I svea land

Det har hänt nånting med sverige. Folk har blivit helt störda i huvet. Man får inte visa spöksagor för barna på TV för då kan de få för sig att det är på riktigt och då börjar de prata med andar och sen hamnar de på mentalsjukhus.
Och nu vill vi inte längre klä flickor och pojkar i likadana kläder. Rosa till flickor och blått till pojkar. Annars kanske de kallas hen och då blir det bara lesbiska och bögar utav hela bunten.
Hela världen ser på dig sverige, och tror att du är så framåt i genusdebatten. Vi läser artiklar i The Guardian om pojkar som får leka med dockor på dagis. Men så kommer man hit och det är enresa 40 år tillbaka i tiden eller så.
"Är det en pojke du har hängades på ditt bröst?" "Tyvärr, vi har den bara i blått" säger de på Polarn. Men jag vill ha den i blått. Blått är flått!
Att hänga ungen på sitt bröst förresten. Är inte det tungt? Det där kan du juinte hålla på med. Som om människan vore det enda däggdjur som inte är byggt för att kunna bära sitt eget barn.
Och på den sjätte dagen tillverkade gud en barnvagn. Och en napp att stoppa i munnen. När det ändå är jesus helg liksom!
Men annars är det gött som fan! Kallt så in i norden. Jag undrar om vi kan bo här. Om du försörjer mig, säger han. Får man det? Vad säger genusdebatten om det?

VAB

Bloody hell, UK! Now i know why everyone jumps ship and head back to the motherland when they have children.
For the last three months i have been on half pay, which has been okay since i'm so rich (insert laughter). This is quite a generous arrangement that i receive because i happen to work in the public sector. If i was in the private one, i'd probably get even less. You see, an employer doesn't have to pay for ANY maternal leave after the first six weeks, although some do anyway!
So today i opened my pay packet, in which i was expecting another load of half pay. But no, i got the last one last month and all i got was the lousy statutory maternity pay. £500 a month! For the next three months, and after that i get nothing. Nothing!! I could cry. I'm poor! I drowned my sorrows by going out for lunch and coffee and chocolate. Hello 50 quid gone already!

The other thing, which upsets me even more, is that i only get a year off. When i go back in july i am hopefully still breastfeeding, so the plan is if lilla is ill i'll take a couple of days off to nurse her back to health. Care of sick child, they call it in the motherland! Of course you need to care for sick child! But not in this country where no one gives a shit about children! You can, if you absolutely have to, take 1 or 2 days off while you arrange for another carer! In other words, you're meant to find a grandmother, aunt or some other distant relative to care for your child. Nevermind that she might need her parents even more if she's poorly!
Damn, i'm going to kick some ass when i go back to work. Yes, i'm going to breastfeed a toddler and yes i'm going to use my right to express at work and i don't give a shit what anyone says!
At least until i too am allowed to leave this backwards, child hating, dickensian, formula feeding, jeremy kyle type of country and head back to where the grass is always greener!

The help

Woohoo! In January i am starting training to become a breastfeeding peer supporter. So exciting!

Barnens knark*

Det är ännu värre än jag trodde!

http://www.amningshjalpen.se/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=245:vaelling&catid=6&Itemid=23

Skriver jag det här för att jag är elak och vill såra? Nej! Jag har en stor passion för att utbilda andra inom amning och småbarnsmat, that's all!

Om jag hade sagt till nån att det är farligt för bebisar att åka bil utan bilstol, hade jag varit elak då? Men vi gjorde ju det på 70-talet och vi lever ju. Ja, men det är farligt, man kan krocka och då vill man inte ens tänka på vad som händer.
Är det elakt att säga så till någon?

http://www.amningshjalpen.se/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=245:vaelling&catid=6&Itemid=23

*Dogge Doggelito

Våga vägra välling

Nu blir det svenska för jag ska skriva om nåt typiskt svenskt!

Välling? Vad är det för himla skräp? Och varför tror hela sveriges befolkning att deras ungar behöver det? På flaska dessutom?

Jag har förundrats över det här ett tag så jag gjorde lite research (hej, jag har aldrig researchat något så mycket i hela mitt liv som jag har gjort barnmatspolitik...). Vad är välling? Mjöl och vatten. Som de stackars fattiga svenska barnen fick på 1800-talet. Som de stackars fattiga afrikanska barnen får i välgörenhetsreklamfilmerna. Fattigmat. Nu för tiden slänger de i en massa annan skit, järn, d-vitaminer, kalcium. Ät en morot i solskenet, säger jag, och sug på din mammas bröst till efterrätt. Mycket godare.

Det är väl unjefär som att vi svenskar äter gammalt, förtorkat bröd på julafton. För det gjorde de ju på 1800-talet när alla var fattiga. Doppa i skinkfettet, jättegott! Nej, faktiskt inte! Tänk om du var tvungen att äta det till kvällsmat vareviga kväll...

Sen borde jag egentligen inte ens börja snacka om vad jag tycker om den här flaskulturen vi lever i. Men jag slänger till det ändå. Stora, friska ungar med napp i ena näven och en flaska konstgjord näring i den andra. Det finns ingen som helst anledning till att barn över 6 månaders ålder behöver dricka någonting från flaska. Kopp går jättebra!

Det är förresten förbjudet i de flesta länder (utan USA förstås) att göra reklam för flaskor och nappar! Tänk på den nu!

I wrote to Tesco...

Dear editor.

This morning i finally received the Tesco baby club magazine (birth to 3 months).
I have just read your feature on infant feeding and i was very disappointed to see that none of the three mums featured were following the WHO guidelines to exclusively breastfeed for six months. One of the mums started weaning off breastmilk at five months and the other two either exclusively formula fed or combination fed from a very early age.
It would have been really nice to see some examples of mums who breastfed for longer and enjoyed it. The world health organization recommends exclusive breastfeeding until six months and to continue feeding breastmilk until age 2. All the mums in your feature talked about the difficulties involved in breastfeeding and how this was the reason they either gave up early, or never started. Whilst i agree that breastfeeding can be difficult in the first few weeks, many mums find it a truly enjoyable experience, but this wasn't mentioned at all. The mum who breastfed the longest (Melanie) said: "i got to the point where my whole life revolved around breastfeeding... By five months, i was absolutely exhausted." Another mum, irene, started introducing formula top ups when her daughter had her first growth spurt. Growth spurts and cluster feeding is perfectly normal in a newborn, but i am afraid your feature normalises formula top-ups when these are rarely necessary.

