Having children is like having a blender with no lid!

Heyy, 

A week on since the sunburn incident, I would say I have fully recovered and my face is now back to normal, as it Mr Warehouse's legs and ankles. Annoying really as we could have really enjoyed our last few days of holiday in  Malaga and our trip to Gibraltar, not to mention not cancelling the multitude of hair appointments, doctors appointments, counselling sessions or other things I had planned for that weekend we returned. It is nice now to be enjoying the summer sunshine and fine English weather. 

Enjoying a garden party this weekend made me think more than ever about not only our impending wedding, less than a year and 3 months away now but also that of children. A family BBQ held in honour of my future nephew's birthday, I was surrounded by all ages, from 9-weeks to 90! In amongst them were a few familiar faces, many of which had stopped asking now about babies and instead were asking about the wedding, thank fuck. 

But as I poured myself another glass of Magical Mystical unicorn gin, infused with the flavour marshmallows and candy-floss, sparkling and shining as it glittered in the sunlight, Mr Warehouse found me and questioned why my portion size kept growing. Laughing it off we chatted in the kitchen for a moment away from the madness of bouncy castles and kids. 
"Doesn't this make you broody?" he asked coyly suggesting a family one day. It got me thinking again about what life would be like. I think about it more and more I suppose as I get older. Moreso in different situations such as drink-fuelled weekend parties and holidays in the sun where your face turns into a pork scratching?! These are the irresponsible antics I would have to give up, not to mention practically starving myself and the deprivation that will come with pregnancy. 

All the good things in life and all the foods I love are off limits; Alcohol, Blue Cheese, Smoked Salmon, running Eggs, Rare steak, Carpaccio, Prawns, and did I say alcohol just to mention a few! I may as well eat baby food myself. At least though by the end of it all I will not only have a bundle of "joy" but also an excuse for those stretch marks other than enjoying the odd KFC too much. 

A recent article on the Relate website goes through some of the thought-processes of starting a family. As with most people, the thought of starting up a family brings me out in a whole range of emotions from excitement and happiness through to total anxiety and fear, borderline terror!  I, like many other twenty-somethings my age, imagine creating a happy, safe home for my children, giving them the childhood I had and the one I had wished for. This being said I agree with the websites opening statement. I am incredibly nervous about the idea of bringing a new life into this world - I can barely raise myself let alone thing about raising a child. Relate go on to explain that "Having a child is an experience that brings into sharp focus your core life beliefs, the values that you inherited from your childhood, your relationship with your parents, your hopes and dreams – and your anxieties." I now know that feeling like there's a whole host of different feelings are jostling for attention in your head is entirely normal. After all, it’s a big decision!  

Obviously, I and Mr Warehouse are in a stable relationship so realistically it could work and should the worst-case scenario happen and I fell pregnant then we would just "deal with it" so as to speak, going with the flow and bring our child up outside of wedlock. Whilst it would not be the way things were meant to be in my head, I would still love that child nevertheless. I would like to be married first, more for the commitment to me as I would feel that if you can commit to me with no real permanent ties or links then you are an appropriate person who I could bring up a child with, especially when I already have major issues with commitment and abandonment already. 

It goes without saying that financially speaking, kids are costly. Having a baby is an expensive business and I only know this from the few trips I have had wandering around the children's section with friends or family searching for baby grows and muslin cloths. Relate make valid points saying "It’s important you make sure you're going to be able to afford all of the things you’d need to raise a child. This includes things like good, clothes and childcare – but may also need to take into account the expense of moving into a bigger property too".

All in all, I think that one day I would like children and my worries of not being an adequate mom have got better, but I doubt if they will ever disappear entirely. That being said though I know I am in good hands as Mr Warehouse's parental background is also littered with unhappy memories and unpleasantries. I know that my fiance is very child-friendly, whereas I may have a little bit of learning to do. Plenty of time before that though ... Chin Chin!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Cloud

Evening Everyone, 

And so as another weekend rolls around, so do the many reasons as to why are flat still looks the same as it did four weeks ago. The thing is when I landlord is in the process of upgrading and potentially remodelling some of the areas of our flat, I am hesitant to start any work of our own until he has fully finished what he would like to do so I can work out exactly what I need and when I need it so we can crack on with our own little DIY projects. 

