Feckety feck. I’ve FINALLY gotten around to writing a blog post – my first in the best part of a year – only to find out my website has been hacked. And I have no idea how long for! Note to self: even if not blogging regularly, check your website!
So, while my magnificent husband has managed to reclaim my site from the gremiins, I’ve lost a couple of posts. Quite important ones too: the story of the birth of my first child, and one on breastfeeding. I was amazed by the huge response I got to the latter post and was hugely saddened to find my breastfeeding story is the norm, rather than the exception, and that so many women out there face pressure, guilt, and extreme pain trying to feed their children. (Both posts have been reposted below, as they were).
But a lot’s happened since that first post, not just the fact my boobs are now purely ornamental and not for touching, I can’t stand it. My daughter, now 11 months old, accidentally pinched a nipple while trying to climb me the other day and if she wasn’t my child and I didn’t love her terribly, I may well have flung her across the room. God, it hurt.
So, where are we at now? Well, when H wasn’t even three months old I found out I was pregnant AGAIN. Not far off the immaculate conception, I can tell you, and while baby two was and is very much wanted it was a huge shock and took some time to get my head around. One of the bonuses is that my post baby flabby tummy is now rock hard again, albeit way bigger.
With this news we decided that our house, the one we’d been in for less than six months, was wholly inappropriate for a family of five (if you include the dog) and so we needed to move, sharpish. We sold the Victorian semi and bought a new build, which wasn’t built yet.
This meant hot footing it 170 miles south to Dorset to live with the in-laws for three months. Then when we missed Milton Keynes and our friends more than we could cope with, and moved into a holiday let for almost two months while waiting for the house to complete. And we move this Friday (the 13th, unlucky for some) which is just three weeks before my due date.
So, since the summer we’ve contended with a lot. Having no home to call our own, raising our beautiful daughter who’s slept in that many different cots and rooms I’ve lost count, confusing the dog every time we go somewhere new, and all while growing baby number two. Hubby has also been trying to expand his business and, well, it’s been stressful all around.
By the weekend – and please, God, don’t let me ‘pop’ before we get in there – we’ll be homeowners again. We can fish our belongings out of storage (I can’t even remember what we have), nest, settle and prepare for Christmas. Again, hopefully before Bateman The Second makes an appearance.
And when he does? I’ll have two children, 11 and a half months between them, to raise. I’ll be run ragged!