Pregnancy, second time around …

So, if you’ve read my last blog post “Is it just us?”, firstly, thank you and secondly, you’ll see that we are expecting our second baby. Now, I knew it would be different this time round as I already have Noah who needs so much of my time, love and attention, but I can’t believe quite how difficult some days have been.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I knew it would be harder just because I can’t just nap when I need to like I did with Noah. I have to make sure I’m making time for Noah and completing all those “parenting” tasks that suck up the majority of your evenings and weekends. So by the time I sit down after the tea, bath, bed routine is done, I’m absolutely exhausted. Some nights I’ve gone for a warm bath, others I’ve just taken myself off to bed but then I feel like I’ve not had any time with Tom at all. How do you navigate life as a heavily pregnant mummy/wife/full-time worker/friend and fit it all in while also looking after yourself?

Another thing that worries me, is how this is for Tom. He is also having to think about life as a family of 4, whilst also doing the lion’s share at home and with Noah some days. You can find his thoughts on awaiting baby number 2 right here.

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Is it just us?

Any other parent feel like it’s just you? Just your child creating a MASSIVE scene any time you go anywhere? Your child still not potty trained? Your child who will NOT eat veg.

I know it’s not just us, course I do. But it’s hard not to feel like it sometimes, especially when the judgey eyes of “perfect parents” fall upon you … because of course their child is utter perfection.

I just feel like you’re never really prepared for the things parenting throws at you. People say “parenting is really hard” but I don’t feel like you can fully understand how hard until you’re fully immersed in it with no clear cut direction on how to get through.

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Life begins at 42 …

Not age 42 you understand, but number 42. Yep, we finally moved house. To anyone who read my last post back in November 2021, (I know I need to get so much better at this blogging thing) you’ll know that stress levels were rising rapidly at the back end of last year. I won’t blag on about it too much here, I’ll let you inflict that pain on yourself by heading over to the original post and giving it a read .. please.

Anyway, zoom on a couple of months and on Friday the 4th of February 2022, The Mulrooney’s moved in to their forever home, number 42. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t all plain sailing on moving day, far from it actually, but once we had locked that door for the final time that night, we both breathed a sigh of relief. We had to keep asking ourselves, is this real? Are we finally in? And the answer was “Yes”. So now the real fun begins … Making it our own.

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It’s beginning to look a lot like …

Stress. That is what it’s beginning to look like. Stress on top of stress on top of stress.

I’ll never admit this to him in person, and when he reads this I shall deny all knowledge of this admission and plead ignorance … but my husband was right. Yep. There. I said it. Back in June when I *finally* got my way and started the process of putting the house on the market, he warned me that it might get too much as I was then slap bang in the middle of my Masters level training for my new job. Did I listen? Yes, of course. Did I heed his warning? Did I bollocks. I managed to get him to agree to a visit from Pendle Hill Properties to have our house valued, marketed etc. Don’t get me wrong, as stressful as the last 5 months has been, I don’t regret it and I’ll come on the reasons behind that later.

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It’s beginning to look a lot like Toy Story; The Revenge …

Good lord above, what did I do? In my former life I mean. Did I shoplift? Did I live a life of giving zero fucks about the environment by not recycling? I ask because … come on!

Look, he’s even giving me side-eye because I am daring to ask if it’s time to tidy up!

Don’t get me wrong fellow bloggers. I adore the fact that our house is a messy, lived-in family home. I’m not saying I’d change it, of course I wouldn’t. If you’ve read any of my other posts (or if you know us personally) you’ll know what we’ve been through to get here. But, every time I step on a slightly angled plastic knife, or a discarded piece of fruit (I would say plastic fruit but it’s not always the case), I cry a little inside.

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December 11th: Toy Box Eviction ..

I know you feel it too fellow parents.

You know the worst part though don’t you? The part that really kicks you right in the foofa .. When they just walk away. They drop the toy bomb and then saunter off and start trying to open drawers to hunt for something they know they shouldn’t have hence why we hid it in the drawer. They then attempt to climb up the curtains which one can only assume is to practice for their upcoming Spider Pig audition. This is all topped off by an attempt to crawl under the sofa to retrieve a cheerio they hid there 3 days ago, before then getting stuck and screaming blue murder.

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Everything happens for a reason…

I’m not quite sure why I’ve chosen now to write this post. Well, that’s a lie. It is partially because I now have Noah so I can write this with a clear mind in a way that will bring comfort, hope and an aspect of realness (I hope) that others may be searching for. If I’d have written this at the time, it wouldn’t have made for very pleasant reading. I was a mess, I’ll be honest.

I also think it has something to do with conversations I’m having with The Divorced Dad (We’ll call him Dave, mainly because I’ve been listening to “The Twelve Daves of Christmas” on Absolute Radio and it’s obviously had an impact.)

Where to start? “At the beginning” I hear you say. Well of course. So,

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And so it begins,

Well, I actually owe the birth of this blog to a new online friend, The Divorced Dad. He has a blog page himself and encourages his members to share their voices. He then shares these anonymously on his page for all to see.

I’ve offered up a couple of posts and the reception has been incredible. I then realised how much I loved writing and not having to worry about who would see it. Nobody knew it was me. I could be true, raw, honest and not think “oh what if the Perfect Parent Brigade see it and then start offering up their opinion on the fact that I said the baby is close to going in the bin” Yeah, he’s being a troll. So shoot me for wanting a break!

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