Tag Archives: Birthday

My Sunday Photo 23.7.17

23 Jul




Why I won’t celebrate turning 35

20 Aug


I wrote this post at the weekend.

Warning, it contains a large dollop of self pity, which I make no apology for. After all, it’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to……

So on August 19th I turn 35. Woo HOO! Crack open the champagne, blow up those balloons eh?

Well no. Not really.

It’s true to say that birthdays have kind of lost their sparkle since I turned thirty. Mainly because my son was born 9 days before my 31st birthday, which meant that that year and every other year since, my celebrations have been somewhat scaled down or even downright overlooked. It’s ok, I get it, he’s the focus now.

However, I’ve never felt distinctly depressed about getting older, until this year.

This year is different. Significant. And for all the wrong reasons.

See, when I first started having fertility treatment, I promised myself that I would have had all my children by the time I was 35. Not because I had some rigid life plan (although the rest of my life to date has been pretty planned), but because I was acutely aware that a woman’s fertility starts to free fall at the age of 35.

I knew that I would have to pay thousands to conceive my second child, and well, I’m not an idiot, why purposely make it harder for yourself? If I was to get knocked up again without going bankrupt, I needed to give myself the best odds, and that meant getting on with it before I got barren.

But about those pesky thousands of ££££££££££.

Yeah, hard to come by.

I’m not rich. My family isn’t rich, and my husband is positively penniless. So I wasn’t fortunate enough to be gifted an endless pot of cash to spend on never ending attempts at ever more cutting edge science.

No, I would have to scrimp and save enough money for a few cycles by working my ass off.

Now having been through IVF once, I knew damn well it isn’t the sort of thing you stop doing if you don’t like the outcome. Pumped full of hormones, and with the tantalising possibility of what could be, you would try over and over until that precious baby is in your arms.

So I knew I needed enough cash to fund myself for several rounds. And that took years.

Last year, when I turned 34 I decided that it was now or never, and put the wheels in motion to re-visit my consultant and start the ball rolling.

That was last August.

After 4 years out of this game, there were many tests to be repeated to see how me and my hubby were holding up.

Those tests, followed by a nasty flu bug meant treatment was delayed for 6 months until February 2013.

But finally, I was ready to start. And it worked first time. Brilliant. All of my carefully laid plans were coming to fruition.

But I’m not that jammy and I lost my baby, as readers of my blog will know.

And the aftermath has been complicated and cruel.

So here I am, despite my best intentions, turning 35 without that second child on board.

And it feels shit.

I’ve failed. It’s the only thing I’ve ever failed at in my life. Unless you include playing the cello at 12, and marrying Johnny Depp.

And of all the things to fail, this one hurts the most. Such a capable woman, and yet so feckin useless at doing the one thing a woman should do best.

So this year, instead of raising a toast and marking my half way mark to 40 (40…ewwww, shudder), I will sulk like the child I so badly hoped to have by now, and grieve once again for the baby I should still be carrying.

And when it is over, I shall wake up to the life I do know so well with my wonderful hubby and gorgeous son, and pretend it never happened at all.

Happy frickin birthday Nik.

Thanks for reading.

The Big 4

19 Jun



Help me, help me, help me…… HELP ME.

Seriously, help me. Please.

The boy turns 4 in just 6 weeks(ish).

Ahhhhh the memories. Seems like only yesterday I was holding him in my arms, a mere slip of a thing. How time flies.

Hang on. Who am I kidding? This has been the longest 4 years of my life! This birthday can’t come quick enough.


I have to plan an awesome birthday party, and I’m all out of sensible ideas. Panick!

I previously confessed on my blog to possessing a severe lack of creativity. Honestly. I am about as creative as a dung beetle. In fact, now I think about it, I’m worse than that, because dung beetles can make shit into stuff innit?

So great. I’m lower than a dung beetle. Shoot me now.

Anyway, I digress.

Birthday 1, this creative vacuum didn’t cause too much of an issue. I mean, at that age the kid don’t even know it’s his birthday, yet alone have opinions on a party. And if they don’t like your theme, what exactly are they going to do about it?

So, I took advantage of the August summer, threw a load of toys out in the garden, and then invited all my friends with young kids round to play in the garden and eat some distinctly average party food. I did attempt a modest “Winnie the Pooh” theme, but I must admit, this was more for my benefit than Oscar.

Birthday 2 was much the same. Only there were more toys, an Iggle Piggle cake and an ongoing threat of rain. But we pulled it off.

Birthday 3, I banned any party of any sort. It was a bad year. Oscar had been expelled from his private nursery due to biting, I was having a nervous breakdown from the stress, and he didn’t have or want any friends. So we did what any mature, courageous parents would do. We bolted to Peppa Pig World on our own to jump in muddy puddles.

But now with birthday number 4 fast approaching and the boy at pre-school with a new set of party throwing friends, I’m under pressure. I’m up s*** creek without a paddle. I’m like a rabbit in a headlight.

The little man has already expressed his expectation that there WILL be a pretty spectacular party, and is, as we speak, compiling his invite list. GULP.

But ain’t no way in HELL I’m having a bunch of rowdy 4 year olds trashing my house this year. CARNAGE. And the thought of taking said rowdy children to a soft play centre for an E number fuelled rampage brings on heart palpitations.

So, with money low and expectations high, I need to sharpen my pencil and get creative. But I’ve got nothing. I’m all exposed and vulnerable. The only lead I have is a kid who loves emergency vehicles and lego, and a request for a Fireman Sam cake.

