Implant not Impregnate!

Heyy, 

Sitting in the surgery doctors waiting room to say I was nervous was an understatement. I was anxiously tapping my foot on the floor as I answered questions about my sexual health. Have I ever been paid for sex? Have I ever been forced into sex? Have I ever had abusive sex? Some of the detailed questions were strange, but I suppose they have to ask them as nurses in order to safeguard, both as an arse-covering exercise and to flag up any would-be problems or concerns. And so here I was for my fourth implant exchange. 

Looking on the NHS website, Nexplanon, otherwise known as the contraceptive implant is a small flexible plastic rod that looks a little like a match stick. It is placed under the skin in your upper arm by a doctor or nurse and releases the hormone progestogen into your bloodstream to prevent pregnancy. Lasting for 3 years, it is more than 99% effective and can be useful for women who can't use contraception that contains oestrogen.

The science-y part states that the implant steadily releases the hormone progestogen into your bloodstream, which prevents the release of an egg each month AKA your period.  It also thickens the cervical mucus, which makes it more difficult for sperm to move through the cervix, and thins the lining of the womb so a fertilised egg is less likely to implant itself and cause that dreaded pregnancy! 

The NHS website also states that you can have the implant put in at any time during your menstrual cycle, as long as you're not pregnant. If the implant is fitted during the first 5 days of your menstrual cycle, you will be immediately protected against becoming pregnant, however, if it's fitted on any other day of your menstrual cycle, you'll need to use additional contraception (such as condoms) for 7 days, although if you ask the sexual health nurse or doctor they will usually provide you with as many as you need in a nice little discreet packet, almost like a goody bag or sticker like from the Dentist. 

Some of the reasons to choose the implant over other forms of contraception are that once the implant is in place, you don't have to think about it again for 3 years and is very useful for women who find it difficult to remember to take a pill at the same time every day like me. Obviously, the implant can be taken out if you have side effects which could include periods may become irregular, lighter, heavier or longer but once removed your natural fertility will return very quickly. As soon as that implant has been removed, you'll no longer be protected against pregnancy. You can also use this method until you reach the menopause when a woman's monthly periods stop naturally.

Another common side effect is what I have most of the time which is called amenorrhoea when your periods stop altogether. It's not harmful, but you may want to consider this before deciding to have an implant if unlike me you prefer Aunt Urma staying more regularly. I think this, along with the fact I am incredibly forgetful and blase about the small stuff in life, means this is perfect and I only really need to think about it when I am having it exchanged and replaced. 

I mean obviously, it goes without saying that some medicines can make the implant less effective and that it won't work or protect against sexually transmitted infections (STIs), so you may need to use condoms as well if you are not familiar with your bed-fellow. I think I found it especially useful when I was dating (although this feels like many, many moons ago now) as I was not only using condoms but also relying on my implant too as a sort of double barrier, just in case the condom split or came off. 

To have it removed as I have this evening is simple as well and mostly pain-free. Starting with a local anaesthetic to numb the area on the inside of your upper arm, the implant is then inserted under your skin (mine was after the doctor made a tiny cut in my skin and gently pulled the implant out). It only takes a few minutes to put in and feels like having an injection so you won’t be in need of any stitches afterwards. 

As I type to you all tonight I have been through this very quick and simple procedure several times over and, like me, when it's first put in you may feel some bruising, tenderness or swelling around the implant. My arm is killing me right now, mainly because the nurse took it out and nearly forgot to put me a new one back in, by which point the general anaesthetic had nearly worn off so inserting that little stick felt like pumping molten chilli sauce into my arm. But I am now protected, at least in part from Mr Warehouse's super sperm. His whole family seem to be able to procreate at a somewhat incredible level I don't think I have ever encountered before. 

Don't get me wrong, as the day approached and even this afternoon as I thought more and more about it I know that this will be the last time I will have it going in as I will not be finishing the full term until September 2022. If Mr Warehouse had it his way we would have had children back when we met, aged twenty-two and me at twenty-three. I, however, prefer the more planned and thought out route, choosing to get life to a more stable place, with a house and well-formed relationship to steady the unpredictability of a child. And to think that the next time I lay down on that bed, fist punching the air will be when I have made the decision to breed and make more little me's!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Doggo Dreams

Hello All, 

Once again after a stressful and hectic week at work, I come home and relax my Friday night away only to be awoken on Saturday morning at 6.20am. Listening to my new addition cry and whine downstairs I knew there was only one thing for it. The puppy trauma through bedtime routines and trying to keep our little Frankenstein happy in his own company is still an almighty issue. I suppose naively I thought that our issue would be toilet training or yapping and barking, and whilst the latter is an issue, it is rarely present. Unless of course, you leave him alone for an eighth of a second. 

Mind you I have never had a puppy. I remember as a child begging and pleading my parents to buy me a puppy. In fact, I am pretty sure that I even settled for a dog as I got a little older but every year sure is to be sure there would be a canine companion at the top of my birthday and Christmas list. I longed for one so bad that eventually, my parents gave in. 

