Frankie is One. 

How did that even happen? He makes me so proud every single day; his happy little face, his dirty little laugh and the clever little things he does. 

He’s so bright I don’t want to miss a single thing. Everytime he passes me a piece of lego, rubs his hands together to copy me using hand sanitiser or learning to Indian call (Native American?) I don’t want to not be there to see it or pretend a piece of lego is a phone. 
We threw him a monster party, a full soft play set up and cowboy and Indian theme. It was awesome. And he had the best day ever. I thought i had gone a bit stupid and spent to much for a birthday he won’t remember but just seeing him playing with everything and revelling in the attention just made it all worthwhile. Cos I’ll remember. And when he’s 35, I’ll still remember my beautiful little boy grinning at everyone singing happy birthday to him. 

I feel like we had a shaky start but we are a team now. I feel like I’m being a good mum to him now and I think I’m finally getting better. Fingers crossed anyway. 

Who’s reading…?

Anytime someone tells me they’ve read my blog I am a combination of embarrassed, amazed and chuffed to bits. Mainly embarrassed. But it got me thinking, for all those people who I know or have known in real life that have read this, I wonder how many read it but don’t tell me? I wonder if anyone reads my struggles and actually revels in it? I wouldn’t be surprised to be honest. 

There have been times in my life where I have said things a little close to the knuckle, or spoken out of turn, of course there has. But there are also times that things said have been said totally out of context of changed to suit someone else’s story. And because I am a self proclaimed loud mouthed bitch, it’s a bit too easy to believe that I’m nasty too. Which I’m not. Pretty much anything I say, good or bad, is honest or at least what I believe. 

I don’t think honesty is always the best policy. I think there are many times I should have just shut the fuck up; I know there are many times that Pete wishes I would have just shut the fuck up. But I’m me, and I can’t be told. Or quieted. 

Except I don’t know if I am still me. And I’ve put myself on here in a very raw and vulnerable state and this is not the bitchy facade that people are used to, so to feel that anyone may be reading this and feeling pleased that I am struggling or even taking the piss is pretty shit really. 

But know this, it says a lot more about you than me and always remember; karma is a bigger bitch than I am. So good luck with that. 

This ones a downer…soz. 

I feel like I’m leaving this year as a pretty sorry excuse for a human being. I’m 30 years old, I should have my shit together by now. And I’m sat on the floor crying my eyes out because the baby is being clingy and moaning and the puppy is a yappy little fuck. The dual noise has sent me to a point that I have just had to sit and cry in the shower and let the noise carry on. Both are fine, just clingy as fuck and I can’t deal! I think I should maybe knock coffee on the head cos it makes my anxiety levels through the roof. 

I just feel sad going into a new year. I feel like I have no close friends. I have an amazing family but I think I must be such a burden on them cos I never leave them alone, I have nowhere else to go. I have an awesome boyfriend who I never see. And every so often it really fucks me off even though it’s what I signed up for. I just wish I had a good group of girlfriends I could call upon. I think in reality I wish my life resembled Sex and the City or Friends. Instead of being friendless and skint. I’m sorry to any of my friends reading this, but you know what I mean, we aren’t involved enough in each other’s lives to help. It sucks. 

I’m sorry for such a woe is me post on what should be a happy and sparkly night but I’m feeling very shit knowing that I am literally on my own tonight whilst everyone else is singing Auld Lang Syne and drinking champagne. 


2016 has been a memorable and pivotal year, one that I know will remain as such for my lifetime. Most years pass by quite unremarkably but this one has now massively “Trumped” (see what I did there, a little topical, political pun) 2012 which was my previous big year.

I knew it was going to be a big one as I was pregnant for the majority of 2015 and so it wasn’t a surprise that I was going to have my world turned upside down by my Frankie Turdblossom. What I wasn’t at all prepared for and still can’t comprehend was that I would lose my Maggie Moon. An event which has shaken me to my core and I worry I may never fully be the same without my little squirrel rat. Again, if you think I am being overdramatic then you are reading the wrong blog. I won’t dwell on that further for now as I think it’s pretty clear how that has affected me.

This year has also seen further loss in the shape of best friends and my beloved job. Whilst I didn’t “lose” my job, I was put in a situation that made me feel that I was unable to return. However, that loss has lead to a new position working for an incredibly inspiring and humbling charity and as a role based mainly from home, I feel extremely lucky to be able to spend more time with my little boy.

