OOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCHHHHHHHH!!!!

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Now, I am officially fed up.

The novelty has worn off.

I am bored of being ill now.

Grrrrr, honestly thought I'd be up, about and driving around doing stuff by now instead of hobbling around with a stomach that looks like I've used it as a knife rack and whining little whingey type pains that just won't go away.

I've reduced my painkillers as they were making me feel as though I've been on the sauce constantly - nice for a while but then you start missing the old rational thought processes and the concept of time passing so I thought I'd shelve those for a while.

Reckon the only thing that's kept me going over the last 24 hours is meeting up with a lovely bride to be and donating my wedding dress to her. She was an absolutely lovely little scrumplet of a lady and she drove for almost 4 hours with her dad to come and try it on.

I'd whittled it down from almost 200 potential applicants and was so pleased to realise that I had actually found a genuine bride and not a man (seriously I had so many men wanting the dress - bunch of hairy legged fruitcakes that they were) and she looked absolutely glorious in the dress. It was really odd because the dress looked totally and utterly different on her to me - just goes to show that you really do need to try stuff on. (Note to self - please do remember this fact and stop buying inappropriate stuff off ebay which does NOT make you look young and hip, it just makes you look old and close to needing a replacement hip...)

My mum and I helped her to get the dress on as it's made of enough material to keep the RAF in parachutes for a year (although whether they'd want beaded and diamante encrusted parachutes is doubtful, although they would sparkle rather nicely I guess and they could always keep them for "best"). Mum helped to tie the corset back up which luckily she remembered how to do this time; I had not been so lucky on my wedding day and we had ended up tying almost every knot known to boy scouts and tying me in in such a way that Houdini would've given up trying to get out of. Fortunately, Mum did not do her sheepshank/reefknot/grannyknot fastening this time and the lovely lady was therefore still able to breathe and to move around in the frock - when mum tied mine up at my wedding she did it so tightly at first that if I opened my mouth to speak you could see a kidney.

She looked an absolute picture in it and so I did whatever anyone would do to enhance the outfit...

Did I offer her an understated piece of jewellery to set off the beading on the dress?

No.

Did I gently angle a gilt mirror to offer her a view of the side?

No.

Did i fill the air with the soft sound of the fizz of champagne.

No.

I pulled some silk peonies out of a vase on my bedroom desk and said, "Here, try it with a bouquet".

Class.

That's just what someone wants when they are having an emotional choice over the most important dress they will ever wear. They want some patched up war wound covered hospital veteran in leggings shoving a dusty bunch of fake flowers at them. God I'm a tw*t.

However, despite me acting like the village idiot again and thrusting plastic blooms on the poor unsuspecting lovely, she was delighted with the dress and we helped her into the car with it for the long journey back home.

Mum, who had previously thought I was one hazelnut short of a nutella jar was thrilled when they drove off and finally agreed that it had been the right thing to do. Previously I had been convinced that she would lurk in my wardrobe until I tried to give it away and then leap out and throttle me in a choke hold with a petticoat hoop. Fortunately, she was as taken with the idea of being a "Wedding dress fairy Godmother" as I was and we shed a little tear later on when we heard back from the dress lady who said I had made her wedding dreams come true.

I didn't want anything for the dress but she bought me a Pandora charm for my bracelet. It was a little fat fairy and I've put the pic of it on here. I can now wear it and know I have granted someone a fairy godmother wish and that i have now found my own prince charming - shame I had to kiss that bloomin vile toad of an ex before I got here.

when she gave me the charm, I dug out one that my best mate had given me as an engagement present - it was a solid gold and silver wedding cake and seeing as I have no use for wedding cake around my wrist at the moment, I passed it on to her.

She sent me a bouquet of flowers this morning too and i was so overwhelmed by it that i almost lost it again. I'll put a pic of the bouquet on the next post but my camera battery has just died at the mo so it'll have to wait.

you have of course, in the meatime, got some fabulous shots of my current amazing physique. bearing in mind that i also have two other wounds, shall we say, "below the knicker line", then you can see why i feel as though I am human crochet. The swelling has gone down an infinite amount and now I just look as if I have terrible wind rather than a phantom 6 month pregnancy.

It's still bloomin painful and I have to get up out of chairs in that way that preggers ladies do by sort of half hauling, half throwing themselves onto their feet then wobbling like a ten pin bowling skittle until they regain their balance.

I've got quite a big weekend this weekend too and so I'm a little concerned about whether I'll manage it all. I'm meant to be helping Tom's mum to cater for a party of almost 40 people on Sunday and Saturday sees me at a 50th anniversary of the Estonian people in Britain thing with thousands of folk there from all over the world. Bet I'm the only one there who resembles a stomach made of a knitted shawl!

Anyway, just thought I'd post and say Hi as I might not be able to get on over the next few days.

Do please say hello if you're reading; I love to hear from you!

XXXXXXXXXXX Emmy

P.S all those flippin hours in the gym to get a six pack and now I look like Humpty Dumpty's pin up girl. Grrrrrrrrr

Bleurghhh!!

Just wanted to say that I officially feel like crap.

Think the adrenalin's worn off and I am now proper bored of lying around and having a distended stomach which gives me the same physique as my father! He argues that he rather enjoyed getting his very large tum as it was crafted from years of beer and food. Mine is simply crafted out of hurty stuff.

Hardly slept at all and kept having really weird half dreamy half hallucinatory dream type things where I was convinced I was awake but was actually dreaming. All very odd and guess it's the drugs.

Have got a lady coming today to try my wedding dress on too to see if it's the right one for her. I really do hope it is as she seems such a nice girl. I've got about three other equally lovely ladies also waiting in the wings to try it on if it doesn't fit her so I've got some quite nice things to look forward to.

Am still in a lot of pain today and my tummy kills me if I laugh, sneeze, cough or try and take a really deep breath so guess the gym's out of the question for a while! Just out of interest though, I know a lot of "medics" read this blog so if they could let me know when would be sensible to start exercising again and when I'd be allowed back in the gym I'd be really grateful. My mum did say yesterday though that she'd "bloody slap me if she finds me anywhere near that rowing machine!"

I've also got some work colleagues coming round today to sort out some stuff for going back to school next week. i was meant to be meeting them at work but as I still can't even get in my car (let alone drive it) I'm going to have to have them here instead. I'm actually a bit worried about whether I'll be fit enough to be running a school and teaching a class in less than 5 days - maybe my medic readers can fill me in on that bit too...

Anyway, just wanted to have a tiny little winge and feel an incey wincey bit sorry for myself. Right, socks firmly pulled back up now, words had with myself and so it's onwards and upwards with another day of impersonating Humpty Dumpty.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

P.S and another thing... How weird is daytime TV? Watched a programme yesterday where Ben Fogle was involved in electronically w*nking a rhino for a zoo IVF programme. The mind boggles.

JLS, coleslaw and Mrs Alan Pokey

Hello world!

Woooohooooooo, I'm three sheets to the wind and life is grand.

Tom's just woken me up as he's back at work today and so i thought before i went back to sleep again I'd update with a bit more about my ordeal at the hospital.

The good news is that this morning I only look about 4 months pregnant instead of 6 so the fluid is dissipating already, although I haven't inspected the wounds again today - might wait until mum comes round to do that as it made me go all funny when i did it yesterday (I'm more than a little squeamish, can't even deal with a raw chicken without heaving, let alone my own body butchery.)

I feel on top of the world, although that may be the amount of drugs that I'm on; I seem to be resembling one of those rainmakers that you buy for babies - if you turned me upside down (which is not advisable at the moment as I'm likely to spring a leak) then i think i'd just gently rattle with the hundreds of tablets I'm having to take. In fact, I think I'd be less of a gentle rainmaker and more of a full on downpour.

I can't believe how much better I feel today and I think the big challenge will be not doing stuff too quickly and then setting myself back again. I'm still incredibly sore but I'm not hulking round a great big tummy full of swishy fluid that was making me feel sick. I even had to do that trick last night that my pregnant mates had to do where you have to put a pillow under the bump if you lie on your side. Oh well, good practice I guess maybe.

I still feel as if I've been working as an assistant for the world's worst knife thrower though and must admit that I'm more than a little upset at just how many scars there are and how big and sore they are. Without going into too much gory detail then I'll just say that one of them is straight across the front of my "ladygarden"!

Imagine the "triangle" of the front of your ladybits if you stand and look straight on at the mirror... well i look like I've been whacked across mine with a machete. I also resemble some kind of David Beckham fanatic too. I had a very large horizontal scar from my appendix that went wrong and they couldn't get in through this old scar as it was too tough so they've gone in at an angle near it. Unfortunately this has meant that the new and old scars have formed a giant number "7" across my front, a la Mr Beckham's shirt number. Twin these two with the another two entry scars across my abdomen and you have something which is not dissimilar to Egyptian hieroglyphics. I reckon I've got a full addition of the "Pharoah's Daily Mail" across my tummy, complete with sports highlights and an in depth interview.

Although I'm gutted about the scars (a very flat, toned tummy was always my best feature seeing as I have a big bottom and no boobs) it really is a tiny price to pay for possibly sorting out my fertility, although doing any sort of bedroom bump and grind at the moment is enough to send me screaming (or rather limping) for the hills. I can't imagine anyone coming anywhere near my knickers with anything other than savlon and cotton wool at the moment.

Tom's now feeling terrible though as the stress of the last few days catches up with him. I really do believe that it's more stressful for the person who's doing the "looking after" rather than the poorly one. He spent all of monday living on his nerves as they did my operation and then he had to watch me be really poorly after it, be kept in and then sort me out all day yesterday. He was an angel though and along with my mum, kept a round the bed vigil as soon as I came out.

I was left alone in the morning though. Tom came with me and booked me in and it turned out that i was last on the schedule - typical! This meant that it was half ten but I was not due to be in until half two at the earliest. Tom stayed for an hour or so but the day room (blokes were not allowed on the ward) was so bleak that we decided he'd go into town for a few hours, do a bit of work and come back later. This gave me a bit of quiet time to just read a book, relax and chat to the anaesthetists and surgeons when they came round.

Well you'd have thought so wouldn't you...

Of course, in my bay of the ward, things were slightly less than peaceful. The two ladies opposite me were lovely and I ended up feeling so sorry for one girl who had to have both her tubes removed and she is only 26. She was devastated and had to have the curtains pulled round all the time because she couldn't stop crying. The other lady opposite was just really quiet and very nervous and just read a book all morning. She was first to go down so we didn't really see much of her as she was then knocked out for most of the time.

However, the lady next to me was an entirely different kettle of fish. For a start she kept hotching her chair really close over to mine and tapping me on the arm. Turns out that she was both deaf and could not speak at all, as well as being very confused and quite elderly. She had a copy of "Bella" magazine and repeatedly kept ramming a recipe for coleslaw under my nose, pointing at it and then rubbing her very swollen tummy. I couldn't make myself understood at all when trying to reply to her and I don't know if you've ever tried explaining to a highly medicated deaf old lady that you can't accept her generous offer of a half eaten kit kat chunky because you're nil by mouth but it's quite difficult.

She carried on with the poking and pointing conversation for about half an hour, including writing down on her pad over and over that she wanted a shower and to find someone called Alan with curly hair. I would have told the nurses that she needed a shower but one of them had been showering her as I arrived on the ward so I knew she was just confused. She then got at least 3 healthcare assistants involved in hunting for Alan. She repeatedly tried to describe him and they all tried to work out whether it was a doctor, a family member or a friend. Turns out it was a character from a story she had been reading and she liked his curly hair. Thank goodness we got to the bottom of that one. After two nurses had asked her to stop poking me (their request, not mine - I used to work in a care home and am more than used to the peculiarities of older folk) and to get back in her chair, the poor old dear stood up and wet herself everywhere. As she had decided to pull her chair right up next to me, this meant that i had to evacuate my bed area as it was in danger of filling my flip flops and was already forcing me to make diving save to retrieve my overnight bag.

So, I left Mrs. Coleslaw and her beloved Alan and returned to the day room, or "hell" as I shall refer to it from now on.

Not only was this room the day room for the ward but it was also the waiting room for anyone who was having any sort of gynae scan. This beautiful piece of organisation (and I can only assume a man would have planned this out as no woman would ever decide to do this) meant that all the women who were waiting to have infertility operations, all the women who were currently miscarrying and waiting to see someone, all the women who were having to have extra scans for fear of it being ectopic were alongside all the healthily pregnant ladies who were waiting for their normal scans. It was a hotbed of fraught nerves and upset in there. Half of the ladies were in gowns ready for ops, some were in their nighties or Pjs in wheelchairs from other wards and the rest were just in there in their everyday street clothes. Pile into this mix a load of screaming toddlers and kids (as school is still off) , CBeebies on full blast and you really do have complete and utter hell.

I therefore had a choice of either the CBeebies hellhole or Mrs Alan Pokey and her coleslaw recipes back on the ward. I sat it out for an hour in the day room but hearing the ladies share horror story after horror story about miscarriages, births, abortions, piles and morning sickness was making me feel both a mixture of fear and envy - and believe me you know you're losing the plot when you become envious that someone has pregnancy induced piles; so, i decided to return to the ward.

Mrs Alan Pokey was engrossed in trying to explain for the fiftieth time that morning to a different healthcare assistant that she needed a shower (despite having just had the second of that morning) so I was free to sit on my bed out of poking distance and read my book.

Half two seemed to come around so slowly and when the nurse eventually did come, it was to tell me that i would now not be done until half three. So, i had been waiting for 5 hours by the time I did go down to theatre.

It was in the anaesthetic room that things went their usual bonkers way. I was asked to get up onto the bed, which I did with only minimal bum flashing, and the younger anaesthetist of the two began to try and get the needle in my hand. After ramming me with it repeatedly as though he was a drunk trying to thread a needle, he announced that it was stuck and he couldn't move it and it "wouldn't flush". Although I know very little about medicine, i knew that this toilet related comment and the fact that something was "stuck" was not very good. The male nurse who was holding my other hand told me to try and relax whilst they sorted it out and to listen to the music on the radio.

Well I did.

And I laughed.

a lot.

I don't think there's many songs that would be less appropriate for a theatre than the two that played during the "stuck needle" incident.

Whilst waiting for an operation, with a needle "stuck" in me, I heard these calming lyrics waft across the theatre...

"They're telling me
That my heart won't beat again

Won't beat again
It's killing me
Hey, hey, hey

If i died,
Yeah would you come
To my funeral
would you cry?"

Many thanks then to the lovely JLS who belted this out for me to listen to whilst waiting to be carved up like a Christmas turkey.

"Oh great, a song about death," I said and the male nurse was laughing. He apologised and said that it was just the radio so they had no control over what was on. Whilst he was doing this, the other anaesthetist managed to work out what was wrong with the needle in my hand.

Apparently it had managed to get hooked like a fish hook on one of the valves of the vein and so was wedged. They then had to stick it in further to try and hook it back and at this point I hadn't even had the slightest whiff of pain relief so i was feeling more than the tiniest bit queasy.

Eventually they got it out and asked me if I was OK. I genuinely thought I was going to faint with both nerves about the procedure, the pain and squeamishness of them snagging a needle on my vein valve and the bloomin death song from JLS. So, the nurse pulled the sides up on my bed in case I fainted and they tried the other hand.

By this time, I had one anaesthtist holding my left hand up in the air because it wouldn't stop bleeding, the male nurse attempting to stop me from fainting and the other anaesthetist on her knees with my right hand hanging down near the floor to try and get a big enough vein up for the needle. JLS had thankfully by now finished although I'm not too sure how professional it was of the male nurse to burst out laughing at the next song...

Robbie Williams and angels.

"Oh great" i said, "another bloomin death song!"

Luckily, before Robbie got to his second verse, the anaesthetist had decided to use a children's needle instead so I didn't have another fish hook drama and they had managed to get a line in that was not caught on any valves. The younger anaesthetist then said "Oh, she did it first time - that makes me look rubbish!" I laughed and just said that he wasn't to know that the only skinny part of me was my veins and that although I had a bum the size of belgium, I had the veins of an eight year old.

I then had the big mask put on my face - not those nice little ones with the straps that go round your head, oh no. I had the one that almost covers your whole head and has a massive tube the size of a fireman's hose coming off it. They told me to breathe normally and that I'd be drifting off to sleep soon. So, I did as I'd told Tom i would and imagined all my family and friends, told them quietly in my head that i loved them very much and imagined Tom holding my hand. This was lovely until the anaesthetist shifted the mask slightly, i did a big gasping breath, the rubber on the side of the mask flapped and my last memory as I drifted of to sleep was not my lovely Tom but the thought of "I just did a massive pig snort."

I don't remember much after this as obviously I was quite groggy. I vaguely remember the consultant coming round and speaking to Tom about IVF and of seeing some photos of my insides that they'd taken during the procedure. It was here that i learnt that I had adhesions and infection scars around most of my major organs including my liver and kidneys. They'd freed the trapped ovary and untwisted the fallopian tube and apparently both my fallopian tubes are clear and not blocked at all. This was such good news as I was utterly convinced that i was going to have to have them both removed. I was so overjoyed at this news that I kind of didn't take in the fact that they'd had to make so many incisions to try and cut away the scar tissue. The consultant spoke to Tom and told him that although my tubes were clear, the chances of ectopic pregnancy were still extremely high and that if we ever thought we were pregnant naturally then we were to phone her secretary directly and be admitted to EPU immediately (early pregnancy unit). I was just so so so thrilled to hear that there was a chance to conceive naturally that I didn't really think that the EPU thing was a problem. However, having thought about it in a bit more detail over the last 24 hours, it's not great is it!

After the surgeons had gone, mum and Tom sat with me for a bit and Mrs Alan Pokey Coleslaw began her second round of shower and Alan searching. Mum was a bit worried that I wouldn't get any rest if she carried on like that but luckily she fell asleep pretty quickly. But, this was even worse than the poking! Tom snores like an earthquake but Mrs Alan Pokey knocks his efforts into a cocked hat - i thought the building was collapsing. I also decided that i needed a wee if I was to be let home so Mum tried to help me up onto my feet. Unfortunately, my body did not want to play ball and I ended up fainting and was in such agony that I had to stay in overnight after all. I had so wanted to come home and kept trying to get out of bed to prove that I was OK enough to go home but in the end the sister told me that she was giving me a very strong painkiller and I wouldn't be allowed home if i had that anyway so i might as well get used to the idea of staying in. This was a very loud conversation as it all had to be conducted over Mrs Alan Pokey's world record breaking snoring.

Mum bless her, asked the sister if there was any chance i could go in a side room as there was no way i was going to get any sleep next to Mrs A and her prodding and snoring combo. Luckily they did have a side room free and so i was wheeled off into there for the evening. Tom and Mum were also allowed to stay for a bit longer now as i had been knocked out for most of visiting time so, unlike the ladies who'd been done earlier, hadn't had a chance to see anyone.

The nursing staff tried to make me eat too as I'd been nil by mouth since the morning but a dried up chicken and stuffing sandwich in an already dry anaesthetic mouth is virtually impossible so I didn't have anything in the end, although my mum enjoyed the sandwich!

They left me about 9pm and I settled down for a nice rest.

Wrong!

My room was right next to the nurses' station and had the buzzer bell mounted right by my door frame. This meant that anytime anyone on the ward pressed their buzzer, a massive beep and buzz went off right outside my room which reverberated round the door frame and made me jump out of my skin. I was also opposite the loo which seems the place in hospital that everyone goes to collapse in the night. It seemed to be a non stop merry go round of ladies being sick or passing out in there and so I was party to not only everyone's requests for the nurses but also most people's bodily functions too. I genuinely didn't sleep a wink all night and spent most of the time just staring at the city lights from my window.

Luckily though, i did manage to eat some breakfast and go for a wee myself without collapsing so it meant i could come home. Although I did nearly scupper my chances as I screamed at the top of my lungs when i had a wee., It didn't hurt but no one had told me that the dye from my tube check would make it fluorescent turquoise!

Anyway, my dad came to pick me up after the nicest bowl of Rice Krispies and cup of tea that i think I've ever had and I'm now all tucked up at home.

in fact, after typing all of that i'm now a bit shattered so will call it a day for now and update again soon.

Thanks to all of you who e-mailed me with good luck and well wishes.

XXXXXXXXXXXx

I'm out

Just wanted to let you know that I was discharged this morning and it's all good news. My tubes are now clear and there's a chance I can conceive normally but there's still an extremely high chance of ectopic pregnancy so they're proceeding with the IVF to start next month.

I'm very bruised and battered and had to stay in overnight in the end as they had to cut away a lot more scar tissue from my botched operation and subsequent infections than they first thought- in fact, apparently it's as far up and far along as my liver and kidneys so no wonder I'm in so much pain all the time.

I have four cracking wounds and so look a little like a human sieve at the moment - my days of brazilians, bikinis and crop tops are most definitely over but guess it's a small price to pay if it does mean that we can have our own family.

I feel wretched though and am on enough drugs to keep both Gallagher brothers in a coma for a month! I'm also filled with 1.5L of a special fluid to prevent any further adhesions so I look six months pregnant already according to my mum.

So, thanks to all of you who emailed me good luck and well wishes. I feel bloomin awful but I'm alive and in one piece!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Crikey, it's tomorrow!

Gulp.

Deep breaths.

Nice and slow.

Relax.

Take it easy.

It'll all be fine.

You will get over the shock of doing another car boot sale...


yes, my lovely travellers, it IS my operation tomorrow but I have been far more traumatised by another not so fruitful day at the car boot than tomorrow's game of "hunt the ovary". There doesn't seem to be anything more infuriating that someone haggling with you over a brand new ikea lampshade which you only priced at 30p in the first place. Oh yes there is. THE most annoying thing is a man in a van on the pitch opposite you who is selling bumper packets of nobby's nuts and toilet rolls. There are only so many gags about "big nut bags" and references to toilets that a girl can take in a morning. It didn't help that the stallholder was a vile racist who was mean to everyone who wasn't blonde and fair skinned. He even said such disgusting things as "come and get your toilet paper, every colour but it's only the white that get's sh*t on" and "I prefer the birmingham Pak*s, at least they can speak english". His comments were also directed at anyone who looked a bit hard up with such choice phrases as "cash your dole cheques and crisis loans here love!". God he was a pig. 5 hours of listening to that rubbish - i almost kicked him in his Nobby's nuts and smothered his something "soft, strong and not very long".

Anyway, me and my mum, along with my brother managed to shift over £150 of unwanted but fab quality stuff. Will had loads of stuff from his big building project when they'd "staged" each room so some people got some amazing bargains. I also did a celebratory little dance when i sold my wedding tiara and a load of those "good luck" things that they give you after the ceremony. I even sold a spare guest book that I still had lying around and a load of stationery stuff from making the invites etc. I shall buy myself something fabulous with it and enjoy every moment of it whilst sticking two fingers up in ST's general direction.... if I knew where on earth that was.

I am also aching like mad after an X Factor session in the gym. I had a brilliant time last night. there was absolutely nobody but me in there and so I plugged into the machines and laughed my backside off at the new style X factor; a little dangerous though as once again I almost shot off the back of the treadmill - I think I need the equivalent of some baby reins or some sort of strap to keep me on it. i know it's only a matter of time before I end up flying off the back like some sort of sweaty superhero in reverse.

Speaking of superheroes, Tom's been a darling over the last few days. I've felt OK about going into hospital for my op but have had a couple of days where I've just felt a bit "quiet". He's just either left me to gorge on crappy sky tv or has given me lots of cuddles and listened to my not very sensible or coherent worries.

We were actually meant to be at V festival this weekend too but unfortunately our tickets turned out to have been bought from a dodgy dealer so we're stuck at home and car booting and gyming. My mum nearly got the float round her chops today when she said, "did you see the killers at V? they were amazing!" Cheers mum.

Good news though - i think I may have found the perfect lady for my frock. I shan't say too much but she knows who she is and she should be coming down next weekend sometime to try it on. I shan't say who she is at the moment but hopefully i can get to make someone smile with it and know that it's going to someone bloomin lovely.

Anyway, might not be able to update for a while; it depends how the op tomorrow goes and how well I feel after it. At least I'll have a clearer picture though of what's going on and what my chances of IVF success are.

So, keep your fingers crossed for me in the meantime and I'll update again as soon as poss. Oh, and if you see a man in a van full of Nobbby's nuts, feel free to ram the loser off the road.

Lots of love,

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dresses and dramas...

Well, what a busy little bee I've been over the last 24 hours. Have embarked on "Project Wedding Fairy".

As I mentioned before, I have decided to give my wedding dress from my wedding to ST to the most deserving bride I can find. I want to give it to someone who never in a million years thought they'd get a £1200+ dress and who will love it forever. I want it to have a second chance at being loved and cherished as I do kind of feel sorry for it all lonely in my wardrobe. (That does not sound any more sane saying it a second time...)

I have posted it on every Gumtree site within a 100 mile radius of me and have also posted on YAYW as well as in my local press. So, I've been busy dealing with all of the enquiries - most of which unfortunately seem to be from complete scammers and rip off merchants who want to make money off the back of it. Bloomin cheek.

My advert reads like this...

"Well, here's a fab offer for you ladies!

