I always said that I was going to make my resolutions for the 1st July this year, six months late. Because I like to be different. No, the main reason is that I knew there was no point making solid resolutions, important ones that I intend to keep, when I was a third of the way into what I guessed (correctly) was going to be a difficult pregnancy, whilst also being in my first year of my degree course (which is going okay I think, thanks for asking). 

1st July works for a few reasons. One, it is exactly 6 months late, half way through the year, which I think works out nicely. Two, Baby Bear Number Two should be here by then - he is due on the 19th June, so, presuming everything is ok in the pregnancy but I go overdue, they won’t let me go further than 42 weeks. I will be 42 weeks on the 3rd July, and to be honest I can’t see them leaving me that long, due to Alex having been so big and breech, me being overweight and having had pre-eclampsia last time, and my sodding SPD making a god-awful return this time round. SO. By the 1st July, he should be here, and whilst I doubt I’ll be able to make a start on my more energetic resolutions, I can definitely work towards the ones that don’t involve exercise.

So, here we go - Emma’s New-Half-Year-Slash-Post-Pregnancy-Resolutions.

1. Stop complaining about everything.

Complaining is fine. I have a twitter and a Facebook account, and I’m pretty sure they were both invented for complaining. However, during this pregnancy I have been aware of the volume of my complaints. I’m not saying they’re without reason - I’ve been very ill, suffered dreadfully with pregnancy and had a couple of pretty horrendous fallings out (one that was sorted and one that hasn’t been) - but I know I need to try and look more positively at life in general. This is going to be a big one for me, as my whole life has always been lived in a very pessimistic way, so it’s going to take a lot of effort and probably a few harsh words from those who love me, or want me to shut the hell up.

2. Do my very very best with breastfeeding

I struggled big time with Alex. I managed to express for about a month, and then gave up. I won’t go into the reasons on here but they were mainly physical, not necessarily emotional (although I did get very emotional when I struggled for ages and ages to express and barely got more than an oz of milk). I know now that I could have been given a lot more support by midwives/health visitors and I could have also done more myself to try and continue BFing for longer than I did. I’m more prepared this time round, I’m going to do my utmost… but if I’m still not successful, I won’t beat myself up about it. I am beyond grateful that I was able to provide Alex with at least some BM, I just wish I could have managed for longer.

3. Maintain current success with degree

I’ve struggled this semester with ongoing pregnancy illness and other such things, but my first semester was very successful, and I ended up with AAB for my three modules. I don’t know how well I’ve done overall this year yet, as we won’t get our results til June/July probably, but I have got an A in a multiple choice exam we did that was 30% of one module, and a B in an essay that was 50% of another module, so I’m not doing too badly. Considering I hadn’t had any formal education for 6 years before I started this degree, I was incredibly pleased with myself for managing to work around Alex and pregnancy and I really hope it lasts.

4. Lose. Weight.

This is the big’un. I am 5’7”. My target weight is 10.5 stone. When I was weighed at my 8wk check-up for this pregnancy, I was significantly - and I mean significantly - more than that. I am going to weigh myself 4 weeks after Pip is born, take that as my starting weight, and go from there. I will update on here what that weight is. I am expecting it to be very high, although I know I lost weight at the beginning of my pregnancy due to illnesses, so I don’t think I’ve actually put that much on, if anything at all. I lost all my pregnancy weight with Alex within two months, but again, I was overweight to begin with. I’m not going to go mad with dieting, except cutting out all fizzy drinks, living on water and fruit juice/squash. I don’t drink much tea anyway so I’m not bothered about the odd mug. The main thing is going to be exercise. Depending on how Pip is born, obviously that will be non-existent/gentle to begin with, nice sedate walks etc. Ali is putting together a “training plan” for me - he has maps of a lot of woodland round here, due to his work, and he’s already got ideas of where we can go/what we can do. I’m also *breathes deeply* going to join the gym, and once I’ve recovered from the birth, I’m going to start going once a week, and gradually build it up to three evenings a week by next year. These may sound like baby steps to you, but this is the way I feel I’ll be able to do it. If I rush in, then a.) it won’t be the best thing for me, having just given birth, and b.) I will be more likely to give up.