While i respect the three mums' feeding choices, I am very disappointed in Tesco for not presenting a more balanced view of breastfeeding. None of the mums mentioned how, after initial difficulties, it is easy, convenient and enjoyable.

While you're not breaking any laws regarding formula marketing in this feature, the overall message comes across as breastfeeding being a bit of a hassle.

I hope you consider these comments in future publications.

Yours sincerely
Jenny Svenny
Happy breastfeeding mum and tesco customer

Trying out our new Mei-Tai

Babywearing

It's funny, when you're about to have a baby you think you have to have a pram. So wrong. Tallulah hates her pram and it sits at home, looking brand new and expensive. Sometimes i take it out and use it as a shopping trolley. Apples and pears where there should be a baby. But the baby is with me, snug and happy in her sling.
I could sell it i guess, it's brand new! But then i think, what if we're lucky enough to win the lottery again and any future baby might love the pram. Though i doubt i'll ever fall out of love with babywearing...

The no-routine routine

In the sea of various baby training manuals, i have invented my own: it's called the no-routine routine. Unfortunately (or should i say fortunately) i can't write or sell any books on the subject because there is absolutely no training required. The subtitle of my non-existing book is "just chill".
It goes like this: let your baby do whatever he/she wants, you're not spoiling them, and just relax in the process. Tallulah falls asleep, and stays asleep, on the breast. And i will sit like that, in restaurants, cafes, bars, with a sleeping baby on my boob. I let her fall asleep whenever she wants, even if it is 10pm at night. I let her feed for comfort, i don't ever let her cry for more than 5 seconds. I don't use a dummy and i don't intend to force hpfeed her pureed mash.
The sad thing though is that i am seen as spoiling my child. That babies need to be "trained" or they'll never sleep on their own. That i'll be carrying round my "spoilt" child when she's 15. Our society is so obsessed with creating independent individuals out of newborns. They should sleep alone, play alone, learn how to stop crying alone and eat grown-up food before they're even 4 months old.
The thing is, i am loving my no-routine routine! Having spent my whole adult life following routines and deadlines and i love never having to check the time. Where our pyjamas all day. Stay up till late. Go to bed early. Eat whenever we want. Love it!

Super supermarket

My local Waitrose is closing down! What?!?! Now i have to move to an even more affluent area. Like Stratford or something, haha!

Three points

People are strange!
1. People came to see Tallulah when she was 1, 2, 3 weeks old. A little early baby, just under 2.5 kilo. All her clothes a little big. The same people come to see her at 10, 11, 12 weeks. "Look, i found some small clothes for your small baby." Don't people know that babies grow? Don't people know that babies grow quickly? A 4 kilo baby isn't going to fit into preemie baby clothes!
2. Tallulah was born in July. The height of summer. The height of "summer". People say "i didn't want to buy her anything tiny as they grow so quickly" so they buy clothes labelled 3-6 months. Summer clothes labelled 3-6 months. July plus 3-6 months= October-January. I don't think we're going to need summer clothes in October to January.
3. People know me. Don't people know me? Tallulah is never going to wear pink. Yet people buy her pink clothes.

The result: A bag full of clothes that she will never wear. Silly!

Lilla

4.3 kilo. Aaaw, my little big girl. And 12 weeks tomorrow. I think i have to cry a little bit.

Application!

I have finally discovered that i don't have to put up with this no-paragraph nonsense. There's an app for that!
Look!
I can write in paragraphs!

Family fun day out

Today we've been to Ikea. The place where marriage goes to die!It was so stressful! But Tallulah loved it. I tried to get her to sleep in the sling but she kept looking around at all the colourful self assembled furniture. She finally fell asleep somewhere around aisle 59.
Then i spillt lingonberry jam on her white socks when i was feeding her whilst eating sloppy meatball dinner. And cold, way too cold, apple pie.
And i didn't buy anything in the Swedish food shop because all they have is stupid Ikea brand food when they used to have normal Swedish stuff. I don't need coffee or elk shaped pasta or ready salted crisps, thank you very much. I want blommig falukorv and salmiak!
Then i sat squashed inbetween Lulah and a bookshelf on the way home. I'm too fat for the seatbelt in the middle seat. Great!

Sweet or sour?

If you don't want drink milk from a cow, what's the best alternative? Unsweetened soya milk that's full of oestrogen and Other hormonal crap, or almond milk that contains sugar? Second biggest ingredient in fact...

Svenny says no to the bottle (for a change)

I have to stop interfering! I read baby blogs and interfere with everything they say. I just get annoyed and it's too hard trying to change the world. At least right now!
But it's so hard to shut up when people are wrong. When people are basing their decisions on anecdotal evidence, which this god damn world wibe web is full of."I couldn't breastfeed because it was too hard." We couldn't get pregnant for two years but i didn't hear anyone say "don't worry if it's too hard, you don't have to get pregnant". You don't give up, so why would you give up on breastfeeding? Childbirth is really bloody hard, but i don't hear people saying they tried for a while but it was really hard so i gave up. Everything else related to childbirth is hard so why do we expect breastfeeding to be easy? Then there are the anecdotes that tell us that "my children were formula fed and they're fiiiiine". Of course they're fine. You can live on crisps and red bull and coffee and biscuits and you'll still be fine. You smoke twenty a day and you're fine! But you don't know if the cancer you get when you're 65 is due to poor diet or bad luck. Or the ear infection you get when you're eight is down to lack of breastmilk or bad luck. Would you take the chances with your precious perfect child? I know i wouldn't.
I have had a real struggle breastfeeding my baby. But i got the facts right, and because i got the facts right i have stuck to it. Thanks to analyticalarmadillo.co.uk and kellymom.com which are the best evidence-based websites i have ever come across. But for me, it is enoughto just smell a bottle of formula. Would you drink that? I wouldn't and i certainly wouldn't give my baby anything i wouldn't have myself...Breastmilk, on the other hand, is quite delicious.

Marathon

Everyone's heard of "extreme breastfeeding". People breastfeeding their 8-year-olds or whatever. That's not extreme breastfeeding. This is: Constantly feeding from 4am to midday, or from 1pm to 10. Or both. Twenty out of twentyfour hours. Three, sometimes four hours sleep. The odd ten minutes here and there before starts to act as if though i haven't fed her in days. Sheer panic! And no, i haven't got a supply issue. I wake up in a pool of milk (that's when i get some sleep, most of the times i'm already awake). It's because i'm feeding a small premature baby who's having a permanent growth spurt. It's totally worth it, she's growing so well and even rolled over yesterday. Anyway, i have finally learnt to bf with one hand, so maybe, just maybe, i'll be able to frequent this blog that the world forgot a little bit more often. But i'm not promising anything!

