Stop!...In the name of love

I really like this image and feel it's showing what I feel. By Sara K Byrne. She is very talented.

This week has been tough. Mainly because I have felt so incredibly emotional. It's ridiculous, I have never felt such a jumble of ups and downs, confusion and upset. Mixed with utter contentedness and happiness. I cling on to the latter. I know this is all probably normal, but I'm also trying to please a million people, tick off a million things and I'm just so tired. I want to know when someone can say, it's OK. You can stop now.

Slick

I think this oil is splendid. It's soft, not over the top, the scent is as calming as an enormous armchair for the mind and it helps to keep skin stretchy. Or as stretchy as it can be when there is a bowling ball inside of you. It's a treat, and a necessary one. I have used it throughout this pregnancy and am now a converted 'oil fan'.

Trimester one (in the moment)

So now I know that you are definitely real. I know this because of two reasons. The first is that because of my ‘scare’ at five weeks, I got to visit the early pregnancy clinic.

I think I will remember this forever. Charlie and I sat in the waiting room with the lights out. We stared at the non-identifiable blobs framed and mounted on the walls. It was before 9am, so the clinic wasn’t open. We had got there early as the doctor had told me it was a good idea to the day before. He was right. At 9.05am the waiting room was filled with a mixture of tightly wound faces, wringing hands, expressionless static behaviour and men popping off to the toilet. Not to mention those reading the enormous comments board, the aged toys wishing for Toy Story and the muttering midwives. I spent almost the entire time waiting thinking about my impending interview with a Springwatch presenter.

It didn’t take long to see the midwife and sonographer. A slather of gel, a quick shock and then there it was. Admittedly it was a blob. But it was also a vision of relief, elation and wonder. The blob was not unlike those paintings, but after pointing out the heartbeat, I realised it was my little blob. It had a heart, it was OK. It was real. Despite taking three pregnancy tests, I genuinely couldn’t believe what I saw. I resolved to try and not call it, ‘it’. It’s a baby. A baby. I interviewed the Springwatch presenter with my usual celeb-dazzle of butterflies, fluttering. Exaggerated, I am positive.

Good god, morning sickness. This is the other reason that has indicated in MASSIVE FLASHING LIGHTS, that I am pregnant. Though I love the kid, this is truly vile. Mixed with the exhaustion, you could push me with a feather and I’d fall down. The first week the sickness surfaced itself it hit me like a thousand rhinos. I was in Cornwall. Taking five of my 24 glorious holiday days. Suffice to say I spent a lot of it lying in bed catching up with Silent Witness, a programme I have never loved, but I’m fast learning that it’s all about The Series. I was recently given the boxset of The Killing series one and I could have wept at the feet of the gifter. During the week, I also walked along the beaches, meandered about and ate carbs. I told the kid it needs to like the sea, as its (might call it K-it aka Kit, for now I think – KIT’S) father is obsessed.

I’m touching wood as I type, but recently the morning sickness has been slightly less horrific. Perhaps it’s because I am back at work and busy. Plus I am never (TOUCH WOOD) actually sick, which helps. I just feel like gagging at the merest thought of eggs and jumping in an extraordinarily clean, white duvet is appealing at all times. Charlie has been frankly hilarious throughout Kit’s existence so far. I say hilarious, because otherwise I would batter him with cake. Par example: “Just think, every person that exists has had a mum that has probably been really sick, just like you. It’s life!”

Find out if the famous second trimester ‘glow’ is ignited next time. If not, I have iridescent creams and powders at the ready so I can look like Tinkerbell… at least. 

Seasonal, baby

I have no objection to this gold Burberry baby snowsuit. When you are young, you can get away with it.

Yesterday I was sat cross-legged on a mat in a hall. I was there for my - much-loved - pregnancy yoga class and after too many hours sat on an uncomfortable chair by a desk at home, I was prepared for my vertebrae to be tweaked one by one, limbs stretched and mind relaxed. As a draft whistled under the door and through the room, curling up one side of a piece of paper, to use a cliche: it hit me.

Just a few weeks ago we were all sweltering in the balmy heat, rubbing our aching, swollen feet and celebrating the ferocious air con. And at the very beginning, when I started pregnancy yoga, it was utterly freezing. My fingers were blue from the winter's chill and I was layered with jumpers and a thick blanket during the relaxation exercises. Now it feels like it's getting a little bit autumnal. Not really (obviously), but the nights are starting to draw in a tad and after we had that blast of summer in July, mid-August seems... like its getting ready, preparing for colder times.

Now, I for one absolutely love autumn, for a whole variety of reasons. It's birthday season for myself and the man tiger, I adore autumn wear, LOVE it. Boots, new coats and knitwear. Glorious. The skies are pretty and red (sometimes), nature is golden and red ('tis), new starts can occur, berry liquors and apples scent the air and the summer sun is still warm on the skin.

But. That means I have gone through winter, spring and now nearly summer/autumn crossover. That's a whole year nearly, being pregnant. I know this makes sense, as nine months is nearly a year and I am nearly at nine months, so this... makes. sense. However, it feels surreal. A whole year has nearly passed, a year that I am conscious about, as I have felt every week - and yet it's whistled by and will soon be gone, like a wave washing in and then retreating. It feels like yesterday that we were in Cornwall, wrapped up against the January freeze, the morning sickness first hitting me like a rocket to my whole being. Lying on the sofa, unable to move, looking at food (apart from carbs) like it was alien fuel. Staring out to the sea. Still unsure that it was real.

