Fashion wise, I’m not the coolest kid in town. I’m also not a kid but that’s by the by. When it comes to everyday fashion for me, I live in T-shirts, and I mean I really live in them. When I worked, I wore smart/casual which was fine, but at times I had to dress in suits and I hated it, it just didn’t feel like me. I felt out of my comfort zone. So fast forward to my current role of small person owner, and jeans, T-shirts and trainers are my staple wear. That’s my uniform if you please, it’s what I feel comfortable in and given my boisterous little girl, it’s what I can race about after her in easily too.
I won’t lie. I’m having a bit of a hard time with the small person at the moment. Another ‘phase’ has crept up on me and it doesn’t seem to be passing anytime soon. The terrible twos were tough (which started before the kid turned two by the way) and now we’ve progressed into the threenager stage, which I thought was a myth damnit. This new phase is making me question everything that I’m doing as a parent. Me emotions are taking a bit of a battering. It’s safe to say that this is without a doubt, the hardest leap so far.
No, I’m not talking about the lottery balls or any other kind of, erm, ball, I’m talking about the kind you pop in your mouth (ok this is not a euphemism you dirty mined people, stop it right now) Power balls are a cool little concoction, made up of dates, nuts, coconut, whatever really, and I caught onto the craze about four years ago when I discovered a recipe on an Australian blog. I made them on and off as it was only me who’d eat them as the Mr remained suspicious. To be fair, it wasn’t the best recipe that I’d found. But now these balls (LOL, sorry) are pretty much a fridge staple, mainly because at the moment I’m trying to eat well and avoid sugary snacks before we start IVF (I wont become an IVF bore, I promise). The kid even eats these too which is pretty cool although occasionally yes, she tells me they’re disgusting so you know, work in progress. Here are two really easy recipes for you to try that literally take less than twenty minutes to put together. I make a batch every other week, so I have a box full in the fridge ready to go.
It’s happening. The road I never thought we’d have to go down, we’re on. We’re about to embark on IVF *pulls imaginary train whistle* After a fairly straightforward first pregnancy, naturally I assumed I’d easily conceive again but ever since an early miscarriage things have gone a bit wrong with my monthly cycle, and things just haven’t worked from this point on. Having IVF has obviously been talked about, it’s been in the back of my mind but I guess me and the husband both hoped that we wouldn’t get to that point. It’s been a possibility, something we may have to consider but I didn’t actually think we’d have to do it. Other people have IVF, I know so many that have had it, everyone knows someone whose had it these days, but I honestly thought it wouldn’t be me.
I’m into week two of the Easter Holidays and boy, am I finding it a little on the difficult side. See, the kids nursery stops for the holidays so that’s me out of my lovely day and a half that I have to myself and I’m not afraid to admit that I’ve found it really tough. That day and a half is when I ‘get shit done’. I write, I edit, I surf the net, I waste time on social media (obvs) I do admin, house-min and most importantly get the chance to sit in a coffee shop uninterrupted. It’s much needed time away from my sidekick, as much as I love her. She’s full speed my daughter, a bruiser in a princess dress, a Duracell bunny, she’s all go and no, I wouldn’t have her any other way, but as we sidled into week two of the break, because she’s with me with 24/7, I’ve been reminded how incredibly moany, whiney, and three year old-esque she is. My patience has worn thin. I’ve uttered more empty threats in the last few days than I have in the last year. The only thing that has been giving me comfort is the amount of other parents I’ve seen muttering and shouting at their own children to, ‘WILL YOU JUST LISTEN!’. Thank god it’s not just me.