What happened to you?

*Resentful post*

There's a week left until I leave my job. Four days actually in school as Monday will be spent at my new place. I am scared stupid. When I get scared, I run away inside my head- currently, I have returned to the favourite imagined place I had as a teenager-my little stone cottage, with a kiln and the hairy cows. Now, I think I've added a computer and intermittent WiFi- to write my imagined children's books. Oh and Max. Max is there for long walks and cuddles. The cats come and go sporadically, dependent on whether they decide to have full blown fights on the bed as I am trying to sleep or not. However, I think my cottage has moved to the Outer Hebrides rather than being in North Wales anymore.

Just need some time out, really! I want to switch myself off from the world to regroup before the onslaught of starting a new job. As a teen, I quite often wrote on things, "Stop the world, I want to get off!" I would love to do that right now. The panic is down, right down, but my mood hasn't really improved. I just want to escape being the Sarah that I am right now.

I don't want to be this person who is terrified of hearing about new pregnancies or sick of hearing how gorgeous someone's baby might be. Right now, I don't give a fuck about them because when will I get mine or will I ever get mine? I'm truly starting to believe that I will never be pregnant again, not that my previous pregnancies were ever of any use other than to deplete my physical or emotional capabilities. I would love to rewind time to a time when pregnancy loss wasn't my "thing". It almost feels like there is nothing left other than that. Just a husk of what used to be a multi faceted human.

For the last two months, I have ovulated on CD17 of a 32 day cycle. Without any protection, still no more pregnancies. That old worry that the five miscarriages are it, is burning bright. Maybe that's my lot. It's more that some people ever get so perhaps I should be macabrely pleased that I've seen two lines on a stick and a foetal pole on a scan even if it went nowhere other than down a toilet or in the incinerator at the hospital.

When you have the chance of pregnancy without  the jabs and poking, one that could possibly end with a healthy baby, you start to wonder why it hasn't happened. I filled in the form though. The PGD form. Since filling it in, I've just flopped on the sofa with Homeland playing in the background and cried a lot. P keeps asking if I'm ok and when I answer that I'm fine, he responds that I don't seem it.

I guess I am waiting for a failure in the new job too. To let people down. It'll happen- I don't know when or how but it will. I attract it like a magnet!

It'd be great to run away.

Where did you think you'd be?

I always loved thinking about the future as a child. The future held untold riches of things going well so it was a good thing to dream about! This passed all the way right into a new exercise book at school, after all in this new book, I would write masterpieces in impeccable handwriting with awesome illustrations. In fact, I still get excited now when a pupil of mine starts a new book-wondering which pieces will have me giggling and which will render me speechless (possibly getting social workers involved).

This new start love of mine is usually dashed with a bit of realism. Realistically, you can bugger up that first page as much as the last page in your old book. If you've ever been a smoker, you'll know the whole, "I'll give up when x happens." It's a bit like that with the future, you can get dragged back into the past by bad habits (I just tried spelling habits with two bs- a bit like a Hobbit but cooler. I think it could catch on).

I have a lot of bad habits. I have broken quite a few but there are a few that still linger. Whilst self harm and vomiting have gone, the chronic panic remains. I also love to ruin opportunities that come my way. For example, I still haven't filled in the medical form for Guys yet. Why? There is just a little part of me that hopes what people say is true- that as soon as you say enough, it happens. It happened to my mum so why not me? I suppose for that to happen, I would have to fill in the form...

It is now a year since I started this blog. Strangely, a few friends on twitter have also celebrated their year anniversaries recently, but their's have been with a little hope for their futures. Babies on the horizon galore! Mine? Well my year anniversary has been spent drawing pictures of Greenwich landmarks for a school display and being thanked twice by the Head (this is a rare occurrence). No babies on the horizon (nice shipping metaphor there. Links with Greenwich, innit?). A lot of worry about the future instead. After all, have I made the right decision to leave my school? I'm leaving a lot of lovely people behind. Also, am I brave enough to put my art skills out there? I will need to improve and attend courses-can I cope with the criticism?

