Everyone has one. Even those who say they don't have one, they sooooo have one, and the more they deny, the more likely it's laminated and framed.

Ok. I know. I know, I know. You're all, "But he's a fucking arrogant fucker! And his chin is dented! And swears way too fucking much! And did you see his chin!!! And the bastard cannot get over himself! And fuck me, THE CHIN!!"

I couldn't give a monkey's. He's rugged. He's sexy. He is HOT. And not just hot, but DIRTY hot. Like, "If you wear that short skirt to dinner, you will have a good time with me" kind of hot. "I will probably try to do obscene things and most likely stare at your boobs" kind of hot. And the arrogance to go with it.

Because let's face it, he's hardly going to leave you half satisfied, is he? No.

He's going to make sure he does the job properly. And then will want to do it again, just to be sure.

And then, probably again, just to prove a point.

2. James Spader, American Actor

My first encounter with this fine piece of Man was when I happened to watch Secretary on tv. I wasn't impacted by is looks, but quite like the fact that he was a bit of a slut.

And then...omg and then came Boston Legal which sparked another sordid affair with myself and a dirty slut of a bloke, Alan Shore, James' character in the show.

Alan spends most of his time being the guy in an office who you try to avoid, because he'll letch all over you in a heartbeat. And much like Mr Ramsay, take any opportunity to try and have his dirty wicked way with you.

This guy? Does the best. Smut. EVER. And quite frankly, I often can't get enough smut; it's just awesome.

You thought I was bad? What, with repeated cockotations on twitter, and my boobs out in the ethos?

No. Go have another look at "smut" in your dictionary. It says "Alan Shore" (some dictionary's still say my name, but that's ok). And smutty is good. I'd like to see how long it would take him to break me. As soon as he did, I'd return the favour. Heh.

3. "Noted Fashion Photographer" Nigel Barker (Also panel judge on America's Next Top Model)

Quite possibly, one of the prettiest men I have EVER. SEEN. Like, this man should be put in a glass cabinet and kept next to my bed put in a museum for all to drool over.

And there's something about him. I totally imagine him to be a bit letchy, a bit dirty, a bit smutty (can you sense a theme here?). I've watched him on ANTM and seen him drool over some of the models...it's totally inappropriate, but who the hell cares?

He is HOT.

Sorry, he is HAWT.

And that's pretty much all there is that I need with him. I mean, sitting around making polite conversation will be the LAST thing on my mind.

Heh.

...

But here, we reach a problem. I only have 3, which doesn't work for a Top 5, obviously. Clearly I'm all about the dirty dirtiness that is filth, with a dash shit load of smut. And I totally understand that my preferences are most definitely not palatable with others. And vice versa. But I'm open minded!!

So who's on your list?

Omfg. Holy...omg.

So, I post a while back about how I'm struggling to meet demands and needs and everyone was all "Oh hell yeah girl, you are SO not alone, and we WILL support you". And I was all "holy fuck! Um thanks for your support dammit y'all are lovely!"

And then, cos to be honest I thought my blog was pretty shit but didn't particularly care, I wrote about who's to say a blog is good or bad because suddenly there was this crazy uproar about good blogs and bad blogs, and everyone was all "OMFG I'M A SHIT BLOGGER AND NOOOOOO!!!" and others were all "I BLOG AND TOTALLY KICK YOUR ASS MOMMY MO FOOOOOO!!!"

(The whole thing made me laugh to be fair, and I still smirk when I read my own input, but you know.)

And you were all "GOOD FOR YOU. And also? YOUR BLOG ROX. And COCK". And I couldn't love you all enough for that, because I know I blog shit sometimes (a lot of the time) and you were all so fucking lovely about it and made me smile 'n' shit.

And then, on a whim (after speaking to a BLOODY LOVELY friend who is so damn nice I want to dislike her but she's too flippin lovely, DAMMIT), I posted about how we beat ourselves up for the most innocent of things, and as parents (moms AND dads) we are particularly hard on ourselves, and suddenly I have people I have never ever known in anyway, coming to me to leave support. Not just for me, I hasten to add, no no. Not at all. To leave support for EVERYONE who has gone through the same.

