Tag: expectantmom

A Letter to my Mum…

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I know you shouldn’t only appreciate people on a certain day, but I have a cold hearted and emotionally reserved persona to up keep in regards to my family. So for this mothers day only (and you’re only getting this once mom so I dunno, copy and paste it, print it out and frame it if you have to) I will give you the gift of cringiness and honesty. All those face mushes and ‘why don’t you show me affection. I LOOOOVE YOUUU’ whines when you’ve had one too many glasses of prosecco have come down to this post. And only on this post can I express my love and gratitude because quite frankly I have at least 24 hours before I have to face you with embarrassment.On Friday the 13th October you had a visit from the dreaded midwife who continues to call me ‘scrawny’ and together you joked that because it was the day of the devil, on week 34 out of 40 in your pregnancy, ‘wouldn’t it be funny if she came today.’

Well, the day of the devil it was.

You stepped out of the car into the carpark to go to your antenatal appointment, like I

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have since done in that very place, when your placenta separated completely from your uterus. This is called a placenta abruption and can be life threatening to both mother and baby.

Although you woke up days later, being bathed by some old fuddy nurses after blood transfusions and life saving treatments, you was now baby-less. But like a bad scent ever since, I was merely lying in an incubator with cotton wool on my knees making all the midwives wish theyd never met the emergency premature 666 child you had traumatically and unconsciously brought into the world.

We were never a well off family and I didn’t mind, you would spend days making angel delight or jelly with me as if it was some gourmet baking when realistically Luna could probably do it if it weren’t for the fact she doesn’t have opposable thumbs. And mom, sorry but you’re cooking hasn’t improved since, you’re the only person who manages to burn super noodles, but I love it. I love that you served my previous boyfriends raw vegetables so they had to eat it politely and I love that you are so in denial to cooking

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instructions because ‘you know best’ because it is what makes you, you. I can’t wait for my child to say ‘I hope grandad cooks because nanny’s food is horrible’ like every grandchild is supposed to say.

One Christmas, dad had lost his job and you had been ill all year, I didn’t understand what mental health was, I didn’t understand how a person can struggle because you didn’t let me see the hardships. I thought you were feeding me frozen sausages and frozen sweetcorn because you just wanted me to never develop a palette, when all my friends got green giant sweetcorn with its sugary canned taste or butchers special sausages. I didn’t know that a person could be unhappy because you always laughed when I said 1051 was

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my favourite number (I still don’t get why that’s funny) or I (very out of tune) composed a rendition of the cuckoo clock song in the sound of music, because I didn’t know that one could smile but be in so much pain then. On that Christmas you had warned us we had no money and not to be disappointed, (I knew santa wasn’t real obvs ,but alex still believed) we made m&m cupcakes for ‘santa’ because I was a fussy eater and despite the fact you wanted mince pies, you let me have my way, and we watched shrek lying on our first ever brand new sofa (that alex immediately dropped cake icing down), until alex went to bed and you let me eat all the m&m cakes. But that morning, you still handed us mountain after mountain of presents, I got exactly what I wanted that year and more, despite the fact I now know we couldn’t afford it and you had to go without so much for yourself.

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When we got a little older, you were still really ill and getting worse, I was starting to understand a little that there was this thing called depression, but I was ignorant and I didn’t understand. I thought you were just crazy and moaning all the time, enjoying arguments. I remember we went on a family trip to Ikea and the whole journey we were rowing, you and dad, you and me, we were screaming louder than we did when skindred came on and youd hide down whilst me, dad and alex blew whistles out the window on the motorway to the song in embarrassment. When we finally got out the car after you had stopped screaming you immediately fell over the curb and face planted the floor. I found it hilarious and im ngl im laughing thinking about it now but you got back up and strutted off not letting it phase you and you were a boss.

I remember when I came home from pontins and I was moody with you because you

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explained you were ill because of stress and I thought it was fake. Stress? Whats stress?