At a certain point, you have to put your neck on the line. I guess after Easter will be my neck on the block- the new job and the maybe baby chance.

It's frightening though. If I go for the PGD and it doesn't work, then what? I could have another go, for it to perhaps fail again? How many times before that becomes a bad habit too? Always a hope next time? I guess whilst I don't sign the medical form, I still have an aspect of control over it before everything is handed over to geneticists and doctors. It is hard enough in that weird multiple-miscarriage-before-IVF wasteland without handing your body and heart over to modern medicine entirely. Dildo cams and poking (believe me, I'm not sure that there isn't a medical practitioner who hasn't seen my uterus within the M25) are rough enough before you have to start stabbing yourself with needles.

Thinking about what has happened in the past year is pretty epic, really. A new house, new puppy and new job. Grown up clothes that don't involve leggings every day of the week. Learning to knit (properly). Another miscarriage. A blog that I have kept up for an entire year and isn't full of teenage angst.

So my predictions for the next year? To be honest, I hope I won't be blogging. I hope this will be over and I can move onto a new path. One with a little less heartache, please.

Who knows, eh?

Where is the love?

So long time no see, eh? I have had quite a few complaints from friends asking me what on Earth had happened and why I hadn't updated for over two months so here it is...*cue drum roll* a post! I shall be entirely dancing a jig if this post makes even an iota of sense as I feel so tired that it is similar to drunkenness. Actually, I may hit the sack after writing this as I am so shattered and have an observation tomorrow morning!

Last time I left you, I was awaiting the letter from Guys. No, I won't start with that, there's been other stuff too.

I injured my shoulder, like properly buggered it up and was incredibly drugged up for quite some time. A full two and a bit weeks' blast of codeine and Naproxen to dull the pain. I barely left the house during that time and had some seriously big thinks. When I went to see the GP, I didn't just ask about my shoulder but also talked about how crappy I've been feeling. They had mentioned a while back about me going for counselling but I wasn't certain I really needed it. I mean losing pregnancies is shit. Seriously shit but there's tougher shit in the world, isn't there? Well, yes there is. A lot tougher shit but add in a pressure cooker job and a predisposition to self-criticism and well, you're a bit buggered! I'm not new by any stretch of the imagination to the world of mental health problems- if you're new to Sarah World, here's a brief run down:

• First panic attack aged 8- on going issues;
• Started having problems with eating from the age of 11;
• Started self harming about six months later;
• Went for counselling with a useless person aged 14;
• Through school's worries, I went to Bromley Y who were bloody amazing;
• Left school and went to Uni where I met Harry- my wonderful, blind CBT person who I named my corkscrew after;
• Had a pretty spectacular breakdown where I almost became a Catholic and killed myself;
• Stopped cutting in February 2005;
• Stopped taking laxatives 2009;
• I still binge occasionally but in the way of food, I'm doing ok. Things can get hard but I can quickly get my shit back together.

So yes, pretty illustrious! I wrote some dodgy poetry too but I'm putting that down to being a Manics fan! 

A bit like infertility, I think mental health should be treated as the normal medical issue that it is. It should be treated as a normal malady to have and can just as big a killer as cancer. Food was a way of having some aspect of control over a life that I had very little. Cutting myself was my way of coping with the fact that I wasn't good enough and home was pretty mad when I was very young- very high pressure and that pressure now shows in lines across my tummy, my legs and my arms.

Recently, I've found myself having regular panic attacks- you know, the point where you feel like your eyes are going to pop out of your head and that your heart may explode if it beats any faster. I feel the panic rising on a daily basis- triggers can be anything. Mostly school or imagining that I find myself to be pregnant but anything. So I took some action: enough feeling shit. Time to get a life back! I went to the Greenwich Time to Talk service who has diagnosed me with severe Panic and Anxiety Disorder and severe Depression. When I got that diagnosis, I felt very weird as I hadn't realised that I had allowed it to become so bad again- I guess when you're down so often, you start to accept it as normality. There's a definite loss of fizz. Chronic tiredness as well.