All in all, it’s been an odd one with the highest highs and the lowest lows and to be honest I’m going into 2017 with trepidation. It’s difficult to look forward to a new year when the last one gave you a beating. But I want to wish anyone and everyone reading this a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, have a fabulous one and I hope it’s full of family time and loveliness. 

Baby interaction…

I’ve had a few instances with various people; health visitors, tattooists, strangers; that have commented on how well Frankie interacts and engages with people and that must be because I interact with him. I have found this so strange a comment, because well of course I do! Is this not odd that people would need to mention it? The friends of mine that read this that have babies I know are exactly the same so who are the people that don’t interact with their child?! Why have them otherwise? And let’s face it, who else would we talk to on those long maternity leave days!!

Frankie recently had his 9-12 month review and was such a good little performing monkey; doing everything on the questionnaire whilst she was there just so she was under no illusion that he is the best baby ever! He’s such a bloody show off! Obviously judging by the questionnaire he’s not totally out of the realms of muggle-dom by walking already and stuff. He’s just in a hurry. Which makes me sad, I miss my little baby sometimes but seeing him work things out and do things for himself is incredible.

Yeh ok, I have a wizard  There I said it. Frankie Garlick does sound like he could be in Hogwarts. Pretty sure he’d be Slytherin though, sorry Pete.

This post got weird, sorry guys.

Knowing me, knowing you. (A-ha).

There have been a couple of times quite recently that Pete has said things about me that I have been really shocked and initially felt that he didn’t know me at all. One such time was his revelation that I loved Christmas. I wasn’t making myself out to be a Scrooge or anything but I wouldn’t have ever described myself as a total Christmas fan. Turns out, he had a number of examples where I have indeed gone all gooey at the sight of a bit of tinsel or the tell tale “Twas Christmas Eve babe…” start of a certain festive tune that if you don’t love you have no soul. I was washing up earlier and reflecting on this, as you do, and I have come to a couple of conclusions which I thought would be good to blog since I’ve been proper shit lately and it may jig me along to get back into it.

I was previously in a relationship for 8 years, I met him when I was 18 and he was 30 and when I was 22, we got married. Within that relationship I was never really fully myself. I think that may be because I was so young when I met him and was still working out who “myself” was and also because I was quite happy to slot into his life. It’s not that I was a totally different person, but there were certainly a lot of compromises that I didn’t even realise I had made until I left him.

He was a huge Metallica fan, and in turn after going to see them for the first time, so was I. And I really am, I do love them. But I became so consumed with being a “rock chick” that I pushed aside other musical tastes. Whilst my iPod was still eclectic, it was nothing compared to the epic selection of random it is now. Again, perhaps due to age but when I was a teenager I was big into gangster rap, hip hop and R n’ B. I really didn’t embrace that again until I left him. This is just one example, and I don’t really know why I suppressed a lot of myself, I think perhaps subconsciously I just wanted to be what he wanted me to be. Even though I was never really going to be as I am very high maintenance and he can’t be dealing with that.

A big thing for me was how I saw and described myself to other people. I thought I was a bitch; I have been told often that I am a bitch. Not bitchy, but a proper bitch. I would freely give my opinion and not care if that meant that feelings were hurt; I was straight down the line, no bullshit. I was hard faced; resting bitch face is my natural expression. I felt that I wasn’t a very nice person because I didn’t worry about what other people thought of me and if you didn’t like me or my opinion then that was your problem. I don’t believe in making an effort with people that I can’t stand, I really don’t see the point. Actually, on reflection, a lot of this was a defence mechanism that I put up after I got beaten up as a 14 year old. I’m not going to go into that as I spent 10 years living in fear from it and I really am ok now so to mention it is enough. I wanted to seem unapproachable, I didn’t want to be talked to. And my boyfriend and eventual husband at the time was kind of the same so it worked well to remain like that.

And then I left my husband. And I started to find myself again. And I apologise for this in advance but a lot of it is down to Pete. That cocky little fucker who came into my place of work in 2011 and made me start to question my relationship (he didn’t even know that until much later and for the record, I didn’t leave my husband for him, we got together a while later) and then started to take me out to clubs and bars. I hadn’t gone out at all really except to pubs as I was pretty troubled from my beating. I just didn’t feel safe. Until Pete. Whilst my ex was 6’2″ and 16 stone, he didn’t look after me like I need looking after. The attraction was a big burly bloke but the reality was very different. And then along comes 19 year old (at the time) 5’7″ Peter, with his cockiness and beautiful face. And he rescued me. I’m gagging at this myself so I apologise to anyone reading this. He allowed me to be myself in all my contradictions and ridiculousness. My independent, needy ways that must confuse the hell out of him but he deals. And after a few years of working it out, he knows me better than I know myself.

