time passed, I blogged about the arse situations my body had thrown at me - and I'd like to think that on the whole I coped (!) with it all rather well. Then I had a reassessment of here blog and decided Hattie, etc. was the way forward. I was more than my Crohn's. And I wanted this platform to be a representation of that. The natural progression was to then write about being preg - which honestly, I look back at all my posts from when I was that first-time mama-to-be and I am so so glad I wrote as often as I did. Things that for the life of me, I cannot remember happening, yet I have all my thoughts and feelings sitting there in this hub to relive.

That then leads me to now, though. Not pregnant. Still very much an active Crohn's patient. Where do I go from here? What do I write about? What do I have to say?

There are things that have happened that quite frankly I would have loved to have written about so openly, but as with anything...time and a place...and often it's not the right time. Or necessarily the right place. It can be a challenge to work through life's hurdles anyway, let alone when you get bad news; or terribly sad news; or news that you would just rather have on another day when you feel like you can deal with it better.

One thing I've learnt as I've got older (and also since I've become a mother), is that there are a lot of things that I have no control over - try as I might - but it's how I deal with situations, which will help shape me as a person. Who I am as a mum. Who I am at work. Who I am as an individual. Who I am as a wife. Who I am within my family. Who I am as a friend.

And maybe that's what I write about now? Who I am. Who actually am I?

I'm not promising any fantastic content that will provide you with endless laughs or equally all the tears. But as I delve deeper into my 30s I plan on writing as many of my experiences as I go: family holidays, being a mother to a glorious little boy, tales of being a wife, buying a family home and the subsequent interior design (FINALLY. Time to release my inner Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen *puts on a pussybow blouse with a fluted sleeve*) And maybe also for that one day in the future when I'm a mama-to-be again. Perhaps even some of my outfits, whilst I'm at it.

Because that's who I am. I am all of those things. I am like a human dodecahedron and I want to write all about it.

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Dancing Humbug

Ass Issues

Needless to say it's certainly been a little while! And even though it seems wildly out of context, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all. So now to 2018.

Brief update on what's been happening: got discharged from hospital after my stay in November (don't think I'd cope if I was still there now) and I had everything crossed for a lovely normal Christmas period. Wanted to start 2018 with a 'new year, new me' attitude and all that shite...Dyed my hair blonde. Strong start. 

From a general Crohn's point of view though, we made it to January in a relatively normal state - no more hospital admissions, and I will take the small wins as and where I can! Also had both an outpatient appointment and a catch up pre-Christmas with my consultant. I mean it wasn't great news?! Essentially, your inflammatory markers should be around 50 and mine was coming in at 507. Whoopsy. Have a vitamin D deficiency too, but as far as I'm concerned, if ever there was an excuse to go ahead and get the honeymoon booked it was my body medically crying out for a bit of sunshine. And I finally got my iron infusion - second time lucky as the first time I had a temperature after the flu jab. Swings, roundabouts, etc. Was also still on the waiting list for the EUA from September - and herein lay the problem; THAT'S A VERY LONG TIME TO HAVE A POORLY BOTTOM.

But as of yesterday, I got my long-awaited EUA. All up in my personal space trying to figure out what exactly is happening with my ass. The surgeon came to see me beforehand as they do, and tried to explain to me what was going to happen. As with any type of IBD surgery, it's very much a case of consent to almost everything and then see what you wake up with. I know this. Yesterday was my 16th time in theatre. It's just a bit tough when they essentially say they don't know what's wrong with you.

I had an MRI in November and it showed that there was unusual activity in my pelvis. So then I was sent for the flexible sigmoidoscopy but they couldn't find anything? Yesterday's surgeon spoke to the people who carried out the MRI and the Flexi to literally try and get to the bottom of it. But to no avail, it seemed. The surgeon also mentioned that maybe the only way we can stop my bottom being such a pain, is to stop using it all together. That's an intimidating thought as having a permanent bag in this scenario would be more of a choice, rather than a necessity from emergency surgery. Brain. Fried. But hopefully that's a long way off before we have to weigh up all the pros and cons.

