Hi.

I have this niggling feeling, that I am missing something.

Stuff for Sparkles.

I stand in the baby aisles, and I hold suits, towels and promptly put them back on the rack.  I have no idea why. I am organised.  It's what I do.  I like lists, plans and an idea of what/why/when.  I also think, I keep telling myself to relaaaaaax that my brain took that message as: STOP! PUT THAT ROMPER SUIT DOWN.

I am reassured in the fact, that we have stuff in storage.  The likes of prams, car seats and cots.  I ordered some CUTE frames for the nursery.  But call me crazy, they are not a box of nappies.Also. this time around.. there is SO much more choice in shops.  When I shopped for EG, there was usually a few measly baby racks at the back of big w.

Now?

Even I can buy baby suits with my Crunchy Nut Cornflakes at Coles.

Soda water, jacket potatoes & pretzels are ruling the roost here.  Insomnia is being nasty.  So are my dicky hips.  I eat rennies because, I like to not have flame throwers down my throat.  I freak out when the kicks stop.  I wish I could take my tummy off for 20 minutes to get stuff done.

I am solo parenting.

Chris has headed off interstate for a few weeks.  A regular income will be awesome, but I feel like I have lost a limb.  I miss him so much.  I look out to the shed, and for the last 6 months or so.. there is has been.

Today, it's jarmie day.  Toys have been set up all over the lounge room.  I am calling it Party Pies for dinner. I taking the day off.  So is EG.  A quiet chilled out day.  She's craving it.  So am I.  I have never, ever seen her so happy to just be.  I have even managed to steal a few moments to read a new book.  Which is lucky.  Because Charlie-puppy ate my last one.

Plus, I'm back on the smoothies.  I am trying to pack them full of goodness, because I do believe.. babies need more than just pretzels.

Loz xx

Blooming Loz.

The thing you forget about pregnancy, alongside my sanity that has been shelved away a fair few years ago.. is the tiredness.  I am so tired, that even the auto correct on my phone has no replacements for the gibberish I am trying to type onto a text message.

Parenting teamed with a healthy dash of pregnancy, is something I would say is: challenging, tiring and a little sprinkling of: please don't destroy things while I have a little cry over here.

I had a few days, where I wondered if I drew pot-luck in the pregnancy lotto.  That's my tongue, firmly in my cheek there.  I spent a good 20 weeks, in a toilet side vigil.  Every single cell in my body hurt.  My eyeballs even felt weird.  Medication didn't really help. So I rode it out. I recently saw severe morning sickness described as: food poisoning that never ends.

Enter stage left: pelvis of doom.  Can we talk friend to friend for a second?  Because I can only explain it as: Hot pokers up my hoo-hah and hip joints that have me thinking I am the Tin Man. My osteo is helping this lovely predicament, and I can only say.. please just make me a cup of tea and warm up my wheat bag.

But inside, calling womb-service every 15 minutes.. Is the Miss Sparkles.

Soda water makes her crazy.  She is quite partial to Beef Strog at the minute.  She likes to join into family conversations by kicking my nether regions quite swiftly.  Heart burn is a new fun addition to this mix and I may be sleeping on a pillow mountain.

EG likes to check my pregnancy app to see what size fruit she is.  She likes to plan what she will do with Sparkles when she is here.  When they are older, they are going out for their own cake & coffee at the cafe I go to with my sister.

Bless.

It's an epically crazy time.  Some days, as a run my hands through my hair for the 80th time.. I think: How can I do this all again tomorrow?  But some how you do.  You go into survival mode.

Because, my motto is: Bloom, where you are planted.

Even if those blooms are sometimes get trodden on, you can always find some beauty if you look hard enough.  

Face it, or Facebook it.

I liken Facebook, to a dinner party.

To your left, you have someone who is an avalanche of words.  You know their aunties and uncles by name, how many pet fish they have and what they plan to do for dinner next Wednesday.  And you have only known them ten minutes. To your right, is someone who doesn't say boo.  But they play a lot of candy crush.  Sitting across from you, speaks in motivational posters, and tells you daily it's 11:11 on the clock.  Down the end of the table, is a debate over what clean eating is, across from that talks of politics and out of earshot someone stands up and says:

I LOVE ROAST POTATOES.

It's a noisy old place.

Photos of sunsets, chia this & that, feet, selfies, kids winning awards, sold stickers, promotions, holidays and general dance of: this is all the feels, facebook.