When I was 16 you sat with me in a box room covered in white walls and listened as I explained I wanted to take my own life by swallowing lots of pills to some random woman. I knew then what you had suffered all those years and what I had ignorantly begrudged you of in those hard times. I had begrudged you a you. I hadn’t sat in the room letting you explain how you feel without judgement, I hadn’t held you when you were sad and I hadn’t said it was because you were ill you were acting out of character and then helped you get better, I hadn’t been there for you like you were for me. You let me sleep in your bed every night so I didn’t panic, even though it was the only real time you got to be with dad and you gave up all your days to look after me and make sure I was okay, watching repeats of shitty channel 5 films.

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You come with me to every hospital appointment even when I don’t want you to come, youre just so stubborn and even when I don’t know I’m ill you always do and you help, even when I push you away.

I was a child and couldn’t give that to you but I want to say that if I could go back, I would, and maybe we wouldn’t have lost so many years to the illness we both struggled with.

When I was 18 and I had gotten involved in drugs and alcohol we hated each other, we couldn’t live under the same roof because I didn’t understand what the problem was. I’m 18 I can come home at whatever time I want, in whatever state I want and with whoever I want. And I can categorically say that my child aint ever touching alcohol. And sex? Nope, they are gonna be virgins for life if I have anything to do with it. So in hindsight, I know I was troublesome and you weren’t really an evil bitch, you were just a mother. My mother.

Despite the fact we didn’t get on you still let me cry on your shoulder and ordered me a

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dominoes when I split up with my boyfriend. You let me make my own decision to go back to him even though you knew he was bad because it was what I wanted and when he hurt me again you didn’t say I told you so, instead you encouraged me to get back out there. You even suggested I went on tinder and would be my back up on a date, which back then I would’ve rather died than take my mom as a back up.

Since then I grew up.

Since then, even though you embarrass me when I come home to find the front door open and you passed out drunk on the floor, when you feed my fat dog human food against my will or when you put your feet up on my sofa with your dirty boots still on I wouldn’t change it.

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Since then you have become my bestest friend. I can talk to you about anything and you make me laugh, I don’t understand how we ever disliked each other because right now you are my favourite person in the world. You lost your mum young but you still became the perfect mother without any guidance and my life would never be the same if it weren’t for the things you did for me or the way you brought me up. So because of you I am able to be an amazing mom to my child.

I hope my child doesn’t end up hiding in the car when I face plant the pavement on boldmere highstreet and let strangers help me up whilst they duck down as if to say ‘that ain’t my mom’ or tell me the rapids aren’t fast and then laugh at me as I nearly drown.

But I hope that my child has a mom like you.

We never saw eye to eye but you are my best friend and I cannot wait for you to be a grandparent and keep saying ‘god you’re just like me’ or telling me off for disciplining my child. I can definitely wait for all those ‘I told you so’s’ and karma coming back to hit me as my child puts me through all the things i put you through.

So happy mothers day momma, I love you lots. You are my hero, my best friend and my mom.

P.s. We don’t ever speak of this post again.

xxxx

me and mom

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‘Not Social Media Perfect’

I’ve been trying to start a post for about a week now but I’m so easily distracted by the stupidest things I’ve somehow found hours past and yet no post written. I didn’t want ‘blogging’ to be a chore but as my Instagram and blog have progressed, it has become more of a business/money opportunity (which I am grateful for don’t get me wrong) and thus the hobby has turned into more of a job and well, we all know how shit I am at actually sticking at jobs…

However, 2017 offered me the amazing opportunity to turn my Instagram and blog into a small business and with that I have learned just how difficult it is to live in this ‘blogosphere, perfect lifestyle.’ I am pleased to have developed into the place I am now and hope I can continue to do what I enjoy doing, but I have to acknowledge and take my hat off to every other ‘blogger’ out there. Keeping up the ‘perfect social media life’ is more of a job than you expect it to be. You think it all sunshine and happiness, waking up to the perfect latte with an aesthetically pleasing pattern on the top and a bunch of flowers to place beside for a ‘just woke up’ Instagram shot. Followed by a brand-new delivery of clothing to wear for your ‘ootd’ and then a trip around the town snapping various locations and overpriced meals before you settle back down in some fluffy bed socks to post all about your amazing day on your brand new apple mac.  