The lady I spoke to was really nice. I clicked quite well with her but it is uncertain as to who I will have once my CBT starts. Right at the end she spoke to me about my attitude to my pregnancy loss and told me off for my clinical way of dealing with the losses by calling the processes by their medical terms and not by their emotional terms. She pointed out that I was totally awaiting constant failure in everything that I do and that my chromosomes had become my latest dartboard fodder. After all, they've not done too much right so far eh? It was a emotional punch that sent me reeling back into my 15 year old self with Janice at Bromley Y berating me for not loving myself and kick back to Harry's office where he would tell me to stop trying to disassociate from myself by getting lost in thought rather than being in tune with the physical. 

Loss is a fucker. I've never really grieved for my babies or celebrated the brief time I've had with them as I don't think I have actually named them as being babies. I may had said it as being a sort of social nicety because that is what you should see them as being but I have never really associated them as being that as such. I've just floated around my loss not really engaging with it. Feeling sad, crying lots and being very angry but mostly at myself and those bloody translocations. After all if my mum gets two babies (albeit with more loss and more problems) and my step mum gets one with the same amount of loss and age as a factor, surely I should get bloody one without being jabbed, poked and prodded?

Christa, the Time to Talk lady, wanted me to engage with my body in the same sort of way that you do in mindfulness. She wanted me to start talking to my uterus and stop thinking of it in medical terms. The uterus that is the bitch who makes me hurt every month. Instead she wanted me to start viewing it as a cot, somewhere that has the possibility of nurturing life. Whilst my initial reaction was, what the fuck is this hippy dippy shit, I started to think that maybe she had a point. Maybe it's time to drop the "My Body is my Enemy" bullshit and start looking after it. Yeah the chromosomes are a bloody pain in the arse, but it's time to ditch all those years of waiting for this shit to go wrong, the shit going wrong and start to actually take a bit more care of myself.

She asked me what my hobbies were and I kind of sat there and felt like a kid in my class who had been asked a very hard question (don't worry kids, I will never ask you what you did at the weekend again!) Then I remembered, the night before, I had flicked through one of my mum's magazines and found a knitting pattern that wasn't too difficult to follow. I decided in that moment that rather than just talking about it (and eventually talking myself out of it, as after all, everyone is a better knitter than me!) that I was going to have a go and whilst I was in Eltham, I would pop into the tiny wool shop at the back of Sainsburys. So I did. I now have a new scarf that has some dodgy tension, a funny stitch and a weird bit on the pocket but I did it. I finished a knitting pattern. By myself. #teamSarahftw

As a part of the healing process, I've decided to learn how to crochet. I saw my wedding photographer's beautiful rainbow blanket on Facebook and whilst chatting to the other Sarah Jean at school (seriously as a Sarah born in the 80s, it is amazing to meet anyone who has the same funky middle name as you) I found out that she used a website called Craftsy to teach herself how to crochet. So my task is to make my own rainbow blanket, ready for my rainbow baby and in celebration of my babies who didn't make it into my arms. 

I got the art job by the way! After Easter, I am escaping to North London to be an art teacher in a Primary school which was a bit of a confidence boost and a relief as I was considering quitting teaching all together. I was in so much shock that I forgot to say that I accepted it immediately and had to be prompted! I am looking forward to a slower pace, more money and more time to read books on my commute.

The final bit of news is what happened last Monday. I had a missed phone call from P with a text that said, "Call me" which instantly sends me into panic and meltdown. What has happened to the dog? Has he been attacked? Have we been broken into? Is there something wrong with the cats? Have the school changed their mind about offering me the job? (See? Freaking mental!) Last Monday, I cried on the bus into school. It was my year anniversary of my D&C- the loss of my fourth pregnancy- the one that almost felt like it might happen. To then get a message saying, "Call me" had me wobbling like a jelly on the San Andreas fault. So I rang and found out that the World's Sleepiest Man (otherwise known as my husband) had overslept and decided to work from home with our then still cone-head dog (from his snip). An A4 envelope had then come through the letterbox. The A4 envelope that we had been waiting for. The letter and medical forms to say that we can start PGD in about two months time.