I feel at the moment as though the flat and housing situation is a bit of a double edge sword. On the one hand I want to make our little home as special and nice as possible whilst we try and desperately save for a house of our own one day, all whilst still feeling the same as I did this time last year when I wrote the blog post about being a misfortuned statistic in "Generation X" whereby many of our parents and grandparents reaped the benefits of having plentiful and affordable housing, a lower cost of living and stable employment with good earning potential. With this in mind, I can fully understand why some adult children are still living at home when they are my age. However that being said I was never given that option. Living by myself since I was seventeen I have always strived for a perfect home that I would be able to host parties in, everything from my tiny little one bedroom single room I rented from an Indian woman back in college, right through to my large and spacious one bedroom ground floor flat with a patio. 

Albeit it is not perfect but it is currently where I call home. Now whilst I feel grateful for what I have, I also partly begrudge spending money on something that will realistically not necessarily improve my situation. I mean, why would I optionally spend money on a property that both is not mine and will not benefit me when I come to move. It's not as though we can take down the wallpaper or strip the paint when we leave and take it with us. I think I know that realistically if Mr. Warehouse and I do up the flat, it may not have to cost the Earth and in all sense of the matter will make me feel a lot better. 

Truth be told is that I have not been feeling myself of late. Gone are the cheery "Hellos" and sunshine smiles only to be replaced with dull colours and a loss of smell and taste. Instead my usually warm and bubbly personality has been replaced with a cloudy view and very little laughter. Honestly it scares me how much I have changed in the last week or so. A part of me wants to talk to everyone about what I'm feeling, shouting it from the rooftops or whispering until the early hours. And yet at the same time I feel as though I would be burdening someone with such a pessimistic outlook on life and want to hide it all away and pretend that everything is OK.

Why am I feeling this way? Truthfully - I don't know. Right now it seems as though there is a lot of things that I don't know. There are potentially a few things in my life at the moment that could be causing me to feel like this. Whilst I am struggling to accept that it was a big deal, my grandfather passing away has probably had more of an effect on me than I first thought. With the passing and the funeral being a good few weeks apart it was almost like living in a weird grey scale limbo-land whereby nothing really changed and all we seem to talk about was funerals, death and family feuds. 

This, coupled with the fact that less than a week later I was attending the wedding of my best friend who, within the next eight-weeks or so, will be leaving for America, and as dramatic as it sounds may never return to back home to the UK again. The worst thing being is that I would not feel guilty at all about leaving those behind and would have been on the first plane out of here, long gone before anyone even had a tear in their eye. And that makes it worse for I know that I should be happy and glad that she has such a wonderful opportunity to create such a fantastic life for her and her new husband out in the world of the hopeful. 

You see depression is a big word not just in size but also in how I feel. Depression makes even the smaller things in life appear so much more prominently in your mind and bigger than in reality they probably are. On it's own I could have probably dealt with my granddad's passing and the funeral. On it's own I could have probably dealt with the beautiful nuptials of my best friend and her emigrating to her new life. On it's own I probably wouldn't feel so awful about myself, my weight and how I look. On it's own I probably wouldn't feel so desperately trapped and hopeless buy our flat and the lack of resources to make ourselves a better solution. But the problem is that none of these come by themselves. Unlike the last times I have felt cloudy and sad I have always been able to put it down to just one thing. My Dad went to war, my parents divorced, I got kicked out, My boyfriend left me. But what happens when it is not just one box that is ticked but all of the above. 

Am I clinically depressed? I don't know and I suppose until I see a doctor or professional there is no way of medically telling. Do I feel depressed? Yes. All the fun out of normal things I used to find enjoyable or make me happy now it seem like a lot of effort and with very little joy coming from them seem pointless. I certainly know what depression feels like but the question is - Am I there yet? No, but the constant and unnerving feeling of not being wanted or loved by the people who should and just being a general annoyance to people is something I simply can't shake off right now. The thing is that I know it is all a lie that the Demons in my head are telling me, making me question and second guess myself knocking my confidence even further, pushing me further into a downward spiral. 

I know that this is just a phase and that the clouds will soon pass making way for my true self to reappear once more. I just need to immerse myself and really try to bring myself out of this darkness, surrounding myself with good friends laughter and happiness. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Story of a Generation Robbed ...

Heyy, 

Sat on my second hand-sofa, in my cheap one-bed ground floor flat I struggled to hold back the tears and be happy for the other person on the other end of the phone. After the death of the Landlord, my Dad's girlfriend had recently found out that the property where they both live is being put on the market. With both of them being over fifty, the likelihood of them getting a mortgage was slim and renting would only solve the problem short-term until they retire, and then what? They had both spent the last few weeks stressing over where they were going to be living in a few months time. With some savings they were in a sticky situation but at least they had some savings, maybe not enough for what they wanted, but it was a start, something myself, nor Mr. Warehouse had not even managed to achieve yet. 

