13….14

Dear James,

Your 3rd New Years Eve is upon us and tonight we say good bye to 2013.

What a tough year its been my gorgeous little boy. But we’ve had some brilliant times as well.

No, you're cheeky!

No, you’re cheeky!

This year you have come on in leaps and bounds. You continue to amaze us with your speech (even making new words and phrases which just melt me on the spot). You really show your caring side, just today you tucked me up on the sofa with the blanket and clutched my face and gave me a proper puckered up kiss (not like the face slobbering ones you usually do) and told me to ‘Sweep well Mummeh’. I could have cried when you said that, you just know how to perk me up.

You have discovered Superheroes this year with your favourites being Iron Man and Captain America. You declare that you are Iron Man, Daddy is ‘Capin Merica and Mummy is Hulk’. I can only assume that is because you don’t like to see me angry rather than the greenish hue you see me in. Ahem.
But you also think Katie Perry is Mummy too, so I can’t really complain.

Rockets and Space are also your favourite things.

Rockets and Space are also your favourite things.

James you had your first proper haircut in 2013, which made Mummy weep but it just made you more handsome (if that was possible) and look so grown up it was as if you aged 3 years right in front of my eyes.
It still has a mind of it’s own and I just know that in a few short years, you’ll want to shave it all off to control it, so forgive me when you look back at photos of yourself with unruly hair, I just wanted to keep you small for as long as possible.

DANCING! Oh how you love to dance. You walk around with tippy toes; I am so tempted to sign you up for dance classes! You just LOVE music. Saban (Kasabian) is one of your favourite band and Pharell Williams ‘Happy’ takes you to your happy place. Its a joy to watch you dance. And yes, you still dance with me. ‘Dance me Mummeh?’

You are learning your alphabet at the moment but you love to count too, although you appear to be superstitious already and refuse to say 13. Just as well we are going into 2014. And now you are starting to use your imagination when you play with your little characters and especially Dave Minion.

I think you could be a leftie...

I think you could be a leftie…

We’ve had days out and visited lots of people. You met loads of new people too and charmed them all with your fantastic smile.
You’ve also been a complete and utter….tinker. You really know how to push Mummy and Daddy’s buttons and boy, do you do that on a regular basis.

James you are stubborn as you are lovely (a trait from both your parents. Sorry about that) and you have a determined nature. You definitely get frustrated when you can’t do something right. Take your time my darling, it’ll all come together.

We’ve got lots to look forward to next year, none less than our first family holiday together and perhaps we might actually put some roots down.
You’ll be starting nursery too, just another step into losing you to the grown up path you must follow. I’m both daunted and excited for you.

Who knows what this year will bring, but boy am I glad we all get to do it together.

Protective over baby Molly. How I wish I could make you a big brother.

Protective over baby Molly. How I wish I could make you a big brother.

James, Mummy turns 30 in just over 50 days time. Thats like WELL old. I am very excited about this. When you are older, you will understand why. I want to tell you everything this year gave us. The good and the bad, for it makes up everything we are today.

You saved me James, you and your Father saved me this year. You think I’ve been raising you, when really you’ve been teaching me all along.

Lets teach each other lots more things next year…lets try learning how to lie in, that would be awesome.

I love you so much, my wonderful little boy.

Swoon...

Swoon…

Keep growing strong,
Love,
Mama x

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Here we go again…

Another year is about to end, with the promise of a shiny new one about to descend.

No denying it has been a tough year, but I’ve been very lucky also.

The last couple of months have been especially trying. I’ve felt like I have needed to prove myself in every aspect of my life.
Work.
Friends.
Married life.

I honestly don’t know whether I am coming or going. I could sit here and wax lyrical on everything that is wrong with me. I feel like I should write it down as if to justify my behaviour.

Part of me wants to do that, get it out there and let people know. List everything down. Outwardly I might be fine, but fuck me, am I a mess inside.

Part of me wonders why on earth I have to write anything at all. Do people not realise what I have been through this year?

Part of me wants to hide. Hide in a very dark place and wait for Spring.

Part of me knows I should try to move on as much as I possibly can.

Part of me…well you can see from above why I feel at such a loss.

I made an appointment for my Doctors for the 23rd December; I need to stock up on my patches but also, I need help.

Psychologically, I need some assistance. Not necessarily through meds (but I am open to that option) but maybe some therapy.

When you finish your treatment for Cancer, if you are lucky (like I am) you don’t see anyone (doctors/nurses etc) unless you need to or at scheduled appointments. For me, it has felt like you’ve been cut loose from the pack and you are out there to defend yourself.
And that was fine in the beginning, you are given a new lease of life, you’ve beaten something and for a moment, you are invincible.
But now its a bit farther down the road, and you’re still doing well, but the novelty of conquering cancer is waning.

I found myself looking in a dark hole. I was looking at a girl I used to know.
A girl who was paranoid about every tiny thing.
A girl who just wanted to please everyone and not upset the dynamic.
A girl who, at one point even considered leaving her job, just to make it so that her colleague was happy.
A girl who cried herself to sleep because she had forgotten to reply to a text and the recipient was upset because of that flippant forgetfulness.

I realised I had changed. I’ve written about it before, and although this whole bloody situation has made me stronger, it also took away some of my softer side.
I don’t suffer fools gladly and you can’t walk all over me anymore. And the other day, I realised that what people didn’t like about me anymore. They couldn’t take me for granted and weigh me down, because I simply don’t let it happen.
Someone recently told me that I was cold-hearted now, that I didn’t care as much as I did before.
To a certain extent that is true. Although I care about the bigger things now, the people and things that are important to me instead of fretting about the small things.

I think it is because I am being told I need to move on. I need to get over that fact I can’t have my own children anymore. I need to stop playing the cancer card. So I’ve just stopped it.

I guess I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve anymore. I think I used to make myself too vulnerable to people (why do you write a blog then?!) but I have shut that down now. I rarely talk about my personal life in work (apart from James because he is farking hilarious and EVERYONE should know about his antics) and actually I go to work for a rest from my ‘real life’. I get an eight-hour break from having to deal with the shit storm our family had to go through.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my little family. They have got me through the worst time imaginable, but it pains me that I/we have lost so much along the way.
I can switch off at work and forget what I have done to our family and just pretend to be someone else for a little while.

I can pretend to be Frannie, who gets her job done (and works bloody hard to do that) and flirts with people and can talk about stupid inane pish without letting any of the other hurt in my life get in the way.

But all that has changed recently.

The crushing anxiety which feels as though someone is sitting on my chest is creeping back in. The shaky hands are there, which is becoming noticeable when you pass something to someone. The paranoia that people are talking behind your back is ever-present, as is the nausea that follows it.

So why am I writing all this down, on the cusp of the New Year, which is to symbolise a new beginning? Because I want to leave all this shit in 2013. I don’t want it to drag me down in 2014.
I will never regret this year. This year I BEAT CANCER. I was on DAYBREAK for crying out loud.

But on the 23rd December I was meant to go to the doctors and I didn’t.
I bottled it at the last-minute.

I know I need help. I can admit that much. But I don’t want to go back to how I was. I like the bolshy, takes no shit, Fran. She’s pretty fucking spunky. But I do love some of the old Fran. She was kind and amazing.
How do I get both. Is it even possible?

So, here we go again. The constant loop inside my head.

A forgotten post…

I guess I bottled it when it came to releasing this post, but after talking about it with that bear like husband of mine, we both agreed that it was just the positive kind of post I needed to publish. Here goes…

This time last year…

I looked a bit like this…

20131219-060929.jpg

I’d just taken receipt of a rather fabulous cape to help me on my quest to rid my body of fuckwit.
I had loads of make up under my eyes to hide the tiredness that radiotherapy was producing. I’d started to lose my hair from chemotherapy and my eye lashes were falling out.

Flash forward to one year later…

20131219-061056.jpg

Although I need assistance from several types of spanx (damn you oestrogen you fat finder) and help from some false eye lashes, this is the new, improved, fuckwit free Frannie all ready for her Christmas party.

Vain yes, but also necessary.
In my darkest days I never thought I’d get to where I am now on a physical scale. I have a long way to go to actually start loving my body (if indeed that’ll ever happen) but I can start being kinder to myself.

Baby steps. The only way I can in those heels.