Hence the point of this post, I had forgotten who I am because I’ve been the other version for so long. In reality, I think I can sum myself up a bit better now. Whilst I am a bitch, I don’t say things to be hurtful, I think that truth hurts but eventually you’ll thank me. Or never speak to me again. Either way. I am quite a nice person. I am caring and compassionate and if I love you, then I love you with all my heart. But if you screw me over in any way, I’m done. Completely. There is no in between. I am a humungous contradiction. Pretty much everything about me contradicts another thing about me. And you can know me for years and I’ll drop a random bombshell on you that you never knew and it’ll make you question my entire being. Its ok, just go with it, you’ll never be bored. I am independent and outgoing but also extremely needy and insecure; that’s really fun to deal with myself, so sorry Pete.

I have learnt so much about myself this year and I thought that by 30 I’d be pretty much who I am. But no, I’m ever evolving. I often get told by people I went to school with that I haven’t changed. I think maybe I just am a little bit of a chameleon, more so that I ever realised and because that’s the me you knew, I am reflecting that. Or maybe I’ve just changed back to my teenage self. Which would explain a lot actually; the spots, the rage, the ridiculous trainers. Yeh, fuck it, I’m 16 again.




Sorry for being AWOL for a while. I’ve found motivation to write anything quite difficult lately and then we went on holiday which turned out to be a total disaster ending with me being poorly. Frankie contracted hand, foot and mouth disease whilst we were away so he was ill from the second day and then Pete got it and then me just before we came home. Our relaxing holiday turned into a week of sleep deprivation and Sky News cos everything else was in Spanish. So all this week I’ve been a leper holed up in my house feeling sorry for myself with a painful, unsightly rash all over my hands and feet. Seriously universe, why do you hate me? You couldn’t make this shit up. 

Anyway, surely things can only get better! I do have some good news, I start my new job next week! It’s very exciting and a new challenge and will mainly be based from home so it’s an absolute dream of a role. I feel really lucky and I can’t wait to get started, unfortunately I had to push my start date back cos of the plague but I’m ready and raring to go for Monday! I can’t wait to use my brain! We are going to set me up a little office space in the spare room which will be lovely, my own little area to concentrate. So that’s an IKEA trip tomorrow! 

Frankie is coming on in leaps and bounds, I can’t believe he’s 9 months next week. He’s standing up and has 5 teeth now and is such a little legend. His personality is hilarious and it’s incredible to see him do new things. Even as a poorly boy on holiday we mastered waving and clapping. I’m so proud 😊 

I’m just sad. 

I’m sure there are people thinking “get a grip, it’s just a dog” and to be honest all I can say is don’t read anymore then. I feel like everyone wants me to be ok, so I pretend I am. But I’m not. I’m so desperately sad. I miss my Moon so very much. I am on my own so much and she was the best company and the loneliness is palapable. I almost got another dog purely to try and fill the void but I’m pleased I decided against it in the end, it would have been too soon. 

I feel I’m just bumbling through days and weeks. Frankie’s routine is giving me something to work to everyday and Petes days off give the week a start and end point. Otherwise I’m just going through the motions. My house is a state. I go on holiday soon and I can’t be arsed to pack. As soon as I have no baby to focus on when he’s in bed I’m just an empty shell. It’s hard to admit really but I’m just going to bed at 8 cos I can’t bear being downstairs. But I just lay in bed either numbly watching something or crying and having a little chat with Maggie. I’m sorry if that’s weird but if I can’t open up here then I don’t know where I can!

I start a new job very soon and I really can’t wait. I am looking forward to having some purpose in my days beside nappy changes and feeding times. I think this will be the start of recovery as I will feel more worthwhile in myself, like I’m not just momma or girlfriend, but Bryony again. I can’t wait to have tasks to complete. 

But even this is bittersweet, my new role is home based and I can’t help but think how much Maggie would have loved having me home all the time. Everything just feels like it’s a bit dulled, the sparkle has gone from my life. She was my little treasure and I just can’t really get my head around her not being here anymore. 

I’m just so very sad. I never have dealt with grief very well. 

Knowing that you’re in the right relationship. 

I feel I can say this with some authority since I spent a long time in the wrong relationship. Perhaps bullet points may be good for this. Also, I’m not being a smug twat, we have our ups and downs but it’s how you come out of the downs that matters most. 