Apparently somewhere between the beginning and the end of last month, my father had found enough money for a large deposit on a two-bedroom new built property in an affluent area of outer Bedford. Listening to his excitement yesterday evening I really tried so hard to be supportive and what a "good daughter" should do in that instance. But it was hard, especially when only weeks ago I was explaining about mine and Mr. Warehouse's recent meeting with a mortgage adviser who has pretty much disappeared off the face of the planet since he found out we had no savings. At the time I spoke to my Dad about it in deep meaningful conversation and he mentioned to me on several occasions that he would love to help me out financially but he simply couldn't as he didn't have the money; A phrase which was common when I had difficulties involving financial cost, even when I hadn't asked him for anything. 

Now I am not ignorant or silly to know that when all this was happening, my father, and admittedly his girlfriend, were faced with some hard decisions and tough challenges. Stuck in a situation far worse than mine and with only a decade or two left before retiring their options were limited. So in that respects I fully understand them using the money stashed away from my parents divorce to fund a bright and colourful new home. Either support myself and my girlfriend by funding our own home together and long-term securing our futures together, or gift the only child of two I speak to the once in the chance lifetime of owning her own home and getting onto the property ladder once and for all. 

Of course it is a difficult situation but to be told one thing and then a matter of moments later to find out another is emotional-fuckery. If I am brutally honest I'm really having a hard time processing the lies he had told me previously about how he was not able to help out with the money, both in years gone by and in more recent times, all along knowing that he had enough for generous deposit on a swanky new home. Heartbroken I listened on to the tall-tales and arduous task of choosing tiles and kitchen cupboard doors for his off-plan bought apartment. Welling up I ended the conversation unhappy and on the brink of tears. This wasn't fair. 

As detailed in my previous post (Wish I Was Born In The 80's!) I feel like a robbed generation that has to beg, borrow and steal their way through life, just to make ends meet. The world has moved on and whilst we have better technology, medical advances and new threats to worry about the days of being in a job for the rest of your working life are gone, as are 100% mortgages and a loaf of bread the would cost under fifty-pence. Life now for myself and other millennial's whose parents didn't start them off in life with a Mickey Mouse Trust fund for Eton begins at the bottom. Virtually no chance of getting into University for all the other places have been taken by students who have money and come from a better background to I. Ergo the rest of us muddle our way though our late-teens and early-twenties trying to get by on a pittance of a wage, all because of the generations before us. 

Now by no stretch am I poor or even on the breadline; Mr. Warehouse and I have nice meals out, go on holidays or mini weekends away and are always treating each other to nice presents on birthdays and Christmas. And maybe that is our downfall for if we were not spending this on each other then we could plough it into a house of our own, but the simple fact is that it would take close to a decade to save and in that time I want my life to progress further than a poky flat in the centre of town. I want to get married and have children in that sort of time frame and I can hardly bring up a family when I am trying to scrape every penny I have into a Help-To-Buy ISA. 

I get that my Father couldn't have split his savings with me, although would have been very nice, it would have practically made no sense what-so-ever, so I do understand his actions, I really do, I just don't understand the porkie-pies he told to try and protect his small fortune and it s for that reason that this news will be a hard pill for me to swallow. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Taking The Piss ...

Hi There, 

So after last weeks escapades in Ireland, and after spending a fair amount on PANDORA in Ireland's sale season (although I must admit I did grab some great bargains) both me and my bank manager were more than happy I was finally on a flight back to Blighty. Now I am back home, sat on my sofa as Mr. Warehouse plays GTA and the dog plays ball with her imaginary friend (or the resident ghostie - I don't know), but with coming back home comes also the unrelenting stress of my situation with Mr. Warehouse and how financially we will be able to afford the next few weeks. 

I am concerned about money and the lack of it, especially what with the upcoming events such as the wedding of Mr. Warehouse's cousin in Newquay, mounting birthday's and my upcoming (and much needed) summer break away with the Tweedles. I would like to go back to a day whereby neither of us thought twice about heading out for dinner on a Friday night coming home from work or going to the cinema for a mid-week flick. But I suppose that in the long run we will be able to do that, just for now we will have to give it up for a short time before Mr. Warehouse is back on his feet and financially we are more stable. The fact that I am working two jobs and still struggling with finances I think speaks volumes, but as the British always say, it doesn't rain but always pours and this was certainly true for me this past week. 

Getting in from my driving lesson I helped Mr. Warehouse in preparing dinner and feeding the dog. It was just gone seven in the evening. Settling down I had said to the boyfriend that something didn't feel right and I could sense another bout of Cystitis coming on. Now for those that don't know, Cystitis is a bacterial infection that mainly affects women and causes issues such as retention of urine, burning when urinating or indeed more serious issues to do with your bladder, kidneys and sexual organs. The condition doesn't just make life with the infection annoying and uncomfortable, but for me can go from normal to crippling pain within an hour and this, coupled with the urgent need to pee and the frustration of nothing coming out but still feeling a full bladder, is some of the worst pain I have ever felt in my entire life. This is exactly what happened on Thursday night. 

Less than twenty-four hours had passed since I had arrived back home from my trip to Southern Ireland when I started to feel the onset of yet another infection and given the fact that I had been suffering from recurrent Cystitis and Thrush Combo's since March I was pretty fed up when I could feel another one coming along. Knowing that if I didn't act soon I would be wanting to claw my insides out with a fork by the time I went to bed, I took some paracetamol and a salt sachet you can buy over the counter and hoped it would clear up in a few days. I didn't even get into a few hours for as the moments were passing sat watching telly with my boyfriend the agony started. Constantly up and down going to the toilet I couldn't bear this much longer and decided to call the doctors whom passed my call through to the local hospital. It was serious now and by the time they told me that a prescription would be waiting for me to collect it at the local Accident and Emergency department I was crying, bent over doubled in pain on my bathroom floor. 

Being in the situation I am, what with no car and a limited income, I asked the doctor who I spoke to about getting the prescription written out so I could collect the tablets at the hospital and he explained that since the Pharmacy shut an hour earlier that I would have to go to an all night stockist. There would be no other option than to get a cab across town to collect the written prescription, then get the cabbie to drive to an all night Pharmacy to collect it and then back home so I could take it. Stressed and unable to deal with the situation and with nowhere else to turn I called my Dad. Reaching out for him to help was something I rarely did, only because I knew he doesn't have a great past record in helping me out when I'm in a pickle. Dialling his number I was sure he could help and as he answered and heard me in floods of tears he asked me to calm down and explain everything. 

After going through all of what I had already tried and expanding on the situation that was in hand I asked for his help. 
"Can you come and collect me and take me to where I need to go, Please Dad?" I said through broken croaks and tears. I was not expecting the response being that he was ready for bed and couldn't help because in his own words 'by the time I come and collect you, the trips could already be made and you would be back home'. He lives under a half-hour from his door to mine, a town down on the train line in Flitwick - Not the next county he would have you believing. I just didn't understand. He was my Dad. He knew the stress I was under with money. He knew the financial situation I was in with Mr. Warehouse and the likes. And yet still he did not help. Nothing. Scared and worried about what was going to happen, Mr. Warehouse had enough of the seeing me in pain and had called a cab already, ushering me into the back of it as I clutched at my abdomen and attempting small talk with my father. 

Sure enough I was up to A&E in no time, over to the Pharmacy and back home within the space of forty-minutes, no thanks to my father of course. A patronising phone call from his girlfriend and a follow-up call in the morning tried to justify his actions but nothing made a difference; I was still out of pocket nearly thirty-quid in taxi fares not to mention the twenty-pound prescription costs! Got to love the NHS and all their charges for working people haven't you. The last conversation ended with my father saying that if I needed any financial help or anything else then just to call him. But correct me if I am wrong, but that is what I had already done, wasn't it? Reached out for help when I needed it the absolute most? And he couldn't be bothered? Why the hell would I ask for anymore help when my Dad has been unable to help in several situations before? 

I have spoken to Miss Tweedle-Dumb and other friends back home and further afield than Flitwick and all of them had scolded me for not coming to them next and asking for their help. I suppose naively I thought my Father would help me. Obviously not. If it was one of his girlfriends niece's, nephews or other family members it would have been a very different scenario. Everything would have been dropped and they would be straight round, helping and rallying around to try and do whats best, but for his own daughter it was lost. Since then I haven't spoken to him and at the movement I just dont want to. He hasn't even apologised or tried to offer a constellation prize for not being there as a Father, nothing! Its too raw for me to speak with him at the moment and need some time to cool off before I speak to him or his girlfriend again. I knew my mother was a piece of work but two crappy parents? Come on!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx