Teething Struggle

5am wake up call. Teething 7 month old. Coil checkup. Day 4 of eating healthy… This is not the best combination.

I’m feeling like an absolute hero right now. Call me super mum. He’s finally asleep. I’m so glad that Pete was home or I might have spent the day silently sobbing and eating the whole pack of spirals in the cupboard and all the cheese in the fridge.

It’s better then when he was a few months old and teething, when he would just scream for hours at a time and I’d be stuck relentlessly dancing around my house pretending I was in strictly and feeling I was in hell. I was always scared I was going to OD him on Calpol, teething powders and Anbesol liquid. Now I don’t give it a second thought and dose him right up. Although, now when he’s in pain he won’t let me hold and rock him. I can’t hold him at all without him flinging himself backwards, to which I always panic I’m going to drop him because he’s an absolute tank.

Who knew a 7 month old could throw a paddy!? Like, I thought this happened at the “terrible 2” age, but nope, Edwin has gotten in there early. If I move the remote out the way, if I move my phone out of his reach, if I have he audacity to smile at him when he’s playing alone or sing to him. So now I watch whatever Edwin has put on the TV, and my phone is constantly covered in baby dribble. 

Luckily, I didn’t have to take him into the nurses room with me to get my coil checked today. Unlike when I had it fitted when he was in the pram next to the bed I was laid on, my legs spread open, and Edwin decided to cry, so im singing “you are my sunshine” while a nurse is all up in my vag. Oh and during which, when her fingers were fully roaming around she told me I had a “long vagina”. Lovely.

The day didn’t get easier when I got home and started to crash. Healthy eating is not good for you when you have a baby who needs you to be constantly weird and fun and literally a CBeebies presenter. In my desperation I got into bed with him and sang “twinkle twinkle little star”, while screaming in my head “please sleep you beautiful horrible little twat”, obviously this failed miserably so we went back downstairs and played with my phone. Which is why I have allowed myself, for the sake of being the best parent I can be for my child tomorrow, to eat all the carbs. All of them. Did you know beer is a carb? It’s the wheat. So we need it in order to entertain our beautiful and demanding children. 

Only another few years of teething though and then I’ll not have to deal with a whiny, devil child again, right?

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Body Struggle 

I can deal with the lack of sleep, the guilt of not being a perfect mum and the constant worry that I’m doing it all wrong. What I’m finding most difficult, and yes it’s incredibly vain, but what I can’t come to terms with is how different my body looks.

Before giving birth I was convinced I would be able to bounce back to my pre pregnancy body. I know, I know, SO MANY LOLS RIGHT!? I keep telling myself I’m beautiful still because I’ve made a baby, but it’s hard when you have bin liners full of clothes that you wouldn’t be able to get away with now never mind squeeze into.

I feel robbed. It’s so hard to lose weight when the only enjoyment I have on my own is eating when I’m alone at night. Not enough credit is given to the party diet, just drinking every night and being too sick to even give food a thought. 
It’s so damn unfair that I feel anything but sexy. I hate being naked. I follow every body positivity instagram there is and yet I look at myself in the mirror and want to rip the fat and flab off myself. I mean what the hell is that pocket that insists on making clothes harder to fit!? 

I just want to wear lingerie and jump on my boyfriend without fear of him clawing his eyes out or suffocating him. 

It’s so stupid because I can literally look at every woman and find their unique beauty and appreciate it. Why can’t I do that to myself? I suppose I’m not the only one, so why can’t we give ourselves a bloody break!? We created life! And people can say; “you look beautiful”, “you look amazing”, but I could do with hearing: “Aimee why the fuck are you still in size 14 clothing you fat whore!”. But then I would cry and call that person a cunt behind their back and slag them off to everyone so those people could tell me I’m beautiful.

Anyway, I’ve eaten like 4 packets of crisps tonight, pasta and a mini mars bar with a glass and a half of wine to drown my sorrows. 

I’ll start the diet again tomorrow. (Starving myself and drinking black coffee until I feel so sick I desperately raid the cupboards). 
Stupid vicious circle.