And if I'm honest, I'm totally fucking overwhelmed. People sent me messages about how they've done the same, how they found me, how the post moved them and touched them, they've reposted it, they've ReTweeted it...and I've never known anything like it.

Ironically, I felt bad that I stopped replying in comments because I got so overwhelmed with the responses. And oddly enough, I suddenly wondered if I was going to be under a lot of pressure to write more profoundly amazing posts.

I won't promise to do it, because like I said in a previous post, I don't write specifically for others, I write what comes to me naturally. So if you get another amazing post, then um, it'll be a miracle!

But something made me seriously want to address the posts I've written and it was in reaction to you amazing people. I've received an award from MommaRuthSays in the past, and then suddenly I had another 2 awards in the short space of time. I confess I uhm'd and ah'd about responding; truth be told? I honestly didn't think I deserved them, mainly because I was too busy reeling from the shock of everything else. But obviously, I have to get over myself.

And so, my many, MANY thanks go to Bare Naked Mummy for awarding me the Sunshine Award because I'm a little bit of sunshine to make us feel better (oh hell yeah!!) and Rosie Scribble, who has also given me the Sunshine Award and is SOOOO lovely. I gotta say, I'm pretty fucking pleased about this, the timing could not have been ANY BETTER.

I hate not being able to thank everyone individually, but I swear there have been SO MANY messages, by the time I respond, blogging will be extinct. So I feel a bit pathetic with this offering, but, well, thank you.

Thank you. So much.

Sometimes however, I'm full of regret as soon as I've done something. And usually it's related to the boys. And even more worryingly so, the regret tends to come straight after resentment. Which comes from me wanting to be selfish.

The Boys have been ill for approximately 17 years. Which means many, many tears. And tantrums. And sitting in the rocking chair, watching Disney Pixar DVDs over and over (and over) again. With the two of them slumped on me, fighting for space on my lap, heads resting on my chest.

I'll be honest. I have my laptop/iPhone glued to my side, because if I don't, then I have no contact with the outside world. And of course, if there are two Small people clamoring to be on my lap, then it makes it a little difficult to get anything done. And of course, trying to work on my website (which at the moment, is the slowest process EVER), take some half decent pictures and maintain small (but much appreciated) friendships...well...there are moments when I struggle.

Noah sidles up to me and pats my lap. Then he signs "cuddle". And will do so repeatedly. And of course it's the cutest thing ever. But not always. Not when you just want those 5 minutes, when you want your own time out, to have that small connection with the outside, to switch off from everything child/baby related. And there is step one: Selfish.

I want my time. My time. But I don't get that time. Because I'm on call. For the boys. Because they need my time. And as their mom, they should get my time whenever they want or need it. And suddenly we're at step two: Resentment.

It's not fair, right? I want to be able to just snap my fingers and demand time. I want to be able to drop everything going on and suddenly have my own time out, the way I want it. But it's not fair right, because they're babies. Even when I ignore him a few more times than perhaps I should, or perhaps when I plop him on my lap, give a half hearted cuddle then turn back to my laptop, surely that's all unfair on them. Final stop: Regret.

The quality time that I (should) spend with them is tainted because all I want is escape. I don't want to be glued to the TV. I want to be immersed in my own world. Doing my own things. Seeing my own sites. Literally. For the last two nights, I've worked into the night, going to bed at 3 a.m., savoring my time without being disturbed. And I'm full of regret that I have to do it that way.

I regret feeling the resentment and selfishness, to do what I want to do. But ironically, only this morning, I "told a friend off" for feeling guilty about wanting to spend time without her boy, but not getting that chance.

Where do we get off beating ourselves up, just for being human? Just for wanting to be human? Just for wanting to retain that shred of identity, that sense of self, that 5 minutes of selfishness that surely we deserve? When we have a drink that we just want to drink but can't get to, a phone call to a friend that we want to make but can't because of the fussing and whining, the email/blog post we want to read but can't because it takes 19 attempts and by the time you HAVE read it, it's three days later?

