The Little Mumma

The Little Cokehead

I have always prided myself on not being the junkie of the family. 

And then, I tried giving up Coke.

Above is a shot of me at 31 weeks pregnant (with Harlow) taken by my gorgeous photographer friend, Steve Young. Gosh, he makes me look good. Even heavily pregnant and with paper g-string (fake) tan lines. Yeah.

At this point in my pregnancy, I had been diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes. I had suffered the same fate during my pregnancy with Luca (but not with Ziggy in the middle). To best manage GD, a careful diet and daily exercise is paramount. Coke is out.

Except Coke couldn't be out because I couldn't imagine getting through a day without it. So I found ways to keep it in - eating less, sometimes to the point of actual hunger. Instead of eating more nutritious, blood sugar regulating foods, I opted to be hungry and suck down liquid sugar (and chemicals).

I feel like you might be judging me now. Because I am definitely judging me. Writing those words makes me wonder why I did it. How I could do it. I was carrying my precious baby girl - if that wouldn't make me stop, what would?

On the day of this shoot, I ate a salad wrap, some macadamias and then the drink machine in the studio proved too tempting and hence, these shots. I posed shamelessly and we had a good laugh because they are pretty hilarious.

Except on that other level where they're not.  

It has been eight days since I last drank a Coke.

Day 1 and 2 it was headaches, day 3 was nausea, day 4 was bargaining (if Bren buys a Coke, I can just have one little sip), day 5 and 6 were bone tiredness and the last two days, I am feeling a profound sadness at the damage I have been doing to my poor body all these years.

And of course, running through the entire 8 days have been varying degrees of desire for an icy cold glass of the black doctor. I can taste it, feel the sensation of the fizzing bubbles in my mouth. The sound of the ring pull cracking open an aluminium can represents everything that is good to me.

I sound like an insane person.

I sound like an addict.

Because I am. Addicted to caffeine, addicted to the obscene amount of sugar contained in each can.

So I am sad and relieved and missing it and thanking god that I have finally taken this leap. I am a grown woman and there is no room in my life for this habit anymore.

And the kicker is that in the last eight days, despite withdrawing from substances widely known to be a bitch to kick, I have been a better person. Calmer, happier and a much, much better mum. No longer on that rollercoaster of sugar rush, sugar crash. It was making me insane. And very shouty.

But I did it. Am doing it. They say it takes 21 days to change a habit. I am on the way.

But back to the photo session. Was this whole post just a ploy to show you my heaving bosom again? 

Steve had his clever people whip up the shot above and also, the one below. I considered sparing you my boobs again but then I thought, as if!  

 

I have fallen out of the Top 25 so if you have two clicks in you, I would be very grateful. One for each boob, okay?

 

Thanks, Stevie. xxxx 

Dear Cheesecake

It all got very serious in here all of a sudden, didn't it?

Well, people, prepare for the stupidest thing I have ever written. And possibly, the most meaningful.

Today I am writing to the following prompt from Mama Kat:

5.) Write a love letter to an inanimate object.

  {Photo Source}

Dear Cheesecake,

I have always been fond of you. I think you know that.

But yesterday, in my darkest(ish) hour, you became a hero to me.

Yesterday was a sad day. It was hard to put one foot in front of the other but Cheesecake, I have a family now and life must go on.

That is how I found myself stumbling across you at the store in my quest to cobble together some semblance of an evening meal for my family. Once the dinner ingredients were safely in my basket, I caught a glimpse of you. Even peripherally, you were beautiful. A light seemed to surround you, a glow. This was possibly a marketing ploy. I don't care.

Cheesecake, it was love at 12,234th sight. It really was.

By the time I saw you yesterday, I was feeling like maybe the world wasn't about to end. I was feeling it was a mini-Apocalypse at most. So you can imagine what it meant to me that you came available in quarters. Yes, a quarter of cheesecake was about the size of my troubles, Cheesecake. A quarter of you seemed perfect.

When I got you home, you know I wanted to be with you immediately. But I tucked you away at the back of the refrigerator and dutifully set about the tasks that go with being 'She Who Runs This Joint." I fed and I bathed and I tucked in. I did what any mother must do. Even one with a heavy, heavy heart.

But then, it was you and me.

Tentatively, almost shyly, I opened the fridge door. Once again, you were bathed in a magical light. With trembling fingers, I pulled you to me, I flipped back the lid that contained the very essence of you and I plunged my spoon deep within your softness, delighting at the moment when my spoon met the resistance of your biscuity base.

When you were in my mouth? It.was.heaven.

Cheesecake, we can't always be together. But for that brief moment, we had it all.

A quarter of you is worth two in the bush.

What?

Until next time, my love,

Angie

 

Note: My love letter? Possibly more porn-ish than I intended. But this is cheesecake we're talking about.

It's All White

Remember when I was totally in love with floorboards painted white and totally not in love with the horrible old carpet in my house?