Yummy mummy?

Next week Tallulah is two months old and i guess it's time to deal with this baby fat. I call it baby fat but you know it's not. I spent five months eating for a whole football team. (First three months i just ate breadsticks and green apples, and i was only pregnant for 8 months.) my twelve day vacation to Resort Hospital, combined with the birth of a five pound baby, probably resulted in a little weight loss. But then i came home and oh my god. I have literally sat a whole in the sofa and as i sit there i am surrounded by biscuit crumbs and chocolate wrappers. It's okay, breastfeeding burns 500 calories a day, and i breastfeed for around 20 hours a day (not a joke) so surely i'm burning double. Not! I am fatter now than whilst i was pregnant. I guess that's what happens when you eat 2000 calories worth of biccies every day. Why am i surprised? The other issue is that Tallulah hates the pram. I have tried but rarely made it to the end of the road, so if i want to go out i have to take the car like some lazy American. But at last, eight weeks in, i have found the perfect solution for my kangaroo baby: a sling. Today i walked, walked woohoo, to tesco and back and baby T slept like a baby (?) the whole time. Ignore the fact that i hadn't considered how to get the shopping home and that i had to phone daddy (i know...) to come and pick it up. I bought biscuits by the way... So now i can go out, walk, be a yummy mummy, and come 11th September no more biscuits...

Fun for all

I am watching Baby Style or Baby Time or whatever it is called, on one of those lifestyle channels that just show brides, fat people, people who live in dirty houses, i didn't know i was pregnant. You know! Breastfeeding TV. And there's a woman giving birth, in hospital, all good, only she's brought her bloody two-year-old along to watch the show! Why on earth would she do that? Did she realistically think her toddler was going to be entertained by this spectactle for the next, i don't know, 6-12 hours (or six days if you do it my style)? In fact, why do people bring their kids to hospital at all? When i was in hospital (you know, twelve days...) and i had the misfortune of sharing a room with three other snoring preggos, people did not only bring their aunties, cousins and their wives in, but their bloody kids. How much fun is that? And why do people think it's okay to let their kids run around and sing and play? Especially when yours truly is lying behind her flimsy curtain throwing up and screaming in pain. You don't really need an auditory audience, even when it is during general visiting hours. I won't be going on that holiday again!!!

The B Team

When you're in hospital, or hanging out with midwives and health visitors as much as i am, you soon come to realise that there's a very magic word that we believe they are commisioned to throw into every other sentence. "Breastfeeding" Midwives are trained to use this word every time they speak to brand new over-emotional mothers. Bill and i call them the B Team! Does it work? Probably, but after a while i was like shut up with your magic word already, i am fucking trying, okay! Simply put - breastfeeding is hard! But, and this is a big but, i think Tallulah and i are evidence that everyone can breastfeed because we've had our fair share of issues. 1. Lulah was premature 2. I had a c-section 3. She was (is) tiny and has a tiny mouth 4. I have massive boobs 5. It took about five days for any milk to appear 5. Tallulah is tongue tied. I cried when i had to give her formula those first few days. I might not have had a birth plan but i had a feeding plan, i was going to breastfeed! So what did we do? We tried boob every single time she was due a feed. That is a lot of hard work, and it probably would have been easier to give up and give her the bottle. We also do skin to skin every single day. I got nipple shields to help her get on. This enabled me to chuck the formula on day five. We had a lot of tears and tantrums, from both of us, i squeezed tiny drops of colustrum from my boobs until my nipples were sore. But guess what happened? One day she just did it! So i guess the B Team are doing a good job really! As frustrating as it was when the strict African midwife had baby's head in one hand and my boob in the other and basically shoving the two together, it did work in the end. And i am so proud! And so so pleased! I even think i need to join the B Team myself and become a breastfeeding support person. Coming to a boob near you soon!!!

37+6???

One of the strange things about having a premature baby is that all apps and automated emails still think i'm pregnant. Tomorrow i'll be 38 weeks apparently! Very very odd! Feels like it was months since i was pregnant, i mean tallulah has been here forever, hasn't she?

The style

Ok. I did write that last post using paragraphs, but for some reason blogger don't like 'em. Bloody hell! Also, apologies for general poor writing in said post, my short and witty posts shall soon resume. I hope!

Birth story, part 2

Tuesday morning. Okay, i was a bit sick again, but i thought whatever, i can still go home. Silly me. Also turns out different doctors have completely different ideas about getting baby out/keeping baby in. Dr Tuesday arrived, said i looked a bit poorly, to which i replied that i wanted to go home. He said there was very little evidence to suggest baby is better off in belly until 37 weeks, and that there's not that much difference between 35 and 37. The risk of infection is far worse and in his opinion it's better to get baby out. He wanted yet more blood from me to check for any infections and said he would return the same afternoon. I was a lot better that day, no sick, no major pain, the only thing was that i couldn't go to the toilet. Yuk! About 5 pm, dr Tuesday's understudy came along and said no infection, everything looks okay, so let's monitor things over night and make a decision in the morning. We were very surprised when, around 7 pm, midwife came along and said Jenny, you're going to the labour ward. Turns out dr took another look at my notes and decided that this baby had to come out. And thank you very much indeed, because it turned out i wasn't very well at all... At the labour ward, baby's heartbeat was checked again and instead of being between 110 and 160 as it should be, it was between 175 and 180. Turns out i was dehydated and had a temperature. I was put straight on a drip, with added paracetamol and antibiotics. As soon as i got enough liquid baby's heartbeat went down to normal. Time for the induction hormone... They asked me about pain relief and i was like naaah, i'll try without. I'd been in so much pain for so many days i thought at least this would be productive, and it would lead to something. The thing with artificial oxytocin is that it is instant and when you're induced you're not allowed to move. No one tells you this! So within five minutes i was in loads of pain, and i was like right i'm ready to walk around and find all these good contraction positions. Wrong! Don't move your legs, don't sit up, no you can't roll over. Who can have contractions laying down flat and not moving? Not me! I was definitely not allowed to go to the toilet but i went on about it so much, the poor midwife unstrapped my wires and let me go. Once in the toilet i laid on the floor crying, and finally decided that yes i did indeed need an epidural. I will add that at this point i am hooked up to a drip, blood pressure cuff, contraction monitor, baby heart beat monitor plus a catheter after my recent toilet issue. Add to this the epidural in my back - that's why i wasn't allowed to move, i was simply hooked up to too many machines. After the epidural things go a bit blurry. I remember things being a bit floaty, at one point i said to bill that it felt like i was on an airplane. I even slept a bit, but woke up every ten minutes to top up the epidural, eventhough i was only allowed a top-up every half an hour. This goes on from about 10pm until 6am. During this time the baby's heartrate drops to around 70-80 every time i have a contraction. I wasn't aware of this at all, but bill is basically super scared at this point. Doctors believe to cord got compressed with every contraction, but weren't worried as it went straight back up afterwards. It meant that instead of turning the drip up though, they kept having to turn it down. After around seven hours of this i was three cm dilated, and "my team" (i had a lot of people in and out of that room) decided (well, they asked us to decide) that it was time for the knife. Baby not happy, induction not working, so an emergency c-section was the best thing for baby. A very dramatic saga indeed. I don't remember a lot of this night. When bill tells the story i realise how stressful and worrying it was. Had i been aware of our little baby's heartrate dropping like that i would have certainly anicked. In the end, our little baby girl was born very happy and healthy, and i am very grateful to all the doctors for making the right decisions on those last few days... Might return at some point and write about the actual birth, and the c-section, but for now, this is my story...