We called her Trixie and she was a chocolate Labrador. Looking back I am not entirely sure how old she was when we got her but I know that she was still a boisterous pup. I think I remember my parents telling me that she had come from a rescue home, although I am not certain on. All I know is that she stayed with us a while before we had to give her away. My brother was very small, still a baby himself really and I think that Trixie had taken it on herself to make him part of her pack. As a result whenever he would cry she would come running, although she very rarely left his side and always slept under his pinstriped blue and white baby bouncer. As time went by she grew to growl if anyone went near him and snarled if anyone even dared to pick him up, even if he was blind crying. 

One day as my baby brother began to whimper I went as any big sister to make sure he was OK. I must have only been about six or seven at the time but as I went to pick him out of the baby bouncer he was in to comfort him Trixie lost it and went to bite me, narrowly missing my face. She caught me though and in a bit of a fright more than anything I started to cry. There was blood where she had nicked my nose as she has snapped up at me and it was at that moment I think my parents took the executive decision that Trixie needed to be rehomed. This time we had been lucky but if any more blood had been drawn then she may have gotten a taste for it and then she would have no chance at her happily ever after home as she would have to be put down. That was the least of the families worry as what would have happened if she had turned on the baby and snapped at him next time. 

And so that was the end of my first encounter with owning my own dog, or at least a little. All throughout my late teens and twenties (so far at least) when I gradually gained more independence and got a serious boyfriend and a house I thought and even chatted with him about getting a pup to complete our little set-up. I mean I should have really seen he was no good for me when he told me he didn't really like doggo's and certainly didn't want one as a pet. 

After that relationship fell apart (not for the lack of dog ownership I must say) I moved on and after getting my own little bachelor pad in the centre of Bedford I craved some furry company and a little man in my life that wasn't as much hassle as some of the dates I went on. I thought it would help with me meeting new people and making friends and maybe more. But alas the one-bed top floor penthouse had no balcony and thus I was not allowed one by my landlord. And then I met Mr Warehouse and his beloved pup and the rest is history. 

They say you have your first one, the golden child (quite literally in our case) and they are an absolute dream. Sleeps well, doesn't cry, good by themselves, not bothered by anything and generally a happy baby, or in our case a happy pooch. My Step-Dog is not phased by anything and takes the world in her stride, people knocking at the door, maybe the occasional gruff, but fireworks? No problem. Potty training? Don't sweat it! Motorbikes and strange loud noises? Pffft! Children and other dogs? No bother. Left alone? Happy to have her own company. 

Therefore you are lulled into a false pretence that your next one will be just as easy. Just like with babies, Mr. Warehouse grabbed the opportunity a few weeks ago to make our family four paws bigger and finally my dream of having a little furry baby came true. I would have said that having Frankenstein is a little like being a parent, so I am told. He is sometimes a nightmare, OK most of the time, but his love and affection is growing and our bond is getting stronger by the day and I am sure that we will have the relationship I have always dreamt of ... Just need to let him know its OK to be alone sometimes!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Sleep tight in car heaven my orange amigo!

Good Evening, 

Today is a sad day. Today I have lost a good friend of mine and one that I think I will never forget. My first. My one and only. My beautiful Vivienne. 

Back in the throes of my youth in the warm weather of 2016's October, I met my Vivienne at a local reputable dealership. Taking public transport to a dealership I had my heart set on the 2011-plate little orange Ford Fiesta. A five-door hatchback with a 1.4L engine was everything I had ever hoped and dreamt for in my first car and with its high specification including a multifunctional steering wheel, automatic headlights and rain sensors she was certainly a thing of beauty. Small enough for little old me and big enough for the Doggy and other half during road-trips I was certainly excited to test drive the autumnal-coloured runabout and even more anxious to hear about what packaged I could choose from. 

I was financing the car, and whilst I did consider a brand spanking new motor at the time, the fact that it would depreciate by over a third just by driving it off the forecourt was a huge factor in why I chose second-hand over new. With one previous owner, no noticeable damage or scratches to her paintwork and a clean interior she was perfect. And so my little tangerine-coloured car was named Vivienne, after the flame-haired fashionista that is Vivienne Westwood. I think it fits and I have since found out that the Ford Fiesta orange hue does not come as standard and the previous owner must have paid a good deal of money for a paint job as good as what my Viv has. A special one of a kind you might say. Unique - Just like her owner! I was certainly eager to collect her and after a few weeks, our Vivienne was settling into her new home just right. The following few months lots of changes in my life including a brand new job and a serious amount of Adulting! 

Over the coming months that turned into years and my beloved Vivienne took many road trips; York where we drove for nearly five and a half hours because I didn't quite realise that the speed limit was 70mph and I was pootling along at 60mph. Then there was The Peak District where we struggled up hills and a crossed snowy mountains. The multiple trips to the seaside with our puppy and even facilitating us to take our poor puppy to the vets on the odd occasion. Countless shopping trips and visiting new places or seeing friends and family. It was on one of these occasions a few weeks ago where I was visiting Mrs Tweedle-Dumb at her family pad in our hometown of Houghton Regis near Dunstable. After a good few weeks of catching-up, constant laughs and seeing each other pretty much every other day it was time for her to go back to America and her husband. With her departure also came her parents move too as they too were moving out of the family home and away to the beautiful island of Anglesey in North Wales. 

