Hungry and tired but a little bit thinner

I've been doing the healthy eating for over two weeks now, it's going well. I lost three pounds last week. I'm still logging my food into MyFitnessPal but I've given up trying to stick to 1200 calories, it's impossible, I've only managed it on one day - here's what I ate:

Breakfast
One slice of whole meal toast with one tablespoon of light Philadelphia
One medium banaana
Instant coffee with skimmed milk

Lunch
Wholemeal pitta bread with 30g of Brie, one slice of honey roast ham
One apple

Dinner
Two chicken thighs marinated in lemon juice, garlic, chicken broth
3 small roasted potatoes

Snack
2 custard creams

See, it's NOTHING. I was starving. I went to bed at 9pm because all I could think about was getting up and eating breakfast. So I've upped my limit to 1500 which is still hard, but better.

To complement the healthy eating regime, I've also started exercising. Well, I've been on one run, tonight actually. I'm using another free app for this called RunKeeper which was recommended to me by my friend Sarah. She is super fit and has lost a bunch of weight so I thought I'd give it a try.

So after James got home from work, I dug out my old trainers and my only sports bra, downloaded an album called Now That's What I Call Running (I'm a professional now see) and set off. I chose a 20 minute program and a nice lady told me to set off at a slow pace for five minutes as a warm up. I took "slow pace" to mean "walk" and head towards the park.

After five minutes, the lady is back telling me that for my first interval I should go at a "steady pace" for a minute. Except I need to cross the road - crap. I start jogging on the spot, out of the corner of my eye I see one of my neighbours and try to hide my already sweaty face. Desperate to get away I make a run for it and come frighteningly close to being squashed by a bus. The driver leans on his horn, my neighbour can barely contain his laughter and I run as fast as I can in the opposite direction.  So... going well so far.

However the rest of it is pretty straightforward. I run steady for a minute and then slow for one and a half minutes. Even so after ten minutes my lack of fitness is glaringly obvious and I can't believe I'm only halfway through. The longer it goes on, the more annoying I find the lady. As 20 minutes approaches I can't wait to stop running but the lady just comes back and tells me to go steady again. WTF? Turns out the first five minutes were just the warm up and don't count towards the 20 minute program! When it finally is over, I hobble home and do some half arsed stretches. I'm mortified by how difficult I've found it. The stats on the app show that I have run a measly 3.29km and burned 259 calories - which is less than one Mars Bar.

Anyway, it's a start and I will continue.

A quick word on what the kids have been up to this week. Joey has two front teeth! They are just poking through the gum and he's been suffering a bit at night with them but on the whole it's not been too painful. He does keep pulling this weird face where he sucks his bottom lip in and chews on it though...

And Finn has been perfecting his scooting skills, he can't turn or break or anything but I'm still really proud. He also tried to steal a cake from Ben Fogle's son, but that's a story for a different day.

Sorry seems to be the hardest word

What a week. Four days trapped in the house by sick kids and torrential rain followed by three debauched days in Brighton on a Hen do. I'm bloody knackered, even more so than usual. Now, Finn and I don't do too well when either of us is over-tired so there has been the odd stand off of late, which leads me to this week's topic; discipline.

My style of parenting is either bodged from what I can remember off Super Nanny, or copied from the other mothers in my NCT group. But, now that Finn is well past his second birthday, I'm running out of excuses for his boisterous behaviour and none of the above is working. Before I launch into some of his finer moments, I'd just like to say that he's a good kid really, he's not malicious or spiteful. If anything he's overly friendly in a Lenny type manner that often sees him pulling small children to the floor shouting 'CUDDLE, CUDDLE'.  I think it's cute, sadly many parents of said small children disagree.

The main problem that we have is his refusal to follow directions...of any description...ever. From 'please don't post mummy's wedding rings down the plug hole' to  'don't eat the play-doh' (every single week at playgroup) to my personal favourite 'don't climb out of your pram onto the doctor's computer desk while I'm having this invasive examination', if Finn wants to do something, he's pretty much going to do it. Most of it is harmless exploring but every now and again he crosses a line and something must be done.

Yesterday, was one such example. Joey took a tumble trying to reach a toy on his play mat, he banged his head on Buzz Lightyear and had a good old cry. I gave him a dummy and reinstalled him on the mat. Finn hasn't had a dummy since his first birthday but lately has become obsessed by them. So as soon as I turned my back, he pinched it and Joey was crying again. I took it away and gave it back to Joey. Now repeat the last two sentences a hundred times. And then he got really mad and threw a toy, which hit me in the shin.

I'd given him a warning and now it was time for action. Supreme punishment of two minutes, alone in the front hallway. It didn't work. He played with the post, he pulled at threads in the carpet, he broke the zipper on his trousers. When I opened the door and asked him to apologise, he said 'No way, no way!'. Cue two more minutes in the hallway. Now repeat the last two sentences a hundred times.

After about twenty minutes, he was crying hysterically and I was on the verge of joining in when he finally, and very begrudgingly, uttered 'Sowee Mama'. We had a cuddle and I inwardly breathed a massive sigh of relief at my victory. Ten minutes later he'd stolen the dummy again - this time I did cry. If anyone has any advice on training toddlers, I'd love to hear it.

In other excellent news, I put on weight this week. Actually it's not too bad, because as I said, I went to a Hen do and drank my weight in Blue WKD (I don't know why) so I guess it could have been worse. One thing I am proud of is that despite knowing I was going away, I stuck to healthy eating before hand. The old me would have been all... 'well I can't diet this weekend so I'll just eat myself stupid all week and then start again on Monday'.

I'm aiming for 1200 calories a day and using a free app called My Fitness Pal. It requires quite a lot of forward planning to make sure that I don't eat my limit by the time I get to my evening meal but it makes me think twice about every single thing I eat, which can't be a bad thing. I hope to have more positive results next week.




  

Hey, remember when I used to blog?

Well, I'm giving it another try. My year long absence can be explained by the arrival of baby boy number two six months ago. We never intended to have our children a mere 19 months apart and the shock of finding myself pregnant again before my kid's first birthday knocked me for six. It was a difficult pregnancy, it felt like it went on forever. But after a delightful Christmas day labour, lovely baby Joey was born at 00:27 on Boxing day. So...now I have two of the buggers to muse over and I thought I'd share it all with you. 

Towards the end of my last foray into the blogging world, I was bemoaning my weight. And shockingly, having another baby has done nothing to help matters! Not only am I bigger than I've ever been, I've also fallen into the classic mum trap and 'let myself go'. I'm averaging one haircut every twelve months, my waxing has been shamefully lax, my wardrobe is half empty and what is in there is a minimum of three years old.

The other day, I had to get the kids to the doctors for an early morning appointment (conjunctivitis if you're interested), none of us had slept, they were both screaming and it was all I could do to get us out the door. As I ran down the road, sweating beneath my new plastic mac (purchased for this delightful summer we are having), I caught sight of myself in a shop window; no make-up, unwashed hair with roots so long they look like a reverse dip dye, JOGGING BOTTOMS. I'm not that girl, there's no way I can be that girl.

So another reason I'm revisiting this blog is to document my redevelopment. Now, unlike Victoria Beckham, when I say I'm just an average mum, it's actually true. We earn just enough money to pay for our little flat, eat and have the occasional trip to Nando's or the zoo. Sadly I will not be able to afford liposuction, a personal chef or stylist. I'm going to have to do this the old fashioned way - Weight Watchers and Legs Bums and Tums down the local leisure center. I am lucky enough to have a few friends in the beauty world, so I'll be cadging a few favours along the way too.

In a future blog I will be providing photographic evidence of my hideousness. You have been warned.

But for now, here are some goals...  