Now, I have a baby thwacking me all day and all night. Making me have to sit further away from my desk, because it keeps hitting it. Yesterday, I saw and felt a little hand pop out. I'd not seen that before, it was a tiny little fist. I felt proud. It feels incredible and although I am now pretty uncomfortable (NIGHT TIME), I am cherishing this time, so close to my baby. Keeping it warm as the autumnal winds sweep over us.

Ode to the lion

The Flower Appreciation Society are in issue four of Lionheart Magazine

Thank the heavens, skies and pastel-coloured shrimps and banana sweets that have saved me. Frik, the fourth issue of Lionheart Magazine is complete. I can't believe it! I have to say – I am very proud of this issue, and genuinely think it might very well be my favourite of all the issues.

A lot has changed since I began the magazine, just over two years ago. People have grown, seasons have passed, jobs have changed, cats accumulated and houses moved. One noticeable thing, is the rise in magazines similar to Lionheart. It's great that more people are embracing the ethos of enjoying the good things and investigating interesting people and lives, finding inspiration in real life's fabulous and intriguing charms, as opposed to celebrity.

I believe Lionheart Magazine has its own, very unique voice and style – and this is the thing I am perhaps most proud of. It feels really, truly 'solid' in this fourth issue and I love how it runs smoothly through the magazine.

I've never compromised on anything to do with Lionheart Magazine – it's my baby! – and throughout the issues, I have ensured that every page, stockist and sentiment, is right for the magazine and true to where it all began. I know I could have taken up the publisher's offer, sold the idea, worked for another, given up when I began my full time job – but nope. This is about far more than money. Trust. This is a magazine. Exactly how I want a magazine to be done. When many people told me it was a bad idea (mainly those in the media biz), I did it. And now I'm about to release the fourth issue – still powerfully independent, still in love with what I'm doing. Big hoorah for that! Aint much better!

Coco-good

Ava, showing off her fangs - Instagram @helsmartin

My love for cocopops with full fat milk has reached a new level. After three bowls yesterday and still pining for more, I have porridge with me today in an effort to stop such sugar consumption. Still bringing an entire bag of 'lunch' to work everyday, still having the little fidghter adoring a mighty wriggle as I try and sleep. Which actually, I love. The spud definitely loves cocopops too, as I always feel little somersaults after I've just inhaled a bowl. 

At the mo, we are trying to sort out all the bits and bobs we need for the kiddo. I have an Amazon bag rammed with stuff, with C systematically deletes of an evening. £40 muslin cloths, yeh? I'm not doing it don't worry, but I can't say I haven't been tempted by the sweet animal / patterned designs and promise of bamboo goodness. Every purchase is considered these days and as a result we have found we are actually saving as perhaps we should have done pre preg. But the impetus is definitely more profound - rather than holiday gallivants, it's all about the kid. 

Emphasised when we went to the shops for some last minute bits for our upcoming holiday and found ourselves in the baby section, finding mini he and mini me outfits. Couldn't help it, the excitement is strong. Boy/Girl? Couldn't tell you. I still think boy. I managed to purchase some animal print pjs for myself. They make me happy. Just like rest does. I love rest, so, so much. 

Lately...

* Two hen do weekends in a row: Pots of silver and gold, sparkling glitter; foil wedding dresses; red faces; sugar rushes; chinking glasses, knees up and dancing florals; walks and stories, beaches and hills; elaborate fantastical outfits; cackling laughter echoing for miles; photo snapping, poses aplenty; cucumber sandwiches and delicate treats; bubbling hot tubs; steaming bathrooms; crafting wings and sharing lives. 

* An old school fair: On the only day that displayed some warmth so far this year, how lucky they were – last year was a wash out. This time, the air was scented with sweet popcorn, doughnuts and coffee, combined with the intoxicating blossom, creating a hazy mist of deliciousness. We lolled on the grass, sat back with iced drinks and did little else at all. 

* At The Chapel: I went here the other day after a work meeting. Extraordinarily high ceilings, walls painted white and a bakery at the entrance. The food is traditional, but with clever somethings added. Flavours that quietly astonish, combinations you can't quite put your finger on. Kevin McCloud was sat opposite and he seemed quite content. 

* Buggy: I had no idea at quite the quantity of choice for buggies out there. Pushchairs are big business, I knew, but how do you know what is right - does it twist backwards, forwards, cram in your car? Can you fly with it, will its wheels fall off? What about the level of recline? And car seats, will one of these attach? Oh, only if you buy this one and that one isn't that great. Difficult. Expensive. Suffice to say we have purchased one and soon after decided we loved it, then argued about it and now we are happy with it. 

* External stuff: Apart from the job, I am doing all sorts of bits and bobs, including a sideline business. I always have enjoyed cramming things in, but I am now getting hugely excited about the prospect of the kid project and just before it makes an appearance - maybe, just chilling out. Focusing on the kid. 

* Helping with the above is pregnancy yoga, which is fabulous. It honestly feels like my whole vertebrae is being tweaked out, one by one. Then add on a massage and some amazing breathing techniques. I think when you start breathing deeply, you realise that you weren't breathing properly at all before. A deep breath is a brilliant, free medicine.