Parking as I usually had, I didn't think twice about parking my car outside the family home, and I didn't think anything strange when I returned to my car much later on that evening for the drive home. It was not until the following morning when I went out to the car during my day off in order to get something when I noticed a huge grey and white stripe down the front passenger's side of the vehicle. The paint job itself was extremely noticeable, however, it was the huge dent to the door itself and the caved-in handle that gave me a shock. I was fuming. Not knowing what to do I called Mr Warehouse and hoped that he would have some advice for me that would be worthwhile. 

That evening after he arrived home from work we cleaned the car and inspected the overall damage. It was certainly not going to be a cheap job by any means as there were multiple scratches, scuffs and paintwork damage to the car and its bodywork, not to mention the fact that the window made a horrid scraping and scratching noise as it was wound down. Mr Warehouse could even that squeeze his fat sausage digits in between the window and the car door meaning that it was a security risk leaving it. As soon as I could I took her to a bodywork specialist in Bedford who explained that the work was very expensive and would far outweigh my £200 excess. Opting for going through the insurance I followed procedure and took Vivienne to another dealership which was approved. 

Checking her over, the Mechanic told of a very bleak and dark future for my little pumpkin. Explaining that the total damage to the car door and paintwork as well as some extras that needed to be done on the bumper, lights and bonnet to restore the condition of the car would reach well in excess of £3,000. I suppose unfortunately this means that poor Vivienne was on the cusp of being written off as a total loss which would mean my car would be scrapped or stripped down entirely, naked to her shell, her parts sold on. The kind car doctor informed me that the diagnosis would be more likely than not a write-off and that I should hurry home to check that I have purchased the all-important gap insurance. Gap insurance means that whatever the insurance company pays out for my poor old Vivienne, my gap insurance will cover the rest to what I have left to pay on my finance deal. This means that inadvertently I would walk away without a car and with the debt cleared meaning I can go out to find a new car or alternatively get a loan to cover the balance on a new car. 

This evening after finishing work, I noticed I had a text from the car mechanic who diagnosed Vivienne explaining that my vehicle was now a total loss and that my insurance company will be in contact with me soon. With this, I thought that it would be better if I called the insurance company this evening so I could get the ball rolling,  although after a lengthy conversation and many, many questions later the call handler finally revealed to me that my car was no longer insured under my policy and that as of the moment I get home and park her on my drive she will be classed as a category-N write-off meaning I would not be able to drive her ever again. 

Rolling her gently onto my driveway, solely dedicated to her and only her, I bid my 2011-plate little orange Ford Fiesta goodbye as I emptied her insides. Vivienne will be collected in the next few days and after that I should expect to hear what she is worth. To me, however, my first ever car is and always will be priceless. We have cried together, sang together, stressed together and even screamed and shouted together at times. All the selfies. All the memories. I literally thought I would bring my future babies home from the hospital in my Vivienne, car seats and all. Alas, you were beaten up by an unscrupulous driver and thus our adventures will continue no more! You have served me well dear Viv. Miss you already ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

Blast From The Past!

Hello there, 


Sushi. Is. Life. After the past year maybe of eating shop faux Sushi made from a combination of chicken and seafood, I have finally made the leap to a mainstream sushi bar. Yo! Sushi in Milton Keynes is I am sure probably farthest from genuine and authentic and Asian or Japanese influenced cuisine, however without the luxury of the big smoke to indulge my curiosities in I was forced to seek out as close to the real thing as I can get my little mitts on, Cali-rolls and Spice-Tuna-Things for the win! 

To say that I thoroughly enjoyed seeing Miss Tweedle-Dee and it was good to try new things whilst doing my favourite thing with my wages and in my preferred method or socialising, eating out. I am not quite sure what made me feel so good about sushi and hanging out with my best friend - Maybe it was the delight of combining my two favourite things or maybe it was the fact that I was feeling much better in myself. A a good catch up and long chat about anything and everything life had to offer us at the moment was certainly what I needed. Whilst my counselling and therapy has stopped for the short time whilst I am between therapists and Private Vs. NHS, I am taking my medication which seems to be doing it's job. 

Not long before we finished our meal and headed home I approach the subject that I had been wanting to bring up for a while. I felt as though my Tweedles were about the only people I could talk openly and honestly about how I felt without being judged or criticised. Not even Mr. Warehouse would understand I think?! You see waaay back in the days of short pleated school skirts and thick black eyeliner, there was one of the first Mr's in my life. Mr. Woof. Now let me introduce Mr. Woof to you all, (unless you have been reading along since the beginning and then you will already know who Mr. Woof well and truly is from the Viewer Discretion / NSFW earlier days of writing). 

