Polyester Junction

Every morning when I leave my drive way I have a few seconds before I reach ‘polyester junction’ I call it this because its irritating and I don’t like it.

This morning was particularly busy for polyester, I can only assume that there was a sale on very expensive handbags or something. Any way, behind me waiting to also carry on her merry way,  was a lady in her car.

No I must make something clear, I had my daughter in the back of my car. The most precious thing to me and I make no apologies about putting her safety first.

After approx. 6 mins sitting at polyester waiting for a gap, merry lady starting dancing, well so I thought. Turns out she was flicking me the finger and shouting things that I care not to repeat on my blog.

This isn’t something I care too much about. But what I do care about is that at that moment in time I had some choices

1, Pull out and get hit by cars either side

2, get out the car and start dancing with her (metaphorically obviously)

3, Do nothing

Merry Lady also had some choices

1, Be patient and show some empathy for the situation at hand

2, flick the finger and shout obscenities

3, Do nothing

I chose to do nothing.

But the situation has played on my mind all day. Mainly I keep thinking to myself , what had happened in that merry lady’s life that morning to make her react like that? and when did we start thinking it is ok to lash out at each other over things that really, aren’t that big a deal. I’ve been  thinking about how I would explain her actions to my daughter (thankfully she was engrossed in her well known farm animal CD at the time). How I would explain that we live in a world were it seems  patience is no longer practiced and we seem to favour taking out our frustrations on others.

I realised that in that moment I wanted her to be on my side, in some kind of sisterhood act.

I wanted us to be nicer to each other.

I want that for the world my daughter lives in.








A Reply to the Daily Fail

There is an article in the Daily Mail titled ‘Struggling to lose your Baby Weight’

Its advice: give up coffee, get more sleep and eat less

Here is my response

 Dear Daily Mail

Bog off. If I want to survive on Diet Coke, coffee and salt and vinegar crisps I will.

If I am happy with my body and couldn’t give two shits about losing a bit of weight that I put on whilst growing the most precious thing in the world, then so be it.

If after my daughter needs me in the night, meaning I have only had 3 hours sleep, I have a Crunchie for breakfast then that is no one’s business but mine.

Stop bullying women into thinking they are doing it all wrong and making them question everything they put in their mouth.

Being a mom is hard enough without this crap everywhere we turn. We are doing an amazing job, and we all look bloody beautiful.


A very happy mummy x


A Woman of Age

This week has seen me be called ‘A woman of age’ and I am very curious as to what this really means. I don’t feel of an age. In fact I haven’t pondered my age since I was waiting to turn 18 so I could proudly share my ID with my younger best mate and guarantee her entry into the dirtiest club in town on a Thursday night, many moons ago.
Truth be told I couldn’t give two hoots about my age, of an age, young age , old age, middle age or the bronze age for that matter.
In fact the only age I’m concerned about is the maturity of my cheese and wine (and even that’s not true as I have been known to drink all wines and eat Primula cheese out of a tube. (google it it’s basically plastic in my opinion)
But what I do get to thinking about it is what is the obsession is with what age a woman is? Why should it matter what age I am?
I will put the situation into context for you. I was speaking with a friend about returning to work full time after an extended (very extended) maternity leave. I am not slating this friend at all as she was merely concerned as to if I was coping with the workload combined with parenting and running a house. But it seemed she may have been more concerned as I was doing a lot of stuff ‘of an age’

I am proud to be doing loads of stuff in my life and thankful that I am in a position physically and health wise to do it. I don’t ever want to get caught up on age and what it means I am capable of, but most importantly I don’t want to be limited by my age to what people think I may or may not be able to do. I take motivation from my daughter 20 months old determined to work out how you unlock the pump on my fake tan so she can put he cream on like mummy and I also take motivation from my 80 year old nan who following a hip operation was back at her hairdressers appointment the week after and I notice that age doesn’t cross my mind when I marvel at what both of these lovelies achieve in a day.

Next time someone says I am of an age I am going to reply yes , I am of a fabulous age!

Daydream Believer

It’s 22:07 on Tuesday 20th of July and I think I have just been wolf -whistled at. Below are a list of reasons why this may have been a mirage, daydream or part of heatstroke

  1. I was walking my dog and holding a bag of dog poo
  2. Wearing  my husbands Bermuda shorts (with a fetching jungle flower pattern on them )
  3. Teamed with a vest with a coconut oil stain on the nipple
  4. With said coconut oil in my hair, hence looking like it hasn’t been washed for months
  5. with my long white chin hair glistening in the moonlight
  6. All topped of with a pair of Alan Carr style specs

Upon reflection I believe the whistler  could have been stoned

x x

I’ve stopped giving a shit

I was on the first sip of coffee, my first.

My daughter was still asleep and I thought I would have a mooch on social media. Now without naming names I was looking at what I would consider to be the three biggest ones.