It is time, Simba. It is time.

What's a girl to do?

It is now the third of January and I am still to have a drink in 2014 (well, other than the ones that I had in the early hours of new year's day but as I was awake from the day before, they don't count. Do they?) Those of you who know me well, know that I love a drink, in fact, a glass of wine does make a meal taste all the better... as does the pre-meal gin and tonic... The Aldi advert where the elderly lady talks about her husband liking both types of tea and then admits her love of gin- that could be me in 30 or 40 years time. I love gin. Gin is great. Nevertheless, gin and wine are not conducive to a healthy pregnancy, so like my beloved cigarettes, alcohol has had to go.

Ten years ago, I lived in France as a part of my French degree. I was meant to be doing a year in a French university- it rather amounted to about a week's worth of lectures and a year of sitting in cafes and visiting art galleries but it was one of the most rounding life experiences ever. I am still in regular contact with my "family" of friends I had out there, one of whom is a true soul sister-she was my bridesmaid two years ago and I shall be hers this year. It was a year of watching old films, drinking a lot of wine, smoking a lot of cigarettes, tears and laughter. I always used to joke that to do a French degree, the first two qualifications needed were a love of good wine and a minimum of a 10 a day habit (the second two being able to swear fluently and the ability to shrug one's shoulders with a certain lack of care). I cannot believe that it has been a decade since that time and neither, if you had asked my 21 year old self, would I have honestly believed that I would have given up the fags and booze ten years later. I loved smoking in the same way that I love alcohol. I miss my fag at the bus stop.

As I put on my striped black and white dress that was yet to be ravaged by beetroot and soup (Note to self: buy an apron before cooking anything ever again...), I giggled to myself that my inner 16 year old would have approved of my slightly Tim Burton-esque dress and I realised that although a lot had changed, nothing truly important has:

1.  I still have an inky black eyeliner in my make up and a feather boa in my  cupboard that are ready to be called up on Manics gig duty. 
2. My friends are still the same core group that I had pretty much from aged 16 to now.
3. My clothing choices- although slightly bizarre according to my mum, haven't really changed other than the skirts are a lot longer. 
4. Glitter is still a huge part of who I am.

The good changes that have happened are:

1. That I no longer self harm or eat weirdly and neither am I as prone to such huge mood swings. 
2. Didn't turn into Bridget Jones and met a rather awesome, handsome man and yes, dear readers, I married him.
3. Became a moderately responsible professional adult with a house and animal responsibilities.

Now, I am not under the pretence that by not drinking alcohol, cutting down caffeine and stopping smoking that a magician will suddenly appear from within a cloud of glitter and smoke and say, "Ta da! Here is your baby- well done for following the rules." If only it was that simple! I do, however, need to become healthier- shift some weight and not do the naughty legal drugs that can play havoc with early embryos. I know that none of my miscarriages have been caused by any loose living on my part (seriously, my life is mostly played out from my sofa- clubs make my head hurt...), it's the bloody wonky genes playing up and sadly, they don't play by any rules. They are the lottery roll of the dice and no amount of clean living will make them behave themselves but a lot of what is happening leaves me feeling very out of control and just feeling like I'm doing the right thing helps. 

So keep passing me the sparkling elderflower, please...

What are you doing New Year's Eve?

Zooey Deschanel is my ultimate girl crush. I love her.

So the New Year is upon us, once again- my thirty second on this planet (albeit not truly until November). I used to hate new years- my utterly beloved Grandad died on one 18 years ago and so as a teenager, I went out of my way to hate them for a long time. The first new years that I thought was totally kickass was in 2009- my first with Mr P. We spent it in Windsor together- a few days completely alone (had to in those days as we both still lived at home)- we walked through the Park, ate ice cream and laughed at the cat who was sitting on the grass next to the sign telling people to get off the grass.

It was that pre-moving in together extra special time that you have with someone who you already know you're going to spend the rest of your life with. It was good- fresh air, decent food and quality time with not too much travelling.