However, I knew I was pinning a lot on this EUA. Very much viewed it as: if you're physically up in there then surely you can see what's happening?! Alas, nothing is simple and to the naked eye they couldn't find any polyps, fistulas, abscesses or fissures. She did however confirm that I have erythema and induration on my right hand side. Personally I'd almost prefer her to tell me I just had piles like a normal person who's been pregnant but then that would be too simple! Anywho. After my EAU the surgeon came back out to see me and explained what she'd managed to do. Or not, in this case. I'm going to need an urgent MRI to reassess for presence of sepsis, with the plan to go back into theatre as she didn't want to delve further when going in blind. 

There was talk previously of botox, applied to the internal sphincter (cue jokes about the most youthful bumhole) but actually that was a no-go from the get-go. The botox paralyses the muscle and the last thing I need is help to go to the toilet. Any more urgency and I would be in a position where I thought I needed the toilet toilet and it turns out I'd have already been. I'm not even 30 yet. Let me get to Nana age before I start shitting myself on the regular!

Next on the list of fixing me, is a SeHCAT scan that I have tomorrow and again next Wednesday to see if I have a bile salt malabsorption. This is a double edged sword for me as it'll either show that yes indeed I have something wrong. Not ideal, but at least we'd know what we're dealing with. Equally if it shows that I don't have bile salt malabsorption, then we're very much still wondering what is wrong with me.

In other news, I started seeing the hospital psychologist. She's been amazing. She's helped me figure out that actually I am pretty well equipped with the 'tools' I thought I needed, and that maybe - just maybe - my expectations for myself were a little too high and that sometimes it's ok to just be ok. Being able to shift my mindset ever so slightly and not give myself a hard time when ill has done me the world of good. I feel more like I can take on the challenges Crohn's throws at me, whilst also maintaining my mama skills I was worried I'd lose because I'm the 'poorly mum'.

Towards the end of our last session we briefly discussed body image. I'd like to delve into this in slightly more detail so will do so in another post - mainly because it's something I've been struggling with of late, as I don't know what I look like anymore. What is my body after pregnancy and Crohn's flares? What shape am I? Who knows?! I certainly don't.

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Headspace

If you follow me on social media, you would have seen that this week has been quite a challenging one for me - especially with regards to my Crohn’s and how I’m maybe not handling it in the best way this time. It’s an emotionally draining disease: the rollercoaster of feelings you can have in such a short space of time is quite overwhelming and this particular flare up seems different. I don’t know why, it just does. In all likelihood it could be down to the fact that I currently have no ‘normality’ yet; I’m still in a settling in period. My mundane routines are shot to hell what with the relocation from London, being a newlywed, going back to work after Maternity Leave and the mum-guilt associated with that. My support network is still there, oh for sure. But my personal go-to coping mechanisms aren’t necessarily.

I guess I just don’t feel like I have that guarantee this time, where my mind doesn’t need to flap so much (I have zero reason to think things won’t be ok and I am more than aware at the irrationality *eye rolls at self*) But for instance, these are the things I worry about…how I haven’t been back at work long enough to feel like I can prove myself, e.g. when my insides go mental don’t worry guys! Because when I’m healthy, oh I’m grand. Or to know how to function as a Mummy when really poorly. Or worrying about WHAT IS THE ACTUAL PLAN WITH MY CROHN’S. And when you’re sitting in a hospital bed on your lonesome in the middle of the night, you can’t help but let your mind wander.

There just seems so much uncertainty and for a woman who likes a plan…this one’s tough.

