I have to make a confession. This isn’t really a very good A to Z. There isn’t even an A for starters, and there aren’t many of the other letters either, although I have two for C. Please do not use this post to help you find your way around Bristol. You will get lost.

So now you’re thinking aren’t you, what even is the point of this post? It’s a good question.

There isn’t one really, other than I found a street name that I thought was funny, and it made me wonder what other unusual street names there might be in the city. I had a look in a real A to Z of Bristol, and found a few more, and here they are.

Do let me know if you have any interesting street names of your own.

First off…

Battenburg Road

What no cake?

I got there, and guess what? No cake. Shocking.

And this one…

Cheese Lane

Just around the corner from Cracker Alley

No cheese either, surprise surprise. I’d learnt my lesson from Battenburg Road though, so I wasn’t so disappointed this time. Cheese Lane actually has some significance for me, as it was where I parked my car when I went for the job interview for my first proper job out of University. There’s a fascinating fact for you.

You next one is just childish…

Cock Road

*snigger*

I felt pretty silly getting out of the car to take the photo. I tried to look casual and slightly scathing at the same time, trying to create the impression to passers-by that perhaps I was taking the picture for a friend, against my will.

To balance that one, how about this for a street name…

Happy Lane

*stops sniggering*

That’s just nice isn’t it? If you had to choose a street to live in, Happy Lane sounds pretty promising.

And finally, at least I got one thing right…

Zed Alley

The end

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Welcome to a week in tweets, my regular weekly round-up of the week in 140 characters or less. I say regular – regular apart from last week, when I forgot.

I’ve tweeted over the last few weeks as Belle, as Bee, and as Nancy Drew, girl detective, so I thought it was about time I stopped hiding behind other people and wrote about my own week for a change. This week I’m feeling bad about the amount of biscuits I’ve eaten and television I’ve watched, so I thought I’d do a bit of a confessional.

As always, it’s more of a retrospective than an absolute accurate-to-the-day factual record, so if you’d like to have a go yourself this week, and add your post to my linky, do feel free to exercise a bit of artistic licence.

Monday – Went to book group. Took wine and haribo as a gift. Couldn’t resist second slice of cake and glass of wine. #reallyshouldn’thavedonethat

Tuesday – Went to @theSteadyTable. Gave out free books to passers-by. Flirted with young boys in an effort to get them to read blog. #reallyshouldn’thavedonethat

Wednesday – My birthday! Got a lot of books and jam. Lay in bed reading when should have been working. #reallyshouldn’thavedonethat

Thursday – Got asked for ID to buy wine in Sainsbury’s. Pointed out I am now 34. Went home with lemonade. Wished I’d taken ID #reallyshouldhavedonethat

Friday – Tried to make my own jaffa cakes. Yelled at over-eager daughter for not spooning mixture accurately. #reallyshouldn’thavedonethat

Saturday – Went to local wholefood shop. Spent too much money on halva, dried figs and milk made of coconuts. #reallyshouldn’thavedonethat

Sunday – Took ungrateful children to indoor shopping centre in the rain. Tried to buy their co-operation in John Lewis creperie. #reallyshouldn’thavedonethat

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Last week I turned 34. I may still get asked for ID to buy a bottle of wine*, but I am noticing a certain general achiness creeping up on me. Basically I am getting old.

If you are someone who has always been sporty, you are not likely to let wear and tear in your joints get the better of you.  If however, you are someone like me, who has, until my recent discovery of netball, been more of a ‘glass of wine up to mouth’ type of exerciser, then you might be a bit more wary of where to start.

Fear not. Light sporting activities such as the following, carried out regularly, can help keep joints healthy and mobile. If you have any aches or pains, try out CBD products to help relieve pain. There are plenty of products on the market, so make sure you do your research around the CBD oil UK options to find the best fit for you and your circumstances.