About half a cup in I realised that I had wasted a good ten minutes of my life reading the same old story, women desperate to lose their baby bellies before their holidays in six weeks, women weighing in and berating themselves for having a meal with friends as it put a 1lb on. Delete delete delete delete delete.

And in my inbox from one said site, 3 messages from a well known herb type weight loss bollocks company asking me if I want a free sample. Delete delete delete delete delete .

NO! I want to drink my coffee and not be bombarded with how much we aren’t good enough, or how much we are trying to be something that we’re not or how we just aren’t thin or beautiful enough. Delete delete delete delete .

Lately I’ve been look at body confidence pages, plus size model pages and healthy eating sites as opposed to specific ‘weight loss’ sites. The messages have been completely different. In particular I find the plus size models accounts to be full of, first be happy then if your not happy with your body change it. There is gym ideas and healthy meal plans of course. But nothing comes before being happy and self acceptance.

As I’ve travelled along my journey I’ve realised something very important. I forgot that I actually like me . And I also realised how shitty I’ve been treating myself. I truly believe as well that by surrounding my self with these messages from the world portraying how I should be feeling and how I should be looking I’ve added to the self loathing.

I feel  at the moment the best I have in months, I’ve been focusing on looking after me and making efforts to do things that give me body confidence. Painting my nails, tanning and wearing all those outfits I love and had forgotten how great they make me feel.

I am in love with the phrase ‘healthy is the new skinny’ and you want to know the craziest part : I’ve lost weight. Now if that’s not a contradiction in terms I don’t know what is.

k xx



I got a bit angry…

I got a bit angry , now if you know me you will know I am regularly getting red in the face about some cause or issue, but this made me really angry, then it made me cry

‘can anyone tell me how I can get rid of my caesarean scar, holiday in six months and need gone!’

This was a question that someone posted on one social media site, in a group that discusses being mummies and such like. First I want to make it clear that I do not know this person, I’m not trying to shame this person, I just want to tell you how it made me feel.

When I first read it I thought what a total selfish , ungrateful bitch. That is the truth. I thought this person doesn’t  deserve this scar and then I started tapping away an angry and horrible reply.

Luckily I stopped myself before I hit the comment button. What made me stop was the tears that were falling from my now mascara smudged eyes. I was crying for my own scar.

I never thought my baby would come. I thought I would be childless , in fact I was told it was highly likely I could be. Then eventually I got pregnant and I spent nine months pretty much scared to move. Then right as I was about to hit the finish line and after a night I never want to repeat we had to have an emergency caesarean.

I wear my scar as a badge of honour. It’s a constant reminder to me that miracles happen and I never want mine to go away , ever. As soon as my daughter is old enough I will be showing mine to her and I will be telling her that I am so immensely proud of it because it gave her safe passage into this world. I will tell her I treasure it and I am thankful to the universe for the surgeon and her team who made it possible. I’ll probably have another little cry and she will roll her beautiful blue eyes at me and carry on texting on her phone.

If I had a holiday coming up, which I don’t (hint hint husband ) then I would wear my scar with bells on, I would be flashing it in my bikini, fat rolls and all. I might even make it into some sort of body art. My scar is my miracle.

P.S  I  know the scar isn’t a blessing for every woman. I know some women would give anything to not see theirs but this is just how I feel about mine  x



Zumba saved me….

I have been having a really shit few days,  I can’t think of another word to describe it sorry if any offence is caused .

nothing happened , no tragedy , no life altering event.

I just felt like everything was wrong and there was no way I’d ever be able to feel happy about myself again. If you couple this with a teething toddler and sleep deprivation you get the picture.

Have you ever feel that way? I hope someone reading this has and please feel free to share ……

My clothes were against me, nothing matched or suited me. My acne decided it was time for a call and well I can’t even begin to explain the birds nest that was my ‘go to’ hair do.

I spent most of the days  feeling the cloak of invisibility had really got me good and there wasn’t much I could about it.

So I dragged my sorry butt to a Zumba class. I had to go on a Wednesday as Monday was full, as you can imagine this added to my woe is my attitude !

The zumba class made me cry. I didn’t cry out loud, I did that thing where you focus really hard on what your’e doing and pray for the best.

I was in a room of about 25 women, all different, shy ones, flamboyant ones, older, younger, fitter, beginners, you name it they were in that studio.

The instructor walked in and she had a cloak on. Except hers was a cloak of positivity, she gleamed. I literally mean it she had this electric presence. Then all the regulars piped up and they had it too. She started the class and  it stayed his way . Women were happy and laughing and an aurora of excitement, hard work and positivity filled the room.

It was as if for this hour nothing mattered but smiling and having fun. And the is why Zumba saved me. Because I caught some of that energy , a little bit of my soul was awakened. No one cared about appearance or weight in that moment. And if they did then they hid it well. Women were just together and happy.

I’ve stolen some of this magic energy and it’s really helping. I’ve actually lost 3lb this week and been maki a concious effort to be kinder to me.

I’m not sure if its mind over matter, magic or just the power of positivity. But I can assure you I will be there next week stealing more xx