Mr. Woof and I had been friends since meeting in the second year of High School and pretty much as soon as we met our liaisons began. In class and the playground, Mr. Woof was quite shy when it came to being in 'public' as it were with me, even being seen around each other was a no-no, but away from it all and what I used to refer to as the "spotlight" he was a completely different person, almost caring or even loving in a way, something that was never shown when around others. As we got older the intensity was stepped up with more secret meets at lunch and break, soon progressing to after school and even into our Saturday morning GCSE revision classes. But the more we played with each other, both metaphorically and emotionally the more I suffered. The double life we both lead between not talking to each other and almost bullying each other whilst in the company of friends and others was a stark comparison to the electricity we shared alone. But I knew what I was doing, course I did, any sixteen year old does. It was fun and I enjoyed the secrecy of it all. The secret little affair with the boy who I had a stupidly major crush on for ages and who was dating one of my closest school friends. Yeah, I definitely thought I knew it all (and probably still do) thinking that it will all be so different when we leave High School and go to Sixth Form or College, we can finally be together! Haha what a fool ... 

After school ended we went our separate ways, developed as people and went into study. I went on to have several partners, settling down with a few serious ones who loved me no matter the company we were in. Whereas Mr. Woof attempted university, dropped out only to discovered drink and drugs all the while continuing to think that his rock band would become the next big thing. Over the years he turned into something of a misogynistic womaniser and was well known for being a Harlequin around town. Nevertheless though Mr. Woof made an appearance throughout my love-life, weather I was with someone or not, however it must be noted that none of my ex-partners ever took a liking to him and we were always strictly friends when I was in a relationship as being faithful has always been something I fiercely uphold after some hiccups in my earlier years of teenage-living and my fathers betrayal. 

Mr. Woof and I had lost contact for a while after Mr. Workaholic had banned me from communicating with him, but got back in touch a few months after we split. It started as it always had and at that moment the friendly voice of someone familiar was just what I craved. At the time I was amidst a messy break-up Miss Tweedle-Dee handed me the trilogy of books by E. L James; 'Fifty Shades of Grey', 'Fifty Shades Darker' and 'Fifty Shades Freed'. I. Was. Hooked. I couldn't put them down, like everyone I suppose. I decided then to embark on something of my own contract. We had come a long way from my Teenage Dreams Days and so after getting back in contact, Mr. Woof and I began another momentary lapse of loosing our inhibitions and giving into our lustfulness for something we knew so well. Only this time I had some level of control. I had just come out of a long term relationship and wanted something intimate, exciting and confidence boosting. Something NSA to make me smile and brighten up my otherwise gloomy days. I suppose in a sense he was the rebound?! When I talk about it like that it seems as though Mr. Woof was using me to the highest of advantages; abusing the trust and vulnerability of an old friend who was dealing with heartbreak. But I was as much to blame in that as he was. I wanted and needed attention.  I was lacking it both in my job as well as socially as friends and family who lived far from my door. I needed a little something I could dip into as and when I wanted and we weren't hurting anyone. 

After sometime however the novelty soon wore off and we again drifted apart, not through Malice or animosity but simply due to life moving off. Over the next few years of difficult dating dilemmas and finally finding someone I really care about I will be honest and say that I thought about Mr Woof less and less. Until that is the other day when I stumbled across an old social media page. I had seen his profile picture and was intrigued to see what he was up to and we had both changed. I knew that he had got married and settle down with some plain-Jane type. I was certainly not prepared for what was to come. 

Clicking the pages on his social media I discovered that not only had he propose and dedicated his life in marriage, but that he now had a child. Knocking me sideways I was taken aback. I don't know, it is not that I am jealous of his wife and young family, far from it and if anything I am glad that he has found his calling in life as a Dad. Maybe it was the fact that in all of our time together, on or off, we had never discussed marriage or kids, even if the intention was not each other. Then again he is a man and they do not tend to discuss marriage for kids as women do. It is just a little surreal for me to think that someone I thought would never even get married or settle down with anyone is now a father and husband. Oh how things change I suppose. 

It has been playing on my mind a lot over the last few days since finding out last week and I just can't put my finger on it. But as I explained in depth and detail, more than I have here to you, Miss Tweedle-Dee looked at me with a strange expression played across her face as the sushi Carousel continue unknowingly. She didn't need to tell me twice that I was sounding weird and creepy. I came away from our short and brief conversation about Mr. Woof and his family with a heaviness in my heart knowing that time is inevitably ticking along and will soon catch up with me if I am not careful and seeing someone I knew happy makes me feel a little weird about adulting now in the real world. Ahhh someone take me back to the simpler days of Emo bands, short pleated school skirts and thick black eyeliner! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Carried For A Moment, Loved For A Lifetime!

Hiya!

The weekend was certainly going well and started back on Friday evening when I was told by my Personal Trainer that I have exceeded all expectations and lost a further twelve-centimeters off my waist this week, along with many more inches lost elsewhere. Over the moon with the results of the last few weeks hard work I got back into my little Orange car and called someone who I knew would be glad to hear from me. Dominos! Yes I admit I fell off the wagon slightly and ordered pizza for Mr. Warehouse and I, collecting it as I drove home in glee. 

Saturday morning I woke early to kindly take Mr. Warehouse in for his early morning shift working overtime. Aren't I such a nice girlfriend! But despite my dawn rise, I still came home and fell right back into bed slumbering until mid-morning. Meeting my Nanny Pumpkin in the horrid weather for a spot of lunch and a walk round some Museum's in Bedford we talked about all sorts as we normally would, touching upon how my poorly grandfather was and how she is yet to become a great-grandma. 