You could also consider kratom, a relative of the coffee plant, as a method of pain relief. Kratom can be bought in capsule form, or check out this article if you’re interested in how to make your own kratom capsules.

You could also consider CBD oil for weight loss if extra weight holds you back when it comes to sport.

Swimming

Movements that can be painful if done out of water can seem a lot easier when swimming. The resistance of the water ensures evenness of movement, and it’s a great way to relax the joints, loosen muscles and to avoid stress overload. Physical activity in the water helps to strengthen the heart, improve circulatory and respiratory functions, stimulate metabolism and relax the muscles.

sports to keep joints healthy

Going for a casual stress-free swim

Dancing

A personal favourite, dancing is not only fun, it also keeps you fit and is good for your health.  Movement and pressure on joints is controlled by the tempo, length of the steps and positions of the body.  Due to the low risk of injury, dancing is recommended even for people with arthritis in the knee, and really old people like me.

Walking and hiking

Walking keeps you fit. Fact. Nordic walking, which uses sticks, (to help you walk, not to knock slow people out of the way with), is a great way to relieve the pressure on the knee joints, and both walking and hiking are knee-friendly alternatives to jogging. Due to the fact that one leg is always on the ground, this means there is no shock impact to the joints and spine. Make sure you have all the correct gear too, to minimise risk. Check out Onlysportsgear.com if you need some inspiration.

Cycling

When cycling, your body weight rests on the saddle, (poor saddle), taking the pressure off the knee joints. Make sure you pedal round and evenly with not too much resistance. If pain occurs it means that you have overworked your knee and that the step resistance is too high. The best form of training is on an exercise bike because then you can adjust step resistance, height of the seat and handlebars according to your needs.

Whether cycling is performance-based or simply for pleasure, there is scarcely another sport that keeps the knee mobile and stress free. The seat height should be adjusted so that your leg is almost fully extended when the pedal is at its lowest point.

Pain relief

If you do find yourself suffering from any joint pain, Arnica is a great remedy, and will be familiar to many people as a treatment for bruises.  Pain relief in stiff muscles and joints can be soothed using a herbal remedy made from fresharnicaflowers in an easy-to apply gel form – ideal for muscle aches and pains, stiffness and after sporting injuries.

Of course, not all pain comes directly from working out. If your pain is the result of an accident that wasn’t your fault, it provides you with a few different options from which to choose. For example, in situations where a sports injury has caused you a great deal of pain, a personal injury lawyer might have the ability to get you some sort of settlement, in addition to rehabilitation support. Many lawyers will take your case on a no win, no fee basis, so you will not have to pay for these services unless you are awarded some compensation.

For more information about Arnica visit the www.avogel.co.uk/herbal-remedies/arnica-gel-atrogel/

*This actually happened to me yesterday. It was annoying but cool at the same time.

Photo credit – notsogoodphotography

 

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For the last few weeks I have been attempting to change my attitude towards food, and given that I just lay on the kitchen floor and ate a Hobnob Medley bar without really thinking about it, now would seem like a good time to try and focus my thinking.

It started a few weeks ago with a call to Paul Levrant, a resident expert at Greatvine, who uses behavioural and hypnotherapeutic methods to help people lose weight for good. Greatvine had arranged for me to speak to Paul to test out their one-to-one phone advice service.

I was a bit nervous before the call, as I’m not really a phone person. I find it quite hard sometimes to know what to talk about, and was worried that once I’d got past ‘but I just can’t not put another biscuit in my mouth’ that I would run out of things to say. Fortunately Paul was very chatty and easy to talk to, and the time whizzed by without too many awkward pauses at my end.

I’d be the first to admit that I have what I suspect is an unhealthy relationship with food. I think about eating a lot. Really quite a lot. And if I’m not thinking about it, it’s probably because I’m distracted eating a Jaffa Cake. I try not to think about it, I try to eat less, but it’s a compulsion. I’ve tried to be objective, to think carefully about how food tastes and feels in my mouth as I eat it, to work out exactly what makes it so addictive, but nothing has helped.

Paul’s approach is slightly different to your typical ‘diet’. In fact, one of the first things he tells me is that I need to ‘surround myself with snacks’.

This is my kind of dieting.

I describe to Paul the picture I am imagining – me leaning back in a big leather swivel chair, smiling to myself, with towers of biscuits piled up around me, like a pirate admiring his mountains of gold. Apparently that is not quite the sort of snack Paul had in mind.

The theory though is something I can relate to. Paul explains that basically we are primitive beings, and that our first instinct is a survival one. Our body doesn’t know that we have a fridge full of pate, it only knows that when you diet, it panics, imagining you as a hunter, unsure of where the next handful of berries or mouthful of boar will come from. Basically, when you don’t eat regularly – around every two-three hours – your bodies worries.

Bless it.

I asked if this would explain my anxiety around buffets, and the urge I feel to eat everything within sight all the time and apparently yes, it does. Turns out I’m not greedy, I just have strong survival instincts.

By surrounding yourself with snacks, you are reassuring your body that you care about it, that you are providing for it, and that it needn’t worry on the boar and berry front, as snacks will always come. If you do this all the time, the idea is that your body relaxes, safe in the knowledge that food will always be around, and subsequently the urge to overeat reduces.

This really resonated with me, and I have made a concerted effort since the call to eat more often. It sounds like a perverse way to lose weight, but it makes sense to me, and I definitely feel like I’m thinking less about food, knowing there is a snack just around the corner.

Paul was full of loads of other great tips and analogies, but if I told you them all I’d be doing him out of a job wouldn’t I?

For more information about Paul, visit his page on the Greatvine website.

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This week was my birthday. I’m writing this as a way of saying thank you to everyone for their lovely cards and messages, and to my mum for a lovely lunch, but also to show of some of my favourite birthday presents, to make you all green with envy.

Belle always makes birthdays special my putting together a ‘hamper’ of goodies. I use the term loosely, as what she actually does is wrap a selection of items that she doesn’t want any more from her bedroom. They say it’s the thought that counts, and this year she went one better, and thought to wrap up things from Bee’s bedroom instead. Unfortunately she didn’t tell Bee first, so I have had to sneak quite a lot of it back, but a birthday really wouldn’t be the same without it.

This year she also hand painted me Jimmy the Jamaican Giraffe, who I’m sure you’ll agree is terribly handsome:

Toy Giraffe

Jimmy stands tall and proud

Bee did extremely well this year, and looked very pleased with herself as she presented me with these earrings. “Look!” she cried. “A Owl!” (Emphasis on the ‘A’ in a Phone Shop styley. Watch it if you haven’t seen it.)

owl earrings

“A owl!” “A owl?” “A owl!”

And if that weren’t enough, definitely-can’t-be-described-as-new-anymore Boyfriend bought me books and jam. Books. And Jam.

Books and jam

All I need now is a spoon

It is genuinely without even a hint of sarcasm that I say what more could a girl* want? Picture me if you will, late in the evening, sitting in bed reading, spoon in hand, face smeared with rhubarb and vanilla.

So there you go, a selection of some of my New Best Things. My question for the day is this – what is the best birthday present you’ve ever been given? Was it a small rubber ball found on the floor by one of your children? Or jam perhaps? Let me know…

*OK, OK, woman in her mid-thirties**

**Sobs quietly into fig chutney

 

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How’s your body image?

Are you happy with your wobbly bits? At peace with your wonky nose? Or do you cling to the dream that if only you were a few pounds lighter, a little bit taller, that all would be well with the world?

I wish I could say that I didn’t care about body image, that I was totally happy and accepting of my body, but it would be a fib. Like the majority of women, I too hanker after thinner thighs and tighter triceps. Not enough to actually do anything about it of course, but that’s really not the point, as the issue is clearly not a physical one.

The most worrying thing is the increasingly young age at which body image becomes an issue for girls and young women, as I talked about recently. I say recently… I just looked it up and the post I wrote about conversations overheard on a school bus is nearly two years old! Blimey, unnoticed aging clearly an issue for me here.

There has been a trend recently in the media to try and redress the balance, and change the way we feel about our body image, but to be honest I’m a little cynical. Take the Dove Real Beauty campaign for instance. Now perhaps it’s just me, but aren’t all of these women actually rather attractive? Some of them may be larger than traditional models, but none of them are fat, they’re all well proportioned with smooth skin and pretty faces:

Dove models

Not exactly munters are they?

Dove’s latest idea for improving our body image and raising levels of confidence among girls is the Dove Self Esteem Programme, a series of workshops being held in schools throughout the UK, with the aim of reaching a million 11-18 year old girls by the end of 2012. My cynical side says ‘what a great market for them to tap into’ but at the same time I can’t help but think that one million girls feeling even just a little bit better abut themselves has to be a good thing right?

Dove models

Again, not exactly munters…

Worryingly, it really is this young that body image starts to become an issue. Dove found that over half of the girls they surveyed thought they were ‘average’, ‘ordinary’, ‘plain’ or ‘unattractive’, and the stats I found when researching my post on pornography are even more shocking:

  • Over half of all women around the world say they first became aware of the need to be physically attractive between 6 and 17 years of age.
  • 66% of teenage girls would consider plastic surgery and 20% would do it right now.
  • Polls suggest that 63% of young women aspire to be glamour models or lap dancers.
  • One in three people believe a woman is responsible for violence committed against her if she is wearing ‘revealing clothing’.

Have you seen the Dove ad about all the little girls giving up their hobbies because of their body image? It’s pretty scary stuff:

Further research by Dove celebrates the fact that over a third of girls cite their mothers as their role models. Great, you might think, it’s good that girls have someone real to emulate, but then you look down the rest of the list, and it’s the usual suspects – Cheryl Cole, Jessie J, Rhinanna… And we all know how I feel about Rhianna as a role model. Where are the political figures? The writers? The scientists? Why are young girls so focussed on role models famous purely on the basis of their looks?

Which leads me to my key question – do campaigns like the Dove Real Beauty campaign, or their self-esteem workshops really do anything to tackle issues around body image, or is it a much deeper rooted problem? Are programmes like these just a drop in the multi-million pound ocean that is the beauty industry, or are Dove trailblazers, leading the way for others?

Answers on the back of an anti-wrinkle cream box please.

You can visit the Dove facebook page for more information on their initiatives to improve body image among young women.

 

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I am always fascinated by what my children think of me as a parent. Whenever we watch Wife Swap I make them place me on the line from one freaky parent to another, always wondering which way my mothering scales are tipping.

It can be hard to get the right balance.

Being a single parent makes it especially hard, as you somehow have to blend the two roles into one – good cop and bad cop become one flakey, inconsistent cop, who will let you eat M&Ms for lunch one day, (peanuts = one of your five a day surely?), and then go mad at you the next when you don’t eat your wholemeal bread crusts.

It is probably a sign of some deeper rooted insecurities, reminiscent of the hours I spent as a teenager fantasising about giving the whole school a compulsory questionnaire to find out exactly what percentage of people liked me.

(That sounds far more disturbing now I’ve written it down. Let’s move quickly on.)

This week though I got the chance to see, quite literally, how Belle sees me, as she drew me this:

Slummy Single Mummy portrait

I rather like it. It has a casual seriousness to it, the peering over the glasses, concentrating hard on who knows what. I love the expression she captures, not bad given we were in a cafe and she was sketching in felt tips.

Do you ever wonder about how your children see you? How would you like them to think of you?

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Welcome to a week in tweets. Last week I tweeted as Bee, the week before I was Belle, and I don’t really fancy going back to being boring old me just yet. Monday: did some work, Tuesday: did a bit more work and ate a hobnob – no one really wants to read that do they?