Well in reality, it’s winter in England, and you know what that means? It means a disturbing lack of natural light followed by rain, rain, horrific wind and more rain. Any chance of a vibrant picture is a lot harder to recreate when you’re an amateur and mother nature doesn’t want you to go outside. As for the coffee, if I want it, I gotta make it myself so any attempt at a delicate latte art ends up looking like a mushed up version of luna’s turds, not to mention coffee gives me the shits anyway. And receiving promo products everyday? Nope, if you want something you gotta wait for days until you’re lucky enough to be noticed and then you have to spend a further week negotiating with them how you deserve more than a 10ml tester in return for a whole advertising package. The perfect social media life doesn’t exist, I for one wouldn’t class myself as a serious blogger, i don’t own an expensive DSLR, nor do I go location searching in a party outfit to get a good fashion shot and then spend another 5 hours editing it on photoshop because I cant deal with the bags under my eyes. But a lot of your favourite bloggers do. Turning a blog or an Instagram into a business is hard work, the whole con of making money on social media is the concept of illusion. Trying to make your life look amazing is the hardest job of all because nobody is perfect. I for one, am one of the laziest people I know, it is my biggest downfall and do you know how hard it is to complete a job when you’re lazy af? No, but seriously, if you like someone’s Instagram, or their blog post, whether they are a high flying social media star or they post every month as part of a hobby, let them know you like it, let them know you support their work because it is just like any other job, it takes hard work and a lot of effort to achieve the final ‘product’ that you see.

This all sounds like im complaining about it, which I’m not trying to do because I love where I am right now. I love that I am able to pick and chose my work and still have time to binge watch Netflix or that I can work as hard or as little as I like in-between napping like a god. But the first part of wanting to be a ‘blogger’ is stepping back and accepting that it is all an illusion, it is all fake and at the end of the day it is just work and work most commonly turns boring in the end.

So with that said, I intend to start a whole new series, thanks to a fellow blogger, Maddie, who writes and owns Mind A Moment Blog, she encouraged me when I was feeling like I didn’t have much more to give because my life isn’t social media perfect. This series is going to be ‘Not Social Media Perfect’ because I make good content when i’m not massively faking it, when I’m being my lazy self and living a great but ridiculously normal lifestyle. Maddie reminded me to focus on the things I have actually achieved at 22 and how I should be proud to share them with you, not the perfect make up deals or the incredibly fake advertisements which you mainly see on my Instagram because that is my job. Is anybody actually their job? Your job is only one persona and in this new series ‘Not Social Media Perfect’ I will be sharing (when I want to – not forcing anything) tips for real life, share my stories of my boring normalities and take you on a (probably dull) journey from Chloe Dawson, teenager, who started social media in her box room at her parents, to Chloe Dawson, adult, who now earns money on social media, has a mortgage and is starting a family but in the most unglamorous truthful way it is, in its entirety.

Goodbye 2016, Goodbye Baby Bathgate’s

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It has taken me far too long to write a blog post and although i’m already a week late in the ‘New Year’ posts i’ve decided to combine the most important event that has happened in 2016 with my new year aspirations.

I know as soon as January hits all the ‘New Year New Me’ posts come along but this isn’t going to be about me changing anything or having New year’s resolutions. Yes this year i have put on weight and have gone from a size 6 midget to a slightly more ‘beefy’ let’s say, midget and i obviously would prefer to be “skinny” again but i’m not going to go on a diet, i’m not going to do more exercise and i’m not really gonna give a shit. I’m also not going to make any self improvements, i’m not going to be more generous or start doing ‘more good deeds,’ i’m not going to work harder to find a better paying but health comprising job and I’M NOT GOING TO START GOING TO THE GYM.