I have spoken to various people this last fortnight, and it's given me some very interesting food for thought. First of all, it's amazing how many people (ironically, non-parents) take parenting for granted. To assume what various aspects of parenting are like, without ever having been there. And by been there, I mean actually been a parent. And I think until you've been there, until you have had that child demanding you all the live-long day, there can be no assumptions. There can be some understanding, but it's limited. I never knew it would (could) be like this. I had some idea, but even my ideas weren't close.

Another realisation, was that there are many who had forgotten that as a parent, for some it can be near impossible to switch off. In fact, to just stop being a parent for 5 minutes. Even when you're away from the kids, you're out with friends, you're blinding drunk, you're away from them; whatever. There is no time out. There is no turn off. There is no holiday. You sign up for the job, and it becomes yours, for the foreseeable until the inevitable. And if you fuck it up, there is no do-over. You don't get that time back.

And right there, is resentment, regret and selfishness all rolled into one. Sometimes, I ask the question: Does that process of understanding these steps make me to be a better parent? One who cares as much as they should? Or am I being, like untold numbers of other parents out there, way too hard on myself? Or maybe, just maybe, this is the worst parenting ever, and I should add (more) guilt to the list? If that's the case, then that's a shame.

Because I'd be willing to bet that would mean there's an awful lot of other bad parents out there. Parents who just want to be.

Thanks to Miss Grace, I'm trying out something new.

There are a few projects going on at the moment, and this is one I've had my eye for some time. I decided to stop wondering, and just do it.

The theme is "Cold", the rest is your imagination.

Today, it all kicked off in the Blogosphere. Apparently, to have a good blog, we're supposed to write what we like, but make sure it complies with what people like; we're meant to be ourselves, but aspire to be someone else; we should be interesting, but real; we should include lots of links to others, but write about ourselves.

And if you want to be a "Top Blogger", you have to do all of the above and much, MUCH more.

Which is why, this post will be utterly shit, because I? Will not conform to any Rules of Blogging. Which makes me a good blogger. Nyer.

What I WILL do, is blog the following.

Today, my arse appeared in #assmail on Boob Emancipation. Given that I have now discovered I can take a pic of my own arse in the shower, I am proud as FUCK.

I have a fixation for boobs. I am not lesbian. But I DO think boobs should be celebrated. As should many asses.

Today, Noah barfed up his breakfast at the table, then started listening to said table. Like, head down, ear pressed, smiling at the table. And dancing slightly.

Whilst Noah was doing the above, Isaac was laughing hysterically at his thumb, whilst eating his breakfast.

Shortly after, Noah ralphed all down his front and on the floor. Whilst cleaning this up, Isaac crawled over and puked on my feet. Whilst cleaning all this up, he went to go bang his head on the corner of the table.

I often do not care what people think. About my blog, or me, or whatever. Sometimes I'm sorry, but often I'm not. And that's how my shit rolls.

I love comments. Good and bad. However I do not live or blog for comments. But I ALWAYS appreciate comments. I will not fall apart if there are no comments. But I might consider kicking some ass. I might not always RESPOND to comments, because of course, I am shit, but still. Always nice to have them, even if they make you look like a fucktard. Because I can look back and say "Oh, hi Fucktard!" Or I can look back and say "Cock. You're all being nice and I dunno what to say. Um, thanks."

I love smut. Throw in a cock, and I'm happy.

I regularly like to exclaim "cock" on twitter. It makes me feel better, and smile. It makes me feel even better when people say/shout "cock" at me. That makes my day.

In keeping with February YOR, today I managed to complete Day 6 of the 30 Day Shred. I can get to circuit 3 without screaming, I no longer crawl up the stairs, a pair of my trousers are a teeny bit loose, my boobs are shrinking but so is my belly, and hotness will soon be mine.

January YOR is well under way, and holy fuck, it might even be live by the end of this month. The number of photographers on twitter is making me SHIT myself. Which reminds me, one of my fave photographers who is also a good friend, was featured in Photo Pro Magazine this month. And by featured, I mean OMFG 5 PAGE SPREAD WTF AWESOMENESS. Added bonus? Well. You had all better recognise that baby and squooshy mouth, or I shall hunt you down and yell at you a lot.

That is all.

And now? Please to look at pictures, in the hope of making distracting you from my crap blog with AHWW!!!! LOOK AT TEH CUUUUUUTE!

Yes I know. You totally forgot what you were going to say, right?