All in a day

Yesterday i managed to eat, shower, sleep when Lulah slept, entertain visitors, cluster feed and have a good night's sleep. Yey, super mamma. Today's mission was to wax my legs (my leg hair stopped growing towards the end of pregnancy, sadly this didn't last) but i've given up on that now. Lulah and i went for a walk today and i was not a super mamma because i forgot to bring nappies and spare clothes and my little baby girl was soaking wet when we got back home so my new focus for the day is cuddle cuddle cuddle to make up for me being such a naughty mummy... :(

Birth story, part 1

So... where do I start...? First of all, I will probably have to write this in stages, as my birth story lasts over 6 days (12 if you count ALL the days I spent in hospital).

So our baby girl Tallulah Brenda Lisa came early. Five weeks early. She weighed 2.270 kilo which is a good size for such an early baby and if you look at the last picture taken of me as a preggo, you can see that I looked full term. Picture taken at 33 weeks, when I measured 36 cm. A week later, at 34 weeks, I was measuring 40. Now I look at Tallulah and I see this tiny little thing I wonder what else I had in my belly. I think the answer is water. The minute my waters broke I felt like I'd lost 5 kilos or something. My hands, feet, face went back to normal almost immediately and now, 7 days after delivery, I feel really thin and almost back to normal (but not ready for a picture yet). 

 It all started on Thursday 5th July. 34+2. I was off work because I had a midwife appointment in the morning. All was good, measured 40 and mw said it felt like a good-sized baby. I also got the results from my GTT which showed I did not have gestational diabetes, hurrah. I celebrated with a big fat ice cream on the way home. The rest of the day I did nothing, went to Waitrose, bought lots of food (which I had to bin as I didn't have time to eat it).
That evening, I sat watching Home and Away, when it finished I stood up and a massive gush of warm water just poured out of me... Bill thought I'd spilled a drink and I thought I'd wet myself, but at the same time I knew it wasn't wee.
We phoned the hospital, as I was so early, and they told us to come in straight away. Luckily I'd packed my bags already so off we went. I had to wait in triage for ages, from about 8pm till 1.30 am. Nothing else was happening, no pain, but the dr decided to keep me in as things might happen pretty soon. They decided to give me two shots of steroid injection to help develop the baby's lungs, should it come early. They explained to me that the baby is perfectly fine in there without the water, and that the water can even rebuild itself. There's a risk of infection, so was put on antibiotics.
On the Friday I felt fine, completely normal, apart from being very tired, as I shared a room with three other snoring preggos. I had no earplugs, one flat hospital pillow, no books, no music...  I was seen everyday, and all doctors said the same thing - we won't start you off, it's better if baby stays in there for a few more weeks, and I was hooked up to CTG about three times a day to check baby's heartbeat.
On the Friday night/Saturday I started having a lot of cramps. Braxton hicks I guess, they were quite managable and I went for a few walks around the hospital grounds. Still doctors said the same thing...
On the Sunday I started to feel really ill. Cramps were so bad they gave me gas and air, but they weren't showing up on monitor so they didn't think they were real contractions. I couldn't breath through them, walk them off and they were really painful. Bill stayed all night, and at this stage I am still sharing a room - I was screaming and crying all night, started throwing up, kept wanting to go to the toilet... Around 5 am things had settled a bit, I fell asleep and Bill went home for a couple of hours.
Monday - suddenly I felt a lot better. Doctors decided this wasn't the start of labour, and if things didn't progress I could possibly go home on the Tuesday and wait things out at home. I was desparate to go home at this stage. I wanted my bath, my bed, my TV and I was getting so fed up with this horrible hospital room with lights on all night, snoring women all around me, visitors (including toddlers, wtf?), being interrupted by midwives and their urine samples and beeping blood pressure machines.

Here she is - my gorgeous baby daughter Tallulah. I will continue to write another time. I don't remember all the details, especially not the next stage, so will check with Bill later and continue writing soon...

Tallulah

Just a quick update: Our little baby girl Tallulah was born five weeks early on the 11th July 2012. We've just got back home after spending five days in hospital (although i've been there for a total of 12 days). I'll write more when i'm a bit more settled back home, including my 6 day build-up to deliver, phew...

Wine o'clock

On Friday i had a glass of wine. Imagine if the Swedish police found out! I would end up in pregnancy prison. It was the first glass of wine i've had since October. We had friends round for a football feast and everyone else was drinking so i thought, hey you're allowed one. To be honest, it was okay and i don't think i'll have another one whilst pregnant. Besides, it was a cheap £3.99 job and i wish i'd invested in a better wine since i was indulging in a one-off drinking sesh. After about half a glass i felt ready to sleep and then someone gave me a foot massage and, well, i guess you could say things didn't really get very rock n roll after that. Ilovetosleep.com

What to expect when you're expecting

Now I know what to expect when you're expecting because last night we went to see What to expect when you're expecting. And it was actually really funny. I thought the auditorium would have at least a handful of preggos, but I was the only one. When we walked out I felt like everyone was looking at me, Look there's one of them over there. Like seeing a film about aliens and then seeing that there's an actual alien watching the film, ha!
The film depicts the "different types of preggos" I guess. The chic, slim, happy one; the one that still runs and exercises and the one that's like me: Who farts, wants to punch her husband, can't walk properly and spills food all down her stomach. Haha!
Even Bill thought it was funny although he hadn't really wanted to go in the first place. And then when all the babies were born we got a little emotional and I said: Are we really going to have one of those and he said yes and I had to cry a little bit.