That’s all my resolutions for now. They will start as earnestly as possible in July. I have my 25th birthday coming up (I’ll probably still be pregnant) so want to enjoy that before worrying about promises I’ve made to myself. Let’s hope I’m successful.

I don’t have daughters. I probably won’t have daughters, as my premonition was incorrect and Lumpy is also a boy. If I did, I would hope to instil my own sense of equality with men in them. However, as I have sons, I will teach them to respect women as much as they would respect men. I will teach them that it’s not okay to make sexist remarks, even if they think it’s “just a joke”. It’s not okay to override a woman’s feelings just because she’s a woman. But I will also teach them to stand up for themselves, I will hopefully instil in them a sense of right and wrong, of knowing that they are all equal, as opposed to some being more equal than others. I have been lucky in life that I’ve rarely, if ever, experienced sexism, sexist remarks, anything like that. I have a partner who respects and loves me and doesn’t expect me to do all the housework just because I’m a woman/stay-at-home-mum etc. I know I’m very lucky and that isn’t always the case. Equality is all we want as women. Don’t be scared of us, manly men. We don’t want to take over (like men ruled us for so many hundreds of years). We just want equality. Is that so much to ask?

A wise old owl (who has kids a bit older than Alex) gave me some good advice the other day when I was thinking aloud about how to explain our family situation to Alex. In a year or three he will start asking questions that I’m going to want to answer as truthfully as possible. I want to encourage him yo seek out information so when he starts learning about family set-ups, and comes home from nursery one day saying “Mummy, who is YOUR mummy?” I want to be able to answer him.

Anyway, the advice this friend gave was to answer each question as it comes. Don’t over-complicate anything and only give him the info he requests with each question. Children are relatively accepting, but if something clearly puzzles him then encourage him to ask for explanations.

I want him to know that he has a biological granny, but she will have little to no involvement in his life. I want him to know he has a stepgranny who is… Now how do I explain death? I don’t really want to do the Heaven thing, but will if that’s what is advised as best. It doesn’t have to be religious I suppose, just in a kind of “lives in the clouds” type way. I don’t want him to feel like his biological granny doesn’t love him, so how do I get round that one too? Good grief. I need a lie down.

I have a really strong feeling that this baby is going to be a girl. I am fully aware that on Tuesday (or if not, when bubs arrives) I could be proved completely wrong, but I can’t shake the feeling that this one is a girl. I don’t know why. I want to call it “her” whenever I talk about it. 

I really hope that they can tell me on Tuesday. If they’re positive, and it’s a girl, I can start selling all the more boyish clothes we have that Alex wore when he was younger. A bit of extra petty cash before bubs arrives would be nice.

Oh yeah, totally forgot to mention that I’m pregnant again. Because I’m fucking mental, clearly. (for being pregnant again, not for forgetting)

Anyway, after 17 weeks of pregnancy, I’ve just had my first proper craving. Bread, butter and jam. And it was bloody good. I have to be in the mood for jam, as it’s a bit too sweet for me (I’m usually a savoury kinda gal) but I’ve definitely been in a sweet mood since getting pregnant this time round. Which probably isn’t brilliant for me, or for bubs, so I’ve tried to curb it.

Tomorrow I’m flying down to Luton and being picked up by mates and staying with them for a couple of nights, which should be a laff, especially as we’re seeing family members of hers who I’ve met before and she’s having some sort of shindig on Saturday evening too, where I’ll meet more of her friends. I am kinda dreading the time away from Alex though, I must confess. I’m sure once I get a full night’s uninterrupted sleep tomorrow night I’ll feel bloody brilliant though. 