Allow me to distract you some more.

IN. DEED.

This is how we roll.

There are people I want to see, places I want to go, things I want to do, but i just don't seem to have the time to do them. And when I get to one thing, something else calls and I have to deal with that instead.

Lately I've found myself saying "can you just hold on? There's only one of me", all too often. Everyone wants something, and I'm running out of myself to give. I try to hold on to some of me to save for the things I want so desperately to give to (my husband? my children? Myself??), but I feel so damn stretched, to breaking point, to exhaustion.

I feel there is so much expected of me; everyone wants something of me, and it has to meet a standard. I'm (almost) always funny on twitter, so it doesn't feel right if I'm feeling shitty. Supposedly, that should reflect on my blog, so this should be funny too. Instead, it's not. I go from hilarious crazy ass posts, to ones that leave you feeling like you never knew me. And whichever way I go, guilt also ensues.

I was talking to someone who's become a very good friend recently, about parenting and how real we actually are with each other. I couldn't agree with her more when she said there are too many people out there who paint an eternally picturesque beautiful scene. To which I added "yeah, where everyone shits roses" (she's much better spoken than myself, to be fair). And this is the truth. Not enough parents (moms especially) admit to how crap this job really can be.

It's currently early afternoon, and today has been shit. I've been trying to work on my website all morning (with very little success), the boys Grandparents came to visit (which got to the point where Noah was jumping off the damn furniture and throwing a ball at the damn tv).

By the time nap time came around, I just wanted a break. I just wanted the 12pm lunch/nap time routine to run as smooth as possible, so I could just get 5 mins of peace. It ended up with Isaac fussing in his cot for half an hour. Not so bad. Noah however, ended up in a time out, a bloody lip, a cut face, yelled and shouted at, a broken drawer (which I have now fixed) and a mother who now feels the epitome of shit.

And all because I was too damn impatient for my 5 minutes. And now Isaac is awake, and instead of thinking "Yeah! I get to have a cuddle with him!" I think to myself "Please, just go back to sleep and leave me alone."

Guess I'll be back in a minute.

...

Quite suddenly, I seem to have made some damn awesome friends. I don't think I've ever had friends like these, where I feel I could actually tell them just about anything and they'd stick around for more than 5 minutes to sit and listen (WITHOUT interrupting). And these are people I want to spend time with. People who give a shit about me. But I feel so tied down, and this damn guilt overrides everything I think. And then when people say "where are you? What's going on?" I wonder what the hell I'm supposed to do, because I'm just busy trying to take care of my shit. And sometimes it just seems like there's a whole lot of shit to take care of.

I love my boys (all three of them) so very much. I would do anything for them. But at the same time, I feel like there is nothing I can do for them. I often feel like I'm causing more harm than good. Noah and Isaac have been poorly with one thing and another for nearly a month now, so Cabin Fever is in full force. So I can't take them out. We can't go and visit people. We're stuck indoors. And Noah shows little interest in activities; drawing, stickers and chalking ends after about 5 minutes, usually in tears (of what? I don't know. Frustration? Boredom? You tell me, because? I can't understand him).

Isaac spends the best part of the day causing serious trouble; he's trapped his fingers in everything in which there is to trap them. He isn't walking, so cruising round the furniture regularly means he slides off and hits head on the nearest sharp object, even if it isn't nearby. Somehow. He's much more wimpy than Noah, so spends a good part of the day in tears. Again, not helped with him being poorly.

And there are days when all I want to do is just chat on Twitter. It's like some horribly addictive drug that I can't get enough of; like some kind of club that you've always wanted to be a part of and if you're a member, you have to work hard to stay a member. But it's always worth the effort.

But at what point do I stop? I've got so many things booked for the next few weeks (including meeting new friends I haven't yet met before, travelling to Devon on my own for a weekend, going to a photography exhibition on my own, birthday parties and much more). But where and how do I draw the line and say, "this is it - I need to cut out this and that; I need this person and that person to just give me a bit of space; I need a BREAK." How does one do that, without feeling the guilt? As a mom? Who. Just. Wants. Some. Time.

Does it happen? Because if I'm pulled in any more directions, I am surely going to rip.

I can't stand opera. After watching this? I LOVE IT.

I can't even decide which song is my fave, I'm ususally in hysterics by the end of Snoop Dogg.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Given my (slight) addiction to yelling the word "cock" when things go wrong (or, any time I tweet/open my mouth), a lovely friend on Twitter informed me of this.

I may be immature, but I swear to God, I CAN NOT stop laughing every time I look at this!!

*snigger*

Some lovely links on other people's blogs; that's always incredibly flattering. Especially when it's about my appearance (which I'm always wary of) from Mary Ruth, or recommendations to see what I'm up to from Tara Cain.

I have no idea why, but this ALWAYS makes me laugh. It's not even funny.

(Click to make it big)

And on the subject of His Royal Dudeness, we received our letter asking if we would like to accept a place for him at the nearby private school. He starts First School in like, a month and a half.

I wouldn't normally be happy (because I'd be too busy being terrified) but then I saw the school uniform for September, and almost died from teh cuuuute!!

They motivate me, they encourage me, they compliment me, they support me...lots of things that I would ask for in someone whom I plan on spending an awful lot of time with. They understand me; in the short space of time, they know me. And that's awesome.

One of the things that I was surprised at, was how they made me feel. There's a rush of emotions and things; exhilaration, nerves, fear, excitement, and well, this morning I woke up pretty much weak at the knees. That's a first, but I half expected it. But it was still a great feeling.

The strange thing is, I think I've been looking for this person for a long time. But I didn't realise I was looking for them until suddenly out of the blue. A light went on in my head, and I thought, yes, this is what I want. This is what I've been looking for, I've needed this person in my life for a few years now.

Now, if I'm honest, I think it's the most unlikely friendship I could have formed. Seriously. Had I passed this person on the street? I probably wouldn't have taken a second glance. I probably wouldn't even have anything to say. But having been properly introduced, and despite what they've done to me, I have no regrets as yet; in fact I'm looking forward to spending more time with them, even though it's limited to such short periods.

Oddly enough, it's kind of freaky that to accommodate this 30 Day Fucking Shred, I have had to adopt Jillian Michaels as my BFF. She will help me with my February YOR. We had our first date last night, and despite being unable to get up and down the stairs today, I'm hoping this is the start of a long and beautiful relationship. She's all of the above and more. I love her so much.

And then maybe one day I'll kick her butt. Soon as I get the feeling back in my legs.

Here's the instructions:

1. Thank the person who gave you the award
2. Paste the award on your blog
3. Link the person who nominated you for the award
4. Tell 7 interesting things about yourself
5. Nominate 7 bloggers or less
6. Post links to the 7 blogs you nominated.

So now apparently, I'm supposed to list 7 interesting things about myself. This could be quite a challenge. What I CAN do, is list 7 pointless things about me that you may or may not have known. So erm, yeah.

1) When I was 9 years old I spent 3 months in Jamaica with my Grandfather, and without any other family. I was only meant to be there for 4 weeks, but Hurricane Gilbert arrived and I had to stay out there until it passed.

2) I've given birth to 22lb of baby in less than two years. And yes, I only have 2 children.

3) I do not, have never and probably never will consider myself to be a "Yummy Mummy".

4) I would like to consider myself to be a MILF. Yeah, I said it. And yeah, there's a difference.

5) I have a very, VERY soft spot for James Spader. Especially in Boston Legal. Mmmmmmmmmm.

6) I would like my bra size to be 36H again. I miss those. E cups will do for now.

7) I regularly feel intimidated by an awful lot of people in the Blogosphere and on Twitter. I'm not entirely sure why.

Next I have to nominate 7 bloggers or less. I can't possibly choose just 7. So I'll choose 6 instead.

This is how I am spending my evening.

This is how I'll be spending tomorrow evening.

(Seriously. DVD ordered and everything. Jillian will have a great time whooping my wobbly ass into shape.)

My theory is, screw the fact that I'm carrying extra poundage, but let's at least make an effort to make it look like attractive poundage. I'm bored of having my belly rest on my crotch when I sit down.

