Just when things can't get any worse.

So, my hip is not better and hilariously now other joints hurt. My hands mainly but also joining in are my wrists, elbows, knees, lower back and left hip. It started with the hands about four weeks ago, all of a sudden it hurt to lift anything or grip anything - ever so slightly trying when trying to count out someone's change at work or rolling and shaping baps. 

Mornings have become joint bingo. I gingerly climb out of bed trying to work out where hurts and then grading them in order of which hurts the most. 

Hurt, it's such a non word. The pain equivalent of 'nice'. What I mean by hurt is ache. A real solid nagging ache like toothache with additional sharp shooting pains when weight is put on the joint or there is some kind of movement. Along with the pain, I have a variety of other lesser symptoms, nausea that comes and goes, fevers, no appetite. The no appetite one is particularly hard. The last four weeks I've lived on cereal with the occasional meal thrown in. I LOVE FOOD. CEREAL? JESUS FUCK. I love everything about food, preparing, chopping, sautéing, boiling, steaming, roasting, basting, eating. ALL THOSE THINGS. Now I struggle to hold a knife. My roast dinner that my father-in-law cooked for me? My husband had to cut the chicken up for me because I couldn't. 

Doctor's appointment four weeks ago; I explain my aches and pains and how my hands don't really work and the fact I've googled my symptoms and ask if I could have Lupus or Fibromyalgia. I get told no and get referred for blood tests to test for rheumatoid arthritis. Two week's wait for blood test, week's wait for the result (which was negative), referred for further blood tests to test for Lupus. *sideways look to camera* a week's wait for a blood test, a week's wait for the result. This is where I am now. 

I told my husband today that if he wanted to sleep with someone else he could. I can barely walk up the stairs so there hasn't been much in the way of conjugal rights going on. Not that I really want him to sleep with someone else obviously but what if this gets worse? What if my husband has to help me get dressed? wipe my bum? That is the kind of stuff that must surely end any kind of romance. 

Oh have I mentioned my sleep, or lack of it? The pain either keeps me awake for hours on end or if I do get to sleep at a reasonable time, then I wake up when I roll over or catch my hand on the quilt and there I am for hours. 

Non of this is even the worst part. My youngest son is nearly three and now I struggle to look after him by myself. My husband was offered an overtime night shift today. Six pm to Six am. Of course he takes the overtime but I can't really lift our son in and out the bath or keep up with him when he's running about the garden so I had to call my mam to come and help me. Every time I look in to his beautiful face I do an inside (sometimes outside) cry because he is so full of life and energy and when he shouts 'chase me' and races off ahead and I hobble walk behind him I feel he deserves a mammy who can chase him properly. 

Pass the painkillers.

About 5 years ago, my right hip started hurting. After a couple of months I trotted off to the doctor who diagnosed trochanteric bursitis. I was a super fit type person then and was told it was probably the repetitive action of running that had caused it. Stop running for a bit, take Ibrupofen and it should get better I was told. 

On that occasion the doctor was right, it did get better but it has always come back. This current attack seems to have lasted forever but in actual fact is probably about eight months. So here's the thing, pain is BORING. I'm so bored of it. I hobble about like an old woman, it's like toothache but in my hip. Nagging and relentless with the odd sharp twinge that makes me laugh and say swear words out loud. If my brain were a pie chart, imagine 90% of that pie chart coloured in red and labelled 'Pain' and the other 10% coloured yellow and labelled 'Everything Else' and this is what my brain is occupied with ALL THE TIME.  Sometimes, it can drop as low as 70% and very rarely I will have the odd day with no pain at all and then I get lulled in to a false sense of security, thinking that it might be getting better. But no, it always reappears like the utter wanker it is. Painkillers don't really make much difference, but Tramadol are nice in that ooh I feel a bit off my face way, so I take them. I drink to excess at the weekend just so I can guarentee myself more than two hours unbroken sleep. (The very most fun thing about my hip is that if I roll on to my right side in my sleep - which is the side I've always slept on - the pain wakes me up) 

I thought I would write all this down to try and re balance my brain. I'm sooo bored of thinking about pain all the time, it drags me down, my mental health suffers and I get terribly sad and feel really sorry for myself. I try and tell myself that others are much worse off than me and I should be grateful for having two arms and two legs and three out of four of them work really rather well. 

So that's it, I don't have a pithy ending to this post, I've seen an orthopaedic consultant and am waiting for an appointment for an MRI scan. Somewhere along the line I'm hoping they'll give me a big steroid injection which won't cure things but should give me some relief for a bit. For now, it's a Sunday night and am on my second glass of wine so a good night's sleep beckons. 

Just another Mother's Day blog.

Mams, annoying buzzy, stripy, stingy bastards the lot of them. 