I spoke with my IBD nurses at the hospital and they recommended reaching out to the psychologists here. I’ve always been very vocal how for me counselling has been a great help – I’ve tried a variety over the years from one-to-one youth counselling, to a more general CBT approach and also group sessions for people with other chronic conditions. And now I feel that I need another outlet. For who I am as a person now. As a mother. As a wife. As a new West Country bumpkin. Where do I fit in and how do I learn how to manage with my Crohn’s for the current set up? Excuse the wanky term, but that’s a ‘journey’ that I’m going to have to go on and hopefully find out some of those answers.

I need to learn that only I put pressure on myself to be worrying for everyone one else in the world. But hey, once a worrier! But also that it’s key to know it’s all right that there’ll be things out of my control and everything will be just fine whether I’m in hospital or not. Whether I sit in this bed for another two weeks or I’m allowed home tomorrow. And that I’m also no use to anyone if I don’t allow myself time to get better: do as I’m told. Do as the doctors say. Rest when told. Let my body do its thing. Because my Crohn’s alone looks to be laden with many more hurdles and challenges over the coming months and I need to be ready for that. And it’s something I’ll be sharing with you all for sure.

From a more general standpoint as it stands with regards to my care, we are yet to manage a full meal. However we have had the camera up the ass today – wonderful Friday morning activity – and also had another x-ray to see what the bloody hell is happening inside me. There is a pesky 30cm section of small intestine that was found back in Summer 2015 and it was something we were ‘keeping an eye on’. Well the eyes have been subsequently peeled and nothing has changed so… but herein lies the problem. 30cm is a sizable chunk of small intestine. We don’t just whip that out willy nilly now guys. When discussing the large intestine, there are slightly more options surgically speaking – in that you can actually take it out completely if needs be. But when it comes to the unusually named small intestine (bearing in mind you have around 6m), you can’t live without that. And the more you chip away at it with resections, the more you leave yourself susceptible to future complications. Nutritional issues, feeding through tubes, being open to more serious diseases. Lovely stuff. So we’re tackling this from a medical point of view first. We’re mixing up the meds. We’re changing the doses. We’re hoping that I haven’t indirectly been overdosing on azathioprine as my weight has dropped. To quote the surgeon, is the resection off the table? No, not particularly. Is it something that requires urgent intervention this week? Also no.

So it’s time to get my game face on. It’s time to get my headspace sorted. Take those 3 minutes a day to meditate and zone out. To plan whatever is within my remit to prepare for.

And know that the rest will sort itself out.

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First Year

One full year since we welcomed our little boy into the world. And now we're parents to an already independent, chatty, funny little boy who has (somehow) managed to use his eyebrows to express his feelings - in context - since the day he arrived.

I say it every year, but this last year has been one of the quickest in my life. It has also been simultaneously one of the most rewarding and challenging.

Let's take it back to the start...

Anyone that followed my blog previously will have read the journey we went on throughout my pregnancy with regards to my Crohn's. Around this time last year it was my elective c-section date; elective due to previous abdominal Crohn's operations; c-section so my arse didn't fall out when pushing. Our bags were packed and off we headed to the hospital on the Friday morning ready to have a baby by lunchtime. And we did! Everything went as planned as it can and we were home by the Sunday. A weekend of new baby.

How that was a year ago is utterly beyond me. Even when looking at photos, it still doesn't quite compute that I've been pregnant, had a baby and now he's one.

But it's times like this weekend just gone, at his first birthday party (which let's be honest, he had no clue about, because why would he?!) and seeing him with his little mannerisms and movements, his interactions with others; it's intriguing watching him grow and develop into a proper little boy. How much he's changed over the last few months in particular - so close to walking...a few waddles and then a slow sit down to the floor again - yet you can see that determination there. It's fascinating and it makes me excited for what else is to come as he continues to grow up and become his own person.

Can we just take a moment to discuss a child's first birthday party though? What a strange party to have. The guest of honour is completely unaware of the occasion; it's mainly for photos and the memories for others and to look back and say "this is what we did for your first birthday". Because you can't do nothing, it's their first birthday! First ever celebration of birth! Equally you know that from age 2 and onwards, the parties will be much better... So you do baking in rainbow coloured sponge, you get the pink wafers and party ring biscuits and you display the finger food along side the bottles of squash. And at least I finally had a good reason to eat kids' party food: I was hosting an actual kid's party this time.

But being surrounded by all of our family and friends, it made me ever so thankful and realise how lucky we truly are as our own family to have such wonderful people around us.

Because it gets tough sometimes. Parenting is genuinely all the clichés you get told beforehand. I have learnt so much in what seems like such a short space of time. You are thrown in the deep end and learn on the job as a new parent - each day is different and throws challenges at you - some days are harder than others, but that's ok. The majority of people will have been through it too, at some point. And even if you are doing everything in your power to provide the best for your child, you will still read an article that makes you question how you are as a mummy or daddy, or hear the advice givers and nay-sayers and wonder what more you could be doing. My son makes me proud every day. And I have to know that as his mummy I am doing everything I can for him. And so is his daddy.

Happy First Birthday Son.
We love you very much.

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All New

*I've amended the heading for my blog, as I'm not sure how long 'new' lasts with regards to being a new mama. And am now no longer wedding planning as I'm a wife. But Crohn's is still ever present. We can talk about that another time perhaps?

Since I last blogged...

• We relocated from London to the Westcountry
• Moved in with the in-laws
• I came off of Maternity Leave and am now a full time working mother
• We got married!
• Had a minimoon, sans son
• It's our son's first birthday

So everything's still a bit new for me.

Having a blogging hiatus seemed slightly more acceptable when I sat back and realised how much change was happening in my life. I also feel that I very much wildly underestimated what the above tasks would entail; in both a physical and mental sense.

We'd covered all major life events in a period of around 8 weeks - never mind the sister-in-law's wedding, cousin's wedding and all the hens and stags in between. I think by the end of October I had decided that 'time' wasn't a thing any more. It didn't exist. It either went way too fast or chunks of time seemed to disappear without warning; not enough hours in the day, etc. etc.

So you're probably thinking, everything seems to have calmed down a bit now - why hop back onto the blogging figurative bicycle and share my thoughts? Well...this is by no means a 'woe is me' post; however I've mentioned before that sometimes slapping the keyboard with my feelings is quite the therapeutic task in itself. I've been thinking a lot about blogging of late - whether it be to help actually process all the change that's gone on, the fact my son is reaching his first birthday milestone and all that it brings with it (parenting highs, lows, challenges and rewards), that my own little family has done a full relocation of living and work, life as a newlywed (and what that even means?!), or that my Crohn's is still a pain in the arse and it bothers me.

I want to post about each of the main topics over the next week or so, as I'm currently signed off work (there's a wee insight into how my Crohn's is doing! *collective sigh*) But having blogged on and off for the last four years, I know when things have been on the tougher side, writing has really helped. Equally when things are on the lovely side, it's really enjoyable to write and share those moments, too.

And what better way to start again, than in two days time when it's our first born's FIRST BIRTHDAY. He's been here a year already. Out of the womb and our bab for a whole 12 months. I still don't feel like I was pregnant long enough to have grown him, let alone see him doing proper human things on his own like an independent chap. But he's here. And he's going to be one this weekend.

For he's a jolly good fellow...

Side note: having had a full life change of geographical location, working situation, my marital status and introduction to parenthood - I'm now trying to work out what Hattie, etc. actually means. So I'll get back to you on that once I've worked out what direction this here blog is going in.

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Feeling Crafty

Crohn's shenanigans aside, 2017 is the year of the wedding! Best get organising and preparing as a bride-to-be...

First stop of arts and crafts for this mama on mat leave was the Save the Dates. I wanted to make something that wasn't overly time consuming - what with a new baby and all - but was also something I'd be proud to send out to family and friends.