Alex is… just amazing. Seriously. He was a bit ill over the Christmas period, we all were, but since he’s got better he’s suddenly come on in leaps and bounds. He loves practising his standing, he giggles in a kind of maniacal fashion, he can say Hiya, Teddy and Mama and Dada, he understands basic commands and he’s just brightened up my entire life. He’s hilarious too. I’ve never laughed as much with anyone else. And when he cuddles his teddies, or waves to me when I come into his room in the morning, or gives me kisses, I want to melt. He is adorable.

This isn’t going to be a major review thing, more a way for me to keep a record of what I manage to read this year (having a toddler and being pregnant again, as well as doing a degree course, I can see this list being quite short!).

Anyway, I have managed to finish ONE book so far, 6 days into the year, which is pretty good going. It’s Charlie Brooker’s latest collection of articles he’s written, the book being called “I Can Make You Hate”. It’s good. Very good. FINE, I regularly had to put it down because I was laughing so much, I was making myself snort/hiccup/cry. Not for the faint-hearted. Or right-wingers. Or people who don’t like Charlie Brooker. 9/10.

This blog post isn’t about racial prejudice, or prejudice against homosexuals, vegetarians, antelopes…

This is about a prejudice that I have come across quite a bit over the last couple of weeks, mainly from older people who I guess could be described as ignorant. And that is Prejudice Against Making Friends On The Interwebs.

I have just come back from a fantastic holiday down in my old haunt of South-East (ish) England, where, aswell as staying with family and meeting up with old friends from school and the like, I also organised two or three “tweet-ups”. I really wanted to meet up with several people that I had spoken to online, mainly on twitter, for the past two years or so. People that I consider very nice, friendly, funny people. People who got me through some horrible pregnancy times, some horrible “My OH is being a twunt!” times and have always been there for a laugh, a chat, and a cyber cuddle. And do you know what? It was amazing. Alex and I had a lovely lunch with three twitter friends on the Friday, we stayed with another twitter friend (who I would class as my TBFF) and her other half overnight on the Sunday and, while we were there, we had a lovely afternoon sitting in a park-type area with another “tweep” and her little girl. We all got on, we all had a good time (I hope!) and it was just lovely.

However, whenever I mentioned to people that this was what I had planned, I was met with confusion, derision (yes) and hysterics. Examples of the kind of responses I got are as follows.

“They could be anyone!” Err, yes. So could someone you met in a club, or at a Mother & Toddler group.

“It’s just so weird, meeting people you’ve only ever spoken to online.” As weird as meeting people you’ve never spoken to, presumably.

“How do you know they are REAL PEOPLE?” Well, unless they’ve created a whole Facebook page going back six years, stolen hundreds of photos from someone and somehow persuaded over 100 people to add them as friends, I’m pretty sure they’re real.

“It’s a sign of the times; your friends are all living in your computer.” Piss off. I have REAL friends. I am capable of making friends. But if I get chatting to someone online and we get on, what’s wrong with us meeting up and making it a friendship that isn’t just IN MY COMPUTER SCREEN.

Obviously, I would never condone arranging these sort of tweet-ups without being 100% sure you were safe. But come on. These are mainly people I’ve spoken to for nearly two years. Twitter has been a lifeline for me while I was stuck indoors with SPD, and then at my wits end with a newborn. Of course I’d get to know people this way, because it’s by far the easiest way in this day and age. Maybe that’s a bit sad, I don’t know. What I do know is Alex and I have had an amazing holiday meeting lovely people who I happened to get to know through Twitter. Why, in all honesty, is that a bad thing?