Hang on, no that's wasps I'm thinking of and they are all of those things. Mam's on the other hand, if you're lucky are people that nurture, support and love you no matter what. My mother has been an inspiration to me my whole life. She trained as a teacher while I was still a baby and my sister was five and by always working herself gave me the best example on how a mother can work hard but still be there for her children. Recently she told me how she had to give up work for a couple of years because I didn't settle with the childminder she had found for me after she had qualified which must of been hard for her but she said the decision was easy because her children always come first. 

Now that I work a million hours a week she is supportive in practical ways. She cares for the two year old every Thursday  even recently when her dad was ill she looks forward to her day with Logan. This Thursday began as any other, my husband out the house at half five, me up and ready to bake bread at seven and my mam, bright as a button on my doorstep ready for a day of fun with a two year old. Now my mam is a tidier. Before she gets Logan up at eight, she has some breakfast then organises my house. When my phone rang just before eight I thought it was mam asking where the dusters were or some such trivial thing. Instead it was my mam in floods of tears because she had just been told her dad had died. Worse than that, my mum was bothered because she knew I'd have to shut the shop and come home. Always thinking of others, that's my mam. I, of course left everything. Bread half baked, dough half kneaded and rushed home to my poor mam in floods of tears. Between sobs she was telling me that dads are meant to last forever. 

This wasn't meant to be a blog about the death of my lovely grandad, it was meant to be a pithy paragraph about the funny things mothers say to their children, inspired by @LuxePain's tweet about what she would be greeted with when visiting her parents. 

"You look tired/thin" is my mothers favourite. Or expressing suprise when my house is tidy or my ironing is done. 

So feel free to tell me about your mam or her very best sayings #mumbingo

Bloody twitter

'What are you doing? Are you twittering?' This is what I hear any time I pick up my phone. Not just from the Other Half but my mam, my friends, all determined not to really understand it.

Events recently have made me question my relationship Twitter. Some of you reading this will know I was investigated for misuse of Twitter at work. I ended up being off with stress for two weeks and the threat of losing my job loomed large. I didn't lose my job, I received a formal warning which stays on my record for one year so alls well that ends well. Or is it? I don't trust anyone at work now. The investigation was carried out because of an anonymous tip off and despite my theories I'll never know who it is. But, I have digressed massively, I wasn't even going to mention work, it was merely an example of how seemingly innocuous tweets can get you in to trouble.

Here is the main gist if my post. The other half hates twitter. Despite the friends I've made, the support I receive and the mine of endless cat pictures, he hates it. He feels it robs him of me. So the thing is, I would of lost my job for twitter and still defended it but can I lose a marriage? Would I end up all alone tweeting to you all and then quietly go to an empty bed or do I draw a line and say okay, your right I'll put my phone down for a bit and see what happens.

This is not a goodbye just a I won't be round much.



I'll still Snapchat, WatsApp and Message Me obviously.

Fun bags

So, here's the thing (oh blogger mobile ap you are sooo much better than blogger on the laptop) I have never liked my boobs, they lack a certain something.... let me think.... size, that's it, size. My 34B's have never really cut the mustard with me.

When I was pregnant 11 years ago they swelled to a massive 34C which deflated as soon as the boy was born. But, on the plus side I was only 26, young and perky and nothing sagged.

My lovely husband when we first met, would tell me that my boobs were of a good shape and I had nothing to worry about. Then along came Fatts - a beautiful bundle of joy obviously but also the cause of sagging and shrinking to a 34A. This has made me quite fed up. I could more or less cope with B's but now I look like a boy - scrawny and no female definition. I should be all Caitlin Moran about it and be joyous with my lot (and grow a 1970's bush while I'm at it) but I'm not. I rarely let my husband touch me and I'm embarrassed when he does. I look in the mirror at them and it makes me sad.*

So, this is how finances work in our marriage. I pay all the monthly bills and rent, and the other half pays for car stuff, credit cards and saves for us. He said to me one day 'we could get you a boob job.' Just like that. Then he bashed on about how he'd done some facts and figures and if he could save the deposit we could totally do it.

That was a year ago. Today I meet with the consultant. hopefully he'll tell me he can make me a D and book me in for February. THEN I'LL HAVE NEW BOOBS.

So I'm writing this before we set off to Carlisle to meet the consultant. My hands are a bit shaky and my eyeliner wonky because I'm nervous and excited. Wish me luck.

*yes I know I'm being very shallow and I should be grateful I've got my health and there are a million better things the money could be spent on.

Also, no one really knows about this, not my family or many friends so shhhh, mums the word.

For those oops moments

Self esteem is a trick little twat. I've been going along for years not really giving myself a second thought and then a couple of minor incidents occour and all of a sudden you're second guessing yourself all over the place.

There have been some minor changes to my body recently, my small but perfectly proportioned tits are now non existent since having a baby. This is a bit of a kick in the teeth to be honest. Ten years ago I had a baby with no ill effect to my boobs but now they are saggy and sad, and their sadness rubs off on me.