To be honest, I love it.  Some days, I think we're all part of a huge social experiment.  But I love people watching and putting my amateur psychologist hat on. It is my outlet.  Living in a new town, my social network is limited.  I love popping onto facebook, and having a chat over my cuppa.

I love to know what you are doing.  I do!  Not in a tap tap, it's me at your window stalking kind of way. But your holiday snaps.  What you saw today.  That funny thing your kid just did.  My Mum lives a good 10 hours away, and I love seeing her little snaps of the garden or the dogs causing chaos.

It's a conversation.  It's more than just liking something.  I often worry, I share too much.  That I need to find my own mute button.  I am working on that.  It's not like I see something and go: right, must share this to show everyone WHAT A FABULOUS LIFE I HAVE.  I have never been like that.  I love taking photos.  I like seeing humour in things.  I face 99% of my life, but that 1% when I have sat on the loo floor for 20 minutes with projectile morning sickness and I have an inflamed pubic bone that is as fun as it sounds.. I share.  Because if I am honest, I have my network of people I can turn to.. but in some moments.. you just need a word vomit.

It is a dinner party.  You do need manners. Just look at Sonia Kruger announcing her pregnancy to see the vial words people feel happy to put out there.  The written word is much different to the spoken.  Share your story, respect others.  Share something fun, a photo.. or just say g'day.

Facebook, it is noisy.  It can be fun.  I like my little space.

Ladies Day.

Another time, on another blog.. I used to raise a hand to Friday and give it a triumphant HIGH FIVE! But alas, I started a new blog and Fridays quickly became Ladies Day.

Ah what now? 

Ladies day is where EG & I choose all things that ladies like.  With a 4 year old that quickly makes a list offering: popcorn, movie and please can I have another Filly, mum?  Chris teaches in the city all day, and he doesn't come home until Charlie-puppy is tucked up with his Milo with the newest edition of "Savings Plan for dogs that eat ALL THE THINGS"

So what's been happening around the traps?

Big news on the girl bits/boy bits department.  It's A GIRL! sisters! Chris is mud mapping a Man Cave and I am already concerned over the one bathroom situation we have.  I have firm memories of hallways fights with my sister on the race to the shower.  But, sisters! Can you believe?  EG jumped into the air when we told her, and tells me daily that she's excited to have a sister.  We had a scan at 21 weeks and judging by the rate of kung-fu moves per minute... we do not have a quiet one on our hands.

I feel content in knowing.  So beautiful.  It is truly amazing, this whole carrying a baby business.

These, my friends.  Are Filly's.  They are $3 and sold at woolies.  They are also EG's favourite things.  I bought them a special tin today.  Why?

Well:

Charlie ate the leg off a Sylvanian.  Enter stage left: dad.  Furniture maker, business man and Sylvanian crutch maker.

He went on a voyage to Kindergarten in The Me Bag.  A show and tell bag, that EG decided to fill up with the contents of her room.  Negotiations took a few days, but we narrowed it down to 3 favourites. Related: kinder teachers have the patience of saints.

BMX bandit is taking over the street.  Man, she is quite fast. Or, I actually could be quite slow.

22 weeks hey?

How am I? Tired. And bloody sore.  I am seeing an Osteopath, who is being quite mean to my muscles.  I have somehow lost another kilo, and have a lot of punnets of tomatoes in my fridge that tell me that, that craving is done and dusted.

I have had many moments this week, where I have just cried.  I am sore. I am tired.  I am.. well quite pregnant.

And there she is.  Another lady for our ladies day.

Loz xx

I feel I should be knitting.

On the eve of hitting that milestone: 21 weeks.  I have decided on three things:

1. Watching One Born Every Minute makes me cry, my toes curl and turn to my husband and ask why? WHY? For the love of cheese & biscuits why?  
2. My osteopath is lovely.  We talk about settling babies, hideous maternity clothes and heartburn. Makes for massaging my pelvic region a little less awkward. I may need to wear a brace and I am compiling that fact to my ongoing list of Loz is ravishing: she has a hobble and needs a brace.
3. My cravings have subsided. Which is lucky for said husband, because he said he felt like he has eaten a salt lick last week.  

Also to this list, is my lack of house-y like duties.  It says a lot, when your four year old announce that "MUM!THIS WASHING HAS BEEN DRYING HERE FOR THREE DAYS!"

