Self Control: Where Art Thou?

I had to go do a training workshop yesterday. Part of me loves these days for the bludge factor extensive and enriching learning that takes place, and the other part for the food. Catered morsels of goodness. All displayed on pretty doilies in all their glory. I seriously think any kind of food that you haven’t had to prepare yourself, and comes in small bite sizes, just tastes so much better than anything from home, am I right?

I go into these days with a steely resolve. I’m totes just going to eat the fruit and the salad out of the sandwich (can’t eat the whole sandwich. Because. Carbolinia. It’s real, people. And on a possibly related note, yes I may have some issues). And then I get down to the food table, trying to remain composed, but possibly recreating a scene from Chariots of Fire with my mad dash to the front of the line. And I start with the fruit. I truly do. But those little, tasty, treats are practically screaming at me to eat them. I think of the wasteful nature leaving them to rot on the tray would be, I think of the environment, and saving landfill, and I remind myself that I went for a 6.5km jog that morning *just in case*. So it starts with one treat, then another, and another. And I make sure I only eat half of the treat, so it’s half the guilt. Unless it’s really good. Then fuck it, in it goes whole. Then that slippery slope is laden with grease and goo and I’m slip slidin’ down with record speed. I’ve gone into a treat coma and when I wake, I realise that I’ve stuffed half the tray in my mouth, and the next session of the workshop is spent with me chastising myself and wondering why the hell I have no self-control.

self control gif
My arch nemisis


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P is for Perfectionist…. or Painstaking……

She’s poised, pen held above, staring at the white paper intently. She eyes the blue, then the yellow, before finally settling on a lighter blue. Pen is put to paper, the outline drawn ever-so-carefully. I look away for a second, and turn back to see her scrunching the paper up, crushing it into the tightest ball. She catches my confused look, “I didn’t get the line right Mummy” she explains, very matter-of-fact. And with that, she’s back to square one. And if it happens again and again (as it does) often there’s a quiet “I’m no good at this” muttered under the breath.

This scenario happens round these parts. A lot. Not just with drawings. There’s seat positions in cars, colours, toys needing to be a certain way. Refusing to climb under her bedsheets after making her bed. You know when you wish your cherubs wouldn’t get your worst traits and then BAM! There they are? That. Well, I can’t take full credit. 50/50 gene pool and all.

I have a perfectionist on my hands.

perfectionist guide
Looks good to me…..

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The Other Side….. of Infertility

A couple of weeks ago, the amazing Sam from The Annoyed Thyroid shared her story of cancer, total eye opener on the other side of an issue that freaks so many of us out. And last week we were talking all about PND, a topic we don’t talk enough about. It got me thinking, the flip side of PND is also a very real, very heartbreaking issue that we never quite know how we would deal with it…. until we have to. And that’s the gut wrenching rollercoaster of trying for a baby. And struggling to fall pregnant. A very dear friend of mine is going through just that. She gorgeously agreed to share her story, to help raise awareness and insight into what it feels like, and importantly, how to deal with it. Sometimes the cards we’re dealt with in life suck balls. And it’s hard to find the positives out of things. But, there is balance- there is some ok stuff out there. And hopefully her story can help others, and help us ALL to see that we’ve all got that gumption, we can pull through shit times and make the cards we’re dealt with work for us.

winding road via

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You down with PND?

Having a child is a game changer. No doubt about it. If you believe the Huggies and Johnson and Johnson ads, parenthood is clearly all squishy cheeks, beautifully soft skinned loveable lads and lasses, with perfect Aryan features (what is WITH that?), running around in slow motion, giggling and joyous, while Mum with perfectly coiffured hair (well maybe a single strand down around her face, because she is clearly an everyday mum), smiles lovingly as she scoops her little darling off the ground to change their nappy, which probably smells like unicorns and love. Sounds divine. I’m in.

pnd huggies

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