I have in my wardrobe a Maggie Sottero Rosemary Leigh wedding dress in light gold which I wore to my wedding in December 2007. I tried selling it on ebay but no takers. Unfortunately, despite my beautiful wedding, my husband decided after 12 weeks (yes, 12 weeks!) that he no longer wanted to be married and disappeared. I have not seen him since.

The dress is not "jinxed" in any way. It is in pristine condition (although it does need a clean) and is complete with pettitcoat, hoop and the detachable full length sleeves. It was gorgeous to wear, really comfy and got so much admiration and appreciation on the day. I'd love someone else to feel as good as I did in it.

it's perfect for winter or summer weddings as can be worn either with the sleeves or as a strapless dress.

it says size US size 4 but I believe this is a Uk 8/10 and so would fit a UK 6, 8,10 or a small 12 (small waist as it's a corset back). I'm just under 5'4 and wore 2 1/2 inch heels.
It cost 1250 pounds originally from Bradgate Brides in Anstey

If there's more than one taker, I'll go on the basis of "most love for the dress", "most in need of a visit from the dress fairy godmother" and anyone who is genuinely in need of a helping hand getting a "Maggie Sottero bargain"

Please do not contact me unless you are a genuine bride in need of some help as I will not release the dress to anyone who I think is just looking to make a quick buck selling it on or who is trying to fleece or scam me in any way; or who is perfectly capable of buying their own dress and so will do someone who is desperate out of a chance to get a dream dress. I just want this dress to have a second chance and go to someone who will truly love it on their wedding day and cherish it forever.

Lots of love,
Emma

P.S Just in case anyone's worried - I'm very happy now and things have actually turned out for the best; guess things happen for a reason!"

So, a, currently weeding out the con artists from the genuine brides and trying to work out how to give it to someone. Not an easy task.

I am also completely gutted as it turns out that our tickets for V Festival this weekend were dodgy and so we can't go. What's even more galling is that we bought some a few months ago which turned out to be dodgy and so bought a second lot from a different vendor so have been conned not once but twice! So, gone is our lovely weekend of bouncing around to happy tunes and boozing and now I have the lovely alternative which my mum suggested today - she said, "Oh well, at least you can do the car boot sale with me on Sunday morning". Great. Four hours in a field, hanging out the rear of my mum's volvo whilst haggling over second hand leggings. deep joy.

Tom's away tonight and so it seems are all of my mates so I'm off round to my brother's for a BBQ. They got back from a camping trip today and are apparently addicted to charcoal and can't face packing the grill back in the garage so it's bangers all round tonight. Am not boozing though as I've got a work meeting tomorrow and need to be on the ball rather than on the floor.

Am actually bored half to death today- the wedding dress giveaway is keeping me busy but I hat it when everyone's away and I have nothing but my own company; I end up driving myself nuts by starting "projects" that i never finish. For example, my lounge is carpeted in unfinished ironing, the conservatory is full of painting equipment from me finishing the kitchen the other day and the loft looks like it's exploded after I began "mission sort out" and then got bored halfway through. Needless to say that all that, twinned with the fact that my brother and Jo are storing loads of stuff at my house means that I feel as if I'm living in a John Lewis storage hangar as oppose to a house!

So, I suppose I'd better sign off and get my backside into gear before I just give up, stick an "open" sign on my front door and sell the lot!

XXXXXXXXXXXXX Emmy

Well hello there me old fruits!

I am back in the land of the living after living as a true festival goer over the weekend.

That is a lie by the way.

I went home every night and did not camp as apparently on campsites there is nowhere to plug in your straighteners and seeing as I am likely to be arrested for resembling a hobo if I am not within 3 yards of a set then I thought it safest for the local population if I returned home every night to wrestle with my barnet.

Had an absolutely fab time though and relived my youth, albeit with a few more wrinkles and a lot less cider (have swapped it for g&t since a nasty incident involving a bottle of diamond white and a toilet door a few years ago.)

It was an amazingly chilled out festival and Tom and I had the perfect weekend just lying about in the sun, listening to great bands, hilarious comedy and boozing. We weren't the oldest there by a long way and my panic buying in Primark for suitable, "festival gear for the over 30s" paid off as I got loads of people asking me where I got my stuff from. Why didn't I lie and say somewhere posh rather than admit my top was 2 quid from Primark (or "Harrods" as my mum rather oddly calls it).

I also got a bit of my mojo back as I got chatted up 3 times! I was told by one guy that I was "stunning" and he made me laugh so much as he asked me if I had a boyfriend and when I said "yes, he's over there" the guy laughed and said, "Oh arse. It's always the same. Girls are like parking spaces. You look for the perfect one for ages and can't find one and then when you do, someone nips in and takes your spot. Then you realise they're all taken and the only ones that are left are disabled!" I almost peed myself. I know it wasn't a very PC thing to say but it really tickled me. I also got asked out by a bloke whilst Tom was getting a beer. This guy just wandered up, told me he had spotted me from across the crowd and just felt compelled to ask me out! I also got chatted up in the cocktail tent (yes, I actually managed to find a cocktail tent at a festival yay!!!!) so that made 3 blokes in one day. Check me out! i can't remember the last time I was chatted up properly and although I love Tom to bits, it made my day and really helped my confidence to know that I'm not a washed up old has been and might just still be rocking the 30+ vibe. Either that, or as my mate pointed out, there were a hell of a lot of drugs at that festival!

Yesterday was a bit more of a reality check though. I had a meeting at our local council offices to help plan a series of collaborative workshops for Y6 teachers to raise standards with more able children. Are you still awake after reading that??!! I had four hours in a windowless room talking about leading sessions on raising attainment - a far cry from swigging back a cocktail and dancing around in a parka. I had decided to wear a fab new all in one playsuit type thing from river island. It looks like a pair of trousers and a waistcoat but is an all in one and is utterly divine. I had to nip into my parents' house before I went to my meeting and the flippin zip jammed. However, I managed to get it working again and make it to my meeting on time - phew.

Unfortunately, i was not so lucky later on.

On Friday, during my trolley dash round Primark and Topshop for festival gear, I had purchased some things that were a little "Atomic Mutton" and made me look like I'd got dressed in the dark in a 1980s charity shop. So, after my meeting I was going to nip into town and return the offending (and believe me they were offensive) items.
I parked my car and dashed into the shopping centre but needed a quick wee. No problems there until I came to do the playsuit back up again. The zip was completely jammed. It would not budge up at all so I had a huge gaping seam from my neck to half way down my thigh, revealing the side of my pants and my bra. No amount of tugging, sweating, swearing or wrenching would budge the damn thing so I was trapped in a city centre toilet with two choices.
1. Walk round town half naked with my undies hanging out
2. Cobble together an ouftit from the items I was returning.

i went for option two.

This meant that i was walking round town in a pair of grey snowash "jeggings" that were too long and too tight - so tight in fact that i couldn't get them all the way up my legs so the gusset was around my knees MC Hammer stylee.
I had twinned this with a pale grey one shoulder batwing Primark t-shirt with a metallic neon print on the front which was far too short in the body and so revealed my tummy and the waistband of the offending "jeggings". To say I looked like a twat was an understatement.

Of course, I bumped into a parent from my school who I felt compelled to explain my strange get up to but the explanation of, "I've just been trapped half naked in a toilet as the zip got stuck on my all in one bodysuit" is perhaps not appropriate conversation between parent and deputy head.

I went into river island to see if they had another one in my size but of course, God was having another laugh at me so had conspired to make it so that they had every other size in duplicate except mine. It is not easy to maintain composure as you discuss credit notes and refunds when your crotch is round your knees and you're revealing your middle in a metallic batwing crop top.

I eventually managed to get back into my car in one piece and with some of my dignity intact and met my friend for a drink - she thought the outfit was hilarious. Needless to say, i did not and when I showed her how tight the leggings were I found i had a massive indentation all the way up my legs from the seams digging in - nice!

However, it was in town that i made my bonkers purchase. All I'll say is that it was £85 in the sale and no one will see it and I can't even bring myself to tell anyone I bought it. Maybe it'll come in handy one day but who knows...

Today has been a massive day of work avoidance. There's loads for school that I really should be getting on with but I've been really busy trawling my way through replies to my posts on YAYW. I'm giving away my Maggie Sottero wedding dress as I want it to have a good home. I feel so sorry for the dress as it's not loved anymore and I want someone to have it who will really cherish it and for it to have a happy day. Now, if you weren't worried about my mental state before then I think now is the time as I have just realised I feel sorry for a dress!!!

Anyway, will update again soon.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

P.S lost 3 1/2 pounds too Wooooooooohooooooooooooooo!!!!

It's good but it's not right...

in the words of the infamous "Catchphrase", the guesses are "good but not right"!!!! I have not purchased any baby related stuff for fear of jinxing myself. Smashed two mirrors at the weekend so already think the IVF is doomed!

Nope, you'll just have to guess again although if you do work it out I think I'll be avoiding the men in white coats who some of you may send round!!!

XXXXXXXXXXX

It's official. I'm nuts

I want to play a little guessing game with you and I bet no one can guess what mental thing I've done today. It involves a purchase and I cannot share it with anyone. Not a soul. I've hidden it at home and also have no actual use for it at all. It is official. I am nuts.
Can you guess what I bought?
I'll let you know if you're correct!

Will update more tomorrow about my day today. Gosh it's been a bonkers one and I'm not even in London as planned!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Well, I'm knackered. Utterly and completely whacked. Been at a festival since Friday night and can now barely open my eyes. Have put up a couple of pics and videos though of the highlights. Mr Hudson was amazing, Chipmunk was hilarious, The Charlatans took us both back to our student days and the Lightning seeds and the Zutons were brill. Bon Iver were beautiful in the sunshine and if you want a new band to listen to, the minnaars were spot on!

Will update with more soon

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Meltdown...

I think I have gone insane. I have just had a complete emotional meltdown about a car service; you know, floods of tears, hysterical wailing, the whole lot.

I am due to go to the hospital for my pre-operation assessment and a bit of a chat with the fertility nurse today. I somehow managed to get the times wrong though. Was convinced it was 3pm today but when I checked yesterday afternoon it's actually 1.30pm!

No real problem I hear you say, except that Tom can't make it. He's gutted as it means he won't be able to support me but it's my fault for not reading the letter properly and there's nothing we can do about it now. However, my car was also due in for a service today, I've had a letter from the bank saying there's a problem changing my name back and I need to see them today, my passport photos need sending off today, I'm halfway through filling in the paperwork for my holiday insurance claim to get my money back for the "rash saga" and then it turns out my car isn't booked in after all. I know that to a sane, everyday onlooker, none of this seems particularly taxing but for some reason (and i have no idea why) the fact that my car wasn't actually booked in today sent me into a tailspin.

I ended up sobbing on Tom's drive that he hadn't told me I needed to confirm, whilst he told me over and over that he had. I stomped off and got in my car and said (with full princess flick of the hair and the closing "boom booms" from the end of an Eastenders episode) "I'm going home!" and then sped off with tears streaming down my face behind my sunglasses and the realisation that I was acting like a teen extra from Hollyoaks and needed to pull myself together.

I phoned the garage and sorted out the car then tried to call Tom. He was lovely but very clipped and businesslike which roughly translates to "Emma stop being a twat". (excuse my language but I really think I am acting like a div at the moment)

Now feel like the world's biggest lunatic and have got to go to the hospital by myself today. I'm sure I'll be fine but I really didn't want to go by myself - I think it's because it's fertility related and I feel a bit lonesome on my own. My mum's offered to come with me but she panicks and makes me even more nervous. So, think I'll just bite the bullet and go alone. Will do all my other jobs in town before I go and then it'll all be done and I'll have no excuse for acting like a hysterical banshee!

I am just so nervous about the whole thing, both the initial operation and the IVF itself. I'm terrified of hospitals anyway after a botched appendix operation when I was 17 left me in hospital on and off for nearly 6 months. I am a complete nervous wreck whenever I have to go into them, even as a visitor and so this whole process is not exactly at the top of my ideal list of "perfect destinations and activities". I keep thinking I'm coping Ok with the whole thing but I've realised that my short temper and sudden floods of tears are obviously linked to all of this.

Anyway, I guess I don't know how it'll turn out on the 24th so I suppose I just need to get on with it. The thought of having ovaries and/or tubes removed makes me feel so sick with nerves that I can barely think straight though; twin that with the prospect of months of IVF afterwards and it's a heady cocktail to try and swallow.

Will see how it goes this afternoon and update again soon.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

happy days...

Well, here's a few little pics of the last few days. There's some of me, mum and aunty J at Kilworth in the courtyard having afternoon tea; Tom and me at Chatsworth; and some of my table centrepiece and the dreaded bottle of Vana Tallinn -my bloomin head is still killing me!

Ouch my head hurts...

And I daren't go downstairs.

Yet another family dinner party at mine that was hijacked by the trusty bottle of Vana Tallinn. I had run out so I thought I was safe but my dad ended up walking back round to their house after dinner to go and get a litre of it. This was after we had consumed between us enough wine to sink the navy and a load of leftover wedding champagne. Needless to say, i did not appreciate the "Let" sign being hammered onto next door's front wall at half six this morning or Tom's alarm going off at 5am.

I know that downstairs will look like there's been some sort of nuclear war going on there too involving lemon posset and chorizo stew as opposed to to the odd bomb but the effect will not be dissimilar. I am dreading the thought of having to sandblast my new oven as I know it will be wearing an armoured coating of sauce and oil as I was too sozzled to wipe it all off last night; I just know it will no doubt require an industrial sander or at the very least some scouring pads as large as those in a car wash.

It was a lovely night though. It was the first time Tom's mum had been round to my house so I was on full "polish and hoover" alert all day and had managed to get the house looking at least half decent. I had spent far too long messing about with the centrepiece for the table but had managed to hit on a very cute look. I had a mirror with tiny glass teacups on it which I filled with shocking pink, pearl and white tiny beads. I then floated a shocking pink gerbera head in each of the teacups. In the centre I had a small pink glass vase which I filled with iridescent sequins and pearlised glitter then put white roses and some more of the pink gerberas in. I then put a few table diamonds on the mirror and a couple of tealights and bob's your uncle (actually mine's not; he's called Richard...) - a fabulously glittery table centre! I really must get a life...

Anyway the menu was a triumph but not before the odd culinary cock up. In fact, I spent most of the morning trying to make spun sugar to top the lemon posset but unfortunately instead of glamorous strands of delicate caramel loveliness, mine just resembled very sticky lumps of cat hair. I gave up in the end and went for caramel "shards" instead. (that is a made up term that means, "I made a tray of it then whacked it with my miniature flowery hammer after a fork didn't work and produced a few interesting shapes as well as coating my kitchen floor in lethal bits of sticky lump which I now can't get off the bottom of my flouro slip ons.)

I also had a bit of a run in with a chocolate mousse. I thought the recipe looked a bit odd and then I needed to alter it to make more and somehow ended up with a mousse which had the same consistency as perrier. I whipped it until I thought I was going to end up in the Royal with a dislocated elbow but the damn thing wouldn't thicken up. So, I froze it instead and called it "mousse cream". A roaring success and even got asked for the recipe! Also had to make Tom jelly as the poor boy can't eat any dairy; tried to jazz it up with a few berries and bits and bobs but when all around you are guzzling lush, creamy desserts and chocolates then a half arsed bowl of Robertsons with the odd blackberry in it isn't really inspiring.

Also discovered that I seem to be able to drop anything. Anything at all that needs to remain on a baking tray, chopping board, serving dish or plate seems to find its way off the intended surface and fling itself to the floor. So, you'll always find me as hostess on my hands and knees scrubbing away like some extra out of the opening scene in "Annie". I managed to juggle garlic bread, a stuffed pepper, a tray of chocolates, a bowl of salad and the sugar bowl over the course of the evening last night. The only thing I never seem to spill is alcohol- I put that down to the special genetic Estonian "gyroscopic hand" which means that however wobbly you are, you'll never spill your Vana Tallinn!!

We've got loads of Estonians over at the moment and some are staying with my grandad. My brother and Jo took one of the kids swimming and to McDonald's yesterday and only found out in the car on the way there that she can't swim! Jo said she almost had a nervous breakdown watching this poor nine year old as she was convinced Will was going to have to do a David Hasselhoff style baywatch rescue at some point. Luckily she was fine although Jo's nerves were frazzled - nothing like a potential drowing to set you on edge.