Babymoon

Today we're off on our babymoon. Spa hotel by the seaside, thank you very much.

It!

I read a lot of preggo blogs. You do, don't you. You can't stay away. Nevermind that it makes me extremely frustrated and annoyed, and it also makes me realise that i'm not normal. First of all, i am not interested in a 4d scan. My neighbour mentioned this too, oh you have to have one, they're amazing, to which i replied that i think babies on a 4d scan look ugly. Because they do. All squashed up and alien-like. I don't think we're meant to see them before they're born, are we? I would probably walk out crying because the baby looked ugly. Then there's the gender thing, but we've talked about that. Everyone else is referring to their babies as he or she, while i call mine it. Not the nicest, but what else can i call it? Then there are designer prams, coffee cup holders, furniture especially designed for nurseries (why can't babies have normal chest of drawers?), clothes with Disney characters (HATE) and the constant affirmations of love for baby and husband. Hm? I find most people in the world annoying most of the time, including my husband, who clearly is amazing, but i still have the most awful rage and irritation thing going on. Lastly, this baby doesn't move... I don't upload little videos of my stomach being punched from the inside because there's nothing to show. Now, there's nothing wrong, baby does move and i do feel it, but when i read of people laying awake at night and talking about the crazy footballer in their bellies, i wonder what they're talking about? I mean, bill has still only felt a little kick ONCE. Now, either this baby is really calm and relaxed, or i just have too much padding. In actual fact, most of the times i forget i'm pregnant, or at least i forget there's going to be a baby at the end of all this. I keep thinking about being normal again come, say september, about red wine and flexibility, but somehow the baby isn't always in that picture... But of course i do love it and can't wait to meet it and all that... "It"

Considering i have wanted to be pregnant for so so long, it comes as a bit of a surprise to me that i am now starting to look forward to not being pregnant. Only 11 weeks or so to go. It's been great, don't get me wrong, but it's hot, i'm swollen, i'm fat, i have no clothes and i can't drink alcohol. Sometimes i ask my friends for some alcohol porn. They describe in detail what they've been drinkng and i get turned on, basically. Man, i'm gonna drink when this baby is out.

Kickin'

Bill sat and spoke about football (he thinks I listen) and then it happened. It kicked so much i thought he would feel it. And he did. Because he mentioned Barcelona. Or so he thinks, i know it's more the quiet arty type. But happiness all the same.

Halfway

Roll on July. It's the only thing that's keeping me going. I've had both the best week and worst week in a long time.
Best because we saw our baby-lubba, scratching its bum, looking might fine and perfect. The sonographer was great and kept referring to it as "the baby", not him or her.
I've had the worst week because my job is so so tough at times, and i have the staff from hell. I've been on a trip this week with 30 16-year-olds. No trouble, and i let them all out at lunctime to have lunch in Russell Square, but lots to organise and stressful all the same. They were amazing though. Going back, the tube was packed and the minute there was a seat they all shouted "miss, miss, there's a seat for you". Cutey pies.
Now i have two weeks off and will rest like i've never rested before. We're on the hunt for a pram at the moment. It's crazy, far too many to choose from and far too expensive. We've had a look at second hand ones as well but have already come across one scam, so a bit worried about that. My only requirement is that it's small and red. I really want a bugaboo but there is no way i'm spending 800 quid on a pram.
Last night i tried to go to the pub. I had denim skirt, flip flops and sunglasses, hurrah, but then i had some food which exhausted me, so i went home at 5. Besides, i was so annoyed with all the people putting cigarette smoke in my breathing space. Selfish! Why are people still allowed to smoke in beer gardens? Annoyance number 2 was all the children running around the garden. People laughed about my so-called maternal instincts kicking in, but i don't like children. Other people's children. I especially don't like children of yummy mummies who think it's ok for their brats to run around in a space designed for adults. Not okay!
No, it was much nicer to go home, watch tv and fall asleep.

18 and something

Oh, i haven't got time for this at all. I'm having a crazy time at work and it's so stressful. I sleep very badly at the moment anyway, but work is making it worse. This week i've argued with an exam board, had emergency meetings with my staff, analysed data, number crunched number crunched number crunched, dreamt about re-sits and exam entries and woken up at 5am to write to-do lists. Oh what a relaxing pregnancy i'm having... Is my baby going to come out all stressed and colicky?
I also had a meeting with my head teacher this week. He said i could think about coming back as a HoD or not. Haha, my job will be there waiting for me, but if i don't want it, there'll be something else. Have i decided already? Oh yes! Nevermind the issue that i'm a good boss, and don't work very well under someone else's leadership, but hey ho, i could have a life again. A life with my husband and baby.
This week i've also had my first coffee (de-caf of course) and sweet, sugary muffins. Here we go, i can feel the 100 kilos getting closer. I look about 6 months pregnant, but i can guarantee it's 90% food.
Yum!

Hot mama

I have found myself feeling superhappy about my body now that i'm pregnant. At last. I started off swollen and miserable, not fitting into my wedding dress at six weeks gestation, fat swollen face and misery. But now, i feel kind of hot, in a weird way. Sure, my stomach is expanded, but it's supposed to and i love it. The thing is though, that's it. My arms, my legs, my face feel slimmer than before and i feel great. My boobs look proper page 3, can i keep them forever? I don't know how much weight i have gained, but it doesn't feel like a lot.
I can probably thank some lucky star out there that i only crave fruit, vegetables, rice, milk and good, healthy, lovely, wholesome food. The thought of McDonald's, cakes, ice cream, chocolate, crisps, makes me turn to the nearest fruit stall and inhale a pound of fruit. Yum.
On Tuesday i made the mistake of inhaling (i kind of inhale food these days) approximately five chocolate biscuits. When i returned home i was violently sick and spent the next two days in bed. I shall not eat biscuits again until August 15th or roundabout that time.
Lucky me!