• Ideally I'd like to lose a stone and tone up my mum tum. I'm giving myself six months which I think is reasonable
• I go back to work in October. By then, I'd like to have sorted my hair out and refreshed my wardrobe
• Finally, I'm thinking of trying out a 'Scouse brow' - I dunno, we'll see on that one.

 

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

Ok, so how’s the weight-loss going? Well if I tell you that last night I had takeaway for the third time this week and then ate a mars bar in bed, that should give you some idea. I just can’t do it. Working and looking after an insane one year old is too hard. I need food. I need it to keep me sane. It’s basically my only pleasure.

Anyway, speaking of having a one year old, Finn had his first birthday last month and I made the mistake of throwing him a party. I invited all his little friends from NCT, my family, the in-laws, his god-parents and all my friends with babies, amounting to somewhere in the region of 35 people.

 I don’t know what I was thinking because I live in a tiny flat, we’ve only got one sofa and it obviously chucked it down with rain so the garden was off limits. People were so squished in, I made my family take it in turns sitting in the bedroom to make more space in the living area.

I had also thought that having the party at home would be the cheaper option: wrong again. I spent a staggering £105 in the party shop on what amounted to a handful of balloons, a disposable tablecloth and some paper cups and plates. I spent a further £150 on party food, and by party food I mean, egg sandwiches, party rings a few wotsits and a plate of cheese and pineapple on a stick. I did also buy a reasonable amount of booze but believe me it was necessary. Don’t even get me started on the cost of  goody bags.

So, we’re all squashed in like sardines, eating my retro spread and every single person in the room has said to me “I just can’t believe he’s one!” and I’ve said to everyone “I know! it just seems like yesterday I was pregnant!” and I thought – he won’t remember a single second of this. I spent a fortune, stressed myself out buttering hundreds of slices of bread at six in the morning and he would probably have had just as much fun playing with wrapping paper for two hours. And while it was so lovely to see everyone, I was so busy rushing round that actually, I didn’t speak to anyone for more than 5 minutes.

On the plus side, he did seem to have a lovely time, we got some lovely presents to refresh his toy selection which was desperately needed and everyone was very kind about my efforts as hostess.

Still, on balance and as mean as it sounds, any future child of mine won’t be getting a proper party until they are at least three. 

‘It looks like a Sesame Street crack den in here’

So...you’re probably wondering where I’ve been? Perhaps you thought/hoped that blogging was a passing phase in my oh so hectic life. But no, here I am, back again! 

My absence is due to two things 1: I have gone back to work and 2: Poor Finn has been ill (again). Since the hospital incident we’ve had; an ear infection, a chest infection, conjunctivitis an eczema flare up and two new teeth. Put it this way, when my brother came to visit last week, he took one look around my tissue strewn flat, replete with several multi-coloured plastic medicine syringes and said ‘it looks like a Sesame Street crack den in here’.

Finn seems to be better now, so I have finally been able to step back and survey the wreckage. It seems the main casualty of weeks of not sleeping properly and sitting at a desk eating krispy kreme four days a week is my waist line. I am fatter now than at any point since just after the baby was born. I have exchanged eyeliner for dark circles and hot polish cleanser for a quick swipe with a baby wipe and basically I look crap. 

My new found lack of self confidence was compounded the other day when I had dinner with one of my most glamorous friends. He has the kind of life that I like to imagine could have been mine if I’d had cooler parents. He goes to showbiz parties, has celebrity friends and wears designer clothes – I am obviously so jealous it hurts. Anyway, he reminded me of a time when I used to make an effort, when my roots weren’t three inches long and I actually cared if my socks matched. 

When I look at myself these days, I can scarcely believe that it is me. I’m a good stone heavier than I was before, I rarely do my hair and I recycle the same few outfits week in week out because they are the only ones that fit. So I’ve made a decision, I’m going to lose the weight, probably not all of it but I’m going to give it a go. I’ll let you know how I get on.  

That will teach me to drink sambuca

It’s a sight that no parent ever wants to see, your baby covered in a rash that doesn’t fade. And yet, as I woke up with my first proper hangover in 18 months, this is exactly what I was faced with.