  • The hard parts of the relationship have only made us stronger. Like, ridiculously so. 
  • We know what each other’s bad points are and call each other out on our shit. He can get cocky and arrogant and I am demanding and irrationally impatient. That list isn’t exhaustive…
  • We were best mates first. Then friends with benefits. Everyone thought that would be the end of us but it makes for some hilarious and highly inappropriate stories. 
  • I feel loved and protected. When you’ve spent a long time in a relationship where you don’t feel like that, this is huge for me. I know if Pete is with me, I’m safe. 
  • He quite likes that I’m a total weirdo. I heard once that hot guys secretly like the freaky weird girl (think it’s in Juno?) well, it’s true. 
  • He is the ONLY other person I have ever met who is happy to watch the same film over and over again; to watch Friends constantly; and has absolutely no issue with me skipping through songs on the iPod or radio till I find what I want. If we had nothing else that would be enough cos apparently it’s really irritating to other people. Haters gonna hate. 
  • He has no problem with the fact that I’m the worst housewife ever. I’m seriously terrible. And to be honest, I haven’t done the washing and he has no clean pants so this may be why I’ve written this post…
  • He treats me like a princess. Seriously, it’s fucking ridiculous how pandered to I am. To be honest I’m not sure I condone this type of behaviour and if you’d have asked me a few years ago I’d tell you I’d hate it but I have to admit I BLOODY LOVE IT. 
  • He is the best drinking buddy. And he dances with me. Both of these are why Frankie is here. 
  • He is such a man, he provides for his family and everything he does is for me and Frankie. He is my rock. Actually, he’s an arsehole, but I love him. 

This post has come from watching First Dates. It makes me mushy. Sorry. 

Coulrophobia. It’s no joke. 

So I try not to mention this much as it seems to encourage people to post pictures thinking they are being hilarious but I suffer quite badly from coulrophobia, a fear of clowns. It is utterly irrational and I recognise that but I have no set incident that seems to have caused it, according to my mum I have always been terrified of them. 

For the majority of the year I can go about my life with very little issue but come October (my otherwise favourite month of the year) I live life constantly on edge. Halloween was always enough of a worry but for the past few years this fucked up “creepy clown” hysteria of people dressing up with the sole purpose of terrifying people makes me have mini panic attacks throughout the day. I say mini as over the years I have learned to downplay it somewhat. 

Last Halloween I was 7 months pregnant and went to a Halloween party whereby the party host, a close friend of mine dressed as a clown, namely the one from IT. (By the way, no I have not seen that film, why the fuck would I watch it when I’m already shit scared as it is?!) Me and Pete were at another friend’s house getting ready to go round to the party when the friend dressed as a clown burst into the room. I ran to the other side and immediately burst into tears, to his credit said friend saw my distress and left but I was in a bit of a state and knew that this was going to be a horrific evening. I was obviously very hormonal anyway and so I wasn’t sure if this was making the phobia worse. When I initially arrived at the party I walked in, saw said friend who by that point was finding it funny to put the mask on when he saw me and I thought I wasn’t going to be able to go in at all. In the end I stayed for an hour or so but it was awful. I really felt so panicked and uneasy, I was staying at my mums that night with Maggie but I didn’t sleep a wink, I was so freaked out. 

I am not alone in this phobia by any means but I do feel like it is an issue and possibly getting worse. You can’t even Google coulrophobia (or other phobias) without pictures of the thing that person is scared of pops up so getting information on help is extremely difficult. I find even the word gives me anxiety and indeed writing this is quite difficult. I have spoken to someone about he phobia but apparently without an incident that caused the initial fear it is quite difficult to treat. I forced myself to sit through the episode of This Morning a few weeks ago that addressed it but got really freaked out when they kept bringing a clown on. 

Anyway, what I just want to say is, I know it’s ridiculous and irrational but even if I know the person dressed up, the minute that mask is on I feel like it’s not them anymore. You may think it’s funny to show me pictures to see how I react but that will give me nightmares for a good few nights. I instantly become a child again. Pete and I encountered a clown street performer in London once and I ran off. I don’t want to pass this onto Frankie cos it’s quite frankly embarrassing and ridiculous. 

The news at the minute is horrible. I’m trying to be a grown up and not immediately turn it off but have to check all the rooms in my house before it gets dark. Fuck knows what I’d actually do if I encountered one. Shit my pants and cry I think.