great read – had to share

I had to share this hilarious article I came across today. Must be popular seen as Scary Mommy shared it too (thanks Scary Mommy!).

I loved every word and its given me some inspiration. I’m thinking about writing a letter to my post pregnant, with-child self. If you wrote yourself a letter, what would it say?

http://www.scarymommy.com/a-letter-to-my-pregnant-child-less-self/

xx A

welcome back denim

A few of you may remember a post of mine from a month or so back entitled ‘a sad day for denim’ https://thetruthbehindtheglow.com/2012/11/15/a-sad-day-for-denim/. It was a tragic day. A bleak day in my pregnancy journey. A clear winner if we were playing a game of highs and lows.

But today, I would like to declare, that with great thanks to an inventive little contraption, denim is once again a part of my life. Welcome back denim. I’ve missed you and I’m sorry I discounted you for as long as I did.

Let me introduce you to the Belly Belt…. photo

I’ll admit, it’s not the most attractive piece of fashion I’ve ever encountered, but it has done something fabulous to my life. It’s given me my jeans back. Not even my “I’ll squeeze into them” pairs. I’m talking my go to, fabulous butt giving, would wear them every day if I could pair.

I remember seeing these little belts back in my past life as a Bras and Things sales assistant. Part of me pitied those poor women whose pants didn’t quite do up and I remember smugly thinking to myself “not me. I’d never wear that”.

Well, let me tell you – anything that allows me clothing options apart from leggings at this point in my life is a welcome gift and Belly Belt, you are my saviour  It’s a very simple concept really (insert jealously that I didn’t think of it first!). It adds a couple of centimetres or inches to your waist band and buttons, depending on how big that belly is getting. Add on a long top to cover up the obvious fabric flap and waa-lah, denim returns to my life.

photo2

I wont be winning any awards for sex appeal when my long top is removed but hey, the man in my life has seen me in much worse states and I’m pretty sure my good butt providing jeans are a welcome sight for him as well as me. After all, leggings don’t win you any sex appeal awards either.

So today, denim and I continue our love affair. I don’t care that it’s a hot Australian Summer outside. I’ll just up that air-conditioner and sit here in comfort knowing that my jeans and I are back on talking terms.

Welcome back old friend, welcome back.

xx A

oh hi 2013, lets do this!

Well its official. I took too long off. It didn’t feel like it at the time, but now as I get back into the first day back at work and the first day back at my blog, I’ve realized that I really truly did switch off for the last 2 weeks. My brain is yet to get the memo that today is the day it’s supposed to kick back into gear.

So, to kick things off for 2013, I thought a recap of the last few weeks was probably in order. It was an amazing break with some massive highs and very few lows, hopefully an indication of what is in store for the coming year.

In big news, my “unwed” post from a couple of months back is probably now a little irrelevant. The boy popped the question on Christmas Day. It was beautiful and personal and us in every way. The gentleman in him had asked my mum and dads permission and the whole nine yards. The fact that I am now wearing our bathroom reno on my finger makes me nervous as hell but hey, its sparkly and I LOVE it (and the bathroom reno still got the go ahead!).

Mamas Xmas Table Extravaganza

Mamas Xmas Table Extravaganza

Christmas and Boxing Day was just gorgeous. Mum outdid herself yet again with hosting the soirees for 2 days and in typical form, overindulgence was the name of the game. The little dude growing inside me had a massive presence throughout Christmas and clearly Santa got the memo about his impending arrival. So many beautiful gifts for the little guy before he even arrives. It made it very real to think that next Christmas, he will be under the tree, no doubt crawling his way into mischief.

New Years was a total disaster in comparison. A severe bout of gastro put me on my knees for 48 hours and to be honest, I was petrified. I’ve honestly never been so ill in my life and all I could think of was my little guy and making sure he was ok throughout the ordeal.

Thankfully the Locum Dr Service came to my rescue and sorted me out with some safe “up the duff” drugs to allow me to get rehydrated and start on the road to recovery. On a positive, it did give me an excuse to load up on some much-needed carbs and calories in the days following!

our southwest retreat

our southwest retreat

The first week of January was the perfect time for my new fiancé and I (still sounds weird!) to head off on a little baby moon down to the gorgeous Southwest. The last opportunity for some real quality us time before our little man joins the world.

It. Was. Amazing.

Just what the doctor ordered, we slept in, strolled around small towns, ate too much food and generally enjoyed each other for days. The accommodation we stayed at was just divine and allowed us to forget about the rest of the world and just be. We came back refreshed and relaxed and I truly think it was the best way to start what is going to be a pretty intense year.

Now back home and its straight back to the crazy grind that seems to be our lives. A kitchen renovation 3 quarters done, a bathroom reno about to commence, a nursery to plan and the endless to-do list that seems to be our world at the moment. It’s an exciting time but I have to admit that the list on my fridge of things to buy and do does inflict a mild sense of panic each time I see it.

