tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28269996377831450452024-02-18T18:33:43.329-08:00Life... and other tales of woelittle pieces of everydayAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13180087993951244347noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2826999637783145045.post-72389382579933014132017-05-25T07:23:00.000-07:002017-05-25T07:23:03.707-07:00Supermarket Style<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I was at school, there was a rhyme that people used as a taunt for those who didn't quite fit in with the latest fashion trends. I recall it with a shudder because more than once, I fell victim to this lovely little rhyme.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"She thinks she's really cool man, but she shops at Oxfam.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She think's she looks so fresh though, but she shops at Tesco."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Catchy little ditty ain't it? At the time, I did actually buy clothes from Oxfam - indeed any charity shop or jumble sale I could find, such was my love of clothes from bygone eras. We used to call clothes from charity shops 'retro' but now the High End call it Vintage (daaah-ling) and stick an extra zero on the end of the price tag which, back in my day, would have had £1.50 on it.What was once sniggered at is now incredibly stylish. We all want to be that insouciant girl at the dinner party who replies with a faint smile "Oh this? It's Vintage." When somebody asked me where my clothes were from in school, I mumbled something incoherent about Miss Selfridge or Tammy Girl (remember Tammy Girl?!) Fashion certainly has a sense of irony.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now, I own my charity shop bargains. I've bagged a Louis Vuitton scarf for £3, Phase Eight dresses for a fiver each, sweatshirts by Sandwich. I even came across a tweed Gucci jacket in a little village charity stall for £40...but was, alas, too small.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yet buying your clothes at supermarkets still seems a little taboo in the fashion world. Dare I say shameful? The amount of women I've complimented on their shirt or dress who have then blushed and replied that it's 'only from Asda' is surprising. Surely it doesn't matter where you spend your money as long as you're buying something you love and feel good in?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Want to know a secret? Today I'm wearing a black maxi skirt...from Lidl. It set me back a bargainous £4.99 and it's brilliant. It doesn't feel cheap and nasty, it fits well and it's washed really well so far. It also looks pretty good on me. So why should I not be screaming from the rooftops about the benefits of kitting yourself out in new gear when you're buying your bread and milk?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For me, the benefits of supermarket shopping far outweigh the cons. It's convenient for one, because after the age of thirty with a baby in tow, who really has time to trawl around a shopping centre with a bunch of nubile teens making you feel like a frump? Secondly, clothes from supermarkets are generally cheaper than on the high street (not counting Primark here or as I call it 'the place where clothes sizes go to die. How can i fit in to an 8 and an 18 in one shop? Hmm). Finally, supermarket clothing ranges are seriously cool. The brands are stand alone fashion houses with well designed pieces that are on trend and well made. George at Asda, Florence and Fred at Tesco, TU at Sainsbury's are the big three but don't underestimate the power of Esmara at Lidl or Avenue at Aldi. They are as yet undiscovered.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As a new mum on maternity leave, I don't have the finances to buy a new Summer wardrobe but just because I'm a new mum on maternity leave doesn't mean that I don't want to look stylish and on trend. Supermarkets solve this dilemma for me. So in honour of supermarket style, I've out together a range of outfits from a capsule collection of supermarket buys, old and new, to show you just how versatile and fashion forward buying your outfits with your groceries can actually be.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">First up, Gym gear. Yes you really can buy super stylish, comfortable and fit for purpose workout wear from your local supermarket.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Leggings, TU at Sainsbury's, Sports bra, vest and sweatshirt all, F&F at Tesco. Trainers by Puma.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"But I love my designers" I hear you wail! Ok then, check out this Barbara Hulanicki dress from George at Asda. That's Biba...in case you didn't know. Shoes F&F at Tesco. Necklace, DP</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3noG7yYEnnH8V359idL5IZqxzJCNy6ZtpKXX72WHi8T7lO1Rr5Dc37bC3vWP6P_Y6Ie8KpOSoI38QNCu7RVe4wqZZx6sQdH0wflofETPOHv4qGbTTvCg9mRztK88r_N2qPzO_qQxZW5E/s1600/IMG_20170525_1343399.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1513" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3noG7yYEnnH8V359idL5IZqxzJCNy6ZtpKXX72WHi8T7lO1Rr5Dc37bC3vWP6P_Y6Ie8KpOSoI38QNCu7RVe4wqZZx6sQdH0wflofETPOHv4qGbTTvCg9mRztK88r_N2qPzO_qQxZW5E/s320/IMG_20170525_1343399.jpg" width="302" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Double denim can be dangerous but a denim shirt dress over striped jeans is a great way to tackle the trend. Plus the dress can be worn on it's own on warmer days.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Denim shirt dress, T-shirt and sandals: F&F at Tesco, Jeans, TU at Sainsburys</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> What's that? A dinner date outfit for under £30? Cheers Tesco! Top, trousers, shoes all F&F at Tesco. Necklace Ben De Lisi at Principles</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The infamous Lidl maxi skirt with very on trend gingham. Skirt, Esmara at Lidl, Vest - pack of 2, shirt and sandals all F&F at Tesco.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is a great Summer in the City Outfit. It looks stylish and expensive. You'd never know the whole outfit cost me £10...supermarket sales people...they are epic.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Top and shoes F&F at Tesco. Cropped linen trousers, Esmara at Lidl.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcqsyGSC__xGQ5IRc1QkBXqkFzM4l2wVgb_unhK2HTjX0hyphenhyphenojyHc3hRRQjlhgiLYkQzn4HMhlPKiXVKiN4646tPSvqmcXjMgIN9oJZtMaaJBRROOenbdQLSSGljXP0faLjL_PSqr0u1KA/s1600/IMG_20170525_1333323.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1393" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcqsyGSC__xGQ5IRc1QkBXqkFzM4l2wVgb_unhK2HTjX0hyphenhyphenojyHc3hRRQjlhgiLYkQzn4HMhlPKiXVKiN4646tPSvqmcXjMgIN9oJZtMaaJBRROOenbdQLSSGljXP0faLjL_PSqr0u1KA/s320/IMG_20170525_1333323.jpg" width="278" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is a great look for weekend day trips with the family! Whole outfit: F&F at Tesco. Necklace: Debenhams.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So there you have it, 7 looks from varying supermarket stores that can be mixed and matched throughout the summer at a fraction of the price of high street stores. Maybe now I won't be so stumbling when people ask me where my outfit is from...or maybe I'll keep it our little secret. And to those playground taunters...it might be 15 years too late, but I have a response for you: I know I'm really fresh though, cos I buy my clothes at Tesco.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">J</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13180087993951244347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2826999637783145045.post-73725733964239595672017-05-19T04:00:00.001-07:002017-05-19T04:00:43.455-07:00Burning Out: Underneath The Filter<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The Lurgy has entered the house. I woke up this morning, after an awful night's sleep, with a stuffy nose, a scratchy throat, aching joints and a pounding head. I was surprised at this as I've not been around anyone with a cold and I've been eating so well and exercising regularly that I thought my immunity would be a little stronger. So foul do I feel, that I felt something must have caused it and I looked back over my week trying to find the source of my misery. Only then did it occur to me that I might be taking on a little too much...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Working as a teacher I'm used to busy days and heavy workloads and countless marking and data deadlines. As Head of KS3 English, I constantly have a to do list longer than my arm and I rarely have a day that sees everything ticked off. Although I occasionally moan about my workload, I know I thrive in situations when stuff just needs to get done. I'm guilty of leaving things to the last minute because I know I can't procrastinate any more and I HAVE to finish a task. It's like I'm on my own Challenge Aneka episode only it's Challenge Jen and I'm competing with myself and time. The adrenaline is addictive and the pride at completing a task makes me feel like superwoman.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Being on maternity leave hasn't made me any more relaxed. Despite no longer having lessons to plan or essays to mark or data to review, I still give myself a huge workload...and I have to ask myself why I do this.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Take this week for instance. On Monday, I went to Mum and Baby group, completed a workout, went in to the local town to top up my grocery shop, even though I didn't need to. Tuesday I got up early to go running in the rain, took a shower and took Seb to Rhythm Time before racing home to have dinner before making the 4pm mum and baby showing of Beauty and the Beast. Wednesday saw a 10am Story Explorers class and a 12.45pm baby yoga class on opposite sides of the town and another browse around Tesco. Thursday? A particularly challenging day of a HIIT and weights session and a baby swim class all before midday followed by an hour's drive to York to have two work meetings before coming home to take Smeagol on an hour long birthday walk. On top of all this I do all the usual mum things: putting Seb down for routine naps, feeding him, dressing him, changing him, preparing bottles and meals, loading the dishwasher, cooking three healthy meals a day, doing laundry, tidying the house, walking the dog twice a day, showering, putting on make up, playing with Sebastian...food shopping. More? I meet up with friends for coffee, arrange play dates and clothes swaps, clear out my wardrobe and donate clothes to friends or charities, update this blog and instagram plus I'm doing the British Heart Foundation's My Marathon May. It's no wonder that I'm starting to burn out a little.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Why though? Why do I do this? I frequently hear my friends ask how I manage to do so much - how do I find time to cook? To clean? Why am I so busy?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The classes with Seb I do because I think it's important for his development and because I can't stay in the house all day or I'd go crackers. They're as much for me as they are for him...plus I know that when I go back to work I'm never going to regret all the time we spent playing and learning together. But everything else can be neglected a little, surely? Even typing that makes me guffaw because I know I couldn't just neglect my tasks completely. I will always need to tidy and clean because I simply hate unorganised chaos. I deep need in me since childhood has to organise things or people. I think it's the same part of me that will always get a thrill at buying stationary. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've always been a bit of an overachiever. I'm not the smartest, quickest, prettiest or funniest. In fact I am distinctly average in every way and so I've always had to work hard. A fear of ignorance means I'm constantly reading and wanting to learn. If I don't know something, I have to 'read up' on it so that I know the answers. I feel proud when I receive compliments on my outfit, carefully selected in my mind the night before, even though I might only be going to the coffee shop. It's not about being the best; I'm not that shallow. It more like I want to be the best that I can be. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But life is not a competition...and it's foolish to compete against yourself all the time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Looking at my instagram page, it's full of glossy, filtered pictures of home cooked, healthy meals, a smiling baby, a made up face and primped hair, motivating images of me working out. How pretty. How 'put together'.They're truthful images because yes, sometimes my life is pretty and put together, but it's not the whole truth. Sometimes, days like today happen.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Today I'm ill, grumpy, greasy and unmotivated. Today I haven't showered or put on make up or even changed out of my joggers and t-shirt which I slept in. I just put Military Man's hoodie over the top, because I'm missing him whilst he's away in Norway. Today, Seb and I have eaten a lovely breakfast of scrambled eggs and avocado, beautifully instagrammed....but I haven't washed the dishes, or unloaded the dishwasher from last night. I haven't dressed Seb - he's still in his pj's. His toys are strewn around the front room, the dog's muddy footprints pollute my usually clean kitchen floor...and it's ok for today. I'm cutting myself some slack. I have no workout plans nor am I leaving the house apart from the obligatory dog walks which I will do in the same clothes I'm wearing now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Everyone puts pressure on themselves but I do think mum's add even more weight to the load because they have a little person that they feel they're letting down if they don't do something perfectly. This is silly. Not once has Sebastian looked at me this morning, in his avocado stained superman pyjamas, and frowned at me as if to say 'you're failing as a mother'. He gave me his usual gummy giggle and blew a raspberry, spraying me with unswallowed remnants of scrambled egg. Sebastian thinks I'm perfect. One day, this will change and no matter how hard I try, he'll still give me stony teenage glares that will unhinge me. One day, he'll think I'm a rubbish mum and in a fit of adolescent rage he might even say it. But for right now, Sebastian thinks I'm the most wonderful mummy in the world, complete with greasy hair and a messy kitchen. And today, that's the best that I can be.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">J</span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13180087993951244347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2826999637783145045.post-42844224396491153342017-05-17T12:48:00.002-07:002017-05-17T12:48:48.906-07:00For The Love Of Chocolate<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's only natural that I should have been drawn to York. Despite now residing an hour away from the viking city, my heart will always call itself a Yorkshire girl, my feet ever longing for the higgledy piggledy cobblestones streets of the Shambles (the inspiration for Diagon Alley dontcha know?) and my nose ever sniffing up at the air yearning to smell the intoxicating scent of chocolate that roams around the York streets like a little sugar fairy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">York is the city of chocolate. Forget Vikings, Romans, Richard of York's vain battle or the Minster, York is instead made up of a dizzying array of sweet treats. The Nestle factory sits just outside the centre, filling the streets with a deliciously bitter cocoa scent if the wind blows the right way. The old Chocolate Works, once owned by Terry's (of Chocolate Orange fame) is treated like some holy shrine to all things confectionery. The park is even named Rowntree Park after Joseph Rowntree who opened the Chocolate factory in York before it was taken over by Nestle. And then there are more recent chocolate accolades: <a href="https://www.yorkcocoahouse.co.uk/" target="_blank">The Cocoa House</a>, <a href="http://www.hotelchocolat.com/uk/chocolate-shop?StoreID=127" target="_blank">Hotel Chocolat</a> and of course the <a href="https://www.yorkschocolatestory.com/" target="_blank">York Chocolate Story</a>. You could say York has an affection for confection.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I love chocolate. This declarative doesn't seem to convey the depth of feeling I have for the stuff. My favourite treat is a jar of Nutella, ever so slightly melted, with a spoon. Nothing else, just the glorious, liquid simplicity of the velvety smoothness of chocolate. However, I also love my health and whilst chocolate is the food of the gods, it's not exactly conducive to a slim figure if you eat it for every meal (which I would. I totally would).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If you've read my other posts, you'll know I'm doing The Body Coach's 90 Day Shift, Shape and Sustain plan, using his recipe books and work outs to help me. I LOVE this plan. I eat delicious food, never feel hungry and after 4 weeks, I've seen incredible results. My one qualm? There is a significant lack of chocolate (or indeed sugar) on the plan. Quelle horreur!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm not a girl to do things by half. I've stuck to the plan pretty rigidly and haven't had so much as a brick of chocolate in nearly 5 weeks...but that's not to say I haven't had cravings. My god, have I had cravings. At times I've walked down the sweets and treats aisle at the super market and left a puddle of tears in my wake (or was it drool?) So, not content with the meagre offerings of cinnamon on the plan (i love cinnamon...but it is chocolate's less interesting, somewhat overbearing cousin), I decided to create my own chocolate treats that don't break the rules (too much).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Chocolate mousse</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is delicious and filling and has a slightly fluffier texture than angel delight.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikVBwbNMnCTaBIm5Zzm9hBW3J9HCNFsURS0xFz9nUJXrDxoKc2371FeN0dqyafJ1GtEjROVftfXxXAUAxfGcH208pEpcFSs4qN0x6ikbq2zUrr9dOH9k8BJdC3q7gHgoG9VsowRa0d3Gs/s1600/20170504_194929.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikVBwbNMnCTaBIm5Zzm9hBW3J9HCNFsURS0xFz9nUJXrDxoKc2371FeN0dqyafJ1GtEjROVftfXxXAUAxfGcH208pEpcFSs4qN0x6ikbq2zUrr9dOH9k8BJdC3q7gHgoG9VsowRa0d3Gs/s320/20170504_194929.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Ingredients:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Makes 2 good sized portions</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1 tub250g of plain quark ( high protein, low fat, zero sugar cheese - just go with me on this)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">2 tablespoons of cacao (you could use cocoa at a push)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1/2 teaspoon of agave syrup</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1/2 teaspoon of cinnamon (optional)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Method:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Tip all the quark in to a food mixer with a whisk setting, though a hand whisk won't kill you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Whisk on a medium setting until the quark starts looking fluffier (or until your arm feels achey).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As you whisk, add in the cacao and cinnamon one tablespoon at a time. Continue to whisk until all combined.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In a lower whisking speed, add the agave syrup and whisk until combined (don't worry if the mixture looses a little 'fluff')</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Empty the mixture in to storage containers and refrigerate overnight.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Serve with raspberries.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Snickers Smoothie</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I can't get enough of this. It tastes just like a snickers and feels like a real treat. It makes a great breakfast on the go!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpyB20FcRyAo2F0zDPy9mm99vllItcpHCbCNFhuH-q1DBvNcgSaNkGK4ue4-pAhZJRRThFdPO9qvjyW4Ev2UDlrspiTl7wvHMIFepsSZUKMygd7Q05NoeaAehWMafwCT393-T2szJcTX0/s1600/20170517_095145.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpyB20FcRyAo2F0zDPy9mm99vllItcpHCbCNFhuH-q1DBvNcgSaNkGK4ue4-pAhZJRRThFdPO9qvjyW4Ev2UDlrspiTl7wvHMIFepsSZUKMygd7Q05NoeaAehWMafwCT393-T2szJcTX0/s320/20170517_095145.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Ingredients</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">250ml unsweetened Almond Milk</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1 tablespoon of almond butter</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1 tablespoon flax seeds</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1 tablespoon chia seeds</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">handful of walnuts</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1 tablespoon of cacao</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1/2 tablespoon of agave syrup</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Method:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Chuck it all in a blender and blend well.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Enjoy!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Bounty Bites</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I love Bounty chocolate bars but I know a lot of people don't. If you're one of them, just leave out the desiccated coconut.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRhlKzztP5R5hYgw41kFLrNC3wl2vgEtt7J6ZPqqxmll7Cc0RLcksN56jNSvU1B09f07HTVqK4bVsAA8uxhJXaKaYEgi_hs9DQzdDpuRMmh4EAO1iCwnUqT9U-LDQgo-IE9Anm7Mj7w9A/s1600/20170517_193858.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRhlKzztP5R5hYgw41kFLrNC3wl2vgEtt7J6ZPqqxmll7Cc0RLcksN56jNSvU1B09f07HTVqK4bVsAA8uxhJXaKaYEgi_hs9DQzdDpuRMmh4EAO1iCwnUqT9U-LDQgo-IE9Anm7Mj7w9A/s320/20170517_193858.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Ingredients:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">300g Medjool dates</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1 tablespoon cacao</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1 tablespoon almond butter</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">100g flaked almonds</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">50g of coconut oil</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">100g desiccated coconut</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Method</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Put all the ingredients, apart from the desiccated coconut, in to a blender and blitz to create a sticky soil like texture.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Form golf ball sized spheres by rolling handfuls of mixture in between your palms.