Now, the following year, we started what has now become a bit of a tradition- we invited my mum, stepdad, nanny, my mother in law and father in law and proceeded to eat a lot of food and get very drunk. This ended with my nan saying to my mum when their taxi arrived that she didn't want the night to end and with my stepdad and my father in law dancing to the Pogues together. This was before the see you next Tuesdays moved in downstairs as the following year we were buzzed at 1am for too much merriment (man alive, am I glad to be away from those total and utter dickweeds!)
Of course, this past new year, we were in Hawaii, bitches (sorry, watching too much Breaking Bad)! So whilst the majority of you were enjoying your NYE, we were sitting on the beach eating our lunch.

Normally, I'm the queen of sunscreen and yes, I do need to use it despite the Asian genes. However, I got so burnt that day- I looked like a lobster thermidor, with serious heatstroke on top! At one point, I was going through so much aloe aftersun, I questioned filling the bath with it...We ended up going for a steak that I could barely eat (way too much salt!!) and then diving into bed to watch The Hangover 2 on repeat with our bottle of Andre (our $7 bottle of Champagne). Suddenly, there were these booms from outside and I ran naked (no material was allowed near my scorched skin) over to the balcony where there were loads of bangs, whizzes and woops coming from over the bay.

It was the Hawaiian new year- Honolulu is one of the last on Earth to celebrate it and we had almost slept through it!

Having never been one for making wishes or resolutions, I didn't make any. Neither did I burn away the bad of the previous year (believe me, there was some crazy stuff that went down!) This New Year is getting capital letters- not because I truly believe that after the strokes of midnight, that all my dreams will come true but rather that I am going to put in a concerted effort into making them come true. With a wish, you have got to let go of the responsibility for making it come true- whilst you can work towards it, there is a little bit of magic as to whether it will happen or not.

As for resolutions, I am heading in the right direction. With a meeting a for Guys scheduled early next year, that feels like things are progressing. Also with the smoking long gone, alcohol is the next thing to go. From January the 1st, I will be dry. I'm also going to make a big effort to train for a 5K and work from that to a 10K- this is huge for me as I really can't run. For a start, I was never made for running- my boobs need structural engineering to keep them in place and I also look somewhat like a rubber chicken- think Phoebe from Friends but I did a few 5Ks a few years back when I was at uni with my fastest time being 22 minutes.

Hope is the main thing that I'm going to channel next year- it has certainly been a bit difficult at times to keep my chin up. However, please don't think me mad in sharing this but I had a very weird thing this time last week- we were on our way to my mum's for one of my brother's thai curries, sitting in the back of a taxi - it felt like the first time I had managed to sit down all day, so I started to doze. It was a weird kind of sleep- more like a meditative calm than a true sleep and P kept waking me up as I had a huge box on my lap that he kept hitting when he tried to squeeze my knee (yes, he managed to do it more than once- each time ending with us both giggling). When P wasn't trying to bosh my mum's Christmas present, I sat there in this trance like sleep. Whilst in one of these trances, I had a vision/dream. I was holding a baby. Not sure how I know but it was definitely my baby. It wasn't in a room, no earthly thing surrounded me, in fact I wasn't anywhere- like almost in a total void but there was a light around myself and this baby that I was holding. There was also a sense of total and utter calm and peace. I don't know whether it was my subconscious saying goodbye to the babies I have lost or whether it was me telling myself that it will happen. Some might even read into it a type of religious or spiritual moment. I really can't put my finger on it but since then, rather that fixating on staying pregnant, I feel like I know what I'm aiming for- a child of my own. For so long now, all I've thought about is managing to stay pregnant past the first trimester but it feels like it has finally sunken in that actually what I'm aiming for is a living breathing, healthy baby.

That, my friends, is what I'd truly like to achieve by this time next year. It is a wish- not something entirely in my powers to conjure up (otherwise, there'd be a fuckload by now!) but something that with some sensible resolutions, I am working towards.

(Image from http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.co.uk/)

Happy New Year xxx

Do you know what I mean?