But 2013 – bring it on! As a friend said a few weeks ago, “a lot can happen in a year”. It certainly did in 2012 and I have a feeling that 2013 is going to be even bigger.

My new years resolution? To not make one for starters. 2013 will be about family, and no doubt a lot of readjusting. I plan on making this year about us. About our growing family, our new adventure, the tears and laughs along the way.

Hopefully you stick around to share it all with me.

So, Happy New Year to you and yours. May 2013 be everything you dream for.

xx A

a day of firsts and lasts….

I’m feeling quite nostalgic today. It’s the last day of the working year. It’s the start of the Christmas break. It’s a start of a lot of firsts and a lot of lasts.

1409165_39019246 (1)It’s the last….. Christmas I’ll have without a son. Although I have to admit, I’ve been pretty keen to buy the little guy Christmas gifts from Santa this year even though he’s not yet here to open them. Thinking about how different next Christmas will be brings a smile to my face. Its bizarre but lovely to think that this time next year, a little crawling baby will be part of our Christmas story and knowing our families, he will be spoilt and treasured beyond belief.

It’s the first….. Christmas I’ll be spending without a wine in hand. The previous post goes into my loathing of that whole scenario so there’s no need to reopen wounds.

It’s my last…… day in the office. Of course I am back in January but my position will certainly continue to adapt and my growing bump will start to get in the way of my doing everything I’ve been able to do this year.

It’s the first…… time the fella and I have had the entire Christmas break together. Work commitments for both of us have been handballed this year so neither of us are working again until January 7. I even get to kiss him at midnight on NYE (if I can stay awake!). We have never been able to spend New Years Eve together so the prospect of him being the person I bring in 2013 with makes me happy to say the least.

It’s the last….. working day of what is likely to be my last full time working year for a while. Coming back to work is a definite priority for me as soon as I can but the capacity in which I do so will no doubt be different. The Monday to Friday routine of the last 13 years or so is going to change in 2013 as I navigate my way through being a mum and keeping my career. Happy Christmas Santa

It’s the first…… time I have gone into the Christmas break feeling like I really am about to embark on an actual break. Real time out. In previous years there have always been things lurking in the periphery, which create a small amount of stress and distraction to the true value of the Christmas holidays. This year, none of that is present. I’m embracing this break, leaving the stress behind and looking forward to focusing one hundred percent on family and relaxation.

And, It’s the last…. day of the world according the Mayans. The fact that people believe this crap makes me giggle.

Xx A

what am I, 5?

Tis’ the season to be jolly. Tis’ the season to be social. Tis the season to get out and about and enjoy the company of friends and colleagues over some nice wine, too much food and even a bit of a stomp on the dance floor.

All sounds amazing. And it IS amazing.

Unless you’re pregnant.

1231362_58150586If you’re pregnant, it sucks. So, I’m going to say it…. I feel left out of my life. I feel like a leper who has suddenly left the cool group and is sitting on the sidelines, looking in enviously at all those festive people with a glass of chilled Sav Blanc in their hands. Wankers.

I love Christmas. I love being social. I love everything about this season in general. Those that know me know I’m also quite partial to a nice wine and a piece of soft cheese. This is the first festive season where I haven’t been able to partake in the simple pleasures I used to enjoy. And to be honest, I’m not very good at missing out.

I’m not saying you nee to drink to have a good time. Some of the best company I keep are non-drinkers. But when you take away my ability to join in a simple thing like a wine with colleagues, add a few extra kilos to my arse and finish off with a constant feeling of general discomfort, I spend the night feeling pretty sorry for myself.

I think on the outside I’ve done pretty well. I’ve gotten involved and headed out until way past my bedtime on a number of occasions and tried to do it all with a smile on my face. On the inside, I’m acting like a spoilt 5 year-old. Stomping my feet inside my head saying things like “its not fair” “what about me” “I’m missing out” “ I want

812896_60009746to play” blah blah blah….

The mature and sensible part of me knows that this is such a simple price to pay to ensure the healthy and safe arrival of my little guy. Nine months of sacrifice for a lifetime of payoff and I know that it really is so very little to ask. But I cant deny that there’s that other part of me who insists on stomping her feet and bitching about the fact that I’m missing out on my old life.

So if you see me over the coming weeks, with a sparkling water in my hand and a smile on my face. Don’t be fooled. I’m secretly insanely jealous of your NZ Sav Blanc and am more than likely plotting how to slip away and sulk in private for a moment or two.

But it’s only one Christmas. Its only 9 months. It’s only a tiny price to pay.

And oh, there’s only 134 days to go…. not that I’m counting 😉

Xx A

my ever-growing lady lumps

The pregnant body…. Amazingly clever and wonderful and giving of life and all that. Growing to provide strength and life to my little one. I get it.