Tom's mum seemed to enjoy everyone's company and my best mate popped round after her running club to help finish off the puddings - why did I make 15 puddings when there were only 7 of us eating? It was lovely to see the house through someone else's eyes and Tom's mum loved it - makes me so glad that I didn't sell it when ST made me feel so horrible here. It really is a glittery girly paradise here now (not too much though - I don't want Tom to feel he's got to start swaggering, fighting crocodiles and growing a beard to prove he's still manly amongst the scatter cushions.) I've got it pretty much exactly how I want it now and I absolutely love it, in fact Tom's going to have a pretty hard job convincing me to leave it! A good sign though is that next door only took one week to let. The girl next door left after the burglary as she was worried and so I'll have new neighbours soon. I just hope to god that they're quiet. The walls are so thin here that you can hear a normal conversation through the wall as if they're in the same room with you. I've heard more bedroom Olympics through my wall than a flippin porn star! However, if i did come to let mine I'd be really loathe to do it as I've spent 3 years getting this house exactly right and exactly how I want it so I'd hate anyone to end up scratchign or damaging anything and that's just mental if you're letting! If I'd known I was eventually going to let the place then I wouldn't have put in such extravagant stuff; I've got all sorts of special bits and bobs like tiles, flooring, the oven, taps and the shower that cost a bomb and are all top of the range and need a bit of looking after - I'd hate anyone to just bash them about, let them get all dirty and not take care of them. Ooer, I smell trouble on the horizon!

On a different note, my gym seems to be paying off. I've not lost a single ounce but I did rub my arms this morning as I was chilly whilst waiting for my kettle to boil (is it just me or does time go so slowly it almost goes backwards when you're hungover and just want a flippin cup of tea?)
Anyway, i was rubbing my arm and i couldn't feel any wobble - my bingo wings are flying away! Tom also said he was cross with me because he could see my ribs and my dad said "ooo, ribs" when he gave me a kiss goodbye last night. Now, don't anyone start panicking that I'm in some "Olsen twins/Nicole Richie" rib-off competition, it's just that it's always the first place I lose weight and I've always had skinny ribs. unfortunately, these are sat on top of a very large and very wobbly bottom. Therefore, I have to show a bit of "ribbage" if I am ever to have slender thighs (slender! a girl can dream I suppose...) So, the bingo wings have gone north for the winter and the ribs have made an appearance which means that the bum and thighs must be gearing up for their big moment. It's really spurred me on to carry on at the gym as I was beginning to think I'd just end up bulking up and resemble Fatima Whitbread (showing my age there again!) or some hairy east german shot putter. So, at least the gym is starting to have some sort of effect and is not just a torturous place where i go to have my nostrils assualted by 101 sorts of BO. (Not mine I must point out but I do seem to have the knack of picking the machine which the smelliest man in the world always comes and works next to me on.) Most men in my gym seem not to be acquainted with either deodorant or a washing machine as I swear they don't wash their honky kit from one day to the next. This means that i end up almost suffocating as I try and run like a madwoman on the treadmill whilst trying not to breathe through my nose. It is a breathing technique that renders my face the same shade an an aubergine and gives me a cracking headache. i wonder if Nike make nosepegs?

I do like going to the gym though and have even bought an i-pod armband thingy which is great until I forget that i've plugged my earphones into the machine and not the i-pod, get off the treadmill and almost strangle myself. I also can't seem to disembark from the stepper without falling over. I'm not sure if it's because I work too hard on it or just that I'm a total div, but every time I go to get off, I take one foot off, the other one flies off and I sort of half-catapult myself into whichever smelly male has taken root on the machine next to me. I swear most of them think I'm some sex starved desperate houswife who just wants a quick grope. I haven't got the heart to tell them that the thought of groping all that sweaty underarm man-hair in their 3-day old gym kit has all the allure of cleaning out the cupboard under the sink.

Anyway, I'm in quite a cheery mood today despite the hangover and the fact that I'm meeting my boss this afternoon for a "strategic planning meeting". The only strategy I'm interested in at this precise moment is how I can resist a bacon sarnie when I've got the "hangover hunger" but am on a diet. I've also got my appointment at the hospital tomorrow as well as taking my car in for a service so I'll be pretty busy. Tom's been a star about me being nervous about the appointment. He's away in London a lot next week so he's arranged for me to travel down on the train on monday and is going to book some tickets for a show for the Monday evening and I'm going to do a bit of window shopping on Tuesday then we'll meet for dinner and come home later in the week. He says I need to take my mind off things and the clever clever boy knows that shopping cures all ills!

So, I'd better sign off for now; my head is banging and I think I need to consult with Mr Tetley a few times to easy my poor aching skull.

Lots of love

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

P.S Runningbird, thanks for the info; I'm down to 15mins 43 seconds for 3Km so I'm chuffed! Good luck with your next round; I have absolutely everything crossed for you my lovely. Oh, and I've upped my protein too - I am now "Mrs Chicken!"

Cream teas, crying and a crisis or seven...

Phew, what a weekend.

Started off brilliantly on Saturday when my auntie, mum and I went to Kilworth House for afternoon tea which Tom had paid for us to have as we've all had a bit of a dodgy week. (http://www.kilworthhouse.co.uk/) We arrived and ended up in the middle of a massive wedding party. I have never seen such a colourful and beautiful wedding as we were priviliged to witness. It was an asian bride who was marrying a bloke who I think had Polynesian background as the wedding was a mix of both traditions so had all the rich golds and reds of an Indian wedding and all the flower necklaces and beautiful floral displays of the Polynesian wedding. I apologise if I sound incredibly ignorant of both traditions but it was truly spectacular. The weather was glorious and the wedding party amongst the grounds looked so vibrant and absolutely stunning. They had their reception in the "Orangery" and we had our tea in the "Wordsworth" room which was unfortunately not within gawping distance of the wedding! I've included the link to the hotel as if you're looking for a venue for any function with an element of not just "wow" but "bl**dy hell!" then Kilworth may well be the right place. It's flippin gorgeous.

Anyway, mum, aunty J and I stuffed ourselves absolutely silly on tiny sandwiches, gorgeous creamy cakes and scones. It was all going swimmingly until we were assaulted by a giant flying army. No, unfortunately it was not a gang of RAF hunks, but instead, a jam obsessed swarm of wasps. Mum looked like some sort of demented belly dancer as she whirled napkins around - she tried to do it delicately but nearly had the cake stands over three times (if aunty J hadn't managed a catch that Freddy Flintoff would'ver been proud of then we may well have been wearing half a gallon of earl grey too). Mum's frantic flapping only served to get her stung and so the room of dainty ladies was party to a little Estonian swearing as I tried to wrench the sting out with a pair of twezers but couldn't find anything. We later found out that it's only bees that leave the sting in!
Having caused havoc in the Wordsworth room, we retired to the courtyard garden for a vino or seven. I hadn't had a drink all week due to my diet so Captain Chardonnay made a very welcome entrance back into my life. We had a good old chinwag and aunty J was telling me that my cousins hadn't seen ST out on the town for over a year and no one in the rugby community knew what on earth had happened to him. We had a good old slating of ST and my mum retained her gold medal in ST-slag*ing! We then went onto discussing the lovely Tom and both my aunty J and my mum kept saying that they'd leave my dad and my uncle and marry him tomorrow! My aunty J also kept saying that I shouldn't keep turning Tom down if he did keep on about moving in and getting engaged as there weren't too many men in the world as good as him. They both then went on to plan my wedding in Estonia to Tom. I gave up trying to divert the conversation in the end and let them plan the whole thing - I don't think I've ever seen them both so excited so I hadn't the heart to bring them back to reality and remind them that Tom hadn't even proposed!

On Sunday Tom and I decided to have a day out at Chatsworth House. It was meant to be a romantic stroll amongst beautiful gardens in the sunshine but it could not have been more of a disastrous day out.

It started badly in the middle of the night on Saturday night. I don't know if I've mentioned before that Tom has terrible trouble with his eyes. He has to put drops in every four hours and then at night has to put this gel in which, once he puts it in, his eyelids are glued together for at least 4 hours and he can't see at all. He'd been feeling really full of allergy which makes him snore really badly too so he had decided to sleep in the spare room. He'd stayed with me until I fell asleep and then crept out to the other room. We're currently redecorating the house and after Tom had done his eyes with his "blinding gel" he walked into the spare bedroom. However, as his gel makes his eyes completely blind, he had to feel his way around the room but of course all the furniture was in different places. He had managed to navigate his way around the furniture but had forgotten that he'd hung a full length mirror in a different place. This meant that he had successfully reached the bed, about 3 metres away from the nearest light switch but had blundered into a 5 foot mirror. This fell off the wall and smashed onto the wooden floor. Now I don't know if you have ever been awoken in the middle of the night by the sound of a metre and a half of smashing glass and your boyfriend nowhere to be seen but it does not make for a scene from sleeping beauty.