Debated for a good while whether the Save the Dates had to be in the same colour scheme, etc. of the overall wedding stationery - typically they're sent so far in advance that how can you even know what colours you'll have?! But because we had a baby a few months went by (around 9) when all things wedding got parked for the time being. So now we're not actually that far away and have a rough idea of colours and what not...

They're all done and dusted and posted, and I'm really pleased with how they turned out. Should probably point out that I ordered our stamp from The English Stamp Company, along with the maroon/wine coloured inkpad. Dead impressed with the quality of it (also a nice little keepsake as it's got our wedding date on). Will be ordering more stamps from there, for sure - most likely for decorative purposes on other wedding stationery.

But now? It's time to work on the invitations!

I did my research as to what a wedding invitation should include; the actual inviting of the guests, time, date, etc. plus any details and an RSVP. Best route forward (as I wanted to make them all myself still) was to make a wedding bundle; make bits little and often, as again, young baby to look after too. So back to Pinterest for all the inspiration and I think we've finally settled what they'll look like. Give or take creative license.

I'd like to point out that I'm pretty keen for all this stuff; as in bought my own guillotine dedicated. I also feel that I should actually get a loyalty card for Paperchase. So after perusing the internet and deciding 'the look' for our invites, I got my supplies in and started the arts and crafts all over again. Well I say that, all I've been able to physically do thus far is cut the A4 paper into A5; don't actually have any of the main info confirmed yet for our wedding day (!) All in good time, hey...

I have, however, downloaded a font and created the designs for the invites themselves. Took a good while but I think we've got there in the end. Now to find a printers...

Wedding crafting has brought me onto first name terms with our local courier, what with all the paper bits I've been ordering. Very British moments of "Ah yes, me again! I know, so many deliveries" *rolls eyes and commences inane chit chat as you sign for the parcel* But lots of paper brings lots of wedding maths, like if there are 104 guests in the daytime with the wedding on a weekend, what colour envelopes do we need? (FYI, I'm a whizz now at paper/envelope sizes if anyone has any questions.)

But similarly to the Save the Dates, when the invites are complete I shall be sure to show you!

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Breast Foot Forward

As I sat in bed this morning, night light on, feeding my son, I took a moment to enjoy and appreciate the close bond that breastfeeding has given me and my little boy over the last three months.

I always said that I wanted to be able to breastfeed exclusively for the first two weeks of my child's life - which I did - and that if I could, I'd like to get to six months; even if that was through combination feeding. But tried to maintain a 'what will be, will be' type-vibe (so many opinions and pressures for feeding a baby, as I'm sure you're aware. Is my baby being fed? Yes. Great. As you were then). I've been combination feeding for a good while now and I wouldn't change the routine we've fallen into, by any means. However I always thought that when I chose to stop breastfeeding it would be just that: my choice.

Mother Pukka X Parent Apparel jumper with all my parenting feels

Good ol' Crohn's and the rules that go with the scans and sedation that I need means that my breastfeeding days might be numbered. If ever there was a sign that we go full bottle, it's being told that for 48hrs after my MRI and at least 48hrs after the sedation, I cannot breastfeed. Granted I could express to keep my supplies up and running, but it works out at almost a week long with the appointments being so close together. So maybe I take stock and prepare for the changeover.

I'm just finding it all a tad tricky, you see...everything a double-edged sword. As much as I love the morning feed when it's all quiet and just bab and I, both half asleep, it's probably for the best that any energy I do have, I keep for myself so I can be a relatively functioning human being and be there to provide whatever my son needs.

*Haven't actually done this, FYI*

I'm also incredibly nervous about the forthcoming investigations; the MRI I thought had been parked for the colonoscopy, is in fact going ahead as they called me yesterday. So I had my pre-assessment yesterday and my bloods done (gosh, so tired), I have my scan next week and the colonoscopy the week after. BUT WHAT ARE THEY GOING TO FIND?! I know I'm not well. For God's sake it hurts to have the little man even lean on my tummy. Standing is also generally becoming a bit uncomfortable; it's easier to walk hunched over like Quasimodo, but it's also not a look I recommend when trying to push your pram.

We'll see though. I've done this before. I've definitely been through worse with my Crohn's. Got to keep the long game in mind; experiencing the changes in my son each day and that come Autumn, I'd like to be able to walk down the aisle without looking like I'm from the Hunchback of Notre-Dame.

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Return of the Ass Invasion

Not a sequel I'm particularly keen on, but it was only a matter of time until it was a knickers down/knees up appointment with the gastro team. And after what I thought was an MRI in the pipeline it appears that nope, let's get me in for a pre-assessment and colonoscopy in two weeks time. Joy. When the hospital called I thought it was to schedule in the aforementioned MRI - but it seems that my 'case', if you will, has been discussed in the clinic between the consultants and the best route forward is to get up all in my insides instead.

I know I'm not well at the moment (still essentially green in complexion because I'm so pale) and the bags under my eyes now have their own set of bags. I just get this massive anxiety over what they might find when they're routing round my intestines - especially now I've got the small human to be there for and to look after. I don't want to be the poorly mama. I want to be enjoying every mini milestone he hits as he grows and not need to abandon winding him because I need a sit down. He'll be three months on Friday and in the grips of teething so needless to say it's all just getting a tad overwhelming at present.

But despite my finding it tough at the moment, his beautiful little face makes every day seem that bit easier. Such a great distraction from the inevitable shits and pain.

I would just like to get the ass invasion over and done with and the medical plan put in place; I've got a wedding to plan and a baby to be with.

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I'm Pooped

If I've had an unintentional break from blogging, I always find it easier to pick it up again when it's Crohn's related. I don't know if that's because my Crohn's escapades always leave me wondering and subsequently that means I've got a lot on my brain that I need to let out. But either way. Here we are.

So as you are aware, I have Crohn's Disease and last year I also fell pregnant. As I mentioned many a time in my pregnancy posts, I considered myself super lucky to be able to enjoy every aspect of pregnancy like a 'normal' person with my Crohn's essentially putting itself in remission whilst I grew a human.

Well, said human is now out of me and 10 weeks old on Friday. And lo and behold we're back aboard the gastro train and it's like my Crohn's never left. (Wah).

Casually still waiting to be seen. Everyone else had left. Even the cafe had closed.

I had my catch up with my gastro consultant last week for what can essentially be described as a prelim to what looks to be an MOT for my postpartum body; all the bloods due to be taken and a small bowel and pelvic MRI in the diary. I think I spent the first month or so of motherhood pretending that I was perhaps more well than I actually was. No one should be shitting blood at the frequency I am and I think I tried to just get on with it for longer than I should have. And now I'm where I am now, which is scared to eat for fear of the impending bloodbath out my back nethers.

This in itself is a catch 22 as I'm still breastfeeding (technically combination feeding but the boobies are still required multiple times a day) and as any breastfeeding mother will know, it makes you oh so hungry. Any new parents will also know that looking after a new baby makes you rather tired (!) So this, coupled with the blood poos is all adding up to one mama who's so pale she's see-through and in need of a ruddy good lie down for about 8 days.

Don't get me wrong, I was never expecting my Crohn's to calm down when preg and I also wasn't expecting it to stay away once my bab was born. But if I was to say that I'm not sad about these latest developments, I'd be lying.

However I have to look at the bigger picture now I have a son and my stubbornness and my pride has to take a backseat when it comes to my health and looking after my baby boy. Would I rather stay breastfeeding but getting more poorly because I don't want to take certain medicines? Or do I take the medicines that would mean I'd have to stop breastfeeding, but can ultimately feel better? Obviously it's the latter. I just hope that the MRI isn't complete doom and that there's something we can do in the short-term so I can get back to being mama. Even if it's a mama who shits a lot.