In keeping with January's YOR, I'm still posting a pic a day on flickr. It's...a little unsettling, taking a pic of myself every day and staring at it trying to decide if I like it. Which of course, I don't, because I have a spotty chin, my eyebrows are fucked, and I often look stoned. Or, as someone else pointed out, worried.

Rabbit in headlights springs to mind.

But hey, it means I get my camera out. In last night's shoot I got my boobs out. But no, they don't make an appearance, because you know, I'm trying to keep it tasteful.

This will not last long.

I've also booked me a ticket to a photography show at the NEC, which is really surreal, especially as I booked myself as a photographer.

As in -

Name: Me

Address: Here

Occupation: Photographer (wtf?)

Company: Jay Mountford Photography (say what now?)

(I'm STILL working on my site. WordPress opens a can of Whoop-Ass on me every time I look at it.)

Unfortunately, I am not Hot (February YOR). What I am, is full of cold. So much FOF, I may have dribbled a little snot on Isaac's leg, and in Noah's hair today. You know when it's just so watery, and you don't move quick enough to catch it? It's kind of like that. I hate that. It's messy. So I kind of end up sitting around with a tissue wedged up my nose.

...hmm.

On reflection, that's definitely not hot.

BUT. I have managed to wear fucking sexy bras and various thongs/French knickers for the last week-ish. Which of course has leaded to no action at all, because all I want to do is sleep. But you know, there's been plenty of heavy breathing and stuff.

...while I sleep.

That's not to say, D does stuff to me while I sleep.

Because he doesn't.

...I think.

Look, you know what I mean.

Maybe I should just start working on March YOR, and let Jillian get on with a little ass-whoopin'. That's hot, right?

This morning kind of took a really sad turn. Lately Noah is very keen to get my attention, but he does it the most obvious way for him, which is to simply ask, "Mummy?"

So what's so bad about that? What's to complain about? That's great!! He can call me!! AWESOME!!!

Whenever I hear that "Mummy?" I'm filled with dread, because I know I won't understand what is going to follow. I know that he'll say it many more times, until he gets my attention, as he almost always does because he asks for it so politely. And then when he does get my attention, it's followed by one of the following.

1. A sign that we have either learnt together, or one that he has made up himself to convey what he means. The latter is dangerous, if I haven't figured out what he is referring to.

2. A word that he knows clear as day, more often than not, "Daddy", "Gah-gag" (Isaac) or "Nenen" (Nana). There is little to no follow up to this. He will either repeat for fun, repeat until I say what he just said (corrected), or he will go off and play.

3. A word that sounds like the majority of vocabulary, "UH" or "EH". This he will usually repeat until I either guess correctly, or distract him with something else.

Now. I can not, just CAN NOT begin to describe what sort of levels of frustration we're dealing with here. Because usually, most of the above will end in tears of frustration or confusion. I don't understand what he wants. I have no clue what he is trying to tell me. And by trying, I mean pretty much driving himself batshit with determination.

All too many times, he's been doing something, and then randomly burst into tears. Not just, gentle whimpering, I mean full on wailing, omg the world is about to end WHY OH GOD WHYYYYYYYY.

I appreciate toddlers are over dramatic. I know they're not easy. I know that they live in as much confusion as most teenagers, I get that. But tell me. What the hell am I supposed to do, exactly? When he's babbling and mumbling and none of it is making the tiniest bit of sense? When he looks at me, stares at me, like why the hell can't I figure out what he's saying and Mummy? Mummy? Mummy? Mummy? Mummy?

I defy you to imagine what it's like to dread hearing that word. No, wait, let me check that. I love to hear it. I love that he can say it. And Daddy, too. With the same questioning inflection, querying, questioning; it's awesome.

But it fills me with dread. Because I don't know what's coming next. I don't know if within a few minutes, we're both going to be reduced to tears because he's trying to tell me something, wants me to do something, that I just do not understand. He hasn't got time to waste, waiting for me to guess a thousand different things, trying to work out what he's saying. He has amazing patience with me at times, I'll grant him that. I don't understand that. But at the same time, in that moment of urgency, when something is so exciting to him and he wants to share it with me, and I can't because I have no clue what's going on that world of his, it breaks me horribly so, that I cannot be there with him, but can only offer excited nodding and big smiles and saying "Yes of course Noah! Yes yes! Look!!", and all the while, not being able to genuinely share in his excitement.

This morning hit a particular low point. He was sat eating his porridge, like a dream. Given his crazy eating habits (whereby I have decided he would sooner do anything, anything than sit and eat), I was over the moon. He got to the bottom of the bowl, and where there was still a bit left. Then he started crying. Hysterically. I have no. Idea. Why.

Because his cereal was almost finished? Because he couldn't scrape the last bit up? Because it was Thomas in the bottom of the bowl and not Lightening McQueen or Peppa Pig?

And then came that stupid annoying thought, the one that wins every time in destroying me and making me feel pathetic.

So when your kid, who you want so much to just be happy, who you want to help as much as possible...and then the doubt...the self doubt...the criticism...what do you do?

Why can I not help him? Why am I not "finely attuned" to his needs? Why can he not yet string two words together? And why did I not help him towards stringing two words together even sooner? I felt something was up long before I posted anything here. And now here we are, several months later, with words that barely make sense to me, to anyone, and we're all none the wiser.

I hope to god, every day, that at this appointment? They turn to me and say that he's fine and doing ok for development.

Because right now? The kid sobbing in my face saying my name over and over again is not convincing me.

My latest Photography Phun is "A Month of Me", whereby I take a self portrait every day for the month of February. I was inspired by a sexy-ass twitter buddy, who is doing 365, which is FAR more inspiring, and I'd jump on that bandwagon if I wasn't 31 days too late.

Anyway! Unfortunately after having removed most bodily fluids from every possible orifice, the second picture looks remarkably shit (there was no way I was going to smile), but still, I'm determined to keep going. Especially if it means I have to take at least one pic every day.

So what's on the cards for February YOR? It's a doozy. Absolute GENIUS.

For February?

YOR?

My resolution, is...

to be...

more...

...hot.

Like, HOT.

Like, HAWT. And not hot as in wear more jumpers and sweat excessively every day.

No, no, no.

Ok, let's break this down. Every year, someone out there makes the resolution to lose weight/be more healthy/improve their figure blah blah blah.

I? Cannot be arsed with diets. I do not diet. The end. I may exercise on occasion. Which is often followed by a large meal. And sometimes chocolate. And maybe alcohol. This isn't to say that I'm going to give up the good stuff, because I'm not. I'm not even going to set myself up for that because it would be a sheer miracle if I lasted a week.

And so, I plan to learn to love what I am on the outside, in the small hope that I can enjoy the inside a little more. Which means that there may be a few more subtle changes in the things I blog. Things that are sex related (omfg she just said s-e-x in her blog no fucking way she's a w-h-o-r-e), things that are pervy (omg did she just say perve, she's gonna hit on all of us) and hopefully things that reflect a lot more confidence, especially in my physical self (oh see now she just turned into a cocky shit).

I know this sounds like a really, REALLY stupid resolution. In fact, it is. I don't deny that. At. All. Like, how the fuck can a person be hot? I have no idea. But what I DO know is that I've really let myself go over the last two years. My excuse? Being a mom. I've lived in craptastic nursing bras and nursing tops for two years, the average colour of my knicker collection is black, the majority of them are big enough to cover most of Scotland (with no lace in sight), my face is often "can you tell I just got out of bed" and more often than not, it's a good week if I have more than three showers.

True story.

My sex life sucks, and needs a serious revamp. Which I am (we are) already working on, and I'm expecting not only to actually have sex, but indulge in places outside of the bedroom. Which would be lovely, especially as Isaac STILL lives in our room (would someone please just hurry up and buy our fucking house already?). And also? Positions. And outfits. And toys.

To be honest, I feel really bad, since I lost all sex drive after having Noah. An 11lb baby will do that to you. Add another 11lb baby less than two years later, and you're pretty much fucked.

Or...uh, not.

I need to make sure I look good, to help me FEEL good. I may not look hot, and I won't appeal to all, but as long as I appeal to the right people (me, hubs, friends, random hot people), then that's all I give a shit about.

Oh, and sorry, but the colourful language is here to stay.

Bitches.

Let's just say I'm very thankful for having various orifices with which to expel bodily fluids.

Just sayin'.