So this week I thought I’d jazz it up a bit, and tweet as the one person whose life I would most like to lead apart from my own. Nancy Drew.

I’ve always loved the titian haired girl detective, and have a shamefully large collection of Nancy Drew books. I love her independence, her sense of adventure, and the fact that she really prefers to solve mysteries in a matching hat and gloves. It’s like a grown up Famous Five with a greater attention to accessories.

Nancy is always full of great advice, whether you’re looking for crime-busting support or relationship guidance, and so this week I’ve put together seven days of top tips from the girl herself, all genuine lines from Nancy Drew adventures. Enjoy!

Monday – When your chum goes undercover, a nice set of calling cards with her alias makes a nice gift. #bff

Tuesday – Though getting stuck at the top of a Ferris wheel can foil your sleuthing plans, it’s a great excuse to enjoy some quality time with your boyfriend.

Wednesday – You can rile up a villain by pretending to throw a treasure off a cliff. 

Thursday – If someone’s trying to buy a house and it suddenly becomes haunted, it’s probably not a coincidence. #justsaying

Friday – You know he’s the right guy for you when he can dismantle a mad scientist’s powerful transmitter and save the world!

Saturday – Sometimes pretending to go into a trance and reveal secrets from the past can elicit a confession from even the most high-handed types.

Sunday – It’s fun to take five from sleuthing for a little swim and a rousing diving contest. #chillaxing

Now it’s your turn. Write your very own week in tweets, add it my linky, and read the others by clicking here. You can tweet as yourself, one of your children, your favourite literary character, (Nancy Drew is literature, I don’t care what you say), whatever takes your fancy! You can even get a  week in tweets badge to go with it.

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A few weeks ago I opened the door to someone trying to sell me electricity.

“Can I talk to the person you pays the bills please?” he said.

I was immediately on the defensive. Do I not look like the person who pays the bills? Do I look financially irresponsible? Is it that I’m a woman, and therefore inherently incompetent when it comes to managing money?

I took a breath, realising I was probably being a tad paranoid. At least it was better than a year or so ago when I was asked “Is your mum or dad in?”

“I pay the bills,” I replied, doing my best to look sensible and fiscally wise, “but I’m not interested in changing suppliers. I regularly compare energy prices online thank you.”

“But don’t you want to save money on your gas and electricity?” he asked me, clearly not about to be put off by that old chestnut.

“Yes,” I replied impatiently, “yes I do, which I why I use uSwitch.”

“I think if you give me a minute you’ll find I can save you hundreds of squillions of pounds and make your life more glamorous and arrange for Paul Rudd to be your postman…”

I don’t think he actually said that last bit, but by this point I had tuned out to be honest. I don’t have a problem with sales people in general. It’s a job, I understand that, it has to be done, but why don’t they bloody LISTEN? Yes, try once to persuade me if I give a vague ‘no’ and look easily manipulated, but when I’ve actually given evidence that I’m already getting it cheaper elsewhere, WHAT’S THE POINT?

Give up quick, go to the next door, don’t waste your time on a lost cause like me. Go for elderly women living alone, pretend you’ve just seen a burglar escaping over their back fence, do what you must, just leave me alone.

That’s my advice anyway. Now off you go. That’s right, take your foot out of the door, bye bye…

 

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Do you ever feel like you’re the victim of everyday sexism?

Have you ever been wolf-whistled in the street, or leered over by a gang of builders? Maybe your boss has attempted a drunken fumble, or you’ve been passed over for promotion at work because you have a young family?

Where do we draw the line?

At what point does harmless banter become sexual assault? When does discrimination at work become the stuff of tribunals?

Complain about a wolf-whistle and you risk being labelled a prude, or uptight, admit that you have a problem with normalisation of porn, as I have, and you’re labelled narrow-minded and frigid, but just because soft porn has become so mainstream, and incidences of sexism occur everyday, doesn’t mean it isn’t a problem. If anything, its proliferation makes it even more pressing.

Anyway, I’m blathering on. All I really wanted to do was tell you about a new project called ‘Everyday Sexism’, created to draw together women’s daily encounters with sexism. Go and read the stories from other women, add your own, and let’s not be afraid to stand up and say that sexism still exists, and that speaking up about it doesn’t make us all frigid man-haters.

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I’ve never really thought of myself as a natural scooter. (As in somebody who scoots. Obviously I know I’m not made of metal, annoying to meet on pavements etc. Although the latter could be true.)

Generally I lack co-ordination. Give me a plate to put away and I’ll manage to bang it on at least three surfaces along the way. I also lack the desire to make any sort of physical effort, apart from netball now of course, and given the choice, would always rather have a little sit down with a cup of tea and a penguin bar.

When I was first offered a mother and daughter toddler scooters combo then, you can imagine my reaction. I was never good at balancing, let alone balancing on a moving board with a tiny steering bar. I thought, no, it will never happen. A short derisive snort, tea sloshed over the keyboard a bit, crumbs everywhere. But then Bee happened to complain about her walk to college and was wishing she had a scooter. What are the chances?

“Wait!” I said, seeing an opportunity to cast myself as caring, attentive mother, ready to attend to her every need, “I will get you a scooter!”

And so my fate was sealed.

Bee hasn’t actually ridden the grown up version to school yet, what with the holidays and all, but Belle and I have been out for many a wholesome family scoot together. OK, that’s a bit of a lie. We have scooted round to the Co-op though to recycle the plastic, (what kind of stupid city council doesn’t have kerbside plastic collections??), but to be honest I’m not sure it was wise to balance two full bags on my handlebars on my first outing.

“HOW DO I STOP??!!” I screamed at Belle as I approached my first kerb.

“Use the brake!” she cried back, rather unhelpfully I thought, from miles ahead already.

The brake apparently is at the back, but taking both feet off the ground at exactly the moment I wanted to have both of them on it seemed foolish in the extreme, so instead I attempted an undignified sort of intermittent scrape with one foot, like you do on a swing when you’re little and want to slow down but are too scared to jump off.

Finally drawing to a halt, I lifted my scooter up the kerb, only to be met with a sharp crack of metal against my ankle bone. Belle meanwhile was loving it – her scooter has three wheels through, and doesn’t attack your ankles when you’re not looking.

Scooting home, without the encumbrance of a dozen empty four pint milk containers was easier, and at points I’d almost go as far as to say I enjoyed it, but I think I might stick to strolling along behind Belle on hers. I realise this makes me officially No Fun At All, but I am 34 and have nearly grown up children, so that’s as it should be.

I’m sure for Bee it will prove really useful, as she does have a bit of a trek to school every day, and Belle was delighted to at last be able to replace her rusty old five year old scooter that frankly, she had become too ashamed to be seen with. I fear though that if I continued with my screaming, foot scrapping, ankle bashing routine it could be me who ends up the embarrassment.

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As regular readers may know, I was a teenage mum. Pregnant at 16, I gave birth to Bee a few months after my seventeenth birthday. And I got a degree and everything. Honestly, who’d have thought it?

Today, to prove that yes, there is more than one teenager in the UK who has managed to have a baby and not end up leaving school and relying on Jeremy Kyle as her sole source of income, I have a guest post from  a young mummy called Elle. Her story is pretty shocking, but incredibly moving. When I first read it I actually cried, which was a bit awkward as I was in a cafe at the time, but it bought back such powerful memories for me, and made me so proud, even though we’ve never met. It was all a bit overwhelming.

Please make Elle very welcome, and go check out her blog, Tales of a Young Mummy, if you want to read more teenage mum stories. We’re not all bad you know.