I can't even wallow in self pity on Wednesday nights with a bag o' cheezels and Offspring.  Have you watched The Bachelor? These girls know right?  That even he has no idea what has been planned on their dates?  He was out getting his teeth vaselined and practising handing roses to the mirror.  That when reality really hits, their dates will consist of wilted servo carnations and leaving the loo seat up?

It is clear, from that above paragraph.  I need to turn the telly off and read my Birth Skills book.

Which reminds me.

Sparkles.  Oh the one with the ultra-kicky legs at 4am.  The one that joins in at loon hour and makes me exclaim NO! YOU'RE SUPPOSED to be the second child of calm everyone promised me.  Oh Sparkles.  Have a busy week of appointments next week.  Big scan on Monday, where we hook our eyes to the small screen and exhale when all growing bits are growing in the right places etc.  Where hopefully he/she is feeling like sharing whether he or she is a he or she.

Plans have me orchestrating Operation: Nursery.  Storage has been devised and I am pinning unrealistic ideas on Pinterest.  I spent a good hour of my life thinking about constructing a mobile.  Considering I sewed my embroidery accidentally onto my primary school dress.. I am seeing a trip to made-it in my future.  I feel I should be knitting.  

Instead today, I sat in my car, inhaled a crunchie and congratulated myself for not crying in the really sore bits at the osteo today.  

So. 21 weeks hey Sparkles?  

Sorry, Mum can't knit anything but dodgey scarves and I once tried crochet.  It didn't end well.

Hobbles McGrumpy Pants.

I sat in the waiting room.  Across from me was a row of chairs, framed by the usual stock standard waiting room art that is usually spectacularly boring.  I filled out my form.  Occupation? Chief in Negotiations?  Commander of please put your socks on? Or how about Please don't overfeed the fish and kill them.  I circled that I indeed was having a baby and dove into the depths of my bag hoping my medicare card would present itself.

Form filled and medicare card located, I waited.

Osteo o'clock.

I have never seen one in my life.  I had no idea what to expect, but I did have an epic hobble and a surly look on my face that would've rivalled that Twilight bird. 

SPD. Or if you are ever filling out a crossword puzzle: Symphysis pubis dysfunction. 

Oh no really, it's as fun as it sounds.

Here, read this and send me all your tea & sympathy: http://www.babycenter.com.au/a546492/pelvic-pain-spd

I know, hit the jack pot Loz they call me.

It makes me one part hobbly and ten parts really shitty.  It feels like your joints have been replaced with razor blades and you think life might be easier if you put scaffolding around your tummy.  It also makes someone who have never met before manipulate parts of your groin to the point that I feel I should of bought her dinner first.  

It also makes me incredibly sad.  

It's not an injury that you can really push through with, you should really rest.  Not that I am really capable in signing up to The Marathon, but I'd like to check the mail without clutching my bits and crying in the kitchen because I am flipping over it.

I think the hardest part, is you know what a precious bundle you are carrying. I still fight my inner voice, the one that tells me how lucky I am.  With a history of endometriosis, I still remember being told that to carry a child would be hard.  So, guilt.  Then your daughter runs up to you for a hug, and you can't pick her up.  So, guilt.  It's lunch time, and you know you should get a start on it.  But the thought of even walking to the kitchen.. hurts.

I feel I am half parenting EG. In typical 4 year old fashion, she is finding her feet, her confidence and voice.  She pushes boundaries and I feel battle weary and can't even fathom how I'll fend this one. 

And the morning vomits are back.

I know.  

Half way.  20 weeks today.  A huge milestone.  

If you need me, I have promised EG a movie night.  You'll find me having a pit stop on the way to the popcorn aisle..

take two.

Second time around, is one half reassuring and one half .. it's been nearly 5 years and OH MY GAWD I HAD FORGOTTEN THAT ALL THE THINGS HURT. Seriously, I had to make a pit stop at the milk aisle yesterday.  I am by no means, a walking advertisement for pregnancy. Unless you are going for a weepy, walking-like-a-texas-ranger Pregzilla type vibe.  Plus, last night I had no sleep because: Charlie-puppy had extreme gas and kept giving himself frights.  

My hair is growing quite nicely though! swish, swish. 

Second time around, I am pro-active.  Aside from kicking a flatulent Charlie-puppy out to another room.. I am my own pregnancy crusader.  With EG's pregnancy, I soldiered on.  I had billions of questions, but was always rushed.  I knew no different.  I thought morning sickness was just the card I was dealt with. I thought labour was labour and had my birth plan.  I never questioned why I was being induced, if my child was ready to come earth side sideways.  You just do, what you do.