Finbo chose the day after a friend’s very raucous wedding to come down with a bug. Initially I wasn’t too concerned as he was still quite bright and acted in his usual manner when I tried to take his temperature i.e. screamed blue murder and flailed his little arms and legs wildly in indignation.

I was busy cursing my luck to have an ill baby AND a hangover when I noticed the rash – tiny pin-prick, reddy/purple dots under his neck.

James was ordered to the kitchen to fetch a glass and sure enough no matter how hard I pressed (which was quite hard – at one point I was worried I’d cut off his air supply) the spots remained resolutely bright.

It was hard to know what to do. Yes, he was a bit snotty and clingy and he did have a mild fever but he was also quite smiley and not at all off his food. I’m desperate not to be the kind of mother who has the doctor’s number on speed dial and demands antibiotics every time her child sneezes but despite this we seem to live at the bloody hospital. In any case, I decided you don’t ignore a non-fading rash and off we went.

We were whisked through A&E triage the second the words ‘fever’ ‘baby’ and ‘rash’ left my lips. Right from the off, the medical staff were very reassuring and indeed after a dose of Calpol it was hard to believe Finn was sick at all. He laughed and played with the nurses and generally made me feel like a bit of a fool for overreacting.

By the time we got to the paediatric doctor up on the children’s ward I had clamed down enough to notice that I was still wearing my pyjama top and yesterday’s make-up and that actually I felt quite sick. I was expecting to be sent home after he’d been given the once over but unfortunately, a rash like Finn's has to be taken seriously. 

A battery of tests was ordered, firstly urine. If you’ve never tried it – let me assure you that getting a nine month old baby to pee into a pot is no mean feat. You have to strip them off and hold the plastic cup between their legs until they feel like going. Needless to say that by the end of it I was covered in wee.

Second was blood and I have to admit that I ducked out of this one. I’m not squeamish at all but it’s one thing having my own blood taken and quite another watching a stranger pin down my baby and stick a needle into his soft, podgy skin. Daddy did the honours and when even he came back with tears in his eyes, I knew I’d done the right thing staying away.

Finally, a chest x-ray. More pinning down and scary noises and by the end of it poor Finbo was borderline hysterical.

After that we waited, for a LONG time. With nothing to do except watch Cbeebies (they wanted £3 for two hours of adult tv, the thieving bastards), worry madly and wish I could turn back time and not drink three sambucas the night before.

At about 9pm most of the results were back. And while Finn did have something, it wasn’t meningitis. Just some run-of-the-mill virus that also happens to cause red spots and scare the shit out of parents.

Brightly coloured toys? No thanks, I'll just play with this plastic cup.

Despite the trauma, it was worth getting it checked out. I'd never have forgiven myself if it was something worse and if nothing else, it may make me think twice about doing shots on my next night out.

WARNING Don’t read over breakfast.

Everyone tells you that you can never understand how hard being a parent is until you actually do it. Well, I hope this little insight into my daily life gives non-parents some idea.

There is crap on my wall. There is actual dried human excrement on the wall in my son’s bedroom. ‘Eww. How did it get there?’ I hear you cry. I can feel the weight of your judgement already, but I’m actually a very clean person! Let me explain…

Finn is teething. Three of the little buggers are poking their way up at once and as well as waking him up three times a night and giving him worse mood swings than a menopausal woman who’s trying to give up smoking, they’ve had a very negative effect on his nappies.

We’ve had some atomic explosions down there recently and apparently the charming child subjected his Granny to one when she looked after him last week.

Now, Granny only comes now and again and she’s not as well practised at dealing with poo as I am (oh the glamour), so in her rush to get him out of his soiled clothes she just yanked at them as hard as she could – sending a delightful spray all up the wall.

No-one noticed this piece of modern art until the next day as it was hidden behind the door. So I spent 45 minutes this morning scrubbing it away with dettol. To be fair, it looks as good as new, but I’ll always know there’s poo in the corner.