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Roll in the desiccated coconut.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Chocolate Pudding Oats</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This seems like such an indulgent chocolate dessert. If it's a little rich for you for breakfast, why not try it as a mid afternoon snack?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggvcSqdl6i6h0WfWvmqL56gSaFvjisU5XQsPL1yX-BowAU2oFsVdECte1qHtuAfdopNZQZtz1xKWWXRfbwehizYxhThp6bkNmVVw9aSbI3bAEu_4hWaoikpqmCJMxUD3vQlwnsWYKfobw/s1600/20170516_111355.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggvcSqdl6i6h0WfWvmqL56gSaFvjisU5XQsPL1yX-BowAU2oFsVdECte1qHtuAfdopNZQZtz1xKWWXRfbwehizYxhThp6bkNmVVw9aSbI3bAEu_4hWaoikpqmCJMxUD3vQlwnsWYKfobw/s320/20170516_111355.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Ingredients</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">50g rolled oats</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">2 tablespoons cacao</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1 teaspoon of agave syrup</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1 tablespoon of flaxseeds</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">250ml unsweetened almond milk</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1 tablespoon greek yoghurt</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Method:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Put all the ingredients apart from the yoghurt in a bowl and give it a mix.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Microwave for 2 to 3 minutes (check after 2 minutes). You want a gooey, pudding-y texture.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Top with a dollop of greek yoghurt.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If you decide to give these recipes a try, I hope you enjoy them! Leave a comment if you do or if you have any of your own chocolate hacks to share!</span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13180087993951244347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2826999637783145045.post-49940980017736813992017-05-09T02:34:00.002-07:002017-05-09T02:34:58.750-07:00Yorkshire Days Out With Kids: Part Two!<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Continuing on from my <a href="http://lifeandothertalesofwoe.blogspot.co.uk/2017/05/yorkshire-days-out-with-kids-part-one.html" target="_blank">last post</a>, here are my next 5 places to visit with my little boy this Summer whilst his dad is on Operation in Cyprus. I'm so looking forward to seeing his little face as we visit these lovely places. If you're new to Yorkshire or have never been and fancy a visit, check out <a href="https://www.yorkshire.com/" target="_blank">Welcome to Yorkshire</a>, a website that lists events, places to visit, eat and sleep.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">6. <a href="http://www.visitwhitby.com/" target="_blank">Whitby </a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've been to Whitby many times. I've been to the beaches, the abbey, the museums, the cobbled Old Town streets and it's beautiful. But this time, I'll be seeing it through the eyes of my little boy who has never seen the sea, or sand. I can't wait to paddle with him on sunny days and play with a bucket and spade again before taking a ride on the <a href="https://www.endeavourwhitby.com/" target="_blank">Bark Endeavor</a> replica ship around the bay!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn5lLSU0EfW21pxQzckERwQhRsGsymGhRfQPk6PTmqB_jtFUOLRQjQS4O6P72nJ7oeQrN7A31AF90Sj9gJu-Op25r_p2EiACau23D0qUa63Pg-88mbFY_TbDGI5SzpEJUrgjViQYA8jL4/s1600/whitby-town.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn5lLSU0EfW21pxQzckERwQhRsGsymGhRfQPk6PTmqB_jtFUOLRQjQS4O6P72nJ7oeQrN7A31AF90Sj9gJu-Op25r_p2EiACau23D0qUa63Pg-88mbFY_TbDGI5SzpEJUrgjViQYA8jL4/s320/whitby-town.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvIc-g9w-gDDXeHK8h28vvXjCYC2njxo7t_GJpPU9Unr9ZuehHamue5i05ZzQN5ZZgKPz8mOKXC2YbddojpcGqQb3CdDphTBdcj279h5DaZmhPTf5MQKG9skX2PkG7clCcge6Eu8NAtHQ/s1600/Whitby-318x100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvIc-g9w-gDDXeHK8h28vvXjCYC2njxo7t_GJpPU9Unr9ZuehHamue5i05ZzQN5ZZgKPz8mOKXC2YbddojpcGqQb3CdDphTBdcj279h5DaZmhPTf5MQKG9skX2PkG7clCcge6Eu8NAtHQ/s1600/Whitby-318x100.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Whiby images from yorkshire,co,uk<br /></span><div style="text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">7. <a href="https://www.visitsealife.com/scarborough/" target="_blank">Sealife Sanctuary - Scarborough</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">An online ticket to this gem costs £9.50 but under 2's are free. This sealife sanctuary presents a range of fishy friends in different zones from the Great Barrier Reef to Penguin Island and Otter River. There are opportunities to touch some of the sealife and there are live feedings and talks on conservation and breeding for the older ones. But on a purely visual and sensory basis I think this would be a fantastic day out for the smallest of babyfolk and it's a great rainy day activity.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">8. <a href="http://stockeldpark.co.uk/" target="_blank">Stockeld Park, Wetherby</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have wanted to go here for the longest time. Each year they host a Winter Wonderland with ice skating and Nordic skiing along with and enchanted winter forest so I'm delighted that they have similar events during the Spring/Summer seasons. With inflatable play, soft play, indoor and outdoor adventure zones, a spider's lair, enchanted forest, buccaneer boats, a maze, go Karts, scooters and plenty of picnic areas, I'd say this is well worth the £12.50 per adult online booking price which includes entry to everything apart from the boats and includes parking...and under 2's go free.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcbC9TwxHyWCKDdjFVAtl6lzsoFPLKlM5y1ONcA4JBktDPI3d0_4v3vPBp7-h5v4b8vFM_a4VdK2kE7tUE7SOahgapql1_EMdw9s1l3tJVYlfJjEnKEfZk9ZqNOzB5-K4B9cYbrYEhNRw/s1600/stockeld-park.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcbC9TwxHyWCKDdjFVAtl6lzsoFPLKlM5y1ONcA4JBktDPI3d0_4v3vPBp7-h5v4b8vFM_a4VdK2kE7tUE7SOahgapql1_EMdw9s1l3tJVYlfJjEnKEfZk9ZqNOzB5-K4B9cYbrYEhNRw/s320/stockeld-park.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Image from Stockeld Park website</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">9. <a href="http://www.monkparkfarm.co.uk/fun-around-monk-park-farm-visitor-centre/2/" target="_blank">Monk Hill Farm - Thirsk</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is a really lovely farm for all the family. Sebastian recently looked the small petting farm we took him to so I'm looking forward to him being able to see a wider range of farm (and none farm) animals like rabbits, wallabies, peacocks and llamas. Whilst we're there I can take advantage of the lovely tea room and we can sit in the sunshine and have a play on the playground! Adult tickets are £7.50 and under 2's are free.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">10. <a href="http://www.flamingoland.co.uk/zoo-and-conservation.html" target="_blank">Flamingo Land Theme Park and Zoo - Malton</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ok admittedly, this is a bit of a blow out day in terms of cost.The online price for a day ticket for an adult is £32 though under 3's are free and there are family ticket deals available. You can get 2 day passes so you could even make a weekend of it as a family mini break and the passes give you access to both the theme park and the zoo. I used to go there every year as a kid and I loved it - the zoo is brilliant and is a conservation centre so the animals aren't there to be entertainment. You can be a zookeeper for a day and learn about the animals or you can adopt an animal. It's a great learning experience and the rides are great fun for older kids. Malton is not too far away so you could always have a little drive out to explore the beautiful little town and if you're lucky, their monthly food festival will be on! </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Image from Flamingo land website</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So these are my top summer 2017 bucket list picks! Favourable mentions that you may want to check out are: <a href="http://www.theforbiddencorner.co.uk/" target="_blank">The Forbidden Corner</a> , <a href="https://www.yorkschocolatestory.com/" target="_blank">York Chocolate Story</a> , <a href="http://www.nrm.org.uk/" target="_blank">National Rail Museum</a> and <a href="http://www.mothershipton.co.uk/" target="_blank">Mother Shipton's Cave.</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Do you have any secret gems to share? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">J</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13180087993951244347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2826999637783145045.post-16925574529289276942017-05-02T01:18:00.002-07:002017-05-02T01:20:13.629-07:00Yorkshire Days Out With Kids: Part One<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This post is inspired by Emma's <a href="http://www.limeafterlime.com/my-yorkshire-summer-2017-bucket-list/">Summer '17 Bucket List</a> over at <a href="http://www.limeafterlime.com/">her blog</a> which includes loads of fab ideas for days out in Yorkshire. If you're sprogless, definitely have a peek at her list!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My list is for those that have mini humans attached to them this summer (or if you're just a big kid at heart!).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Every Spring, I find myself making grandiose plans for the Summer. There was the Summer that Military Man and me were going to go on a Staycation, camping in a 2 man tent around England to see all the places we've never seen (Glastonbury I'm looking at you!) but being 7 months pregnant with a beagle puppy, it didn't really feel like the right time. Another Summer we were going to do city breaks. A weekend in Vienna here, a jaunt in Rome there...but life got in the way. Besides, city breaks are expensive!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So this year, facing the prospect of a long (hopefully warm!) season without Military Man who will be sunning himself whilst working in Cyprus for 2 months, I've decided to make some plans a little more realistic that will be enjoyable for me and keep baby Sebastian happy too!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">1. <a href="https://www.eureka.org.uk/" target="_blank">Eureka Children's Museum - Halifax</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This place looks amazing! It caters for children from birth to 12 years old and encourages hands on interaction with the exhibits. With 9 different 'zones' to explore - including sensory areas and soft play, you really get a lot of bang for your buck. An adult pass is just short of £13, under 1's are free but once you've got a pass it's valid all year. This would be a rainy day out!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Image credit: Eureka.org.uk</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">2. <a href="http://www.ponderosa-park.co.uk/centre/animals.php" target="_blank">Ponderosa - Batley</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I love the idea of this place. It's a therapeutic centre which is suitable for children of all ages but is specifically catered towards children with disabilities. There's a small zoo with animals ranging from the Tropical Jungle of Brazil to the Sandy Plains of Australia and children can pet and feed some animals. There's a picnic area and a man made beach with a pirate ship to play in plus a zip wire area for older kids. An Indoor play area and an ice cream parlour makes this a really fun day out for a really reasonable price of £5.50 for a combined adult ticket.