Every time, I feel I am reaching a road block.. I repeat to myself. Be proactive.  So I have booked into an Osteopath.  I wrote on my hospital notes, that (in not so many words) I am packing my pants at the thought of child birth.  I ask for help.  I talk openly & honestly to Chris.  That today was a struggle. That I am tired.  So tired.  Being pregnant, with a four year old.. is a huge hurdle.

I have bought zip zero for this child.  For many reasons.  A) I am waiting impatiently to find out the flavour I am baking.  If it's a girl, then I can attack the bags in storage with gusto. If it's a boy, then look out Target.. I am coming at YOU. B) I have everything really, pram cot etc.

But the main reason?

You can have everything from Babies are Zany (or whatever camp named store they all seem to be called) and to be honest.  What a baby needs?  It's you.  I learnt so much from my hazy newborn days with EG.  It's a time, where you are both learning.  About each other.  What you like, hate, enjoy and what limit you can take sleep deprivation to. No one ever knows what they are doing.  Ever.  You are building a relationship.  So I am brain storming.  Stream lining life.  Building routines and ideas, to help. Researching wraps, so I am hands free to help with EG at school.  I am reading, asking, thinking. I'd rather create my safe haven nest, then go mental buying everything. With a first child, you a smug.  You'll break the mould. You'll unlock the code.  Second child? You beeline to realistic ideals. 

Well, that's this week.  Next week I will most likely be at Babies are Cootie Patootie buying a wipe warmer.

The biggest factor with labour, is I want to have control.  I am not a prude.  I am not a control freak. I am not an airy-fairy birth plan waving warrior.  I just want the best outcome.  In hindsight, Eg's labour was scary.  It shouldn't have been.  It effected our first few months together, dramatically.  I cried this morning, it just got all too much.  Chris held me.  Promised me, he was there for me then.. and he will be there for me now.  He was my rock in labour with EG.  Literally.  I have vague recollections of being held up be him as I wailed like a banshee on the floor.  It was traumatic.  

It's about creating that head space.  Being informed, proactive and realistic. 

It's about, waiting for Sparkles.

I can't wait little one, I cannot wait. 

19 weeks. (or, I can't think of a funny title today)

19 weeks.  Nearly half way.  That roughly translates into: Um, totally not even close to being organised and dude.. I am already feeling like the size of a small elephant.

Like most things we tackle in life, it's a roller coaster ride. Only the other day I went completely bananas, cleaning all the things.  Nothing was safe from my duster.  I know, I dusted.  I am quite shocked too.  Even up high things. I washed bedsheets. The bathroom even got cleaned.  Properly.  I did more in one day, than I have done in seven weeks.

I promptly side-kicked with joy, that I was not actually feeling sick. 

Fast-forward to today. 

I stood at the kitchen bench wondering if a could nap on the floor while EG's lunch was cooking. I felt so sick, that I just stood at the toilet door.. not daring to enter because well.  I am sick of the sight of my bloody toilet and fought this round.

Morning sickness. Or as I like to call it: Please, even I am starting to get sick of smell of Toilet Duck.

I am growing. That is an accurate description on what I like to call: Pillow Mountain. Because, heart burn is rearing it's burny head and round ligament pain is something you forget about. You forget a lot of stuff. Which is lucky, because Pregzilla here is quite hormonal today.

I still pinch myself (not too hard, I'll cry) and think.. two kids! We will be a family of four! It's all a bit special. The baby kicks, remind me of separating the symptoms to the real life being you're growing. I wonder. I wonder often. Boy, girl?  Will they have a wicked sense of humour like EG?  I can't fathom, that in 21 weeks (hear that sparkles, we are not going overdue.. OK?) we'll meet this little person. 

It's been mayhem here recently.  Anyone who owns a small business, will understand the craziness.  I have held the fort inside the house, while Chris has met some crazy deadlines.  We have had some big chats on how we can streamline life.  We're all exhausted.  As much as it is his name on the business, it is very much a team effort here.  

I am looking forward to start organising the nursery.  I don't do themes.  But I truly missed decking out a nursery with EG we were renting/in the midst of moving.  I have been searching for star decals.  Designing posters in my head.  And holding baby socks in Target and looking like a deranged woman.

In other news, EG finally got her fish.  Little Fish of Calm.  So nice to watch, and they won't eat my glasses or remote for the telly.