Cabana

Yesterday i ate at Cabana and it was wonderful. I had little cheese dough balls that i remember from Ulla and Luigi's wedding, i had sweet potato fries with chili mayo, fried chicken ball things with green salsa, mushroom and halloumi, chicken from a skewer. Delicious delicious delicious. I want to go back there again, every day, now, i need it now.
Food, glorious food, oh how i love thee.

She's in fashion

I've made a mistake. I answered a telephone call from some pleasant telemarketing lady who said i could i have 4 issues of Marie Claire for £1. Okay, why not, even if it is just toilet reading. She did indeed make it clear that i would have to phone up and cancel at any time to stop the subscribtion from lasting a full year for the usual price. God damn it. I've cancelled it now, but too late of course.
And now i have to read about FASHION every bloody month. I hate fashion. I hate fashion magazines. I open said magazine and the first thing i have to do is skip the first thirty pages which are full of adverts for brands that no one buys. Then i have to skip around fifty pages entitled things like "101 fashion fixes" or "pastel spring". Who gives a fuck? Only then do i reach a couple of pages that cover "lifestyle" and "modern dilemmas" or something of the sort, which i kind of read, mainly in the bath, followed by a couple of pages of food and recipes which i read every word of and salivate/throw up a little, you choose the day. And that's it!
The thing is, if these mags were advertising clothes that i might buy, i might have been a little bit more interested. "top, £9.99" okay, why not? I mean, i buy most of my clohes in Tesco. Every little helps. And i like to read tesco's free magazine, possibly because it's mainly about food and just a little bit about fashion (although i call it clothes).
The worst thing i've ever had to endure is reading something incredibly boring like Elle or Vogue. Or having to go to Fashion Week. Who buys these things? I mean, i earn close to 50k and if i think these things are stupidly over-priced and ugly, then what is some loser earning 25k doing wasting money on said items (and magazines)? But then maybe they don't put more than a third of their salary into a cash free ISA?
The best thing of all though is that i am still looking superhot and cool and kind of individual-ist in my clothes. And i buy a lot of clothes. I just like a bargain or a chazza shop item more than i like "designer"...

This be the verse

Last night, which was a Friday, i managed to stay awake until 9 o'clock. Do you hear me people? I was so excited and happy and i kind of feel like i'm getting my life back. Woohoo!
In other news, there is one question that everybody asks as soon as they hear i'm preggo: Do you know what you're having? Some people even asked this after the 8 week scan. Hello, we could hardly see legs, let alone a penis (or not?).
Are people obsessed, or what? What does it matter to them what gender my unborn child is? Or is it just polite small-talk? I have found myself to be guilty of the same thing at times.
One colleague said to me "you have to find out, so you can sort out all the clothes and stuff". Excuse me? Prior to gender screening, did babies not used to wear any clothes at all for the first two weeks of life? Sorry child, we didn't know if you were a pink or blue wearer so there's nothing to wear, i'm afraid.
Anyway, i (politely) replied "makes no difference, as no daughter of mine will ever wear pink anyway. This is a feminist i'm building", but i'm just not sure if people get me.
My favourite colour is navy blue. Why would i start buying pink all of a sudden when i've never been remotely interested in this colour before? I'm already checking out blue prams, blue baby converse shoes and blue car seats. God forbid if people can't see immediately what gender my child is.
I'm not sure if the gender thing is more chilled in Sweden, but here everyone is obsessed and it drives me mad. Why does a newborn child need to look like they're a boy or a girl? Until a child reaches puberty, they're the same anyway. And anyone who claims that boys like cars and my daughter is crazy about pink, think again. They are what you make them. As far as i'm aware there is only one princess born this year, all other babies are mere mortal children. You push pink and fairy crap on your daughter, of course that's what she'll think she likes.
It's hard. Having a child and ensuring you and "it" remain feminist in all you believe in.
And what we're having? A child, is my answer.

Massive

There's obviously some sort of sports programme on in the background, but ignore that now and check out my massiveness.

14 +0

Queens

Check this out! You know that old thing that sometimes happened to women 50-100 years ago. Turns out it still happens in some places: Women dying whilst giving birth. And not just any old somewhere, but in MY hospital. Thanks!We'd already decided that this would be our hospital, it's around the corner, and its sister hospital is just as bad, woohoo. I've told Bill that if anything weird seems to be happening, have a private hospital ready on standby to take me away. I'll make sure I have £3000 tucked away just in case.
Childbirth is not scary at all, is it?

Night life

I get so jealous when I hear of all these people who feel just fine, better than ever in fact, who can eat sugar and chocolate and stay awake until 2100 hours. After this week, which began with me sticking my head in a toilet bowl, i am now beginning to feel a little bit better. I said a little bit. I can eat properly, but only food that is incredibly good for me. This is great, but once in a while it'd be nice to pig out on some pudding. I'm hoping that this will stop me from reaching whale-size proportions though. Ok, we'll see.
This week i got a letter from the hospital saying they forgot to test my blood levels last time i gave them blood, so now i've got to go back. Maybe i can finally get some iron and feel almost normal again. Come on!

Magic fourteen

Today is a special day: It's the 14th of February, which means it's exactly 6 months until baby's due date. Today I also begin week 14 and it's my husband's birthday and Valentine's Day (if you care about that, I don't). Fourteen indeed. I said to Bill that we have to name our child something beginning with the 14th letter of the alphabet. N. Nora, Nova, Noah, Noel. He thinks not. We can't talk about names. We'll be lucky if our child will end up with a name at all. In other news, I've been feeling rotten the last few days. Proper vomitting. I didn't know what I was talking about when I was talking about morning sickness. This is spewing galore and I've promised my husband (and myself) a birthday dinner tonight, complete with a shower, clean hair, proper clothes (not pyjamas) and maybe even make-up. Sigh! We might change it to lunch instead, as I can't eat after 5pm and to avoid the Valentiners Diners.

10 days

Hello half term. Woohoo!