Firstly a Merry post-Christmas to you all! I hope you all are in a similar sugar/salt induced coma to the one I am currently wallowing on my sofa. So, since the previous post, lots has happened!

Let's start with the not so great stuff first. Just had a screaming match with a member of my family over the telephone. Well, not exactly screaming but it ended with them telling me to fuck off and hanging up. I am not going to name the person in question but we have been through many years of a difficult relationship- years that I have fought to keep a relationship going with this person. Again, I am not going to go into the particulars of these difficulties as they are in the past but every now and then the testing behaviour rears its ugly head and we're back to the awkwardness. I stood up for myself having been accused of being a liar, a disorganised mess and got told to fuck off for it. There was an issue with a birthday present that I had made for the person in question- a blown up canvas print of a particular print from our wedding photos. It is utterly stunning and looks like it should be used for a tourism photo of Greenwich, however when I received the print back, the colours were distorted- fluorescent instead of stained glass window colours, so I sent it back and apologised to person x for not having it in time for their birthday. When I spoke to person x today, I gave them the date that I would be able to pick the present up to let them know that it was being sorted at which point they accused me of the above. How many times should you allow someone to treat you like this before you actually say enough? Is having a relationship with them, worth the constant fear of their temper and attitude?

The person in question is meant to be coming tomorrow morning, so we'll see whether they turn up and how they behave then. At least it will be on my territory- my house, my rules.

Happier but slightly scary news, I had a lovely telephone call from my GP this evening, just before the close of practice. They had finally heard back from Greenwich who said that Guys would be the people funding the PGD treatment (it's all become centralised rather than all over the place) and that we hit all of the criteria for the funding, which is amazeballs. Mainly because we had already been told by Guys that they would be waiting for the phone call from us to start treatment and that backs up what they'd said. You never quite know if you're being told the whole truth or not and since in the past year, I've moved houses and GPs through all the treatment, it's nice to see the dots connecting. My GP hadn't however realised that we had been to see Guys in the past year for a consultation (mainly to explain why it happens to P but realistically no more than a bureaucratic wank) so obviously there are some missing letters but Guys will have a copy of the one sent to us and it'll be in my folder of doom (several inches thick just for the genes).

I also apologised to my nan today. Harvey, my mum's dog had his hydrotherapy today and my step-dad had to take him for his session (I can't remember if I mentioned that he totally mashed up his leg whilst on holiday in Devon... Going senile!) and so I popped over to chat to my nan who has been up celebrating the holidays with us. She's utterly amazing and I love her very dearly but over the past year's events, I stopped calling her. Not because of anything that she did or said but because I couldn't think of speaking to her without bursting into tears- I never had anything happy to say to her and felt like I was letting her down by not having anything positive to say. I also didn't want to upset her with my rubbishness and inability to stop crying when she lives by herself and so far from us. You can't really tell someone bad stuff over the phone, can you? Anyway, we had a catch up today and when we said goodbye, I said sorry for being such a rubbish granddaughter for not calling for ages. It's several months that we won't get back and I've missed her terribly but I refuse to let that happen again. She's my nanny and I shouldn't allow my crap year to destroy what always has been such a lovely relationship.

This is my incredibly clever and beautiful Nanny:

So many highs and lows in one small day. Going to take Max out with P for a refreshing walk to blow the cobwebs and the emotional rollercoaster away. That's if Max wakes up and I can tear P away from FIFA.

Other than today, Christmas has been its normal uneventful calm self, I have been utterly spoilt by the amazing presents bought for me- UGGs, yoga vouchers and a Kobo Arc HD and I have eaten/drunken my weight in alcohol, sugar and salt!

 

Do you realise?

Ok the original song is by the Flaming Lips and therefore "realise" should be spelled with a "z" but SPELLING, PEOPLE!!!!!