Put the kettle on will you?

Loz x

With heart.

Today I heard Sparkle's heart beat. It truly was a moment.  Of course, you know you have a baby growing inside you, but sometimes just hearing that sign of life, just grabs your senses and gives them a good squishy hug.

I am sitting here, eating Cheezels. I've just put a lasagne on ready for tea, but we all know that will be shelved for a bowl of Crunchy Nut cornflakes.  I feel so sluggish.  I am trying to fill my body with nutrients, but when you have already narfed up your morning cup of tea.. you are scraping the barrel on choices.

I had forgotten, the extreme tiredness.  It's fun.  Fun in a, I would actually sell a limb, to have a nap right now.

I filled in my hospital paperwork.  Did I have concerns in my previous labour?  Well, how much time do you have? Since they only gave me two lines of space,  I kept it to: quite farkin nervous actually, quite surprised I didn't have to have a blood transfusion and ohmygod my baby tried to come out sideways.  I am a little bit anxious, had a long intense labour. Possibly should of had a c-section.

I am learning, not to wish the days away. Embrace those moments.  They may be really rubbish ones, when your four year old has her hands on her hips and you can now add: United Nations peace keeping attributes to your resume. Or they might be really wonderful ones, where you feel those little kicks. You catch a sight of your tummy in the mirror. Or said four year old walks up to your tummy and says: Good morning! Sparkles!

As cheesy and hallmark-like it is, life is truly about all these moments.  You'll never crack the code.  You'll never be king of the castle.  It's about doing your best.  Picking up the pieces when they fall, and creating structure when need be. Don't wish days away.  Especially this being our last child, I am embracing all these firsts.  Because soon, they will be the lasts.

In 5 months, life is about to thrown into newborn world.  Days of nappies and what the feck am I doing.  I love that I have the confidence, to roughly charter this territory.  With EG, I was worried what to do with the baby, when I went to the loo. This time, I am worried about how many stitches I will need in my hoo-haa.  I am trying to roll with my motto: it is.. what it is.  Birth plans are quite funny and you may as well eat your Enya CD.  I don't necessarily want a do-over on birth, but I sure do want to have more control.  I was so embarrassed the morning after Eg's birth.  That all these women had seen me howling like a banshee.  I could hear babies screaming for nights after.  13 hours of intensity.

But right now, I am focusing on today.  Hearing those bombty-bomps heart beats.  Enjoying the rate my hair is growing.  The crunch of cereal.  Hugs from my girl EG.  Thinking, dreaming and pondering.

In this moment, it's all good.

Dear Sparkles,

Sometimes you just stop me, fully in my tracks.  I usually catch a glimpse of you in the mirror.  My ever growing waist line, a continual reminder.. that you are on your way.  Your life, has already started. Your height, hair colour, eye colour has already been mapped out for you.

It's a special time.  A special time, in the quiet of the night I feel you.  Like a little flicker, there you are. A slight butterfly movement, reminds me that the pure amazement it is.. to be your Mum.

I think of you often.  I laugh, as I open another punnet of cherry tomatoes.  I cry, as I wonder how one person can function on this little energy.  I cross the weeks off, and can't fathom.. that come the end of this year.. you will complete our little tribe.

Of all the mums in the world, I am yours.

I picture, us as a family.  Summer days on a blanket in the garden.  Hot nights pacing the pavement hoping for sleep.  Your sister hiding all her My Little Ponies out of reach.

It will be hard, we will learn together.  I promise.

My Dearest Sparkles..

I love you

x

Sweet Baby Cheeses.

Pregnancy cravings can not be categorized simply alongside, "Ooh I could just go a slice of buttered toast" If only it was that simple.  Because you'd save yourself a lot of sadness looking into the pantry and realising that it was indeed, your last Clinker.

Some moments, as you crash tackle that loaf of bread in a style that would rival Jennifer Lawrence in The Hunger Games.. you wish it was that simple.  Aversions.  Cravings.  Weird things, that you thank the fairies of Google for answering.  

Mental note, clear search history.  

I can't stand meat.  But would hip & shoulder you out of the way for a particularly salty bacon sandwich. But hold the crusts.  Coffee has to taste a particular way.  I am not even sure what that particular way is yet. I love cold water.  Tap water, certain temperature. 

Are you sensing a theme here?

After paying homage to my porcelain throne for approximately a billion years, food as you can imagine is a hot topic. 