…

I’m seventeen. Just over a year ago I found out that I was pregnant. 33 weeks pregnant. This, of course, came as a shock. I didn’t know what to do, where to go. If it wasn’t for the support of my lovely form tutor at school I’m not sure what I would have done.

I suppose my story begins within the innocence of a Triple Science lesson. My form tutor knocked on the classroom door, “Come in!” my science teacher called.

“Can I have a quick word with Elle?” She asked, “Grab your stuff El and follow me”. So I did as I was told and totted off behind her. A few moments later I found myself being offered a chair in the company of the student services ladies.

“Elle, there’s no easy way of saying this, but we’re worried. You’re meant to be flying to America next month, but we’re concerned you won’t be able to go…”

“What? Of course I can fly…” I was confused, the following month I was supposed to be going to Florida with my boyfriend and his family. Why did these ladies think I wouldn’t be able to go?

“Elle, we think you’re pregnant.” Of course, in that situation I didn’t know what to say. So I said the obvious: “How?” I didn’t mean how did I get pregnant!

After they explained to me that they had seen me gain a bit of weight and had noticed that my boobs had grown I was still confused and wondered how they were so confident that meant I was pregnant? One of them was trying for a baby herself and had been reading all the baby books.

So now that was cleared up in my mind, what was I to do? My form tutor made me call Tyler, my boyfriend, who was on home study that afternoon. I met him and we walked into town to Superdrug. We were overwhelmed by the amount of pregnancy tests on the shelves – which should we chose?

Sat on the edge of the bath, wondering what the hell I was meant to do with this stick in my hand was the weirdest feeling I’ve ever experienced. I can’t explain it. I did the test. Within seconds, I didn’t even get a chance to get up off the toilet, the colours changed. It was true. I was pregnant. “Tyler, look.”

“But it’s not 5 minutes yet…SHIT” I wasn’t ready to be a mum.

The next 3 weeks are a blur in my mind. So much happened. Went to doctors, I was told 20 weeks pregnant. Went for scan, I was told 33 weeks pregnant.

3 weeks later, at 36 weeks gestation, I was sat in a labour suite at 4am. At first I was told I wasn’t in labour. Just as water was being run for the birthing pool the midwife asked if she could just check if I was dilated. I didn’t much like the sound of that! Minutes later, my waters had broken and I was pushing. By 6.20am I was laid with my beautiful baby girl in my arms. Willow Lillah Beere, weighing 7lb 2oz.

A year later and we’ve been through a lot. We’ve spent a total of about 2 weeks in the children’s ward at our local hospital. Willow has had whooping cough, bronchiolitis 3 times, a swollen abdomen which was thought to be a gluten intolerance, a burnt hand and a perforated ear drum. The list is never-ending, but she’s as beautiful as ever.

I went back to school when Willow was 3 weeks old to study for my exams. I sat all of them, except for drama as Willow was in hospital with whooping cough!

I came out of my GCSE’s with 5 A grades and 4 B’s. So anyone that assumes all teen mums are useless might want to think again. We’re not all like that you know!

I now studying for my A-levels. It is hard with a one year old to look after as well, but I’ll get through it. I want to build the best future I can for myself and Willow. And yes, I am still with Tyler. He’s been through everything with us the past year, he’s been my rock. Well, my Mum has too, I’m still living at home with her, and I’m so grateful for that. Without my parents and Tyler around I wouldn’t be coping anywhere near as well.

I have a huge support network around me, and I am so thankful for everyone. I wouldn’t be where I am today, on my way to success, without my family.

Tyler is working full-time as an accountant and gave uni a miss so he could be at home to look after his daughter, and work to provide for her. He doesn’t live with us, but he does live just down the road so we do get to see him every day, and he gets to see his beautiful little Willow.

We have our first family holiday coming up in July, and oh I’m so excited! It’s only to Butlins, but we get to spend the whole weekend together!

Much love,
Young Mummy xxx

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