Fast forward a few hours and I was out of the cold and wet, instead sat round the glass coffee table, enjoying a bottle of wine and laughing along at some NSFW material games I got for Christmas. I was certainly enjoying some much deserved Girlie time with my besties, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb who was up from Basingstoke for the weekend. The luxury this time was that Miss Tweedle-Dee's Brother and family were away for the weekend and as such had a Puppy to look after. A bonus in itself you may think, and rightfully so it would be ... Had it not been for the steaming Hot Tub outside! After a dip we came back inside to warm up and dry off, settling down to watch some YouTubers and Vloggers I had never heard of. Then in the fits of giggles I recognized a familiar face. It was none other that an old school friend of mine, Lorraine Mulrooney. Her Mousey complexion and timid voice had not changed since our classroom days and I was pleased to hear that she was doing well. Or not as the case may seem. 

Watching a Video uploaded only recently it started with tears and in it was captioned something about an update on life so far, or something like that. I was devastated  to hear that despite all the wonderful things that has happened in her life since our last encounter - Meeting a wonderful guy it seems, having a little girl and starting what appears to be a successful YouTube channel things were not good. Listening to the heartbreak as she described in emotional detail the reasoning for the tears I wondered how much pain one person can endure. It was a video that sadly described the terrible loss that miscarriage brings to not only the women carrying the child but also the whole family. Not one or even two but five lost babies this women had experienced, all of them with little or no explanation. 

In the UK miscarriage is the most common complication with any pregnancy with an estimated quarter-of-a-million babies and fetuses lost each year. Medical studies show that between fifteen and twenty percent of all pregnancies end in miscarriage in the first twelve weeks. But even when you are past the all important first and even second trimester, you are still not out of the woods just yet. One in every two-hundred babies born in the UK are stillborn and figures state that it is fifteen times more common that cot death. And yet no-one knows a definitive answer as to why this keeps happening to would-be parents up and down the UK. 

I cannot even begin to understand or even imagine what a women must go through to see those little lines on a pregnancy test to all of a sudden it being snatched away from you. All the thoughts and feelings you had. All the dreams and hopes for the future. What they would look like, what they would be like. All gone. You will never find out if they had their Daddies nose or even if they inherited your mothers stubbornness. Forever guessing what they would be like as a teenager and wondering what sort of person they will grow into. All of this disappearing almost as if it never existed. I can't fathom what it would take to go through the loss of a pregnancy and all it brings let alone having to bring a sleeping bairn into the world so cruel enough to not let you meet. 

I have yet to experience anything close to motherhood and pray that when I finally get to the point in my life where children would be nice that its journey to my arms is safe and hope that I never have to experience what some amazing women in my life as well as old school pals have had to ensure. But one thing stands out in all these women and that is there incredible ability to sweep it under the carpet, hiding it from all to see. Ladies it is your grief and you should not be ashamed or shy of it. Don't hide it, bring it out into the open and lets talk about your beautiful gift, stolen too soon. Lets cry and hug it out because whilst you will never "get over it" as some people might encourage you to do, life will adjust accordingly and because we are strong together and we will heal, little by little and piece by piece. 

Anyone who is suffering right now and feels like they want to chat, either to me (not that I may be very much help of course) or to a professional, please feel free to speak out and try some of the wonderful organisations who specialize in Miscarriage, Stillborn and lost pregnancies such as Sands, The Miscarriage Association and Tommy's. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Life Lessons From My Step-Dog

Hiya, 

So here I am on a Monday evening following a fairly low-key weekend attempting to write for you all but being distracted by simply how cute and playful my step-pooch is. Switching between writing and playing with the 8-year-old Blonde Labrador I struggle not to feel completely overwhelmed when I look at her little face. 

The funny thing is that as I said before, she is not even my dog, not really anyway. I met Pooch when Mr. Warehouse introduced me to her in the Autumn of 2014. It was love at first sight with a friendship that would only get stronger with time. She has learnt to trust me and accept that I, along with her doggy-dad, we mean business. Over the course of the last two-and-a-half-years, the fluff-ball and I have shared secrets and plans with one another - OK mainly me telling her all my plans, secrets and surprises. But strangely she has also been there for me. In times of absolute joy as well as despair, pooch has been the one I have thought of most. When I failed my driving test she was the one I came home too disappointed to tell her. When I passed my driving exam the second time around I couldn't wait to get home if only to share in the news that our adventures would not be restricted by public transport. And when I had to make the tough decision about leaving the workplace I loved so dearly, she was the one I talked things through with. 

You see this is something that some of you might not understand and not in an ignorant way, but especially so if you have never owned a dog. I am not stupid, I get that the pup can't understand me and is just a simple animal, domesticated over years in order to satisfy the human race in many different forms. Of course the dog is not able to have deep discussions about what is the right move up the career ladder, nor what financial decisions need to be made. I would laugh if they did for I am almost certain that our entire household budget would be spent on dog-treats and balls. But on a more serious not they feel you, and what you are experiencing, far better than a cat could do. Dogs sense when their owners are ill or upset, and comfort you when feeling blue. They are always happy to see you and are something that you are solely responsible for. 

I wonder if parents feel the same way? The need to care and look after something that is so much more precious and fragile than yourself. Even though she is nearly fifty in dog years, she certainly does not let her age get her down and goes around her daily business acting as though she is still a puppy. Her little quirks and personality traits certainly makes for good company and I am forever imagining what kind of fun we could have if she was able to talk and tell me what she is really thinking instead of me commentating her little world in a deep and course male voice. I don't know why ... It just comes out like that in my head?!

It is sometimes so overwhelming I feel like crying, and I am not ashamed to say that on the odd occasion I have. I could easily watch her for years just sleeping, as a mother with her newborn, many a time choosing to gaze over Mr. Warehouse's Pup rather than watch whatever is on the box. When she is asleep she is at ease with the world and dreaming of all the wonderful things in a dogs life. Chasing cats just to play with them, millions of tennis balls and sticks I am sure litter every pup's dreams, but for our little one I am sure that eating ice-cream on a warm day, cuddling on the sofa with a film and having adventures with Mr. Warehouse and I are all at her disposal when she is in the land of nod. 

This weekend felt like a proud moment for Mr. Warehouse and I as we took the furball down to the local country park, one of many that surrounds Bedford. Down to the soft gravelly beach we went alone on the shore as the weather swelled. Entering the lake our pooch got stronger and stronger with each toss of her favourite tennis ball. The braver she got the further out she went until eventually we saw what we had waited for. Little paws paddling towards the shore. She was swimming. A proud moment considering her age and what she had been through the last few months with her Pyometra and Hysterectomy operation. I thought to myself as I looked at the little wet face in front of me, big brown eyes begging me for one more go in the cool water "There was a point I didn't think you were gonna make it pup". 

I would like to think that one day, when I have my own babies, that I would be able to look back on the beginnings of my little family with Mr. Warehouse and know that pooch, albeit playful, sleepy and bolshy all at the same time sometimes; She would have taught me all the things I need to be as a parent. Patience. Compromise. Discipline. Leadership. Ownership. Fun. Friendship. Compassion. Caring. Loving. All these life skills you have taught me pup, and I am forever grateful. Hopefully, despite your later years in life, you will be there to welcome home my babies one day and show them the same toothy smile you showed me all those many moons ago dear friend. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Ready?!

Good evening, 

So a thought occurred to me this weekend. Am I ready? Looking at Mr. Warehouse on Friday evening after a few hours in the park wearing out his Niece's and Nephew's, my beloved other-half sat relaxed on the sofa with the littlest of three children, all seemingly pooped from the exertion. Difference is that only a few moments earlier I was cradling a crying baby with no clue as to why it was upset. Was it hungry? No I was trying to feed it and the milk was not being graciously received. Was it soiled? Nope checked that - Five times. Was it hot? Not sure so I took off some layers. Was it tired? I don't think so as every time I put it down it cried and screamed even more. Did it want to be held? Refer back to being laid down. Was it sad? Probably. 

To be fair I have no clue and zero experience when it comes to children. Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb are both bemused and concerned with my lack of motherly instinct and general attitude towards children. The amount of times I have said to myself and others that "It'll be different when its my own" and all along I was kidding myself because now, I am actually starting to wonder if it is a false lie that other parents say when your just not ready for kids. 

I look at my own childhood, because I imagine that is where it starts. I was an only child up until I was about five and that is when my brother came along. Little as he always was to me, he was my little Bro and I was furiously protective over him, right up until the moment I was kicked out. Even to this day I find myself defending him and explaining that there must be a reason for some of his strange and sometimes hurtful actions. Growing up though, other than my brother, I never had any real hands on contact with babies or smaller children. My mother was told that after my siblings difficult birth another pregnancy could be the end of her and so it was just the two of us. 

When I was in my mid-teenage years, rocking out to My Chemical Romance and Enter Shikari, along came the first of three cousins, all in a quick succession of one another. With them all approaching their early adolescence I am sometimes put to shame with how much they know already. Sex Education is starting earlier, as is Drugs talks in Personal, Social, Health and Educational studies. At their age I though weed was some kind of plant that your grandma hated and would make you pee the bed if you picked it. I suppose it is education of a generation so as not to make the mistakes their parents may have made. 

I have very few friends that are single and ready to mingle, not that I am of course. Most of the people I know are with someone long term and either getting on the property ladder, having children or getting hitched. But I question sometimes if I am ready for all of that commitment. In fact, looking through social media, I have very few school friends that have not gone on to have children young. Now this is not a blast to young moms, and dads, ho have had their children whilst young themselves. Hey good luck to you, because my limited experience of looking after children, and within that the sparse moments I have had looking after children on my own, I question honestly how it can and is done. Only a handful of people in my friends list have a university degree, or have travelled extensively. Most of them without kids just poodle on through life, fixing up their room with new Instagram style photo-walls and tweeting about how the morning jog was just the best. 