Sweet baby cheeses.

The Nursery is coming along well.  I have a theme in mind, and if that was 100 cardboard boxes.. I would indeed be onto a winner.  Husband assures me they will be moved.  Along side the spare dining room table, chairs needing restored and 20 bags of baby clothes that Charlie dog keeps scattering from here to next Thursday.  

Because, if we were normal I would be worried and start taking every one's temperature.

24 weeks to go.  Second child syndrome, this is flying a little too fast.  I sat down to my KINDER IS BACK! coffee this morning (no, not particularly nice FYI) and it dawned on me.  Life is about to get a tad bat shit crazy.  Nearly 5 years between babies.  Prancing up and down the coles aisles solo, will be a thing that dreams are made of.  Not, that I am much of a prancer anyway. 

Two kids?  Holy batman, someone send more mozzarella.

The fatigue, oh the fatigue.  I keep searching for that second trimester energizer bunny.  But I think she's still at the starting line, tying up her shoe laces. Mum brain?  My brain is 10% still at woolies wondering why I am staring at the tinned pineapple.  I brushed my hair last week, looked down to see a box of defrosting chicken nuggets on the bathroom sink.  Charlie-puppy ate the remote, I sat and watched half of Jumanji because I was too tired to get up and change the channel. 

I don't even like Jumanji.

Positive

I was perched on a chair in the shed.  Perched, only in a way a five foot something Loz can.  In my hand was my usual one, of many coffees.  The day cannot begin, until I press GO! GO! GO! on my trusty Aldi coffee machine.

Chris was tinkering away with something, chatting away I took a sip.

Arse.

Sniffing the cup, I put the mug down.

Must buy a pregnancy test.

I am 31.  I am an adult.  I am in a happy and committed relationship.

So why, did I circle the test aisle about three times until it was empty?  I have no idea.  I needed nothing else, but camouflaged my purchase with loaves of unnecessary bread, tea bags and god knows what else.  It reminded me of my teenage self buying Libra thins.

Thank YOU woolies for self serve.

This time, we had decided to run with the motto.  What will be, will be.  Not obsessing.  Not tracking, symptom wondering and: pee on ALL the sticks.

Doctors don't recognise what I had, as any miscarriage.  To this day, I still have no idea what term to use for it.  Medically, my body did what it needed to do.  But in my mind?  I saw those positive lines.  I felt pregnant.  I was handed a lottery ticket, then all of a sudden a gust of wind took it from me.  It was extremely, extremely hard, not to reference this, to now.

So a clean slate we tried.  What will be, will be.  Not this month? Then next.

I perched (again, in only the way Loz can) on the edge of the toilet seat.  Chris outside, with Emily.  We decided, that testing a day early, wasn't going to make the world implode.  What will be, will be.

Instant.

Two. Solid. Lines.

For a full minute, I held onto this news.  In the small confines of the toilet, I held on so tight to this piece of news.  I was the only person in the whole wide world to know it.  I didn't cry.  I held onto that test like it was solid gold.

I walked down the steps outside.  Chris & Emily warming themselves by the fire.

Do you have news?
I do.
Yes?
It very near exploded into my hands.

A sparkle, was born.

Dude, where's my Sparkle?

Abandon ship! Abandon ship!

My brain was not getting the message.

I stood, bracing myself.  Making that split decision, that could either end in tears, or a tick next to my name to: Disgraced herself before 9am.

I needed to vomit.  And sneeze.  Together, in not such holy matrimony.

I somehow don't think, there is space in the book: My special Moments for that pearler.

I am with Sparkles.  Named by my former Ninja.  The irony is not lost on me as I reach for the mouth wash and mutter: No, I do not feel effing Sparkly today. 

Incredibly enough, my baby won't be born with a Santa hat, but you can bet your bottom dollar everyone is getting gift cards under the tree this year, because no one wants to see a 40 week pregnant woman crying of tinsel at big w.

So. I am back baby.  My blogging mojo has returned with gusto. I want to document this journey, the sparkly bits and the real bits.  Plus, facebook is giving me the shits.

I am 13 weeks.  I haven't had a coffee in weeks.  I knew I was pregnant before I tested.  Coffee tasted like arse.  I eat halloumi by the block.  I have an epic sweet tooth.  I hate meat.  I am tired. I am bloody scared, life as 4.. how to get the baby out etc etc etc.

So, here I am.  Finding the sparkle in everyday.

Loz x