Last Wednesday was a very exciting day (at least in my books), after weeks and weeks of waiting the architect was finally coming to our house to reveal the plans for our much needed extension (in case you haven’t seen the last blog about this, check it out!). The thrill, the wonder, the anticipation was nearly overwhelming, but this was soon taken over by The Fear!! The fear that only a mother of boys could possibly appreciate.
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I’ve never been a lover of exercise, in fact, I think it’s fair to say: I hate it! But combo of turning 30 last Dec and that during my pregnancy I was unable to move a lot due to agony caused by pelvic girdle pain (commonly known in our house as “fanny bone ache”), I vowed once I’d birthed my little bundle of joy I’d make the most of my regained mobility and go for a run!! Yes, a run!!
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You know what it’s like: it’s 2am, the house is in darkness, you’ve already tripped over the perspex coffee table (oh yes, this has happened to me many times, they really are invisible in darkness) on the way to the baby and you’re about to get a shooting, labour-like pain up your leg from the little piece of lego (the devil’s own booby-traps) left in the hallway and this is all before the real fun of a night time nappy change and feed has commenced!!
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Have you ever rocked up to an event, to spot that special someone? You want to run up to them, throw your arms around them and screech “How are you? How are the kids?”… only…
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Ok, so maybe the title of this blog is a bit strong, I most probably could live without them as most third world women do every day and thousands of years’ worth of mothers have…
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