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">3. <a href="http://boomchikkaboom.com/" target="_blank">Baby Rave by BoomChikkaBoom - Various places</a></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I have to admit, I'm so excited for this one. A Baby Rave, for those not in the know, consists of messy play, light shows, bubbles, confetti and noise makers all with music and glo-sticks! Events are held regularly in Halifax, Leeds, Harrogate and York and are often themed and held at baby appropriate times. At £6 for an adult and 1 child, it's not going to break the bank either.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAKQlpYQgDj7Z1HFHBR5W6RuwxbngFvGosUEJmlAbMKIrd5B9F9dh-ZYsBorz8AaXl_KuLATlttvhBQrpeJtsrSLk_AR1xwIzZAM1HE1gwU_k3bPUkeaWLh88MusjqO5o-FAoCm-1fVnY/s1600/softplay-lights-300x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAKQlpYQgDj7Z1HFHBR5W6RuwxbngFvGosUEJmlAbMKIrd5B9F9dh-ZYsBorz8AaXl_KuLATlttvhBQrpeJtsrSLk_AR1xwIzZAM1HE1gwU_k3bPUkeaWLh88MusjqO5o-FAoCm-1fVnY/s1600/softplay-lights-300x300.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">4. <a href="https://www.rainbowfactorykids.com/" target="_blank">The Rainbow Factory - Leeds</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This is one for the kids who love storytime. The Rainbow Factory is a play centre that caters to children from birth to 10 years old with weekly drop in sessions ranging from Music Monkeys and Sensory Stories to themes events like Harry Potter Day and Enchanted Theatre performances. Event prices do vary and you have to book events ahead of time so keep checking the website.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">5. <a href="http://www.ilkleylido.co.uk/" target="_blank">Ilkley Lido - Ilkley</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">If we are lucky enough to get a day a beautifully hot and sunny day I am definitely taking a trip here. Located near Bradford, the Ilkley Lido is one of the few remaining operational Lido's in the UK. Inflatables are allowed and there's a paddling pool for little ones. A picnic area is available to save on costs but there's also a cafe. An adult pass is £4.50 and a junior is £2.35. Please note that this isn't a heated pool so be sure to put your little one in a full body wetsuit and take lots of towels for snuggles after splashtime!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I hope you've found some inspiration in my list so far. Tune in next time for Yorkshire Days Out With Kids: Part 2.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">J</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13180087993951244347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2826999637783145045.post-40754675670940787222017-04-27T06:56:00.004-07:002017-04-27T07:00:18.084-07:00Fitness, food and fitting in to my old jeans...<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The muscles in my bum are on fire. Every time I take a step up the stairs, or bend over to pick up my son or tidy something away, or even so much as take a step, my glutes cry out in shrieking pain that they hate me. I move around with low grumbles of 'ouch, ow, ooh, ouch, gah' like I've just had a hip replacement and am off to Bingo.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This pain is self inflicted after a particularly intense HIIT workout yesterday that involved Sumo Squats. Sumo Squats. Sumo = large wrestler with a wedgie. Squats = using your bum muscles to dip down low and (hopefully) get you back up again. Those are two words that should not be put together but unfortunately have been collaborated to create a squat from hell that involves you dipping down into a regular squat and then jumping... <i>jumping </i>back up in to a legs together position. Sounds easy? Try it after high knees, burpees and mountain climbers and do 5 rounds of each, as fast as you can. It's <b>HARD.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'm in my third week of training for a running challenge for the British Heart Foundation called <a href="https://mymarathon.bhf.org.uk/">My Marathon</a>. I have four weeks to run a total of 26.2 miles - that's 42K if you like it metric. You can choose to walk, jog or run it and you log the miles you complete on a fitness app connected to your own <a href="http://charity.everydayhero.co.uk/">Everyday Hero page</a>. I've chosen to jog and run the miles as best I can but considering I'm more unfit than I ever have been, I thought I'd better get some training in.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The apps I've been using are my trusty Samsung Health app and the Baby Steps to 5k program which promises to get me fitter and running a full 5k in 10 weeks. If I can manage to get through the My Marathon month (not that I have a choice now that the sponsorships are coming in!) then I might put myself in for a charity 5k. The other app is <a href="https://www.strava.com/">Strava</a>, a fitness tracking app for athletes which is only a little bit intimidating but also really good at showing me at which points in my run that I'm at my fastest and trends in pace, distance and longest active time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Whilst this may all seem very benevolent and selfless I assure you that my motives are not purely charitable. Frankly, I want to lose weight. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Before my eggo got preggo I was a size 10 to 12 and at 5"7 I weighed in at 12st which, incidentally is considered overweight despite the fact that I ran three times a week and ate healthily due to having coeliac disease. At my most ill, when I was passing out and my blood pressure was dangerously low resulting in an iron infusion, I was a size 8 and 10st and considered 'normal'. I was skeletal and it just didn't suit me. Now, post baby, I'm a size 14 and nearly 15st. It's not the largest I've ever been but I don't exactly feel confident. Whilst I'm realistic enough to know that my body is never going to be exactly the same as it was pre Sebastian, I would like to lose some of the flab which seems to have piled up on my hips, thighs and arms...accumulations of fat that have come from the slabs of chocolate I've lived off in the last 6 months. Worth it? My tummy says yes...my glutes disagree! Trying on my size 12 pre-pregnancy jeans a few weeks ago saw them fastening, only just, pushing up a muffin top that made me seriously crave a blueberry breakfast muffin but simultaneously made me want to stop breathing in case oxygen contained calories. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Me as a size 10 to 12 before I had my son</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Just a few weeks after having Sebastian</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I was lucky really. I got no stretchmarks or wrinkly skin as a result of my being pregnant. My stomach looks squishy but, aside from my c-section scar, you wouldn't be able to tell I'd been pregnant in the last year. My fitness levels, however, tell a different story. The first time I went out for a run I was out of puff before I'd even made it past the end of my street. But I know I'll get there. 3 weeks in and I already feel the difference...and the burn in the bum muscles. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Foodwise, I've started following <a href="https://www.thebodycoach.com/">The Body Coach</a>'s 90 day Shift, Shape and Sustain plan, inspired by my pal Rachel over at <a href="http://www.theinelegantwench.com/">The Inelegant Wench</a> (check her out!) who was kind enough to talk me through her tailor made plan. As I am a pauper on maternity pay, I can't afford the £150 three month plan so Rachel has let me purloin some recipes and I'm using the book to help me learn, plan and workout. I'm 2 weeks in to the food plan and it's been illuminating. Essentially, it's a low carb lifestyle which suits me fine as I love a bit of meat (get that smut out of your mind) but it educates you on what to eat and when. Carbs are allowed, but only as a refuel after a workout so if I want a bowl of pasta that's fine, but I'm gonna have to work my ass off for it first. Food as motivation? Oh Joe Wicks...you are a genius.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So far, I feel full...constantly full. There is a LOT of veg and eggs and I'm getting pretty tired of spinach though I have discovered a lifelong love for kale but in truth, I'm finding it fairly easy. I love to cook fresh and have to anyway to ensure none of my food contains gluten so it's not that much of a change for me. The first week I had major sugar cravings and was in a serious grump with Military Man who thought it was acceptable to eat MY easter egg in front of me. But really I'm glad he removed the temptation! I had headaches, lethargy and general sluggishness but this week I'm feeling much more refreshed...although I do seem to be spending rather a lot of time on the loo, side effects of all that green veg!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The recipes are delicious and I've been posting pictures on my <a href="https://www.instagram.com/lifeandothertales/">Instagram</a> so check them out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Joe Wicks instructs his 90 Day-ers not to step on the scales or the Sad Step as he calls it but as I'm technically not a paying 90 Day-er, I figured I didn't have to stick to the rules. I know...I'm such a rebel. So far? I've lost 14lbs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I tried on my pre - pregnancy size 12 jeans earlier. My sore ass fit in them without a splodge of muffin top. Suddenly, my glutes don't ache as much.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">J</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13180087993951244347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2826999637783145045.post-41433227904372913382017-04-24T02:54:00.001-07:002017-04-24T02:54:52.713-07:00Introducing....<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sebastian Shaun Rothwell was born at 9.06am on the 25th October 2016. He was a healthy 8lbs and 14oz and the first thing he did when he was placed on my chest was take a dump on me followed by a wee that rivalled Austin Powers after he'd just come out of biofreeze, This was most definitely a sign of things to come.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For those that didn't catch my last post, he was born by elective c-section after the discovery of a dermoid cyst that was blocking my cervix and twisting my ovary. It turned out to be a big, hulking bezoar of a cyst, just slightly smaller that Sebastian's head.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Seb, as he has become affectionately called, is a an amalgamation of every cliched description a mother can have for her child. He is obviously the most beautiful baby in the world, the most advanced, the best baby whilst simultaneously being the worst... he is, quite simply, superlative.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When were taken to the ward in a mist of shock and joy (he was here! Finally here! oh God. He was here) Seb had already latched but just kind of lay there, eyes closed, mouth open waiting for the milk to come. He didn't suckle for two days and I had to be hand expressed every few hours by the most wonderful midwife. 