But seriously, no one said I had to love it.

I made the mistake today of going bra shopping. I had done the same thing only 3 weeks ago. Upgrading my lovely 10c’s to a new set of 12d’s that were nowhere near as pretty but did a fair job of holding my much fuller, porn star looking boobs into place. Clearly I underestimated my potential.

Today, after a few days of growing discomfort in my brand new 12d’s I decided to hit the shops and see about getting a different set of bras.  And hey, we have so much money to throw around, what’s another $150 spent on underwear (NOT!).

big boobies!

big boobies!

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to 14d territory. Welcome to my utter dismay at the sheer size of my once “handful is just enough” boobs. I have never been a 14 anything. Ever. It’s not a number I’m either familiar with or comfortable with. Not that I have issue with size 14 women. I say that as long as you are healthy, be whatever size you like, and I love the fact women come in all different shapes and sizes. Its just that for me, this was the first time that I really, truly feel like I have lost control of my body.

I’ve always tried to look after myself. Eaten well and gone through sporadic bouts of loving exercise followed by periods of doing none at all. Throughout it all though, I have been in total control of my weight and how my body looks.

Not anymore folks! These 14d’s have landed on my chest like a sack of potatoes and nothing I can do is going to stop them. I’ve only put on about 3.5kgs since getting up the duff so I can’t place the blame on huge weight gain or blowing out on bad food. This is purely my body doing its thing. My body deciding that a career in a titty mag might be an option to consider, should my current job go tits up (mind the pun).

Many women love the added boobage that comes along with being pregnant. To be honest, I

the dreaded tape

thought I would too. But alas, I am not. I am struggling to embrace my newfound lady lumps. I’m actually struggling to embrace anything – too much boob in the way. They are heavy and they sore, and no doubt, going to get even bigger.

So the control freak in me has had to learn a hard lesson today. My boobs are no longer my own, and neither is the rest of my body.

Both my changing body and how it’s made me feel is no doubt a sign of what is to come. I need to learn to accept the changes that lie ahead, for both my body and my mind. I need to learn to accept my 14d’s. I need to accept that they might turn into 14dd’s (god no).

I need to accept that my body is no longer mine. I’ll get it back one day but for now, over to you my ever-growing lady lumps. Do your thing and I’ll do my best to not totally freak out.

xx A

please don’t redefine me

Passionate. Career driven. Successful. Intelligent. Hardworking. Dedicated.

These are just a few of the words that I would use to describe myself. It may have taken me 30 years but I finally feel like I know myself pretty well.

I know what I am good at. I know how I thrive. I know who I am.

As I embark further into this journey, I am frustrated beyond belief that people are trying to change my definition.  Unrequested, uninvited. People are trying to redefine who I am now that I am pregnant.

Since when does my ability to procreate impact my ability to do those things that I have managed to do successfully for many years now.

Does adding “mum” to my definition render the other words now useless?

Call me a dreamer but I want it all. I want to balance my new role of mum with the roles that I currently play in society. I am under no illusions that my life is going to change dramatically when I become a mother. I know that my priorities will change and my focus will shift. I have no issue with that. The issue I have is the assumption that one must replace the other.  That mother is the new definition of who I am and all those other words will describe who I used to be.

So many people have asked me questions about what I plan to do with my work when baby comes. Take some time off of course is my response. Take time to readjust my life to the new role I am taking on.

Then, when the time is right, come back and tackle the working world as the same person I was before I had my son. The only difference being, I’ve pushed a watermelon out of my vagina. I wont be any less capable. I wont be any less driven. I wont be any LESS full stop. I will just be a mother as well.

The same passionate, intelligent, hardworking woman I am now, just with some stretch marks and no doubt some wobbly bits.

I am sick and tired of being told that the primary things that make up who I am will change. They might. I know that. This baby might turn me into someone I don’t recognize. Someone I haven’t been in my 30 years. But the point is this. If the fundamentals of who I am change, it will be because I want them to, not because society tells me they have to.

I’ve suddenly become painfully aware of a set of societal rules that I didn’t know existed until I began to show my bump. Apparently I must step quietly away from those nasty non-maternal defining words like “career driven” and “intelligent” and spend some time with more appropriate definitions such as “mothers group attendee” (no offence intended to those who love a good mothers group) and “play dater”. Those words don’t fit me very well. And I think I know myself well enough to know that they probably never will.

So my request to the world is this…. Please don’t redefine me. Please don’t tell me I cant be the same person then as I am now. Please don’t tell me that the role of mother must replace my current definition.

Will it be added to my list? Most definitely. And I will embrace it. Just like I do those other words. But my uterus does not define me and my being a mother will not change the fundamentals of who I am.

Even if you tell me it has to.

Rant over.

Xx A