April for our family was a month that we don’t particularly want to see again for a long time. It was the month that at the start of the year promised birthday celebrations, mini breaks away with my two favourite males over the Easter holidays and a chance to unwind, relax a little and catch up on blog posts that have been half written in my head and half constructed in my drafts.
It was not to be and in the blink of an eye on my hubby’s birthday, our plans all changed. My unsuspecting Dad had not one but two heart attacks and was hospitalised needing urgent specialist care and two weeks later, major heart surgery and a quadruple bypass operation. It knocked us for six but luckily we’re a strong family and we rallied around and made sure my Dad was as comfortable as he could be and had company for at least an hour a day with a hot cup of coffee whilst he was in hospital to get an smidge of normality back in this crazy turn of events that were panning out before us.
Add to that a very recent sickness bug for both me and Little Mr resulting in us both being useless and in quarantine for our plans last Sunday. Little Mr had his first swimming lesson (more on that coming up this week) and I was supposed to be at Blog On in Manchester. It was my nephews 6th birthday and we had to miss it all. It was pretty rubbish. And we get the news late Sunday evening, that my lovely Grandad was taken poorly and is now in hospital awaiting tests and a possible operation. Enough. I’ve had enough!
I’ve become (over the last year) a very emotional person. My work colleagues now have the tissues on hand ready for me breaking out the tears. I can’t help it. They just come out, I’ve never wanted to be the wuss in the workplace but since becoming a Mum, it’s become a part of me that I can’t shake. Everything gets to me, just a little bit more than it used to.
I’m an emotional eater, I always have been. Back in a previous life (pre-Little Mr) I had learnt to combat these cravings for crap and junk food and was able to channel my urges and desires into different things to take my mind off raiding the fridge and the cupboards. I’m not proud of my coping mechanism, I wish I turned to exercise or fruit but I don’t.
And now I face the battle, once again, of dealing with my emotions and dealing with being much larger than I have ever wanted to be (especially after losing a shed load of weight before Little Mr came along) I realise that this hasn’t just happened in the space of a solitary month, it’s taken a lot longer and perhaps there are some things I need to deal with personally to combat the reasons why I turn to food. There’s a lot of regret but life is far too short to dwell on those. I’m desperate to get back into my smaller clothes hanging in the wardrobe (they’re still there, 18 months on) so the challenge is set. It’s not going to easy, it’s not going to be pretty but there’s a lot of determination to succeed inside me!
Anyone fancy giving me a helping hand?