And here I turn to you….. the blogosphere, for inspiration. Help me out in my hour of need. Make me into a party planner extraordinaire, give me some freakin ideas!

Just think of the kids man!

And in return you get a virtual hug, and the chance to feel all warm and fuzzy knowing that you heroically saved a sinking mummy and made a little boys dream come true.

You’d have to be one mean dude not to want to do that.

Thanks for reading.

A moment to smile

30 Apr

So unless you have been under a rock these past few weeks, you’ll know that there hasn’t been a whole heap of cheer in this house for a long time.

But this weekend it was my hubby’s birthday, and since I couldn’t give him the present I so desperately wanted to, I did the next best thing I could think of and gave him the day off. Well not just any day off, a day of luxury with moi (you don’t think I’d let him go with someone else do you?), in a 5* London hotel, being treated like royalty.

Can I afford it? Hell no. But who cares right now. Me and the man are in serious need of some TLC time together right now.

And so, I guilt tripped grandma into taking the boy for a whole day, promised him an old macdonald’s and as much time on my “puter” as he could bear, and packed our case for the great escape.

We arrived at the Corinthia Hotel and from the moment we checked in I knew this was going to be something special.

The receptionist personally greeted us and confirmed our complimentary room upgrade, then insisted that the Sales and Marketing Director came to show us to our room. Eh?

Seriously worried they think I am someone important.

Fortunately she was away from her desk and my hubby and I were able to slope off to our room like the humble peasants we really are.

When we arrived in the room the receptionist gave us a tour of our bedroom, bathroom with tv (ooooooohhhhh), and walk in wardrobe (ahhhhhhh). She also informed us that they had arranged a “few things for the other half’s birthday and would deliver them to the room that evening”. Oh yay! They’d sorted the cake I requested. Well remembered.

Being the generous wifey that I am, I ushered the lady out and immediately took hubby down to the lobby lounge for a top lunch so that he could muster the strength to accompany me for an afternoon of shopping in Regent Street. I’m all heart. But man I was planning to do some damage to my credit card.

Once in Mango, Ben admitted defeat and hot footed it to Hamleys, leaving me some alone time with a whole season of unseen stock. Having my body subjected to fertility treatment and pregnancy for the first 5 months of this year, means I haven’t dared enter a clothes shop for 6 months. I mean what do I buy exactly? What hides discomfort and bloating other than leggings? So now I owe me a little retail therapy while I’m thin right?

All shopped out, we get a cab back to the hotel (walking with my shoes and THOSE shopping bags is not an option) and head to the hotel bar. Ben was on the sauce by 5pm, but after torturing myself with the cocktail menu (the daiquiri was calling) I begrudgingly ordered a mocktail. Bloody antibiotics.

4 drinks down we return to the room to tart up for dinner. Step 1, MONSTER bubble bath in front of the tv…. and with Britain’s Got Talent just starting I prepare to settle down up to my neck for the full hour while hubby got comfy in the bedroom watching NCIS on the 50 inch flat screen.

While this tv feast took place, the concierge came in to deliver Ben’s birthday cake,
accompanied by a complimentary bottle of expensive champagne! Damn those antibiotics. Seriously. Give me a break. I saw Ben’s eyes water at the thought of having to drink the whole bottle himself so I generously suggested we take the bad boy home in the case with us.

After a quite orgasmic hour in the bath, stage 2 primping began. The hair was blow dried, the make up was applied and I squeezed myself into a new dress and impossibly high heels. For the first time this year I resembled something like my old self. Sad in so many ways. But no point dwelling. Today is about celebration.

We tottered down to dinner and consumed more food and drink than we could feasibly manage. By the end of the day Ben had consumed 4 steaks in various forms and was looking distinctly uncomfortable. Maybe we’ll leave the cake until breakfast.

We returned to our room set for our first night of child free sleep in 3 years. The bed was huge and soft and coocoony and I dived under the cover wrapping up like a hibernating hamster. Ben lay spread eagled unable to move and with that “Don’t f***ing touch me, I may explode” look in his eyes. No matter, I’m going to cram in the sleep. Sadly my antibiotics seem to be laced with speed, so for a 4th consecutive night and despite the best efforts of the luscious bed, I tossed and turned all night long.

The following morning we lounged in bed until mid morning just for the hell of it, then crawled down to the restaurant for a truly 5* buffet breakfast. Still creaking at his seams (well love handles), Ben refrained from diving head first into the cooked breakfast, choosing instead just a small selection of every hot and cold item they had to offer. I devoured the fruit and pastries and the mouth watering freshly squeezed orange juice. Like nectar.

Feeling the need for a final splurge before heading home we sped to Harrods in search of gifts for the baby sitter and the boy. After an hour in the toy department, I finally dragged Ben away from the Scaletrix and agreed on some model fire engines and a Harrods bear for the boy. Grandma got some luxury biscuits and I nabbed some new make up from Space NK. I need it honest…. it makes the leggings look better.

Then we returned to the hotel, begrudgingly ate the birthday cake (it was a strain), and returned home to life with the boy.

So whilst this wasn’t the birthday we had planned, we did our best to raise a smile and remember how lucky we are, and I can’t thank the hotel enough for their hospitality.

Finally, when Mammasaurus went to London, she posted some pretty spectacular pictures. I’m no photographer, so here’s my offering!


Chandelier in the lobby lounge


Having a mocktail


Birthday spread compliments of the hotel


£1 million of Chateau D’yquem wine… My dad is planning his lottery win as we speak

Dinky and Me

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