With all that said, what i am going to be is a Mother. This might not happen for me in 2017 because life is cruel sometimes and 2016 has proved that. But those of you who are lucky enough to have my moaning ass on you when times get shit, will know that In July 2016 myself and my partner, John decided to start a family. This was a serious decision we made based on medical professionals’ opinions, because of my Crohns i am already at a loss on the fertility front and in the near future i am likely to have surgery which can very much change my life for the better, it will give me around 5 years to be able to achieve what it is i want, after that is unknown. Things could get worse for me and the doctor has advised that it is very much 50/50 as to whether i will be able to have children at all. (To those of you who have Crohns and are panicking reading this don’t worry there are other factors that have contributed to that diagnosis, everyone is different, it doesn’t mean it would be the same for you) I thought about what it was i wanted to achieve by then, i will be a qualified Forensic Psychologist by then (hopefully), I will be 26, i will have a house, I will probably have more dogs (lets be honest) and hopefully be able to get a well paying job without having to worry about my health. But after i have achieved a career and a life for my independent self i might not be able to have the one thing that i want the most, a family? So with that i decided, i won’t waste my time focussing on myself gaining a career or becoming financially independent, hell i can do that when i’m 50 if i wanted to. Now i know i am young and ‘i have my whole life ahead of me’ i should ‘go and explore the world’ and my ‘life will be ruined by having children too young’ well fuck you, my ambition is to have children and to be the best mother i can be, whatever age or maturity anyone else thinks i might be/should. If i can be half the mother my own mom is then i have achieved everything i need to, i would be damn proud of myself. Of course i am lucky enough to have a partner who can support me in every aspect, and he is my absolute rock in life, (sorry john i know that was a bit cringey).

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Anyway….in August i became pregnant, we were so amazed how it happened so quickly and i still remember the puzzled face john pulled when we couldn’t figure out what the result was as i sat with my pants round my ankles. Now they say pregnancy tests are easily readable, i can tell you they are not, there’s two lines but then there’s one line and half another and a faint one and oh my god i may aswell just buy my own do it yourself blood test kit for the amount of time it took. But four pregnancy tests later (after i had a right go at john for being a tight arse and getting the first one from bloody poundland) we were definitely pregnant. It quite literally was a miracle, with all the ups and the downs we faced throughout the year it finally gave us something solid to look forward to. I mean, having Luna was like having a toddler anyway except she looks you dead in the eyes as she shits on your laptop when you decide to give her cheap lidl dog food instead of Harringtons, spoilt bitch. We told close family and weren’t going to announce the pregnancy publicly until 12 weeks when we had passed the safe period. I had my VERY SOBER 21st Birthday (how depressing) and even though i couldn’t get pissed as my sister turned 18, couldn’t go on the Go-Karts in Devon, had to sit in the hot tub only when the bubbles were off and couldn’t eat F**king Shellfish at the most amazing seafood place, i didn’t mind because it would all be worth it. However, only 7 weeks in we lost them, i know it’s controversial as to who believes it is a baby at nearly 2 months, and people who may not have had a miscarriage might think that because it had only been 2 months it wasn’t a loss, well to me that unborn baby that was growing inside of me was now my life, my purpose, and losing them hurt more than i could ever realise. Sadly they had not grown past 4 weeks and took another month for my body to reject them, i had had bad pain following the bleeding and eventually over time we moved on.

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The Doctors had said that we could try again as soon as we wanted to and so not to go into my sex life i’ll just say the following month we fell pregnant again. By this time we had already packed up our house in Kings Heath and were ready to move into mom and dad’s in order to save for our own home. The news, despite the worry, was again overwhelmingly great, i had a purpose again. It might not make sense to you but as cringey and cliche as it sounds being pregnant really did give me purpose, i now have something to live for, to look after myself for. The days that are empty waiting for John to come home from work now had a meaning to them, it was to bring this baby into the world healthy and happy, give them everything they wanted and it was all my job to do that. Mornings of waking up and being ill, having overwhelming fatigue and sat in my favourite position (horizontal) watching come dine with me were over because i had something to do, to look forward to and to work hard for, my child. I don’t quite know how i can explain the feeling of having a

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Things that happened the Year you were conceived.