14 hours after Seb's birth, he still had not ingested any colostrum. My midwife expressed 10ml in to syringe to give to him but said, very matter of factly: "Your child needs to be fed. Give him some formula. <b>FED IS BEST.</b>' Weeping, I gave him formula, thinking I'd never breastfeed but the next day, Seb began to suckle and we had 6 beautiful months of breastfeeding. I have also formula fed him alongside breastfeeding and this has worked for us. My little boy is happy and healthy...so my advice to anyone who is worried about whether to breastfeed or not...just do what feels right for you and your baby. I wanted to exclusively breastfeed... and I did for a month. But mixed feeding was so much better for us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sebastian smiled at 4 weeks, sat up at 3 months and started feeding himself at 4 months. He is currently 6 months and is able to stand up, supporting himself. if you hold his hands, he walks with you. He loves music. Nursery rhymes, songs from the radio, classical...he likes it all. He is also a gogglesprog. He'll stare at the television for hours on end so we're very careful about what we put on the tv. You Tube's Super Simple Song's channel has been amazing. Seb now recognises songs and 'sings' along, batting his tambourine around like some little hippy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's not all fun and games though. Sleep is a long forgotten friend. In fact, Seb has always been a poor sleeper. I don't include the newborn phase here because no newborn is a poor sleeper - they just have no idea how to sleep 'properly'. I mean from 3 months, when his rhythms settled, Seb never really showed a great interest in sleeping. He would wake every two hours, nap for only half an hour and would become antsy if he wasn't in our arms. So we co-slept. I had never intended to do this...but again...it worked for us. Now, at 6 months, Seb occasionally sleeps through the night but mostly, he sleeps from 7pm til 3am then til 6,30am and has three short naps during the day. This is manageable and far better than a lot of babies, I realise. We've only managed this by following Tracy Hogg's The Baby Whisperer Sleep Guide. It saved my sanity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I could write so much about Sebastian. He is my best pal and he's just so much fun and he's the most interesting person I know. Military Man adores him also...and despite his hesitance to do ANY of the night feeds...seeing him with our son makes me love him even more deeply. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My experience of pregnancy was ok - I had a fairly healthy, normal pregnancy though I wasn't one of those Earth Mother type people who adored being pregnant and growing a child. But it was all SO worth it. In fact...it wasn't all that bad. I might even do it all again...</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13180087993951244347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2826999637783145045.post-5928994788390321902017-04-23T10:09:00.000-07:002017-04-23T10:10:00.047-07:00Cesarean Sections - Cutting Through The Crap<div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.8px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Pregnancy is a mother fucker. It really puts you through wringer mentally and physically. The nausea, the bulging boobs, the swelling tummy, the kicks (oh the kicks) in the ribs that legitimately give you the fear that your baby is going to puncture your lung. And then there's sleepless nights (practise, I was informed, for when the bundle of joy arrives! Ho ho ho), waddling like a drunk penguin and pain in all your joints that inspire new sympathy for the elderly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But despite all this, you're excited! I couldn't wait to meet my little baby boy, my little Gizmo the womb gremlin. That excitement got me through the days when i felt like my belly entered the room 5 minutes before the rest of me. That same excitement also got me through<b> The Fear</b>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>The Fear</b> was all consuming in those final weeks. This little wrigger, burrowing his way in to my bladder and ribcage simultaneously, was going to have to come out. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'd been repeatedly told that my little Gizmo was actually not so little and was measuring big. I measured at full term 40 weeks by the time i was 36 weeks pregnant. So it was natural for me to think that he'd be making an early appearance - he was cooked and ready - he'd definitely be popping his not so little head out my foof sooner rather than later. Right? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Wrong. I got to 41 weeks and nothing was happening. No dilating. No effacing. No other puke inducing words that implied imminent vaginal birth. <b>The Fear</b> got worse. I'd be birthing a beast that would tear me open! He'd get stuck and he'd die! I'd bleed too much and die! (Most of <b>The Fear</b> scenarios ended up in someone dying in 1800's birth bloodbath style). But then <b>The Fear</b> changed as i started to think that i might not be able to birth my son...that my most natural, instinctive reason for existence would be deprived from me...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I was born by cesarean section and I have nothing against them - they are amazing, lifesaving surgeries and i applaud the surgeons and patients alike. But elective cesareans were a different matter for me. I hadn't realised how much I had subconciously judged those who had them as being 'too posh to push' until I had to have one myself. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">At 41 weeks I had a stretch and sweep by a consultant. It was excruciating and i bled considerably and right away i was sent for a vaginal ultrasound. Afterwards, sitting in his office on a sanitary pad that resembled an adult nappy, he gave me and my husband 3 pieces of information.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">1. My cervix was high, tight and closed. He'd torn through it anyway (hence pain that made me nearly throw up - really) but he doubted i would go in to labour naturally.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">2. There was something behind my cervix that wasn't the baby. Something that felt like a lump.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">3. The lump, likely to be a dermoid cyst (google it if you're brave), was attached to my ovary and was twisting it downwards. I would need surgery to remove the cyst and most probably my ovary.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Stunned, I stared at my husband. I vaguely heard the consultant explain that I could try for a natural birth but that it may damage my ovary, it may burst the cyst causing sepsis, it may end up in emergency c-section because my baby boy could get stuck. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My visions of a waterbirth dissipated. The images of me crying and grunting as i partially fractured my husband's hand whilst our child was delivered by a brusque but lovely Yorkshire midwife disappeared.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">There was just no...<i>romance</i> to an elective c-section. But it seemed we had no choice. We were booked for surgery 3 days later...the 25th October 2016. We went home with mixed feelings.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The next day i woke with a new found excitement. How lucky was I that I knew the exact date when my baby would arrive? We could plan for someone to look after Smeagol the beagle, inform family so they could book time off work and make arrangements to travel to visit. To make it even more exciting, we did a C-section announcement as a fun way of telling friends and family without inviting pity or questions.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>Our C-section announcement</i></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPMj2MQCM9ObX-1hZFpsMJ_f1t4Flzvy6p-Z2hUgDOKyV9JVVhBYOIiUrlv-0p2wBmfGqg96IJWkOsoKef6OnADLA1kDEnnwhUajk5iun8N5dauK_S2QjM6Nt-Ob5i3Zwjp-4bRGw2AI/s1600/20161022_123446.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPMj2MQCM9ObX-1hZFpsMJ_f1t4Flzvy6p-Z2hUgDOKyV9JVVhBYOIiUrlv-0p2wBmfGqg96IJWkOsoKef6OnADLA1kDEnnwhUajk5iun8N5dauK_S2QjM6Nt-Ob5i3Zwjp-4bRGw2AI/s1600/20161022_123446.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPMj2MQCM9ObX-1hZFpsMJ_f1t4Flzvy6p-Z2hUgDOKyV9JVVhBYOIiUrlv-0p2wBmfGqg96IJWkOsoKef6OnADLA1kDEnnwhUajk5iun8N5dauK_S2QjM6Nt-Ob5i3Zwjp-4bRGw2AI/s1600/20161022_123446.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Ironically, at 3am on the morning of the 25th October, I began to get contractions. I lost my plug and the contractions started getting more frequent and painful. It's true what they say - they are about as unmistakable as having a red hot vice squeezing around your uterus. But i felt so grateful...i got to experience just a little bit of labour. We had the impassioned drive to the hospital with me huffing and puffing, repeatedly saying 'that was the worst one yet!'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Because I was in labour I was prepped for surgery immediately. It was a surprisingly casual affair. I laughed and joked with the nurses and the anaesthetists, my husband took selfies of himself in his blue scrubs, we had a lovely chat whilst the surgeon cut me open.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I wasn't numb exactly but i couldn't feel any pain at all. It was like someone was doing dishes in my tummy and there was a lot of tugging.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">C-sections are busy. I had a screen covering me from under my bust (Sweeney Todd type splatters of blood are normal) and there were so many medical people around me. Hubby was right next to my head and my trusty anaesthetist was behind me, continually checking I was ok. My midwife was there, smiling, letting me know exactly what was happening.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And then i heard it. His cry. My baby boy's first long, powerful scream. And it was so full of life. Tears sprang forth so easily that I wondered if I had been crying the whole time. He was placed on my chest, a red, gunky, warm little thing, all tiny hands and feet and squashed face. It wasn't love at first sight - it was awe that this tiny little human had arrived. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It didn't matter how he'd arrived. It didn't matter that i had to be sliced and diced to see him. I'd do anything in the world to see his face...his perfect little face.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Whilst me and my husband, the new mummy and daddy, did skin to skin and helped our little one to the breast, the surgeon continued to operate and removed the cyst. It was the same size as my son's head and accounted for a lot of the apparant 'large' size of my son. At 8lbs 14oz he was big...but not the minimum of 9lbs60z i'd been told to expect.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My ovary was saved, my chance of conceiving again completely unaffected and i was sewn up and whisked away to my warn with other new mummies. We were no different. We all had the same look of love, awe and terror. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And i got my brusque but lovely Yorkshire midwife...</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13180087993951244347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2826999637783145045.post-60063261716001297732016-09-11T03:14:00.000-07:002016-09-11T03:14:28.615-07:00Tips For Pregnant Teachers<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">September, for me, will always be a time of stationary supplies, new diaries, school shoes and a brand new bag to cart my shiny new swag around in. No, I'm not trying to relive my teenage obsession with Paperchase (how can I relive it? The obsession never died!), I am in fact a teacher. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Along with a blood volume that consists of around 75% caffeine, stationary (mainly board pens, pencils and bic biros) make up a good third of my body weight. I am never without a notebook and pen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I teach English in a secondary school and 6th form and it's one of the most rewarding jobs I think you can ever do. I'm not one of those teachers who hates their job and moans about it constantly...and trust me, there's enough to moan about! However, it is challenging - an entirely different thing to 'hard' or 'soul destroying' like I've heard colleagues from other schools refer to it as. One of my favourite things ever is to see a kid's smile once they've come up with an interpretation that is valid and original on a text I've read a hundred times. I get just as much of a thrill getting a pupil to a C grade when they've struggled for 2 years as I do when one of my gifted and talented children bags an A*.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The kids really do make this job worthwhile. In fact, it's not a job...it's a vocation...a calling. Of course there are times when I'm knee deep in marking appallingly bad essays and tatty scraps of homework that make me want to scrawl "are you fucking kidding me?' across it in big red letters a la Bad Teacher, but for the most part, I think I'm pretty lucky that my days are so different and unique and filled with challenge rather than boredom. Plus I get a lot of holidays...yeah that's always a positive!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But since I became pregnant, I've found teaching a little harder to engage with and it's taken me 8 months to really accept that I have to change my methods of teaching and adapt to my current condition. Accepting this earlier would have made my job easier and so I've put together some tips for teachers who are pregnant or planning on becoming so in the not so distant future.</span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">1. In the early stages of pregnancy, tell a trusted colleague that you're with child.</span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Most women want to wait until they're past 12 weeks and in to the 'safe zone' of pregnancy before they reveal their joyous news. But in my opinion, you're making things incredibly hard for yourself. I suffered with hyperemesis in my first trimester. I was throwing up fifteen plus times a day, all day, every day. It started at eight weeks pregnant and didn't stop until I was fourteen weeks. I soldiered on and went in to work but had to run to throw up far too frequently in the middle of lessons. I also felt appalling. Don't underestimate how rubbish any degree of morning sickness can make you feel. In the end, I had to tell my line manager and also the headmaster because I honestly felt I could no longer work. I ended up being signed off work for 3 weeks and being put on anti sickness medication which made me drowsy and unable to drive in to school. I felt like a hindrance and I was nervous about telling my manager and the headmaster so early on in my pregnancy but I needn't have worried. Both of them were incredibly supportive and were able to inform HR that my extended sickness fell under pregnancy related issues, meaning I didn't receive a disciplinary for long absence. It also meant that when I did go back in to work, I had 2 people who were primarily concerned with my health and well being and they could put measures in place to help me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Even if you only tell one trusted colleague, it will help you. They can check on your class if you need to run out to be sick and if you're feeling rubbish, they can buoy you up and feed you ginger biscuits. Always a good thing.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">2. Get the kids to do things for you.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It's a common trait in teachers that they often work harder than the children they teach. For some reason, I spend an inordinate amount of time handing out books, text books, paper and other supplies to kids. Save yourself some much needed energy and ask your pupils to help you out by handing out your resources, writing on the board for you and collecting things in. I even took up one of my sixth formers on their offer to go to the office to make me a cup of tea! Many of your pupils will be so excited for you and will want to show you that they care in some small way. The majority of my pupils are so accommodating of me and can't do enough to help me out...even the ones who groaned at me several months ago when I asked them to collect in the glue sticks!</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">3. Be honest with yourself about what you can handle...and then be honest with your colleagues.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'm a middle leader at my school and have a responsibility for KS3 english. It's a lot of work on top of my day to day teaching and whilst it's a job I've worked hard to get, I've found, since becoming pregnant, that it's much harder to meet all of my responsibilities. Exhaustion is very real in pregnancy; I've never known tiredness like it and whilst many women may be full of energy in their pregnancies, I really haven't. This has meant that from big parts of my job like data management, intervention, curriculum planning to the little things like maintaining displays, have taken their toll on me. When I returned to work after having hyperemisis, I realised I needed to be straight with my colleagues and let them know that I just couldn't do everything anymore and I needed to delegate. To my surprise, they were happy to help me wherever they could and it's actually provided excellent opportunities for professional development for many of them. This is one tip I'll be following even when I'm not pregnant!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>4.Be comfortable</b>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Ask any teacher how many times they sit down during the day and they will most likely look at you in confusion. Sit down? As in have a rest? Can you even do that when you're a teacher?! Well, actually...yes. We all take on too much as teachers. By nature, most of us are compassionate and self sacrificing (to a fault) and will gladly work through their break times and lunches to help a struggling student. Well, I'm sorry to say it, but pregnancy is the one time where your own comfort comes first. At break times, actually get out of your classroom and go to the staffroom and sit down; eat a snack, have a drink, demand the comfy chair! During lunch, go for a gentle walk, eat whilst, *gasp* SITTING DOWN and stop checking your e-mails every 5 minutes. Additionally, if you're finding work trousers uncomfortable - I do...the waist band sits right over my bladder, and you just can't cope in a skirt, or a stiff shirt or your feet are welling over the top of your smart patent loafers, then wear comfortable clothing. I find black, thick jeggings and smart tunic style tops or maxi dresses with black slip on sketchers to be the most comfortable thing to wear in work. These outfits are a lot more casual than my normal work attire but you know what? I'm growing a human and educating the future generation. I think it's my prerogative to be comfortable whilst doing so. You'll be surprised by how many people agree with me on that...including bosses.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">5. Prepare wisely</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It's a truth universally acknowledged that teachers are equally as disorganised as they appear organised. I am frequently complimented on my organisation - I host parties that I've catered and decorated, plan and execute elaborate menus for dinner parties, get birthday cards and gifts weeks ahead of schedule and am usually done with Christmas shopping by the end of November. But in school, it's a different matter. I can often be found 10 minutes before a lesson scrambling around trying to find a pile of essays I marked last week that I need for the next class. Similarly, it's happened more than once that I've walked in to my lesson with nothing but a smile and a prayer to help me teach those expectant faces all about Aristotle's Tragic Arc. It happens. Teachers can't be outstanding ALL the time because, hey, we're not robots.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So plan and prepare wisely. Use resources you've tried and tested before, ask colleagues for lesson plans that they might have used that you could borrow, be honest with children about the amount of time it will take you to mark their work - don't promise them you'll have it done by tomorrow if that means you'll be using toothpicks to prop your eyelids open at 1 in the morning just to get them finished. There are a wealth of teaching and learning aids available on the internet and, I'm sure, within your school and department. Use them to help you. You might just find you become a better teacher for it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'm sure there's much more advice that you can follow but these are just a few of my tips to help you get through your pregnancy whilst you're teaching. It can be a tough slog but we're lucky in lots of ways and it's important to remember that; we get those lovely holiday breaks, kids who are genuinely interesting and delightful....plus think of all the gifts you'll get from your pupils when you go on maternity leave! Bonus. </span></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13180087993951244347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2826999637783145045.post-3115998865025949762016-08-31T15:44:00.003-07:002016-08-31T15:45:19.118-07:00Pregnancy and the puppy<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Military Man is sleeping with someone else. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> His new new bed partner in question has ridiculously large ears, black ringed, dark, doleful eyes and a beautiful tan coloured body...with a few white and black patches.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> I have been supplanted from my side of the kingsize by a Beagle named Smeagol.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Let's just get one thing straight; Smeagol is cute...far cuter than his murderously skulking namesake. It's the ears that do it - all floppy and softer than velvet making me seriously consider Cruella De-Vil type plans to use his ears to make a tiny but silky soft pillow. (I never would...though I do tend to rub my cheeks up against his ears a lot. That's normal, yes?)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Smeagol has been part of our little ohana for six weeks now and he's settled in well. We've crate trained him so that he sleeps unaided and very peacefully in his cushioned crate, surrounded by toys, for several hours each night. He's toilet trained and whimpers every so quietly at the back door if he needs to go and spend a penny in the garden and he can sit on command.
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But before you roll your eyes and believe me to be one of <i>those</i> weird puppy parents who shares ice cream cones with their canine pals, let me paint you a truer puppy picture. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Smeagol is damn hard work. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Firstly, he doesn't get on great with the cats, Heidi and Trixie (and yes I am one of <i>those</i> weird cat lady people...I openly admit to letting them eat off my plate... even before I've finished eating.) Heidi, our 12 year old tortoiseshell and self proclaimed queen of the house has been relegated to the upper rooms to save herself the stress of being chased around the house by a puppy high off blueberry training treats. Trixie on the other hand is braver...perhaps more naive. She's four and is blind and deaf and I honestly believe that she doesn't know that she's a cat. She slinks in to the kitchen and lounge (now territory claimed by Smeagol) and tries to navigate her way to the windowsill, her previous perch of choice. Cue Smeagol racing towards her, back feet skidding awkwardly as he attempts to pounce on her. Trixie defends herself valiantly, boxing her paws and hissing in what she thinks is the direction of his face but is actually at my slipper. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> Secondly, Smeagol is a 14 week old beagle, meaning he has a lot of energy. He needs two good walks a day and lots of stimulation in between in order to get him to nap long enough for me to have a shower or cook lunch. This requires more energy than I have at the moment. At nearly 34 weeks pregnant, I feel the size of a house. I can barely bend over, walking has turned in to a stiff and slightly uncomfortable waddle, fatigue defeats me several times a day resulting in naps that make me feel like a narcoleptic grandma and I need to pee every 20 minutes. All of this does not a good puppy parent make. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> Fortunately, Military Man does most of the hard graft. He does the walks, cleans up the poop (I can't bend over to pick it up...that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it) and deals with the training, which I reinforce once the basic skill has been learnt. This has resulted in 2 outcomes: Smeagol <b>LOVES<i></i></b> master, Smeagol hates nasty fat hobbit (read: me).
As I'm on summer holidays from work, I get the joys of a boundless pup from 8am to lunchtime when MM gets home for lunch. Not long, granted, but when I've had only four hours of broken sleep (curse you bladder!), finding the energy to play tug of war with a puppy and get up every half an hour or so to let him outside is proving difficult. Harder still is the afternoon session, after MM has returned to work and Smeagol cries...actually cries at the back gate waiting for master to return. He then vents his anger, frustration and general brattiness by chewing things. Like the remote control. Like my lip balm. Like my glasses. Have you ever chased a beagle puppy whilst carrying a freaking bowling ball in your stomach? It's hard. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Thirdly, whilst Smeagol sleeps brilliantly at night in his crate, I may have forgotten to mention that his crate has to be in our room, otherwise he howls and bays <b>ALL NIGHT</b> like a bereft werewolf with a bad case of laryngitis. No amount of training and consistency has helped with this. MM doesn't see it as a problem that he sleeps in our room...but MM isn't thinking about the newborn baby that will also be sleeping with us in seven weeks time. The cherry on top of this beagle pie, is that when Smeagol wakes, usually around 6ish, he has, through no fault of his own, gotten in to the habit of getting on the bed and sleeping for the remaining hour curled up next to MM. MM has encouraged this, taking full advantage of the fact that I currently prefer sleeping in the spare room where the bed is softer and comfier on my pelvis. I discovered this delightful little secret when, at just after 6 one morning, I went to pee and decided it'd be nice to climb in to my own bed for an hour to wake up next to my husband. I walked in and found them spooning, <b>YES, SPOONING</b>. MM's arm was draped over Smeagol and everything. For a moment, Smeagol's eyes opened and I swear he smirked at me... </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But for all of this, I can't help but love Smeagol. He has such a playful and joyful character; he gets excited by everything and everyone, from a new bandanna or collar attachment (he looks adorable in a bow tie) to the delivery man who strokes him on the rump and makes his tail wag so hard he knocks himself over. Watching him run around on walks with other dogs is just a sheer delight and seeing other dog owners coo and fuss over his cuteness and friendliness makes me feel so proud. And despite our moments, I know he loves me. His wagging tail tells me whenever I come downstairs, his peaceful snore tells me when he rests his head on my lap in the evening. Only a few days ago, we shared an unwitnessed moment of tenderness when, whilst sat on the edge of the bed in my bra and pants attempting to put on socks (the struggle is real), he gently jumped up and rested his legs on my thighs and proceeded to lick my bump just above my belly button, once, twice, three times before sitting back down and looking up at me in quiet acknowledgement of what was happening inside my belly. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh05fdrfmin5YBXW9PGi1Izjnufe27yEX2mcA0a5aLCEFOcCTmc5rAN_NwjWecE7UPeIQN5J4xk74IFkfCIz-aaj6jr_g8IwFwn0RuVTDxKEz678e4Y3X8-Kl9ZMO2gWi05nszeIgwLOWc/s1600/20160816_120008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh05fdrfmin5YBXW9PGi1Izjnufe27yEX2mcA0a5aLCEFOcCTmc5rAN_NwjWecE7UPeIQN5J4xk74IFkfCIz-aaj6jr_g8IwFwn0RuVTDxKEz678e4Y3X8-Kl9ZMO2gWi05nszeIgwLOWc/s320/20160816_120008.jpg" width="180" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Smeagol and me at Jervaulx Abbey</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">People said we were crazy for getting a puppy when I'm so far along in my pregnancy but I actually disagree. Reading over this post, I can see now how much Smeagol has prepared me for being a mummy. I don't underestimate that a baby will be so much more work than a puppy and far more challenging too, but Smeagol has shown me that I can be irritated, annoyed and frustrated as hell with him but still love him and want to care for him and teach him, even when he's eating one of my Estee Lauder lipsticks and drinking my tea out of my mug. The moments of pride I've felt when he's mastered a new skill, like being able to walk down the stairs, have made me realise that I have so much to look forward to when my baby boy gets here. If anything, I'm thankful to Smeagol helping me to be a mummy in training.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I can't wait to see Smeagol and the baby grow up together. Beagles are brilliant with children, especially when they're introduced to them at a young age. It's one of the reasons why we chose the breed, but I can tell by Smeagol's personality that he'll adore the baby. I've just got to make sure I get my side of the bed back!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">J</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13180087993951244347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2826999637783145045.post-85412514867338588992016-08-28T02:28:00.000-07:002016-08-28T02:28:31.519-07:00A Weighty Issue<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I cautiously glance down to read the number on the scale
that I’ve gingerly just stepped on to, clenching every muscle and sphincter in
my body as though that will somehow reduce the weight through magical muscular
mutation. I have to crane my neck over my stomach to try and see but unless I
was to arch over and waggle my bum a little, there’s no way I’ll be able to see
over the mountainous mound of belly that protrudes from me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“You’ve gained 4.4 kg,” the medical practitioner says
haltingly, her eyes panning over my gelatinous body before they reach my face.
“In 4 weeks.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I quickly do the maths because I was taught in pounds and
stones like any decent British woman and, like many decent British women,
magazine culture and fat shaming taught me that 1kg is equal to just a little
over 2 pounds. 2.2lbs in fact. So that’s…9.7lbs gained. In 4 weeks. That’s 9
blocks of lard. 4.5 bags of sugar. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Refusing to say anything in order to maintain some kind of
dignified grace (though actually my lip has started doing that weird throbbing
wobble thing that means I might just cry), I resume my seat next to the desk
and cross my legs as much as my fat stomach will allow me to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The judgey faced woman in her blue smock and upside down
pocket watch sits next to me and makes a note of my weight before sucking in a
breath and saying:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“You know, you should stop eating take aways and biscuits
and junk food.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My wibbly mouth forms a little ‘o’ because I am genuinely
‘omg emoji’ shocked. She couldn’t have hurt me more if she’d have slapped me
across my face. Fury replaces my shame and gives me the strength to look her
squarely in the eyes (eyes which sit inside a plump face atop a plump, pretty
little body which doesn’t look as though it’s a stranger to ‘take aways and
biscuits’ itself. Hmph.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Actually, if you’d have read my file,” I say rather
hoarsely, because that lump is still there at the back of my throat and I
really want to hack it up and spit it at her. “You’d have seen that I can’t eat
takeaways and biscuits as I have coeliac disease and have to eat gluten free
foods. I plan my meals a week in advance and eat a diet of fresh foods which I
cook from scratch. I can have my nutritionist or my gastroenterology consultant
call you if you like.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I watch a look of bewilderment pass over her face as she
quickly leafs through my file to see that, yes, there it is, in big bold
letters at the front of my notes: GI problems? Coeliac Disease, Autoimmune
disease? Coeliac disease. HA! The smirk on my lips creeps across my face as she
squirms a little in her plastic seat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Well, watch your portion sizes. It’s really not good for
the baby to put on so much weight.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ah yes. The baby. As if I could have forgotten that little
nugget, or in any way, for one moment, stopped worrying about his health rather
than mine. Again, I stare at this woman, my midwife, and wonder in
flabbergasted amazement, if she has any clue what it is like to be pregnant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> It’s far too rude of
me to ask if she has children – she is an older lady and I can’t see any
personal pictures scattered around the surgery but I can see that she has a
wedding ring on. The most I know about her is that she had a ‘lovely’ break
away in Italy earlier in the summer. What does she know about me? Every medical
issue I’ve had since I was born (if she bothered to read my notes…), my blood
pressure and beats per minute, my blood type, the ease and time of my last bowel
movement, the colour of my pee this morning and the fact that I have a ‘heavy
growth culture’ in my last urine test indicating that bacteria sprouted like a
fountain in the petri dish. She’s still amazed that I have been ‘asymptomatic’;
i.e it doesn’t hurt when I pee. I clearly confound all medical professionals. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This woman, who is going to be reaching in to my vagina and
helping to pull out my first child in several weeks, knows all the numbers and
tests but she doesn’t know me, and that worries me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am currently 33 weeks pregnant with a little boy whom I
already adore beyond anything I’ve ever experienced before. His safety, health
and happiness is the central focus of my thoughts and it has taken me, more
than anyone, by surprise because I’ve never been particularly maternal. This
baby was planned with my husband and we were lucky enough to get pregnant on
our first try (much to my husband’s delight – he now thinks he has supersperm.)
and we were both thrilled if slightly daunted by the task of becoming parents. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My pregnancy, in my eyes, has been fairly smooth but my mum
informed me the other day that she thought I’d had it ‘pretty tough’. From
weeks 8 to 14, I had hyperemesis and was signed off work as a secondary school
English teacher for several weeks during the dreaded exam prep period. I was
put on anti sickness tablets in the end which stopped me from chucking my guts
up fifteen times a day. The second trimester was easier, though my midwife
informed me that my platelets were low and told me rather unceremoniously that
I might have problems ‘with bleeding’ after birth which of course, sent me in
to a frenzy of panic as I hotfooted my ass on to google to read horror stories
of pregnancies that have resulted in mothers bleeding to death during birth. By
my next appointment, my platelet levels were ‘normal’ and so calm was restored. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Normal service resumed until I was advised at 24 weeks that
I was rhesus negative, did I not know? Not only did I not know, but I didn’t
even know what it meant. The explanation I was given was that any cross contamination
of my blood and the baby’s blood could result in me creating antibodies that
would repel and reject another fetus should I ever get pregnant again. Upon
hearing that my blood type was ‘rare’ and yet lethal to potential life, I took
the anti D shot with rigour.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then I got to 28 weeks and the above ‘fatastrophe’ happened.
I had entered pregnancy at a healthy weight. Having been ill for years before
my coeliac diagnosis and losing 6 stones (the equivalent of a pre-pubescent
child!), I had finally hit a healthy medium for my body. I was a size 10 to 12
with a healthy BMI. I was still heavy, but having a big ass and thighs will do
that to a girl. During the first trimester, due to hyperemesis, I actually lost
4lbs – not much I grant you, but considering I was supposed to GAIN 5lbs in
that time, you can see how much of a deficit it was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">By 28 weeks, I had ballooned. Almost very literally, because
my stomach resembled one of those helium filled celebration balloons you find
in Clintons. Baby boy was healthy and active, I was working and mobile and was
feeling great. People said I was blooming
and truthfully, I felt it. My skin has never been better than in
pregnancy, my hair is thicker and shinier and for the first time, I have actual
tits that fit in a C cup bra, rendering my 32A’s useless in my underwear
drawer. I received comments such as ‘pregnancy really suits you,’ ‘ oh you just
look beautiful!’ and ‘You’re carrying it really well!’ I felt good…validated in
my new, swollen form.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisk1IVipH76QgAPXSgV8NNF7DU3twvhS5OMg5wPy5Du_LyWtkUs-ryPHNQHg8f6_tpi_0QZsZpj1n6x9gbVBSjfRIOJHZKNzWbZ-OOIaxobVqk-S52PRVZvi8MDgQ3MJXHW8RITUR1eNs/s1600/20160803_111815.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisk1IVipH76QgAPXSgV8NNF7DU3twvhS5OMg5wPy5Du_LyWtkUs-ryPHNQHg8f6_tpi_0QZsZpj1n6x9gbVBSjfRIOJHZKNzWbZ-OOIaxobVqk-S52PRVZvi8MDgQ3MJXHW8RITUR1eNs/s320/20160803_111815.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: justify;">At 28 weeks pregnant, before the 'fatastrophe'.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So what my midwife said brought it all crashing down. I was
no longer blooming; I was fat. I was no longer carrying it well, I was downing
in subcutaneous poison. It wasn’t good for the baby.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I attempted to tell my midwife that I ate well and moved
fairly regularly – I was on my feet all day as a teacher, moving from classroom
to classroom, campus to campus, up and down flights of stairs. It was enough to
give me a ‘pulse like an athlete’ and maintain my healthy weight before
pregnancy. She’d looked as though she didn’t believe me so I swore I’d keep a
food diary until my next appointment (I did) and try moving more (I did.) </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When
I got home, I bawled my eyes out, stripped off in front of my full length mirror and scrutinized every extra ounce of
flesh that I had gained. Now instead of seeing a pregnant lady, flush with
life, I saw a fat blob who had let herself go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">By my next appointment, I had gained 2 more kg (4.4lbs) and I
got that same critical look from my midwife. I’d gone to my appointment
starving, having made sure I’d done my
pees and poops before hand in order to carve out some hollow space and weigh
less. My heart plummeted when she read out my weight gain and I quickly pulled
out my diet diary. She flicked through it and her critical look slowly changed
to one of confusion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“You eat really well,” she admitted ruefully. “In fact, I don’t
think you’re eating enough. You could stand to eat a little more protein and a
few more snacks.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> I nodded, glad this
had been acknowledged. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For a healthy pregnant woman, 2200 calories is generally
agreed to be a good amount for prime fetal growth. In the third trimester, like
I was then and am now, that shoots up to 2400. I was eating 1800 calories a day
– I still am. I struggle to fit more in to be honest. My midwife then went on
to take my blood pressure (‘healthy – quite low really’), my pulse (‘perfect’)
and my iron levels (‘brilliant – some of the best I’ve seen.’) She felt the
baby, who was measuring as being 2 weeks ahead of 31 weeks but was active and
in the correct position with a ‘spot on’ heartbeat. She had to conclude that I
was fine….really good actually. And yet, I had gained 40 lbs in total, taking
my pregnancy weight gain up to just over 2.5 stones, well above the guideline
25lb amount for a woman of my size.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She said I was ‘a headscratcher’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I left feeling a little smug to be honest. This woman had
taken away my joy at being pregnant and turned it in to shame. Even now, 2
weeks after my last appointment, I feel like I need to apologize for taking up
so much room, for having ridiculously wide hips that catch door handles, knock
edges of tables and seem permanently bruised. It felt good to know that I was,
for all intents and purposes, healthy…doing a good job…keeping my baby son safe
and warm and growing well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’ve read a lot of messageboards for expectant mothers where
mums to be destroy themselves for their pregnancy weight gain. It seems to me
that every woman is different in pregnancy and puts on a different amount of
weight. Some women make it through with miniscule weight gain…but might have a
traumatic birth, others pile one pound after pound after pound very happily
because, damnit, they’re growing a human being! One story was a woman who was a
personal trainer who kept up her healthy exercise in pregnancy but gained over
30lbs and then struggled to shift it afterwards. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My mother, my life guru and source of all wisdom (aren’t all
mothers? {slight shock that I will soon be one of these wise Yodas of the
world}), put it all pretty clearly for me. She said that my body knew what it
was doing and to let it do what it needs to do. Be kind to it, she said,
forgive its foibles and flaws. I am not a robot with specific measurements that
fit in to neat little boxes. My body is unique, igniting this spark of life and
nurturing it to grow and move and live and breathe. In seven weeks, my body
will produce a tiny human who will love me and depend on me regardless of the
size of my hips or the squishiness of my thighs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, despite the fact that my next midwife appointment is in
2 weeks and I expect my weight gain to have gone off the chart (literally), I’m
going to walk (or waddle) in to that surgery with pride. Because no matter how
high that number on the scale may be, it is nowhere near as high as my worth as
a woman….or as a mother.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">J</span></div>
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