I started screaming for Tom as I didn't know he was in the other room but I couldn't hear his answer as I still had my earplugs in as I had thought he was sleeping with me. I was therefore convinced that there were intruders and that Tom had been hurt whilst spprehending them. I leapt into action in a combat outfit of a thong and a "too cool for school" t-shirt (0bviously designed to put the fear of god into any burglars. I mean, surely any man would be terrified of a 34 year old woman leaping through the darkness with her cellulite wobbling and a completely inappropriate kids' t-shirt)

Anyway, upon flinging myself round the door I was met by Tom shouting that there was glass on the floor but definitely no burglars. The poor lad was scared half witless as he couldn't see a thing and was surrounded by shards of mirror. Eventually after much clearing up, we both managed to get into bed but I couldn't sleep as I was really on edge after the mirror fiasco. For some reason, over the past few days I've been feeling really anxious at night and have no idea why. I can't seem to breathe properly and I keep getting the same feeling I used to get before my panic attacks last year. I haven't had a proper panic attack at all but keep getting the "butterflies in the chest" feeling that usually precedes one. Needless to say, a good night's sleep eluded me and so I only had about 2 hours.

I also ended up driving to Chatsworth as Tom has a flat tyre and is currently driving around on one of those spacesaver tyres. I absolutely hate driving, especially with Tom as he's a truly excellent driver and makes me feel like something out of Driving Miss Daisy. He never says anything but he gets "twitchy feet" and I can see him stamping on the brake or accelerator every so often. It didn't help that we were in the mother of all traffic jams and I was all tearful and hormonal as well as having had virtually no sleep. We took the wrong turning off this one roundabout three times and were stuck in all sorts of temporary traffic light tailbacks and jams. We couldn't decide whether to turn back or not and then my car decided not to play ball either. First we almost ran out of petrol and then once we were on the road again (but not before I'd had a massive sobbing emotional meltdown on the forecourt and cried all my mascara off) the flippin oil light came on. Apparently you can't just bung any old oil in my car either so we had to find a Halford's before 4pm on a Sunday to get specialist oil. This was not turning out to be the best day out. The worst part though was that when we did finally get to Chatsworth, Tom revealed that this was where they'd sprinkled his dad's ashes. The perfect end to a perfect journey. I drag the poor lad halfway through the Midlands' worst traffic jam, lose both the way and my own mind on a garage forecourt, only to bring him to the place where his dead dad is. I really am the worst girlfriend in the history of the world.

We ended up driving back in near silence, apart from the odd yell of "I think Halfords is over there! Oh no, that's a pet superstore" or "Can't I just put in some castrol GTX and hope for the best" and "I think that pasty is coming back on me". It was not our finest journey.

After a total of three and a half hours in a car, one petrol station meltdown, a gallon of oil at Derby Halford's and me still reeling from the "ashes" revelation, we finally got home. I fell asleep on the sofa and Tom finished painting his study. Luckily, later on, we made up, had a lovely cuddle on the sofa and do what all couples do on a Sunday night which is eat a whole honeydew melon then have a competition about who feels most sick.

This morning I was woken by a text from Tom telling me he was on the train to london and that he'd accidentally still got my cashcard in his wallet. This means that I've got no funds at all until tomorrow night - eek!

I also weighed myself today after the gym. I've lost exactly nothing. In fact, I've put 2pounds on. I'm now 9st 9 which I have no idea how I've managed to accumulate. I've virtually moved into the gym, have stuck religiously to 1500 calories a day and have been off the booze for ages except for Saturday and I haven't lost a gram. I am thoroughly depressed and believe that the forces of Science are ganging up on me and if I carry on in this vein then my bottom will require its own postcode it will become that large.
I am writing this in a haze of hunger and longing that even a sandwich made out of two sofa cushions and a remote control is looking tempting. I cannot believe that such dedication to gym-ness and such self control near the fridge has resulted in a weight gain! I have looked into the YAYW diet and may well have to pay up and look happy as I'm getting very disheartened at the moment. I even had to buy a pair of jeans the other day in the next size up as my size 8s are screaming at me and making me walk as if I have a horrible water infection. So, i had to bite the bullet and get back into double figures in the jeans department. Booooooooo!

Anyway, I'm very nervous this week as I've got my first hospital appointment this Thursday. I was going to say a pre-op appointment but that makes me sound like a transsexual. I've bought some new PJs for the 24th and have even been super organised and bought loads of Xmas pressies as they consultant said we'd probably have our first round of iVF before Christmas so don't want the added stress of sorting out all the presents when I should be concentrating on the treatment. God, I'm so flippin anal!

So, I'll sign off for now. I've got a tonne of cooking to do as I've got 8 for dinner tomorrow night. Why do I offer to do these things?

Lots of love in the meantime

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advice please!

So, for those with any knowledge of diet and nutrition, your opinions on my current diet would be much appreciated. Here's a sample of my current eating...

Today

Breakfast: one bowl of fruit and fibre with semi skimmed milk. Herbal tea

Lunch: low cal, low salt ready meal of cheese and tomato pasta bake (420 cals) topped up with some fresh boiled spinach and a handful of cherry tomatoes. Mullerlight yoghurt

Dinner: low cal, low salt ready meal of chick pea and veg curry (370 cals) topped up with more spinach

Snacks; small banana, handful of dried mango

Daily treat; 2 "celebrations" chocolates

Drinks: Herbal tea and loads of water

Not sure if this is "balanced" enough or too much or too little to lose weight. I don't really eat much meat so I usually try and eat lots of nuts and seeds for protein as well as milk but obviously can't have too much of these as they're pretty high in calories. So, am eating lots of "pulses" (poor Tom!)

Any thoughts on diets that work would be very much appreciated!

I'm also doing a minimum of 1 hour cardio per day - usually a combination of running, stepper, rowing machine and that weird "side steppy" thing at the gym.

Cheers my lovelies!

Emma

Storm in a teacup

Gosh, man the lifeboats, iceberg right ahead!

Well, the iceberg is the lettuce that I'm currently chowing down on as part of my new diet to lose the half a stone that's making me feel vile; the very first diet of my life and it's bloomin horrid. I now know the true meaning of foulness; hell really is a diet!

The lifeboat is for my gigantic storm in a teacup which seems to have been the last few days. I e-mailed Tom my blog post and had a terrible day where I awaited his response and heard nothing - only to discover I'd typed his e-mail address incorrectly so some poor soul somewhere has got my entire heart poured out into their inbox.

Anyway, the upshot is that Tom was a complete rock about all of it. He was so upset that I'd been worried about everything and was utterly lovely about the whole thing. He's even booked me, my mum and my auntie into a posh local hotel for afternoon tea to cheer us up. (My auntie has had a rough week this week with her house sale falling through so needs some cheering up). I had no idea he'd done this until he announced last night that he'd booked and paid for it as he didn't want me to be on my own at the weekend - it's the first home game of the season for his football club so of course he'd have to go!!

He was in agreement that we really are stuck at the moment and can't really make any big decisions until we know one of two things - the first being the outcome of the operation on the 24th and the second being whether or not the IVF works.
He totally understood that I was in a quandry about my job but said that I should just stay where I am until we know one way or the other about my results from the hospital. In terms of where I should live, he said he'd love me to live with him but knows that the commute would just about finish me off at the moment. I currently work from 7am until 6pm with no breaks every day so adding another 2 hours onto an 11 hour day would mean a 65 hour working week which is certainly not relaxing! So, we agreed that we should stay exactly as we are at the moment but that I should help to do his house up with a view to moving in at some point in the future and not to get too hung up on the "when" of it all.

In terms of being worried about the IVF and the op itself, Tom said that he wasn't trying not to focus on it, he was just trying to make the run up to it lots of fun to take my mind off it and that's why we didn't speak much about it.
He was in London for most of this week and we spoke for ages on the phone which was fab as it meant that we really could speak about things without either of us getting het up if we got upset or getting distracted.

So, the upshot is that we've got a lovely few weeks in the run up to the 24th with a couple of festivals to go to and lots of nice family meals and nights out planned. If the IVF works then great, but if it doesn't then Tom said we should put our names down for adoption or fostering. He also said that if the IVF doesn't work then I should look for a new job closer to him and then have a complete clean slate with a new home and new job. He's always so bloomin right!
He was also gutted that I felt so bad about myself and him. He reassured me that children were definitely what he wanted but that he wanted me more so if we did have children then brilliant but that it was me and only me that he wanted to have children with so it didn't matter what happened, he wasn't going anywhere.

What a lovely lovely lovely lovely boy. He really is the best thing in the world that's ever happened to me.

So, Tom made my enormous uncrossable ocean of problems seem like a storm in a teacup.