Serves Two

One red onion, diced

Two to four cloves of garlic, diced or crushed

8-10 closed cup mushrooms, peeled and chopped

4 rashers of chopped up bacon

300g minced beef (or lamb, if you like)

A couple of dashes of Lea + Perrins

Lots of oregano

A pinch of basil

A pinch of thyme

Salt

Pepper

One beef stock cube

Red Wine

Tin of chopped tomatoes

Firstly, fry off the onion and garlic until they’re soft and browning. Then chuck in the mushrooms and fry until they’re soft and they’ve gone a nice yellowy colour. Then pop the bacon in and fry it for about 2 minutes, then the mince, and fry it and stir it all up until the mince is brown. Drain off the fat then add the beef stock cube, all the herbs, a healthy amount of salt and pepper and the lea and perrins, stir it all together, then add a good splosh of red wine and the tin of tomatoes. Leave to simmer for at least an hour and taste test it. The brilliant thing about spag bol is that you can tweak it however you like it, this is how I make mine but you could add chilli (if you’re BONKERS) or more (or less) herbs etc. Sometimes I add two stock cubes but usually only if I don’t have any wine. Then obviously cook the spaghetti and serve it together. Nom nom nom.

Can’t believe I forgot to mention this. Last week I got accepted onto a degree course through the University of the Highlands & Islands to do “Child and Youth Studies”, area-specific to Inverness, Moray and Perth. I only needed two Cs at A Level (I have BCCD) so I didn’t think it would be too difficult, but I’m delighted nonetheless. It’s wholly online, except for exams which are in May and December, and it’s a 3 year course if I want a BA and 4 years if I want to do the honours part. 

Now I just have to hope that SAAS will fund me, although I can’t see why they wouldn’t. If they don’t I’ll unfortunately have to decline my place, as there’s no way I can afford to do it. But as I’ve lived in Scotland for nearly 5 years I think I’ll be okay.

~I’ve read over this now it’s finished and it’s not brilliantly written. But I’m going to post it as it is, as it came straight from my brain, and I didn’t think too hard about it, I just typed it all out. It’s a bit jumbled but I think you’ll get the main point.~

When I was driving back from Inverness this afternoon (having spent a ridonkulous amount of money on toys for Alex) I listened to a bit on Radio 2 about whether the power of prayer worked in cases like that of poor Fabrice Muamba, who seems to be doing really well at the minute, thankfully. There was a debate between an atheist and a chap from a church who evidently prayed in their droves on Sunday night that Fabrice would pull through. The question posed by the radio presenter (who wasn’t Jeremy Vine, but it was during his normal slot - I presume he’s gallivanting off somewhere on hols) was whether Muamba’s recovery was down to the amazing work of the doctors and nurses or whether it was all down to a supreme being.

Now, SURELY, even religious people who have ardently prayed for him over the past couple of days cannot argue that it is NOT down to our doctors and nurses? I couldn’t actually listen to the debate as Alex decided at that moment to start screaming, so I have no idea what the two guys were saying, but I can probably guess. Another woman came on towards the end of the programme stating that she firmly believed in the power of prayer as she’d “witnessed it first-hand.” She then went on to describe how her son, who had suffered a brain hemorrhage, was a “walking miracle” thanks to the power of God. Not, apparently, thanks to the tireless work of the doctors who helped her son back to full health. As a side point, when she touched on the subject of that age-old question religious people are asked - “Why are there starving children in Africa?” - her answer was “That is not God’s work.” That doesn’t explain to me why, if He does exist and he is the Almighty, why he can’t do something to fix it? I’m guessing she didn’t think it was because of God that her son got attacked 6 years ago, yet she’s still adamant that he fixed her son. 

I have nothing against religious people (so long as, to quote the illustrious Tim Minchin, their actions don’t impact on the happiness of others) and I have nothing against people joining together in mass prayer, if that’s what they believe in. But we should be acknowledging here that the National Health Service has triumphed. The doctors and nurses and surgeons and paramedics are the ones who saved Muamba’s life. They are the ones who should be being thanked. We should be saying as a country “Hang on a minute - the NHS might have it’s faults, but look how well it works as it is. Why do we want to change this?” Yes, Muamba probably isn’t badly off and he will probably be able to afford decent medical care once this bill is passed. But others won’t. Other seemingly-fit 23-year olds who have sudden brain hemorrhages won’t stand the same chance, because they won’t be able to afford the kind of medical treatment that we currently take for granted, and that probably saved Muamba’s life. Not God. Our NHS.