Early

5.30. I'm laying in bed listening out for the milk man so that I can get up and make porridge. Starving o'clock.

No likey, no lighty

I watch an awful lot of crap TV. I blame it on my job. I spend all day educating the youth about high culture (well...) that i need a junk release when i get home. I currently watch Jeremy and the man who sleeps with his step-daughter. Just how i want it.
I obviously, and religiously, watch The only way is Essex. I have to follow my fellow country men, ain't i? But the problem is, I can't stand them. There's so much to hate it's difficult to keep up: the caked on layers of make-up they wear to stupid things like pyjama parties; the cobstant moaning about boyfriends and gossip and crap. Man, it's so uninteresting i want to shout each time i watch it. The latest thing is how they've all opened up little shops now, because that's not a huge business initiative, oh no, you can just take time off whenever you want to go and give your dog a manicure or to put more plastic in your body and get even more ugly.
Of course, i continue to watch it though. For Joey Essex and for the constant recognition of where they are.
Another love/hate programme that i watch is Take Me Out. Oh, it's annoying. The girls turn their lights off if they don't fancy a date with the man. And oh my god, i've never seen such fussy weirdos. They turn their lights off if someone likes football, if they work out, if they're at university, if someone is funny instead of vain. No wonder they're all still single. But i watch it all the same.

Sexy time

OMG, i dream about sex all the time. Ex-lovers, husband, anyone really. I dream about penises and orgasms so strong i actually think they happen in my sleep. It's the combo of oestrogen and progesterone apparently. I know from previous medications that oestrogen is like sex in a pill, and now it's flowing naturally i seem to have hit horny central. The only problem, i wake up and the feeling's gone. Okay!

Ett brev till mitt barn

Hej lilla fina finaste.
Jag vill att du alltid ska veta hur mycket vi har langtat efter dig och hur mycket vi saknade dig innan du fanns. Du ar en drom, ett mirakel, en langtan, och du ar antligen pa vag.
Din pappa och jag har lyckats tillverka 21 embryon. Det ar jattemanga. I borjan fick du dela plats med ett annat, men det andra ville inte stanna kvar. Nu ar jag glad att det ar bara ar du. Att de andra inte ville bli nagonting, for det var dig vi vantade pa och ville ha hela tiden. Vi har kannt dig och alskat dig sen du var 8 celler stor, och vi har undrat och fragat och gratit och varit radda att du inte ville stanna. Men det ska du. Du ar var speciella, finaste lilla lubba och dig ska vi alska i hela vart liv.

(Yes, i can still speak Swedish...)

Food

Disgusting right now:
Coffee, sugar, whipped cream, gooey chocolate, ginger, alcohol (not that I've had any), apple juice (yep, went off that one), whatever it is that stinks in our fridge.
Yummy right now:
Green grapes, cold apples, lime cordial, toast, cheese, cheese on toast, pasta with tomato sauce and lots of cheese, milk, rice, beef. Cheese.

In the oven

I was thinking about our baby and trying to do some maths. I'm quite good at mental arithmetics, although I prefer not to be as I am a lady of the arts. We don't like maths.As I am 100% Swedish and Bill is 25% Bangladeshi, 50% English and 25% Welsh, what will our baby be?
A caramel and vanilla cupcake of course.
To be honest, when people ask me if I'm going to find out the gender, I must confess I am more curious about its colour. Black or blonde hair or inbetween? Olive or white skintone? Green or brown eyes? So exciting.
The answer? 50% Swedish, 12.5% Bangla, 25% English and 12.5% Welsh. Kind of cool!

12+3

News. Old news to me, today it is exactly 8 weeks since we found out and it's also the first morning in a long time that I've kept my breakfast down.
Preggo, preggers, up the duff, bun in the oven, expecting, in the family way.
Hurrah! If you want to catch up, follow the link.

Wriggles

On Wednesday the blood came. In hindsight, it was very very little, but it was red, the wrong colour, the bad colour.
There was panic in that blood. I shouldn't bleed, this shouldn't happen, so at 8pm we went to A&E and the early pregnancy unit (A&E is a weird sort of place by the way, will have to dissect that one at a later date). As we sat there waiting, for four hours, the bleeding almost stopped. No pain, I felt normal, things felt okay. But sitting there with women doubled over in pain and crying, I knew that I had to know. I couldn't go home.
At presicely midnight there was cold gel on my stomach and then an eternity passed before the nice doctor-man said: "It's a naughty baby already." And there it was, wriggling around like crazy so that the dr was struggling to get a clear picture, having a little dance and looking like a proper baby, not like the prawn we saw at 8 weeks. Then the man put the speakers on and we heard the loudest ba-boom ba-boom ba-boom. Loud and happy and naughty. I love you being loud and happy and naughty, little wriggles.
The blood? It happens apparently, but I hope it won't happen again because I never want to experience that fear and worry again.

Me, me, me

I have taken the liberty to steal, and translate, the below "challenge" (which is not very challenging) despite not being "invited". I do what I want! Ha!
What did you do ten years ago?
I was 23 and I think I was in my last year of uni. I lived with my boyfriend in Lewisham and I was an alcoholic in training. I went out in Camden every Friday, Saturday and Sunday. I would carry on with exactly this life until about 2004 when I started my PGCE. A lot changed then. I changed then.
What did you do one year ago?
Starting thinking about moving house, bought ovulation tests for the first time in preparation for treatment, started struggling with stress at work, lost some weight and discovered yoga.
Five favourite snacks:
Currently none. Usually chocolate, hummus with anything, cheese and onion crisps, almonds and wine.
Five songs you know off by heart:
I am notoriously bad at lyrics, and make up my own. Example -
Let me see your body move like you come from Bologna (Colombia) and Billy Jean, rocks my world ('s not my lover).
On the other hand I know every word to old songs made famous by Imperiet, like Mark hur var skugga. And I used to know everything by Suede, but that was in the 90s.
Five things you would do if you became a multi-millionaire:
Live in Greenwich (London)
Live in New York
Pay off the god damn student loan
Work unpaid
Buy a summer residence in Sweden
Five bad habits:
I use a spare room as a dressing room and there are clothes all over it.
I have a bit of OCD
I am a couch potato
Not listening properly
Bad evening skincare routine
Five things you like doing:
Go out for dinner
Yoga
Meet up with friends in London and have coffee, lunch and wine, which never happens anymore
Read
Hang out with my husband
Five things you would never wear or buy:
Dungarees
An all-black outfit
Novelty T-shirts, pants etc
An i-phone
Anything pink for a potential daughter
Five favourite items:
The bath
My husband
the ipad
My books
My sewing machine

That's it! Now you can all learn a little bit more about how boring I am. You're welcome.