He's also been very supportive about my new "diet". I've been going to the gym like it's going out of fashion and have been a slave to the treadmill! (Runningbird, if you're reading this, what sort of time is good to run 3Km in???)
I could also give Stephen Redgrave a run for his money as I feel as if I've rowed halfway around the globe. I have blisters on my hands from the machines and ask me how much weight I've lost.....

Bloomin nothing. Not a pound, not an ounce, not a gram!

I seem to be defying medical science by eating 1500 calories a day and doing an hour of cardio a day but staying the same flippin weight. How does that work? I think someone's attching weights to my knicker seams. It doesn't even seem to change when I do the "magic lean", which is where I shift my centre of gravity around a bit on the scales and manage to lose a pound or two. I am counting calories like a deranged person and have cleared the local tesco out of mullerlights, fruit and snack a jacks. I am the slim-a-soup queen but to no avail.
I have decided my body is rebelling against me and that fat is leaping up off pavements and wrapping itself around my hips when I'm not looking.
Tom insists he can't even tell I've put weight on but I think unless I ballooned to the size of an elephant, he wouldn't notice anyway.

He's been really good though and not bought any "crap" for the cupboards so we are officially a crisp, biscuit and chocolate free house. (God, I'm depressed just typing that. There's only so much fat free yoghurt a girl can get excited about)

He comes to the gym with me when he can and even trailed round Decathlon on Saturday as I kitted myself out with leggings and water bottles. I did lose him in the cycling section for a while and he got a bit mad when I managed to step on his toe that I'd managed to wedge under the door earlier in the day - in fact he thought I was trying to cripple him!
So, he's supporting me in my diet and until I'm back to 9 stone I'm not going to be a happy bunny. Looking at the official photos of my brother's wedding reminded me of a butcher's shop as my arm resembled a side of ham.

I've also had my hair rescued today. My friend and hairdresser was back from her holiday and her first words when she got to my house were, "What on earth have you done?" She found my "Pat Butcher's spare wig" style very amusing and has spent the last 3 hours rectifying the hairdressing horror. I now have a short ash blonde bob with some low lights in to calm the whole thing down a bit. I am no longer Tiny Tears' big sister or look like a large Eastender who runs a car lot. So, i'm not as blonde as I was but at least I don't resemble a human tub of "utterly butterly".

I'm off out with one of my mates tonight and it should be an interesting evening as she's the girlfriend of one of ST's mates so I'll no doubt hear the latest about his weird and not so wonderful antics. The last I heard he was living alone in a flat in a neighbouring village and was being a complete arse to all of his mates. No surprises there then!

Anyway, just wanted to say thank you to so many of you who e-mailed your advice. Lots of you decided that they were too long to post so e-mailed me them instead. I've read and digested all of them and you really are such a sensible bunch. It was your e-mails which got me to start talking to Tom properly again so thank you so much because you've been instrumental in helping me to sort things out. Thank you all so so so much.

Will update again soon, I have a date with a gardener later to discuss how best to trim my hedge as it's gone a bit wild to say the least. So, I'll be donning my wellies and venturing into the dense undergrowth that was once my garden. Why do I always book these things in when I've had my hair done??

Lots of love in the meantime and wish me luck with my diet - it really is the most bloomin frustrating thing ever. Am having a day off the gym today as I feel as if someone has set fire to my calves and I think I'm going deaf in one ear after I had a bit of an i-pod related accident on the stepper.

So, lots of love and thanks again

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I need to have a word with myself...

You know sometimes how you can listen to a mate for maybe hours, days or weeks on end as they bang on about something and you dole out tea and sympathy and try to advise them but they still don't seem to help themselves? Well, you know how frustrating that is? Well, I'm doing it to myself at the moment. Now, I don't mean for a moment that I am suffering from some sort of split personality where I'm actually counselling myself or making one of me lie down on a couch whilst the other interviews them about their problems - God, that would be weird and besides, you can't get on my sofa at the moment as it's covered in stuff that I'm trying to photograph to put on e-bay.

No, I think I'm just a bit sick of every time I look in the mirror being looked back at by the "brave face". Don't get me wrong, I know my day to day life is fantastic but I just feel utterly lost most of the time. I need to make some pretty big decisions and all I do is go over and over and over them in my head until I drive myself nuts. I can't seem to motivate myself at all at home - I can work for hours at either Tom's, my friends' or family's places but mine is falling into gradual disrepair as I can't seem to do anything other than potter about, dither, waste time and generally get nothing done. I feel as if my head's going to explode with the sheer "ditheryness" of me at the moment.

So, here's some of the things that are literally keeping me awake at night with all the pros and cons and which are causing me untold angst...

1. Tom has been on at me for ages to move in with him.

• Pros: I get to make a fresh start
• I move in with the man I love
• He says I can decorate it any way I like
• Currently my childhood GP who I trust implicitly is overseeing my care for our IVF and my gynae problems

• Cons: His house is an hour's drive away from my work as oppose to ten minutes. I'd have to get up at 5am every day to get in on time and it'd add 2 hours to my working day.
  
• He said yesterday that "when I move in in two years" - he then went on to say he was trying to double bluff me into moving in earlier but I can't help feeling he's now gone off the idea anyway
  
• I'll be half an hour's drive from my parents, my brother and my mates instead of walking distance
  
• We'd have to re-register with a different doctor which may interrupt or change our funding for IVF cycles

I think I am now a commitment phobic

• Reasons: Every time I think about a wedding I feel sick, angry and totally panicked.
• I am convinced that Tom will wake up one day and leave me so I better stay in my house and ensure that at least I will have my own little place to run back to.
• I shouted at my parents last night in a restaurant because they wouldn't shut up about me moving out of my house and in with Tom.

I am convinced I am a terrible, horrible and ugly person and a complete failure.

• Reasons: I've put on half a stone (even though I was advised to by the hospital to increase my chances of conceiving) and feel completely vile.

• ST left and called me some terrible things that still haunt me at night. I must have been a terrible wife and awful person for someone to leave after only a few weeks of marriage.
• I don't think I'm good enough for Tom. I'm scared he'll wake up one day and want someone uncomplicated and who can give him the biological children he wants.
• I feel so frustrated that I can't conceive. I so desperately want to be a mum and feel like every natural instinct in me is being thwarted and dashed as I keep experiencing so many problems. The simplest, most natural thing in the world is eluding me and I feel utterly hopeless.

The other path...
The other option I have is to throw myself into my career. If I don't manage to conceive, even with IVF then I'm going to need a focus so it may as well be work; however, there too lies quite a few decisions.
I have my headship qualification so ought to be pursuing promotion. I keep being headhunted (excuse the pun) by people at the local authority but keep turning it down. So, what are the pros and cons of going for promotion?

• Pros: I get to use my qualifications and run my own school
• I free up my current position for an aspiring deputy
• I get to change my name from "Mrs ST" back to my maiden name so another fresh start

• Cons: I've had the mother of all upheavals in the last year and think that beginning a headship might just be too much for me
• Similar, in that the doctor said that stress was the biggest cause of failure in IVF so beginning a challenging new post is probably not the best option
• I just don't think I'm up to it!
• I love classroom teaching and don't necessarily want to give it up yet.

The fears...
Now these really do haunt me and I can't seem to shake these nagging thoughts no matter how hard I try

• I am terrified of what they will find during my operation on 24th August. I'm terrified that they'll say there's absolutely no hope at all, even with IVF.
• I'm terrified I'll have an ectopic pregnancy, lose my one and only working ovary and then be completely scuppered
• I'm afraid the IVF won't work at all
• I'm afraid of the indignity and pain of the IVF itself
• I'm so scared of telling my parents that there really is no chance for me to ever give them any grandchildren.
• I'm scared Tom will crack under the IVF pressure and leave me.
• I'm scared that if I work too hard at work, the IVF won't work but if I don't work hard enough then the kids in my school will suffer or my boss will get mad with me

So, there you go, my world in a nutshell with the emphasis on "nut" because I really am doing my own head in with all of this.
If anyone has any sage advice or can just help me to get things into perspective a little then I'd be really grateful. I've tried talking to Tom but he doesn't seem to get where I'm coming from. He just says things like, "Well, you've got to have the op to find out what's what. At least we'l know" and "Well, if it works it works, if it doesn't, it doesn't". He's not exactly on my wavelength with the emotion of it all and I'm so scared of the fact ST left when everything was meant to be good that I daren't share too much with Tom in case he freaks and leaves me.

Oh what a bloody mess.

I'm off now to paint my kitchen ceiling which I've been putting off for over a month. And who says glamour is dead...

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