Oct 4, 2016
So much love ❤️
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So much love ❤️
My love 💙
Recently...
My boy! Blast beats, ahoy!
Challenge: first pic Vs. Latest photo Oliver was a few hours old in that photo. The first photos of him are personal to us. The second one was yesterday in his beloved jumparoo. 💙💙💙
I miss this! 😳 Oliver is EIGHT months old today 😫 He says "mama" a lot. I think he recognises that I'm mama, but it also signals for help. Today he said dada, at his dada. He is dying to get walking/running, and loves to bounce. He recognises lots of people, even via FaceTime. I totally miss being pregnant, having him safely nestled up inside, and just the feeling of it. I dreamt of being pregnant a few nights ago, and could almost feel the phantom baby kick. 💔 I cannot (but must) wait to have more babies. 💙💙💙
This time last year (on the left) we were in the prenatal bubble: surrounded by the well-wishers, the tiny and incredibly cute baby clothes, and the swell of hormones that rendered me utterly in love with Tom. I thought I was prepared for having a baby. Hell, not a day went past where I forgot to take my prenatal vitamins, I was a legit adult. How wrong was I? I do not regret having Oliver, not one tiny bit. I feel the need to pop that into this post. He is the second best thing that's ever happened to me, second after meeting his dad, with whom none of this would be possible. Obviously. Words don't begin to describe the immense and very sudden change that happens, the literal minute you become a parent. Suddenly, you know the meaning of life, you know what real, pure and unconditional love is. You appreciate every gesture, and your parents. You sure as hell appreciate your parents!! You look at the world with eyes as fresh as your newborn, and you protect that. You protect it with every fibre of your being. However, there are moments, and moments that turn into days where you feel as though you're not good at all this raising and protecting business. There are days where you don't feel like an adult. Days where the very sound of your partner breathing is enough to put your dwindling patience on edge. There are days when you cry, when you stress about everything and days where you want to run and hide. This man, is there for me, to help pick up the pieces and make it whole. Obviously, he is a parent too, but his job tears him from us from one end of the day to the other. There really are days where I bite my tongue, and days where I want to shake sense into him, but I love him. He is mine & there's no one else I could raise this wonderful little man with. No one, however, prepares you for that. The books/blogs say to 'make time for each other..' They don't tell you, that oftentimes, that's impossible. They don't tell you that you're going to take out all your stress on your partner, and that parenting is HARD. Bastards. We live in a society hell bent on showing off and shaming. Honesty and apathy are not trending. I say bollox to the £1500 strollers and designer nursery. I stand by parents who make honest mistakes, and I deliver apathy for those in situations that I refuse to think about. So, the picture on the right is us now. Long passed the pre and postnatal bubble. Surviving on coffee, the occasional cuddle and photos of times past, to remind each other why we fell in love in the first place. (No joke!) it's almost like a science project, you've to repeatedly distill your relationship, to filter out the shite. What's left is pure love, admiration and the occasional butterfly. (The distillation process can take time, and a by product of this is frustration, for real!) I said it before; I don't think he reads this blog, or is aware that it exists, but if you ever find it: I love you, boo. You lump of sediment. 💙💙💙
Everywhere we go, people comment on how lovely Oliver is, how big, strong and advanced he is. I love it. I love it even more when meat eaters are shocked by the fact he doesn't eat animals. The look is priceless.