 

 

 

purpose and the joy of it, it just kinda sounds a bit stupid to say it aloud tbh. I guess it would be like an aspiring doctor to finally be given a chance at shadowing a professional or passing their important exam, the relief of knowing this is what you want to live for. But enough of the cringiness… we were alot more terrified with this pregnancy because of the previous and every single twinge or movement sent me into over-thinking paranoid mode. We had visited the hospital countless times to check everything was okay and early December we saw our baby’s heart beating! We cried with relief (wasn’t all picture perfect because i still had the bloody probe inside me with the midwife hanging onto it trying to keep it steady) and the nurse told us that once a heartbeat has been seen the risks of anything happening are extremely low. The following week we were back, and img_20170106_125015_193we saw our little bambino again, slightly bigger this time and their heart beating rapidly. We were now reassured that nothing was going to happen because we had seen the heartbeating fine more than once, the baby was the right size and we were coming up to the final few weeks of the first trimester, along with more reassurance from the midwives, so on Christmas eve we told our close family again. Another holiday stone cold f**king sober as everyone played speak out pissed, had the standard christmas family argument, ate a shit load of food and opened presents. Because i am quite a small person and i wear relatively tight clothing i was beginning to faintly show a little bump at 8 weeks, but the majority of people would’ve just presumed i’d eaten too many mince pies. “The bump” A.K.A John, had bought me a present, a parenthood listography book which is the most amazing book to keep a track of your prenatal and postnatal experiences and thoughts, it is both hilarious but sweet and on boxing day we filled (the bits that we could)

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The Top Two Names For Baby Bathgate

 

 

in. We went to Darlington a few days later where we took John’s nephews out to ‘Macca Pacca stones’ (im guessing imma have to brush up on who the hell Macca Pacca is sooner or later) and we proved just how hilariously irresponsible we are as parents as the eldest, 3, went straight through the ice and into the frozen cold lake, followed by john who fell in after him. On the plus side, they had fun and we have learnt just how tediously boring Paw patrol is and how to put a nappy on properly! So a success i’d say.

 

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Jaiden wanted to find out the probability of Baby Bathgate having Blue Eyes

But imma cut to the chase because this post is getting pretty long, sadly, on the day after we came home we went for another scan to check on Baby Bathgate who we had now decided on names (I know we were getting ahead of ourselves but i like to be very organised and quite honestly was just so excited that i just wished everything went quicker). We went in apprehensive but excited and left heartbroken and devastated, our baby’s heart had stopped beating. We were so close to being safe but it wasn’t close enough, like i’d said before ‘i thought lightning wasn’t supposed to strike the same place twice’ but it had, and this time it felt even worse.I can honestly say i have never worked hard for something, not truly. Whilst most people say “omg i tried so hard and it almost killed me to pass uni” i cannot say i have tried overly hard at something, i’ve done the best i have been able to but i’ve never had the passion to go further.

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What i want to achieve as a parent

 

 

But although i’m not religious, nor am i very philosophical or believe in fate and destiny, i think to myself now that the reason i havent pushed myself harder for anything is because i lacked the want to have it, untill now. I am working hard to become a mom, i am facing the worst hardships possible and it is almost breaking me but it is because it is what i want most in this world, to be a happy parent with a happy healthy family. This is me working hard for something i long, you don’t get what you want without the struggle or the downs that accompany it, so i will get over this loss, i will heal and move on and although i cannot do anything now or for a few months (currently undergoing medical tests) by the end of 2017 i WILL be an expectant mother if not already one.

Chloe xxx

*This is dedicated to both little Bambino’s, although you weren’t yet something, i will never forget and always love you.

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