Thinking about it life is great without kids! I am far too selfish, self-obsessed and consumed by moi to have children yet. People have said that "children will be the making of you and all your narcissism will melt away once you have babies" but I doubt it. I will have to wait and see what the future holds but right now there is a world to explore and a whole cupboard of alcohol under my sink that needs t be drunk ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Pretty As A Picture

Hello, 

After missing the turning twice already, Mr. Warehouse and I pulled into the driveway of the photographers studio once more and the gates opened, I wondered as to where that ponsy family went and how their wonderful Swarovski encrusted lives had got to. Nevertheless as Mr. Warehouse anxiously waffled on about what our budget was for photos was and if we needed a safe word for when we were in the viewing room (Anyone would have thought we were arranging some sort of BDSM relationship with our slightly-camp photographer) I parked my little Vivienne and took the short gravel path to the studio's. 

Sitting down in the viewing room I got ready for the hard sell and eye-watering prices. Watching the initial video of our little pooch and us. Music with an upbeat tempo and the seventy or so images that were taken during our shoot. Settling into the comfy sofa's with our lattes and cappuccino's the video ended and Mr. Warehouse and I were left to whittle down the photo's into the yes, no and maybe piles. Nearly forty-minutes in and we had binned more than half and were left with sixteen images we were struggling to pick off. With Mr. Warehouse looking to me for my advice I simply didn't know what to say and maybe a safe word at this point would have been a good thing. 

Silence breaking we listened to the photographer as he asked us what our budget was. We had not even really planned to be asked such a question and as silly as that sounds we really hadn't thought about how much we had or wanted to spend. I responded with a polite but reasonable offer of up to £400.00 since it was on the run up to Christmas and all that it brings we wouldn't be able to stretch much farther than that. In all fairness if I could get a package for half of that then I would be walking out of those doors a happy lady, but I had to remember that for me it was just flicking through pictures of Golden Labrador Retrievers but for Mr. Warehouse that was his baby. His furry, excitable, traffic-detesting, tennis-ball loving, scratch-my-bum-please and constantly hungry baby. 

Since the moment the bundle of fur arrived they were inseparable, firstly being bought by his brother but being unable to keep her in his rented accommodation he palmed the pup off to his mom and teenage brother, the pre-teen Mr. Warehouse. Plonking this little Andrex-puppy-lookalike down into his lap, Mr. Warehouse raised her through puppy-hood to an adult and what I can only describe as the most happy-go-lucky dog I think I have ever met and that not to mention her perfect temperament and ability to respond brilliantly to any situation be it children, fireworks, loud noise's, different transportation and new places. She is the best step-pooch I could have ever asked for and for the majority of the time she is very well behaved apart from maybe that time she stole my pizza slice. Oh and that time she got tangled up in the doggy-boot protector whilst I'm hitting seventy on the motorway when I look in my rear-view mirror only to see her swaddled like a newborn. Or that time she tried to steal the KFC from the builders in York. Yes.  Other than these moments she was a very good dog. 

So now was crunch time. Money. I feel that its a dirty subject to talk about and in all fairness I think rather vulgar in any situation to discuss finances or wealth or money.  Now its not like I own a yacht in the South of France, but equally I and not rummaging thought the bins to find something remotely edible to have for dinner. I am a JAM - Just About Managing. I have enough money to spend it on nice things for me and other people, but also enough to go out to dinner once a week or just go for a drive because I'm bored. I think sometimes money is a subject left to those in jobs whereby it is necessary and for me that is not the case. 

Anyways, there we were in the photographer viewing room looking at sixteen beautifully remastered images of Mr. Warehouse, the dog and I, with some of the snaps just her by herself. Looking at one another again in a hope some money might just fall out of the sky at this point in time, the photographer broke the ice by stating that he could do us a deal with the sixteen images on screen and the full feature-length video included for £300.00. Totting it up in my headed it worked out to be a good deal, and so it should be - We had to be mucked about for some wanky posho's to have their snotty brats photographed. I mean in all fairness there wasn't much cheaper we could get it for with the video being £100.00 alone and the photo's including copyright laws were working out to be about £12.50 each I thought it was a cracking deal. 

Shaking on it, Mr. Warehouse pulled out his card and we paid in full, leaving very happy customers and even more anxious and buzzing to see the results. I felt like new parents and that we had all this news and photos to show off to everyone and I just couldn't wait. Late last week they arrived and I am overjoyed with the prints and images. The video is just as good as Mr. Warehouse and I remember it and I am pleased we will soon have some wonderful prints and canvases to adorn our walls with. I don't have any reason to use the photographer any time soon unfortunately but certainly when life's big events conclude I will think of no-where else but his studios and lens. Maybe now I can have my own photogenic pup!?

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Battle of the Vom!

Evening All,

So after last week's dreamy slumber, I am most definitely back in the reality of Blighty. I would say I am enjoying life as I know it but with the last couple of weekends being spent puking and poorly inside the flat, I haven't had much opportunity to venture outside and explore apart from my morning commute. 