Observe the first room's transformation:

This is the sunroom which was tacked on to the original house some 400 years ago. Or something. It had the most revolting carpet in the world and so when my washing machine decided to leak all over it, I could only send up a small prayer of thanks.

Additionally, I am thankful for my landlord who agreed when I said I was thinking of ripping out ALL the carpet in the house and painting the floorboards. I am so grateful to him that I am not going to mention the two-toned walls in the last photo above - who doesn't just paint around furniture instead of moving it? Totally normal....

We use the sunroom as a playroom for the kids, the idea being that all the toys will live in one area - and stay there. Hahahaha! I have such a sense of humour. Yes, the toys do tend to wander from their allotted home but I have loved putting together this little space for the boys. Pinterest has come in handy with design inspiration and when I'm done, I'll share some before and after pics for you to admire and compliment me on because I am needy like that.

You might notice the room is all but empty in the photos above. Yes, this was prior to putting everything back in. That expanse of gorgeous white floor was almost too nice to cover up. But the toys needed a home. I mean, they really needed a home....

So, one room down, all the others to go. Already, the fresh paint has transformed the smell in the house. Old carpet is not ideal for a woman whose sense of smell has been likened to that of a bloodhound. Add pregnancy into the mix and you can understand why I burn a lot of fragrant candles.

It will all be complete before Baby Mg-3 arrives. No pressure, Bren.

Yay! I love painted floorboards!

Tricks for old people

I recently ran out of foundation. I don't wear it every day but  I like to have it there just in case I wake up with a severe case of the uglies. Which happens more frequently these days.

And that just cements my new motto that snorting coke* and getting very little sleep on the weekend is not nearly as damaging as having kids and being sleep deprived every day.

Kids = haggard

That is the rule.

So anyway, I had to replace my foundation. Once upon a time, this was a simple process. Buy a mid-range product in a shade to best match my skin tone (Ghostly Pale, Practically Goth, Geez Get Some Sun It's unAustralian) - done! Back in the day, foundation was the solution to everything. It could disguise every night-before sin (including hickies). Just paint it on and voila! Porcelain skin.

Lately, I've been noticing some disturbing changes. You know those ads on teev where the old lady talks about how, oh dear, their make-up is settling into their fine lines? what can be done?

UNHOLY. FECK.

I am the old lady. 

It always seems to be painfully apparent in the car when I'm peering at myself in the visor mirror (while driving very carefully). It was here I discovered I need botox between my eyes and a foundation that doesn't settle into my fine lines.

WAH.

So, dammit, I went to make-up land and chose myself a new foundation...... in a remarkable anti-ageing formula. 

Anyhoo, I have a birthday coming up and I don't wanna go on and on about how old I am but I am pleased to report that this make-up appears to be the non-settling kind. 

Happily, I have no need for "hide those greys" hair colour.... 

  With baby LD - skin still dewy. Hmm, maybe the rule is Multiple Kids = Haggard?

 * Haha, look at me, pretending I could ever afford to snort coke on any kind of regular basis. No, sadly, I was much more likely to drink 13 scotch and coke UDL cans and pass out. Sad little bogan, I was....

Current Obsession: Floorboards Painted White

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Since we've moved into the new place, I've made it no secret that while I think vintage wallpaper is the shiz, vintage carpet ain't.

So when my washing machine hose burst out of the confines of the laundry trough and sent water gushing onto our sunroom carpet, it was a confusing mix of "Oh no! We'll have to replace the carpet!" with "Oh yes! We'll have to replace the carpet!"

Sometimes a blessing is a thing in disguise.

I called my landlord to confess to my tenanting sin but then ran the idea past him about possibly restoring the floorboads underneath. We were happy to give the job a go if he as happy for us to give it a go.

Being the best landlord in the known universe, he told us to go for it. I mentioned possibly doing the whole house, room by room, over time. He said sweet.

But as DIY renovators will know, when you start trawling through the web for info about sanding and sealing floorboards you run into a whole lot of confusion. Many people say, "Yeah! Do it! It's not so hard" but just as many say, "DON'T DO IT. Hire a professional. Worst job ever. Wanted to kill myself" - so, like I said, confusing.

 I was thinking we'd do the small sunroom ourselves but maybe look into hiring someone to do the bigger rooms later down the track. Sure, we'd be spending money on a property we didn't own but the thought of being rid of all the old carpet (not to mention the old lino) is so, so worth it to me. Plus, I like the landlord and don't begrudge spending money to help improve his home while we are living in it.

I worried that it was a huge undetaking but room by room, I thought we could manage it.

Then this morning, while reading a magazine, I came across a picture of a woman who had the most amaze-balls bedroom in which she had painted the floorboards white. It was very rustic looking and I immediately thought that it could totally suit the vibe of our little place.

So. White floorboards. Possibly less work because the shabby chic finish would require less sanding and something that might just breathe some light and freshness into this lovely old place which has a tendency to feel a bit dark.

And also, pretty new floors for a pretty new baby? Norshun would LOVE it.

Dust mask and sander, ahoy! I am feeling it, baby!