And my poor bab having to get dragged on his Sleepyhead into the bathroom 10+ times a day. Hopefully he's far too young to be scarred by the experience. But everybody poos. his mama just does it more than your average.

X

PS: My hospital is in Westminster. The day of my appointment was also the day that they had to close and evacuate Westminster Bridge due to a WWII bomb discovery in the River Thames. Let's hope that's not an omen of any kind, hey.

Cheers & Change

Earlier on this week I posted a well overdue message of thanks to our friends and family, as we've only got around to going through everything now the Christmas break is all done. (So again) wow; the other half and I are completely overwhelmed with everyone's kind words and generosity with their gifts. I just wanted to reiterate how thankful we are...tip top welcoming of our son into the world, guys.

When reading through the congratulations and looking at photos from the first couple of weeks you realise how much your little human changes - and how quickly it happens. Other parents tell you to make the most of when they're a newborn because it doesn't last very long. They're not wrong! Me and the little fella had his six week check up today with the Health Visitor and as he was lying there being weighed, he looked like a proper little boy. Already. Not the small human lump he has been since his arrival back in November. There he was, his big open eyes looking around. The cooing and gurgling (and grunting?!) Lifting his head up and checking out the scenery. His face has changed so much.

But because he is only six weeks - that's not even 50 days old yet - I still get cuddles with my tiny spud; his little legs all froggy and tucked up like he's in my womb. There is honestly no feeling like it. I HAVE A SON. WE MADE A TINY HUMAN AND NOW HE'S HERE IN REAL LIFE. Barmy isn't it?!

As you can sense I'm still having moments of what the ruddy hell?! We. Are. Parents. It really is quite the baptism of fire with almost every day bringing a new experience as a first-time mummy and daddy. FYI, it's true what they say; you can read all the advice books in the world beforehand, but nothing actually prepares you for when your small human comes home.

But he is here. And now we officially have our own line on the family tree.
(It's true. He's legally registered as a human being and everything)
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And then there were three

Quite the cliffhanger I left you guys on...

But our bump to baby day was just that; and now we're 6 weeks in to being a little family of three thanks to our new addition of a little baby BOY! My slight inkling towards the end of pregnancy suggesting my bab be might be a girl was proved wrong at 12:37pm on 18th November as we welcomed a tiny human boy via c-section, weighing 6lbs 9oz.

I had every intention of writing about the whole birthing experience sooner than now - but I became utterly consumed by our new baby and I wanted to just enjoy my new role as Mummy to our spud. If you happen to follow me on Instagram then there's no doubt you would have seen my new family goings on as I continue to fill my feed with Baby Spam. FYI, Baby Spamming looks highly unlikely to stop in 2017 so by all means jump on board, chaps. Or don't. I don't mind, 'tis your call.

The last six weeks have flown by though and it's amazing how much has gone on during that time. My venture into parenthood has, generally speaking, been one of the most incredible things that's happened in my life so far and I feel it deserves a more detailed blog post (which will follow in the New Year). I say 'generally speaking' as naturally when you try anything new, there will always be trials and tribulations as you find your feet. And my word first-time parenthood has some steep learning curves! Like, I don't know, learning how to function with no sleep and a baby on your boob. Wouldn't change it for the world, mind.

For now however, I wanted to say that I hope you all had a smashing Christmas and enjoy this evening as we say ta ta and farewell to 2016 and look forward to what 2017 has to offer. But I also wanted to say a massive thank you for reading my ramblings as this year saw me take on my biggest adventure yet.

Happy New Year from one hormonal and proud Mummy. Here's to doing the 'pump and dump' so Mummy can have a few glasses of bubbles or a wkd blue.

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Bump to Baby Day

And just like that, it's here; heading to the hospital ready to have our miniature one. Officially the day my bump becomes our baby in arms.

See you on the other side...

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