Coming out of the pregnancy closet

This is a weird one. It is purely a private and personal decision when to tell people you are pregnant. Some people tell straight away, some wait till "the safe week" and some wait till they start showing (well, that would be around now then).
Twice, i've had people at work asking me if i'm pregnant. It's a bit like asking people if you're gay. What do you say? Are you gay? Yes, but i'm not ready to tell anyone yet, so please keep it to yourself (yeah right); That's a personal question, you shouldn't ask people that (which still means yes); or... Lie and say No which makes you feel sad and mean to your inner gay (or baby) because you're so happy that it's there and you don't want to deny its existence.
So people just shouldn't ask. Why do they? You wouldn't ask someone if they were gay unless you were a really close friend or their mother. In which case you would probably confess all, unless they already knew of course.
I told a friend (who knows) and she said it is kind of written all over my face. I look really tired apparently, but i might have been ill or something. But no, apparently this is something other women can just tell. A bit like having a gaydar.

Weird and wonderful

Things i didn't expect when pregnant:
Insomnia - waking up at 4am and not sleeping again until around 6. Great when you have to get up at 6.30
Loss of appetite - i was so looking forward to eating for two, but instead i eat less than the non-pregnant self but have still put on 3 kilos. How?
Constant sneezing and sniffling - don't know what this one is about at all. I don't have a cold, just sneeze a lot.
Spots on my back and chest - big sigh.

Pregnancy is all very weird. I kind of half expected to look like some glowing skinny bird with a cute little bump. Instead i look massively fat, i can't be bothered to shower, my face hasn't seen make up in about 6 weeks and sometimes i can't brush my teeth because, quite frankly, the tooth paste tastes too disgusting.
Weird weird weird!

Easier

I read an awful lot of preggo blogs now, and it's such a relief that we are almost through it. There's a long way to go, but i'm not worrying about, or dreaming about blood in the same way that i was early on. I'm no longer thinking secretly about adoption or worrying about not finding any eggs at egg collection. The hardest part is over.
I can see the second trimester, it's 5 days away, my belly has grown and hardened and since i've decided not to buy any clothes for me or for baby until i'm safely past the 12 week scan, i am just wearing dresses and tights, dresses and tights. And big cardigans and scarves that i hope covers it all.
I am still sickly and faint and tired and irritated and if i have any less than 9 hours sleep i can not function. But i am less worried. We saw the midwife on Tuesday and i passed with flying colours. Perfect blood pressure, nothing dodgy in the wee. She said i looked wonderfully glowy and beautiful and she didn't even have a go at me for being too fat. I walked away wondering if i am actually pregnant, maybe that's why everything was so god damn good. But no, bubba is there and i have the pictures to prove it.

Waiting

It's not that i don't write anything. I write all the time and i have so much to say. But i'm keeping them archived for another couple of weeks or so and then they'll be here. Patience.

10+5

Iron lady lunch. Yum. Vegetable stew and red red beef. I want more iron now...

Feeling better?

Saturday, second breakfast and New Girl. Smile.

Good night

If I sleep around 14 hours a night, I feel kind of okay when I wake up in the morning. This week I've been off sick because I just can't cope with not sleeping all day and not eating properly and sicking up and feeling utterly miserable and very sorry for myself. I go to bed at 7pm and sleep till about 9am. I worked out that to be able to go to work in the morning like normal, and get up at six, I would have to go to sleep at 4 in the afternoon.
I'm not even back from work then...

"I'm not fat, I'm pregnant"

I watch Jeremy Kyle. As you do. You know!You know the type, a fat slob of a woman, dressed in white tracksuit, perhaps a little rounder around the belly than expected, but no, definitely just fat.
She says: "I'm 8 1/2 months pregnant" and then it hits me. Shit! That's just what I'm going to look like! Shit! I'm just going to look fat and everyone is going to go "Oh I didn't realise you were pregnant", cause they just think I'm fat. Help!

Just a normal, modern day

So, I am too sick and tired to work this week, but supposedly I am not too tired to finally phone up Orange about our useless broadband. We're one of the few people left in the modern world who can't watch any live streaming telly or even a 30 second youtube clip. It wasn't always like this, oh no, one can't live like that, can one?
So they ran a little check, and guess what, our download speed is 0.73 megabums, whatever it's measured in. Zero point seventythree. Ridiculous! I bet people in Outer Azerbaijan (sp.) have faster broadband than that! I laugh! Oh, apparently there's a block on the line and we can only EVER receive a maximum of 1.2 megabums. Says the nice Indian man on the phone, whom I'm quickly losing patience with.
Once I get on the phone to BT I can hear crying in my voice, hopefully the nice British Telecom didn't notice (*embarrassing*), but he assured me that we can indeed have a normal speed of around 8, or OR OR, the fibre... (I want to say optic?) super internet for really modern people who reside in the modern western world. Yey! Only £18 more than we currently pay (which is nothing) but who cares? This is 21st century broadband and I can start to live again.
Actually, this story is a lot lot longer than this. The whole tiring day started when I couldn't install our new wifi printer because the printer couldn't pick up the signal from the router. The printer people said there was a fault with the router. The router people (Orange) said there wasn't. I said what about the slow speed, maybe that's the reason why. Orange said no because that's because there's a block on the line. BT said there's no block on the line. Three hours later, no problem is solved. Who's telling the truth? You decide!

I miss you

It is easier to write a list of things that I can and want to eat, than the tings that I can't.
Apple juice, smoothies (but not yoghurt), ryvita, bread, scones (as in svenska hemkunskapsscones, not stupid English ones), cheese, pizza, bananas, porridge, milk, anything made from potatoes, but especially mashed potato and gnocchi, poppadoms (current favourites) and sparkling water.

And that's about it! Kind of looks like a long list, but when you think about how much is not on that list, it's a lot that I can't, or won't eat. Like tea, chocolate, cream, anything sweet or sugary, normal dinner etc etc etc. I can't stand the thought, smell and taste of ginger, which everyone says is the best thing for morning (and afternoon) sickness. There was me thinking that with pregnancy comes eating for two and stuffing your face and, most of all, enjoying it! I am not! I eat something because I know I have to. Little baby portions, and preferably dry horrible food that taste of nothing. If I could bottle my pregnancy hormone and sell it I would be a very rich lady. It's the best diet ever! When everything looks, smells and tastes disgusting (especially chocolate) it is easy to control yourself.
But I can't wait for the day when I will enjoy food again. People say it will come back, my appetite. I hope so, I miss it. I want to eat for two!

At the bakery

A caramel and vanilla cupcake.