It all started last Saturday when I went out for a lovely brunch with my Auntie and Grandma from my Mother's side. With my pre-teen cousin in toe I soon felt a whole lot older as he started to "Dab" his way through his iPod in the middle of Sainsburys. Nevertheless getting home afterwards I made myself some lunch and, with Mr. Warehouse away with Mr. CWG at a gamers convention in Birmingham, I looked forward to an afternoon of catching up on shite TV. Crunching down my Tivo Box I suddenly started to feel a pain in my stomach. It was almost how I would imagine a stomach cramp or period pain to be, but as the afternoon continued and the evening set in it got worse. By the time Mr. Warehouse had arrived home I was bent over, crippled with the pain in my abdomen. Taking a couple of paracetamol I curled up on the couch and watched some Saturday night telly, but after being violently sick numerous times, I finally fell asleep on my boyfriends lap before being carried to bed. 

Waking a few times throughout the night to be sick again I was still exhausted when the sun broke through our window. Although feeling much better I put it down to maybe eating some dodgey chicken, out of date milk or just a twenty-four hour bug. Feeling much better I thought nothing of it and continued to work the following day. With the working week dragging by in a haze of things to do, office gossip and chitter-chatter we were all finally at Friday. And up until then I was looking forward to the weekend. Mr. Warehouse's brother was taking his fiance out for a birthday meal and wanted us to look after the kids; a six-year-old, four-year-old and a four-month-old baby. We had happily obliged (There was a takeaway in it for Mr. Warehouse and I ... We're not stupid haha) and I was actually looking forward to a weekend playing Momma's and Dadda's. I had already started to carve out my leading role as bad cop and designated an area for naughty little ones, whereas Mr. Warehouse had firmly got into his role by supplying our cupboards with chocolate and sweeties! 

But after I returned from lunch on Friday afternoon I felt an all too familiar twinge in my stomach again. The cramping had started again. Looking at the clock and seeing it was gone half-one in the afternoon I considered my options. "There is only a couple of hours left in the working day, just make it to four-thirty and then you go straight to the doctors, you hear me!" I told myself, egging me on. It didn't work. Within a few hours I was falling apart. I had been sick in the toilets, multiple times. So much so there was now nothing left to come up, resulting in a lurid yellow bile consisting of stomach acid and not much more. As I returned to my desk, mascara awry and nice 'Friday' hair now in a messy bun I didn't need my work colleagues to tell me I looked rough. I felt it. Finding my manager downstairs I ushered him over and explained I had to go home after being sick. I didn't want anyone else to get it if it was serious and in all fairness, I knew I couldn't answer the phone and vom at the same time. 

Calling a cab and waiting the half-hour or so for it to arrive was excruciating. It seemed like every time I wretched it made it worse, adding to the already tight and tense muscles in my abdomen. I felt as if I was giving myself a six pack, which of course would be very difficult since I was a size 18/20. Getting into the cab I closed my eyes hoping that the journey would be swift. It was not. "This is certainly not the fucking time Taxi-Cab Man to be giving me a sceneic tour of the Bedfordshire countryside surrounding Kempston and Bromham!" I thought to myself as I opened my eyes for a second to make sure the cup I had "borrowed" from the canteen was in place for any "spills". Concerned, the Taxi-Cab driver asked if I was OK but with all patience lost I exclaimed, louder than I probably needed to:
"I would be if I wasn't throwing up into a cup in the back of an already late taxi en route to the Doctors because I think, I have come down with an fatal case of Gastroenteritis! Now unless you want this stomach smoothie all over your seats I suggest you put your foot down!"

Arriving at the doctors, barely able to walk without puking I fell into the arms of my awaiting boyfriend. Staggering to the front desk I checked myself in a I think I must have fallen asleep on Mr. Warehouse as it seemed very quick I was seen. Into the doctors office-room-place I sat, still with half of a boots counter running off my chin, my hair in a Mrs. Trunchbull bun and sick probably down myself I was certainly far from last weeks "Girl I would want to marry" I thought. Examining me from top to tootsies the brilliant lady nurse diagnosed me with having a viral infection and because I studied in my Science and History of Medicine classes I knew that the only way I would be getting better would be rest, pain relief and sleep. I had probably just had a second bout of it after Saturday since my immune system was low and had been attacked once more. Leaving the surgery, I was given a bedpan-thing to be sick into and a box of tissues. Boarding the bus I must have looked a fucking state. So I chose to sit next to the prettiest girl and make myself look a little better, all whilst trying to infect someone skinnier than me. Bitch!

Getting home I was hoofed into bed by my dear Mr. Warehouse and told to sleep. But after periodic snoozes, retching and violent vomiting fits, I couldn't wait until morning broke and I could shake this all off. Waking the following morning on Saturday with very little sleep behind me and a bucket of proof at the edge of the bed I tried to carry on as normal, nibbling at things and drinking plenty. I snoozed most of the day and felt much better by late-afternoon. I didn't want to let down Mr. Warehouse's brother and the children as they were looking forward to coming over to see their Uncles house as much as we were looking forward to hosting them, so I kept quiet about my episodes the evening before. But, spending the night curled up on the sofa, Kiddies half asleep and baby napping too, it was the perfect evening and much better than what I was anticipating. Bad cop didn't even have to rear its head. Well, at least until the children went home! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx