...& the Winner Is...

Righty-ho, drum-roll please!

I have drawn the WINNER of my Blogtoberfest Giveaway...

... I allocated each comment a number (1-22) - obviously I did not count my own comments - & then used Random.org to pick (I was going to use Daughter & a hat full of names, which would have made for much better blogging & pics but I put her to bed after tears & tantrums!)

& so the WINNER...

...Oh the suspense...

...The winner is...

...Number 12...

...Which is...

Taylor Made!

CONGRATULATIONS!

So either get in touch with me or I'll get in touch with you & hopefully get it posted out to you this week :)

Oooh I love all this exciting giveaway stuff!

(& here is the proof, incase you think I'm a dirty cheat!!)

Green Grocers Should Not Give Parental Advice.

It is 7.43pm & I am sat in bed by way of protest. I am typing each letter with defiance. My laptop is asking me to stop being quite so brutal. No, I tell it:

I am in protest.

What are you in protest of?

I am in protest - I say proudly - of...well...of everything. Downstairs is a mess. I know I have to tidy it before the Man's brother-in-law comes with our new sofa tomorrow - I say petulantly - but right now I am in protest & so I shall not be tidying it until later. & yes, I know that I have to fill in that form that I promised the Man I'd fill in (the one I have been avoiding for no reason) but he is not home until midnight & I shall not be filling it in until later & besides which I do not have an envelope big enough to post it anyway so I will have to wait until tomorrow to get one. So there.

Oh. What's that you're eating?

I am eating brioche, in protest - I say.

In protest of what?

I am eating brioche by way of protest against the horrific heartburn I currently have. It has become so bad that I cannot drink anything warmer than luke-warm & each gulp of food feels like a fiery golf ball when it reaches the part between my boobs but I am eating this brioche because it is tasty & I want to.

Yes, I think I have gone mad.

It all started with a bath, in which I was given time to think about things. Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous. I am irritable & I thought that a bath & time to churn over & settle a few thoughts in my mind would help - alas, it has not. It has, for some inexplicable reason, turned me into my petulant 3 year old Daughter.

There were two things that I realised, that are now bugging me. Buzz, buzz, buzz. The first comes from reading those little online baby things that tell you where you are at with your pregnancy each week - how big your baby is by measurement of fruit or veg for some inexplicable reason (does a green-grocer write these?), what you should be doing to make it a super-genius & what ailments should currently be plaguing you at this moment in time.

A few weeks back the Man was reading one of these aloud, as he likes to, & it mentioned something in the 'Ideas for Dad' section (normally full of mundane advice such as 'take out life insurance' or 'give her a foot-rub') that has stuck in my brain ever since. It said something along the lines of this:

Dad, have you tried the 'Guess the body part' game yet? - as though it's a frigging well known game? Pish - Baby is moving a lot now & though Mum now can determine an elbow from a knee why not have fun by feeling Mum's tum & trying to guess for yourself!

Well, I can tell you it didn't stick in my mind just because it sounded like a total hoot (ahem), no it stuck because I actually had no idea as to which body-parts bulged out of my stomach. & it's not like they don't bulge, I mean they really do. It's like it's trying to break out, Alien styley, & sometimes it hurts!  Ever since I have found myself frustratedly trying to decipher which bit of my bump is a head or a leg or a bum (all this made ten times worse by the fact that Daughter was breech so I am completely obsessed with whether this one is going to turn the right way or whether they might have to cut me open again) & I can't tell. So, in my mind, this makes me one or both of two things:

a) Stupid
or
b) A useless mother to my unborn child

&, if I'm honest, I'm not sure which is worse!

Okay, so I know, I know I am being over-sensitive about this & that there are obviously deeper issues here, but it really makes me think that the green-grocers who write this baby-twaddle & Crap Ideas for Dad should just stick to the 'be nice, avoid her wrath & make sure the money is coming in, two pound for that bunch of bananas' tack. Don't invent tedious games that insult half of the mothers who are paranoid about which way around there baby is laying. Don't torment me, follow your own mundane advice - avoid my wrath, make my partner give me back-rubs (he's not going near my feet) & tell him to leave all his money to me, should I kill him in frustration!

Seriously, pregnant women are sensitive & will be driven to bed & brioche in protest [of nothing] in a second, so be careful what you say!

Oh, & the second thing I realised when I was in the bath was that the bath edges needed re-sealing. I got out swiftly after this second realisation.

Grooving Mums

So, I have a had a very up & down week this week. As I've mentioned, it really scares me just how up & down I can be. Some mornings I can wake up numb & end up having a wonderful day, other days I could wake up with a positive outlook only to bomb out spectacularly in a wave of tears or anxiety.

I need to get this under control.

I've never really been a stable person anyway, but I have always managed to muddle by one way or another.

Today & yesterday have been unexpectedly good days. I feel cured. I can barely remember why on earth I have felt so miserable recently & find myself wondering what all the fuss was about. There is nothing wrong with me. Unfortunately, I know that this isn't true & I know from recent experience that this feeling probably won't last forever (but I would not complain if it should) & so I have to make the most of this mindset while it lasts.

I am currently on the brink of changing things. After seeing my GP a few weeks ago I have had an initial appointment with a member of my local Community MH Team. I had very mixed feelings about the appointment. She asked me lots of standard questions as we went through a questionnaire & while I initially felt it was comprehensive & positive I soon began to stumble over my replies & didn't feel that I adequately expressed myself to her & by the end of the session I felt as though I had not given her a realistic view of myself. I write it better than I say it. Always have, probably always will. In the hours & days that followed I kept remembering things I had missed out or realising I had said things that could easily have been misconstrued.

She had said that she would go away & write up a report which she would share with some sort of team (by this time I wasn't really taking much in - my concentration is shot at the best of times) but she did say that she would arrange for me to see a consultant as she felt that I wasn't entirely convinced on her initial verdict of low moods caused by anxiety. She was right, I feel that the anxiety is only present occassionally due to my actions or inactions brought on by low mood. I feel crap first & then I do nothing & worry about having done nothing.

Anyway, the point of me telling you all this is my discovery of a blog-hop called Grooving Mums via the wonderful platform that is Twitter (I am now addicted & spend far too much time tweeting crap).

Basically, this is a group of blogging mums who feel they would like to change something about themselves, big or small & their accounts of how they are doing this. Kate [on Thin Ice] explains it all here.

So, over the next few days I am going to think of five attainable goals for myself (I have accepted - sort of - that I am not, nor am I ever going to be a Super-Mum) & try to keep weekly updates for you all to read how I am doing.

I'm terrified of bombing out on this - I have a history of being useless - but I have all ready heard from some lovely, lovely Grooving Mums which has been inspiring & heartwarming.

Here's to getting my groove back.

On Mammaries & Memories of Who I Am

I’m sat in the middle of the floor of my baby’s nursery as I write this. Behind me is the bed of the crib that was once mine, then my daughter’s & is now theirs. To my left are the legs of the crib, half painted & still wet. In front  of me is a brand new wooden high chair which currently seats Daughter’s dolly (adorned in oversized swimsuit, previously belonging to Daughter herself), some Johnson’s Baby Lotion which I shall never use as I prefer organic & ethical products & a hand-me-down plastic baby toy in suitably garish colours. Also in the room is a large cot, again, once belonging to Daughter; a beautiful new moses basket (my proudest & most unnecessary purchase); a new chest of drawers, too small to actually hold all the clothes & bibs we seem to have acquired; an electric breast pump; various baby bottles; a steam steriliser & all that other paraphernalia associated with a new baby.

I often come in & sit in this space, to try & familiarise myself with the room or just basically in an attempt to come to terms with the fact that I’m going to be a mother - again.

There will be a new baby in here in less than five weeks.

I can say this over & over but still it has not sunk in.

Earlier I took my shiny electric breast pump out of its box, read the instructions, dismantled & reconstructed it & stared at it for a while. Last time I had a manual one which was such a pain in the arse that I promised myself an electric one this time around – a lady of leisure with all my fancy baby gadgets & all that jazz. As I dismantled the pump again I felt a pang of excitement which was immediately followed by a wave puzzlement. 

When on earth did I go from being a [not so] cool, wild party girl who got rared up by a free shot of Sambuca from the handsome gentleman at the cheap bar, followed by a dance with the cheap gentleman from the handsome bar – or was it the other way around? That Sambuca had gone to my head – to being thrilled at the prospect of not having to manually extract the milk from my mammaries? Thrilled is perhaps too strong a word, but you see my point nevertheless?

If you have read any of my previous posts you will realise that I haven’t been coping with this pregnancy well & that I am finding it hard to be thrilled by anything at the moment, but I do feel happy that I am not completely detached & I am beginning to realise that maybe doing what makes it easier for me & by buying all this fancy but slightly unnecessary stuff will actually help me to cope better when the baby is here. I also think that it is going to be about finding a balance between the partying & the pumping.

I don’t want to lose sight of who I am, or who I can be. 

At the moment I am far too round to dance for more than 10 minutes without having to stagger to the nearest seating area & have a bit of a rest but that’s just pregnancy & I must accept this. It’s not going to last forever. In fact it’s going to last for five more weeks, maximum. I am 22. I am not past it by any means, I started young & therefore I have a head start in that I have the whole of my life to achieve the things I didn’t achieve when I was 18 & pregnant. I may spend my nights wakeful or sobbing & I may feel as though I have failed because I didn’t live my life in the order that my friends & peers lived theirs but I still have time. Sometimes I find it very difficult to remember this. Sometimes my insecurities bog me down & I do stupid things & think stupid thoughts & become so absorbed in myself or in my own sadness that I forget.

Pregnancy is not forever & hopefully shall be without stretch marks.

My life after pregnancy will be just as it was before – juggling motherhood, my mammaries & responsibilities with a career (we hope), sexy shoes & a lot of dancing (though possibly not with strange men).

I could do it before, even when I was a single mum, so surely even though I have an extra sprog the presence of a man evens that out?

It’ll all be okay – I just have to remind myself of that sometimes.

Why can't I?

Here I go...

This morning I decorated gingerbread men with Daughter.

Monumental achievement? It felt like it.

My moods have been erratic lately. 

After last week being busy & my mind being fairly distracted, I shuddered to a halt on Saturday evening.

Saturday had been spent visiting my mum. We had plans to go out but comfortably abandoned such plans while feeling cosy at home. I was content to sit & let Daughter play while everyone else looked out for her. I was utterly relaxed on the large leather sofa, with the log fire roaring.

When I returned home I felt fine. A little more nonplussed than earlier. Was it the beginning of numbness? I wasn’t sure.

I crashed out on the sofa, I was tired, & sure enough the numbness crept over me like a familiar old blanket. Oh no. I was quiet & subdued all evening until it came to bedtime. Bedtime is usually the clincher. I sat on the edge of the bed & as my lovely, unsuspecting man brushed his teeth I started to cry & sob. I didn’t want to feel like this. It seemed as though this was happening more unpredictably than before & I couldn’t cope with it. I didn’t want to feel like this, I didn’t want it carry on & at the same time I didn’t feel as though I could carry on. It was too much.

Why does this keep happening? How can I feel so okay one moment then completely encased by sadness the next? 

Sunday was numb. Today is numb. I’m not good & I’m not bad. I’m just thinking. I’m certainly not doing. I never do anything when I feel this way & that’s part of the problem. I feel sad; I have no motivation; I do nothing; I feel worthless; I feel sadder. Then I cause problems for myself – not paying bills, not completing projects – & that adds anxiety to the mix.

Yes, the answer is glaringly obvious. Do something you lazy twat. It’s more than that. I’m not sure how to explain further, except that it’s like a constant block: a constant voice in the back of my mind that reminds me of just how much of a failure I am – just how worthless I am. I can tell myself I’m not, others can tell me the same, I believe them sometimes, it sounds rational but it doesn’t make it go away.

I need help. I’ve asked for it, though I haven’t been entirely honest  about how I feel with anyone I’ve encountered – not professionals nor with my loved ones. I know that I must but I don’t want to make a fuss – I’m not worth a fuss. I am pathetic & I should be able to deal with this myself. Everyone else does. Everyone else copes with life. Why can’t I?

57 sodding bibs.

I am sick of white baby clothes.
I am sick of beige baby clothes.
I am sad that there is no room in the drawers for the clothes I am so looking forward to buying when we know whether it is he or she.

There are plenty of unisex things available that are not white or beige so why have a got so much of this stuff?!

& why have I got 57 bibs?!

& why have I got 468 size one nappies that I didn't buy?! (I've done the maths - use 5 a day & that'll still last over 3 months, I hope it doesn't grow too quickly & poos a lot)

People are so generous & I feel entirely ungrateful, but I seem to be drowning in a sea of baby things that I don't remember asking for & that I probably won't use! It just seems so wasteful when there are people much more needing out there.

I like things to be kept to a minimum - just a few lovely things, as well as the basics of course. I know that babies are puke & poo machines. I know that we'll need a lot of stuff that will take the puke & poo. Honest, I know this cos I've all ready had one but it really is just too much now! I feel genuinely overwhlemed by it all!

Apologies for excessive use of exclamation marks, it's just all a bit much...

57 sodding bibs, indeed.

I bloody love Christmas me - though not usually in October!

Today, after three hours of travelling on trains (more on that & the rude commuters of Britain later), I finally have got round to making some Christmas bits & bobs. I have spent the last hour or so snipping & sewing & it feels good! (With the exception of an aching back - so blog & dinner break happening now!)

Here's a quick sneak peek at what kind of things I'll be making. Goodness knows if I'll sell anything - craft fair tomorrow & I plan on popping some of these lovelies on the Little Pea Green Etsy Shop - but if not it'll save me making more for our own tree!

Last week I was sat in our living room, minding my own business when I suddenly got a subtle sniff of something like a pine scent. I think it was the faint aroma coming from a little lavender bag which Daughter had found & claimed as her own for a while but was now stuffed down the back of the sofa & forgotten, but my brain was obviously in a jovial mood & so interpreted this as a whiff of festivity. I became overwhelmingly excited about the impending arrival of winter & the festive season. I cannot wait to see the living room transformed with bunting & decorations (I am quite the traditionalist so lots of rustic reds, greens & golds); for the scent of the tree & the excitement as the presents build up beneath it; for the cursing every time someone kneels down & gets pine needles angrily poked into their knees; for an open fire roaring during the day & then it's embers gently roasting chestnuts on an evening; to buy pointless & rich foods & to gorge on them with absolutely no shame, just pure revelry, swilling it all down with a slug of Irish cream liqueur or a hot coffee cheekily spiked with a shot of brandy, whatever the time of day.

I could go on forever & ever about the best bits of Christmas but, this year, the thing I cannot wait to have our brand new family in the midst of all this toasty-warmth & cosiness.

I bloody love Christmas, me. Even the cheesy songs.

P.S. - apologies for getting so excited so soon, I don't usually do such silly things but I am due to have a baby in one month & as I am prescribing myself one month of focusing on nothing but the baby & sleep everything like this is getting pushed forward one month, so I am living as though it were the 17th November! Therefore I find this festive fanaticism is entirely justified!

Nothing profound

I sat down in the room with the kindly-looking stranger who was my new midwife.

"Have you got your notes with you?" she asked with a smile.

"Oh..." I stumbled, remembering that I'd forgotten, "...no, I totally forgot them, I'm terrible for that at the moment!" I said truthfully with a casual ai & my slightly nervous laugh.

"Oh, right..." she said in a serious tone that I didn't expect her to use from her initial warm demeanour "They must be in your handbag at all times, otherwise we would no nothing about you if something were to happen."

I instantly felt foolish. I'm forgetful at the best of times, never mind when I've a baby-brain. I wanted to cry.

"How have you been feeling?" she asked in a warmer tone.

I told her nervously that I had been okay, that this week had been a better week, but I was hesitantly honest with her. I felt a little foolish again as I told her that I just wasn't coping so well, but that I had spoken to the Doctor about it & arrangements were in place for me to see a member of the mental health team. I wondered how she would react, whether she would tell me it was probably my low iron levels as the last midwife suspected or whether she would take me more seriously. I told her, as I had told the Doctor the previous week, that I had always felt like this but now it was different, because it was ruling my life & the bad & sad feelings outweighed the good & stable feelings.

She reacted sympathetically & gently asked me questions about it. I didn't feel so foolish.

She then took my blood pressure, measured my bump & listened to the baby's heartbeat. Everything was completely fine - my bump measured about what it should at 33 weeks she informed me, even though I am nearly 35 weeks.

"...but that's okay because you're allowed about 2 weeks either way." she said with a smile & the initial kindliness I had experienced as I'd entered the room. "It probably means that the baby will be about 6lb or so."

PHEW. I was was relieved that she hadn't said it was too small, as they had said with Daughter & but even more so that she had said it would be a healthy but small baby. I felt much more relaxed now, after spilling the nervous crazy to her & knowing that the baby was happy in there but not about to cause me an awful lot of pain on its way into the world - hopefully anyway!

That was my morning. Everything is okay - & everything is going to be okay. Nothing profound to see here but certainly no bad news, unless you count my total memory loss.

Putting notes in handbag now.

Tweeting around.

Okay so... you can all now find me on... wait for it... Twitter. Yes, Twitter. Dunn dunn duuuuunnnn.

Well you can find me but it may take me a while to work out how to use it.

So you can follow me @PeaGreenGwin

I'm right here.

Any tips/basic instructions would be very gratefully accepted!! :)

Sunday, Floaty Sunday.

Sundays are usually the days that I wish I could be doing not much & just floating around in my nighty as I used to, drinking cup of tea after cup of tea & enjoying every morcel of whichever delicious breakfast I'd chosen to treat myself to: Pancakes & syrup? Bacon sandwich? Poached eggs?

Recently, Sundays have been busy: Sundays have been days seized to visit loved-ones; take much needed shopping trips or to complete tasks for which completion is essential before the baby's arrival.

The living room in my old flat was huge & had one large window stretching almost to the top of the decadently high ceiling which looked out onto the street below. The light would stream through this window on a morning & I enjoyed looking out at the people walking by, wondering what Sunday business they were going about & feeling very satisfied that I could do as I pleased in my sunny Sunday living room.

Now, our living room is smaller yet more homely & often much tidier than my old living room ever was. The window in our current living room is a wide bay window & in the afternoon we get the sun's generously warm rays pouring in. Even on the dullest of days it seems to fill the room with a warmth that I never had in my old living room

Though I much prefer home as it is now six days a week, I do yearn for my floaty-Sunday ritual.

Today was a Sunday I would rather forget, & one I probably shall. I had nothing on my agenda & thought to myself that I might just enjoy the day. I finished work yesterday & so it was my first official day of maternity leave & we all know that maternity leave is for sitting around in your pyjamas & eating biscuits (something that I am extremely good & well-practised at) but something just wasn't right. My nighty used for floating has long since disintergrated & even had it not I doubt that it would fit over my bump. I had the pleasure of being brought a cup of tea in bed by that ever-wonderful man of mine & leisurely coming downstairs to be greeted with a bacon sandwich, once again courtesy of that man. This was lovely. Wonderful. I am very lucky. But I am also very slow to start - very lazy - & so my Sunday did not start. I simply arrived in Sunday & did hardly anything for myself. I did nothing but I did not enjoy doing nothing.

So, my mission is simply to re-claim Sunday, floaty Sunday. A nighty, a ritual & copious amounts of tea are going to make a return into my life. Just on a Sunday.

Watch this Sunday space.

Blogtoberfest Giveaway!

Hello all, I have just read a lovely post over at owlet which then linkied me up to CurlyPops & I decided to do a little giveaway in the spirit of Blogtoberfest! 

I shall be giving away 1 meter of bunting that looks a little bit like this:

All you have to do is leave a comment below, say hello or whatever, even have a look around, go with the flow :)

I'll pick a winner on 31st October using a random generator or some such technical wizardry then announce with a post here on the blog. So get following & check back to see if you've won!

Take care y'all!

On Pregnancy, Crazy People & Personal Space

As I sat waiting to catch a bus this afternoon, replying to a text message in a very obviously minding-my-own-business-& certainly-not-looking-for-a-conversation-after-the-day-I've-had way, the woman sharing the cold metal bench with me, who sported a blue anorak & a slightly vacant look & who I had hardly even noticed until now (so consumed was I in the task of sending said message) asked me how long it would be until the next bus. I became instantly annoyed. On the side of the bus currently in front of us (that is too full for us to fit on due to obscene amounts of lary school children) it says quite clearly EVERY 7 MINUTES.

"Well, they're supposed to be every seven minutes.." I reply politely, with a sweet smile that I reserve mainly for customers I dislike & crazy people "so that usually means between 5 & 10 minutes."

She thanks me & I return my avid concentration to my iPhone. Deliberately making it look as though I am sending some sort of urgent email to someone very important in a way that means I cannot be disturbed. I knew by the vacant look that this was not a simple question rather a way into a conversation that I did not want to have. I covered my baby bump with my coat.

"Do they not run school buses anymore?" she says rolling her eyes. Obviously not.

"I don't know!" I say with a cheery but clipped chuckle, once again reserved mainly for the crazies.

I go back to my intense emailing of the Dalai Lama Re: Enlightenment of the masses.

"...When's your baby due?"

GODDAMNIT WOMAN! Can you not see that the Dalai Lama need my urgent assistance?! At least think of something original to ask me!

"19th of Novermber. Not long to go now." I reply automatically, with a curt smile.

"Ooh, well you're hiding it well!"

OBVIOUSLY NOT BLOODY WELL ENOUGH!!
This conversation continues in a perfunctory manner until I manage to flee onto the bus & take up a double seat for myself.

When you become pregnant you quickly find out that all the social norms suddenly change. During the early stages of starting to show in my first pregnancy I was utterly chuffed to bits every time some stranger asked me "Oh, how long to go?" or "Boy or a girl? Or is it a surprise!?". This soon wore off. Now, in my second pregnancy I knew what to expect & soon learned to make my replies to such intrusions of privacy polite but curt.

I just wish that people could ask something different or even just say what they are really thinking, for example:
"Have you got any piles yet?"
"Goodness me, is that a bump or have you just eaten lots of cake?"
"Well, you look like shit but it'll all be worth it in the end."
"Good luck with that..."

I'm sick of hearing the same conversations. Go back to talking about the weather! Please! At least that changes every day!

The other thing people think it's acceptable to do when you are pregnant is to touch your bump - without asking.

This is not acceptable unless you are a close friend & even so, only if you have requested formal permission.

Strangers, do not lay your grubby mitts on me.

I am a pregnant woman therefore I am much more likely to be grumpy & reclusive. It just makes no sense to go round being all in-my-face/on-my-bump!

No, the better effect comes when the baby is born. Sure, you still get all the cooing idiots following you around whenever you step out of your front door but these cooing idiots have a plus side: the belief that it is lucky to cross the baby's palm with silver.

Oh yes.

First time around I genuinely started out putting all the coins & notes my daughter received in a little piggy jar, especially for her. This time, I shall not be so foolish. Oh no! This time I shall be pocketing said proceeds & spend the next 18 years ticking off all the things he or she breaks/wees on/pukes on/steals/generally destoys/kills & taking it off the bill I send them on their 18th birthday.

All in all, I think that I have a love/hate relationship with pregnancy & similarly with mootherhood.

It's totally worth all the bloodshed, tears & crazy people, but just don't expect to be sane at the end of the day yourself.


& please don't invade my personal space.

To Do: This week & next

• Ice & decorate cupcakes for Daughters last day at nursery
• Find Daughter new nursery in order to save both our sanity
• Sew 'Happy Birthday' banner for Old Foundry Kitchen
• Think of Christmas makes & make for Craft Fair a week on Tuesday
• Take iron tablets regulary & DO NOT FORGET like useless person you are
• Go shopping
• Earn money for shopping/rent before going shopping
• Doctors: Monday (to check I haven't topped myself)
• Midwife: Thursday (only 10 weeks later than intended)
• Nurse: Next Tuesday (jabs saving Daughter from impending doom)
• Use excessive amounts of eggs which seem to have appeared in kitchen (quiche?)
• Pack to visit Lovely Friend -- DO NOT FORGET Pregnancy Notes
• Visit Lovely Friend
• Return from visit in one piece & without having given birth
• Do never-ending ironing, using special smelly iron-water bought 3 months ago in attempt to add a bit of fun to ironing (what?!)
• Attempt to make time to put face on of a morning in order to not scare general public when leaving house
• Become proper housewife (though not married) as intended to do 3 months previously
• If failing on above point, instead ensure proposal of marriage via argument that one can only be a good housewife if one is actually a wife
• Emotionally blackmail innocent blog followers into buying items from Little Pea Green in order to fill my fridge with cheese & yoghurt & possibly fund my marzipan habit if very successful
• Teach Daughter art of sophisticated conversation that does not involve the words "poo", "bottom", "bogey" or "ey!"
• Stop procrastinating with ridiculous lists & get off bum
• Ensure productivity by promising to post pics of accomplishment of to do list over next few days!

Over & out.

Autumn

I just had to share this. 

Autumn is my favourite season & this sums it up perfectly for me.

Beauty.