Sorry, I haven't been around for a while- had a few people coming up and asking when there would be another instalment but work has been pretty wickedly wild over the past few weeks. I pulled myself from Facebook for a bit as I found it just too tough to read everyone's status updates about how their Christmas preparations with their kids. After all, we have worked pretty hard at getting one of those kiddlywinks for ourselves by Christmas this year but sadly no baby or bump to show for it. One of those rubbish bits really, can't work hard at it and expect results! Babies come when they come.

In my Facebook absence, I realised that I don't really do very much other than work. Like virtually nothing other than walk the dog or play Sims! It's very much my fault that it has become that way but I need to take steps to change it. My job needs to start coming second to my life as what ever happens over the next few years, I will need to be out of class so that I am less emotionally attached and the thing is, that means leaving my current job as it isn't possible at my school. The job I am going for is a job where I'd be earning more, with more responsibility (but for one area rather than everything!) and working less hours!!!! Yeah doesn't seem right does it? It's almost a little to good to be true. There are downsides but sometimes you've got to just put yourself out there and go for it haven't you?

If I get the post, I will continue the hot bikram yoga that I started in November and I also will head over to the Art Academy to brush up on my skills as it's time I do other stuff than just going to work, working, coming home, working... Also being based in North London, I will have to go through Central to get home so I will be better placed to meet up with friends after work. Is that a glimmer of a life, I can see in the future?! When I walked around the school, I was asked to put in an application form so at least I am something towards what they are looking for.

It's almost the end of the year and whilst this won't be my last post of the year, a friend on Twitter said about how she and her other half had sat down to write down all of the good things that had happened during the year. These are mine.
SARAH'S TOP TEN LIST OF AWESOMENESS FOR 2013 (In no particular order)

1. We bought our first house together and it's freaking awesome! As a then 30 year old, I felt pretty grown up being able to buy a three bedroom house in London within zone 4! It's our very own little nuclear bunker that is a lovely size with a great garden and in such a quiet, calm area.
2. Maxwell Lawson- he is totally the top of this list but he wouldn't have happened if we hadn't bought the house. He is a hyper-intelligent, naughty beast who is incredibly cuddly and lovely. 
3. I stopped smoking. Yes, go fucking me!!!! I haven't smoked for 2 months (bar one last week on Friday but that is another story).
4. I have lost a dress size- by eating more! I am now eating more food and full fat stuff instead of the diet nasty food.
5. I started writing again- I haven't written anything personal for more than an entry or two (so many dead blogs!) 
6. We celebrated our first anniversary- ok not the greatest of years but a year being married to my best mate is not to be sniffed at!
7. We came back from our first ever trip abroad together (NYC, SF and Hawaii), which also happened to be our honeymoon.
8. I managed to finish knitting the second ever thing I have knitted to a pattern in my life!
9. I ran a week-long trip to France for the old Year 6s and it was awesome.
10. My two best friends got engaged (Di and Derek!) and married (Kat and Chris!). 

So yes, it has been a really tough year but good stuff has happened too. I shall be writing everything down that has gone wrong this year and be holding a fire in my garden to burn the bad things that happened in 2013 away as per the Mexican tradition. 

One of my TAs was holding The Secret book and talking about how it had changed the way she thought and when I asked her about it, she said that there was no point in me reading it as I already think positively. That might just be a projection of what I want people to see but it's time to put that into practise. In 2014, we will try to have a baby but if it doesn't happen, 2015 will be the year that we adopt our baby. Positive thinking time. Enough of the negative.

So the plan for 2014- otherwise known as OPERATION GET A LIFE!

1. Have a real baby- no more broken ones, thank you wonky genes.
2. Go back to college to get some more art skills.
3. Write a book.
4. Get a new job.
5. Work on the house- get a loan to do the work needed on the house. Electrics, insulation, porch and some decoration to be completed by December next year.
6. Work on the garden- or rather, get my mum to do it and pay her in wine and dog sitting.
7. See my friends- so many have moved to London now and have I seen them? NO! 
8. Go back to Canada- ok this is a given as I am a bridesmaid but dammit I need to see my girl and definitely need another holiday abroad!

So, a happier look at what went well and an even better if list for next year- can't help it. I'm a teacher!