As anyone with children will tell you, when they are babies it can be a bit relentless, all the nappy changing, feeding, not leaving them for a second in case they wreck the spot can leave a parent feeling a bit frazzled so to that end I returned to the world of exercise about a month ago - circuits classes three times a week and hitting the running machine in the work's tiny gym. I have been pleased with my progress, considering I haven't done any real exercise for two years I am managing not to die in the classes and a five mile run in (just) under 45 minutes. So that's good isn't it? A bit of time just for me, doing something I enjoy in a perverse way. Oh and did I mention I piss myself whilst doing it? Not as in find it all hilarious, but real actual wee escapes my bladder without my knowledge. At first I didn't realise it was happening, I can't feel myself do it and I do get very sweaty when I exercise. So now at the grand old age of 36 I need a Tena Lady 'for those oops moments' (I fucking kid you not) to get me through.

So these two things, the boobs or to be more accurate lack of them and my incontinence* have awoken a voice in my head and I no longer think I'm the bees knees**, now the little voice of doubt creeps in to EVERYTHING. It comes out with cuntish things 'a dress? With your legs? I don't fucking think so' 'you want to have your hair like what? Don't you think you'll look a bit mutton?' And this twattish voice has succeeded in getting me in to a right state because it also comments on not just me, but things I do and now in my head NOTHING is good enough. The house is never clean enough, the food I cook is never tasty or healthy enough and in my head I seem to be giving myself a hard time all the time.

This blog at the minute doesn't have a happy ending, it is a work in progress but any tips would be gratefully received.

*Yes, I've done my pelvic floor exercises to DEATH and yes, I'm doing them properly but it hasn't made any difference. I have been to the doctor though and am off to see a specialist on Monday.

**I don't mean bees knees in a hideous walk-around-with-my-nose-in-the-air-because-I-think-I'm-awesome. I mean I was very comfortable in my skin.

Half term.

When I look back on my blogs, I notice that every time a school holiday ends, I feel the need to write about it, so sorry if I'm getting a bit boring.
To the uninitiated, I have two sons Simon* who is ten and Logan who is five months. Simon's dad and I are no longer together and over the summer Simon decided to move down south near London with his dad. He visits us (me, husband, baby and dog) in the school holidays.

Dear Simon,

I do this thing called blogging, it's a bit like writing a diary on the Internet that other people can read. A lot of what I write is about you and about how much I love and miss you so I thought I'd write a letter to you to tell you all about it.

I properly loved seeing you at half term, I'm sorry you couldn't come until Sunday because you had a party on the Saturday and that you wanted to go on Friday because you had another party to go to but it made me treasure the time you were here all the more. The zoo was good wasn't it? My favourite animals were the lemurs and the macaws, I thought it was amazing to be able to see them fly around.

I'm sorry that I have to spend so much time looking after your little brother. It must be weird for you because until you were six it was just me and you at my house, then Craig came along and I know at first he found it difficult because he wasn't used to children but he loves you very much now. Then me and Craig got married and then along came Logan and everybody makes a big fuss of babies so I imagine you might feel a bit left out. But as Logan gets older he'll be more fun and will look up to his big brother and you'll be able to teach him to blow raspberries and introduce him to The Simpsons.

I'm also sorry that you don't have the same relationship with me that you do with your dad. I wish with all my heart that I loved Call Of Duty and knew about all the different weapons but my brain is not wired to be interested in those things. I know from the little glimpses I see that you and your dad laugh and joke about lots of things and maybe it's just because I don't see you as often or because I'm a bit rubbish but I don't seem to be able to do that.

When me and your dad split up, every time I took you to visit your dad you used to cry because you wanted to stay with me. You won't remember that because you were only little and I used to wait for you to come back because my life was a bit empty and boring without you. As you got older you and your dad started getting on better, but you were still my very best boy. I changed my job and took pay cuts so I could always take you and pick you up from school snd always loved our time together, you were my best helper in the kitchen and we used to make biscuits or cakes every weekend. I've never had very much money but we used to have days out in the park or at the beach where looking in the rock pools or building sandcastles was fantastic entertainment.

When you started liking wrestling I would try and wrestle with you but I probably wasn't any where near as good as your dad. I think this was the start of you prefering your dad to me. Your dad has always treated you more like his best friend rather than a son and would talk to you about things which I didn't always think appropriate. You were six when I started seeing Craig and you asked me if I kissed Craig's willy. Something which your dad had said to you.

But I was still there every day for you at the school gates, having rushed from work and if you'd been at your dads the night before I would have been in work from five o clock in the morning to make my hours up. I loved our walks home from school where you and your friend would talk about who had been in trouble or what you'd had for dinner.

I could go on and on about how much I love you and how much I miss you. I don't think a minute of the day goes past when I don't wonder what you're up to. I'm happy that you've settled in well at your new school and have lots of new friends but just remember, your room is here for you any time you want it.

Lots of love and massive hugs,

Your mam.