Can you die from sleep deprivation? ....and other lessons learned as a first-time Mum...

I'm looking into my kitchen as I type. I can see the hoover on the floor, it's wires all wiggly-wiggly, snaking across the floor ("a trip-hazard" my sensible brain is saying) - it's not even plugged in. I can see washing up that "won't do itself" (or so my sensible brain is saying). In my living room I can see our dog Mooka lying on the rug (AGAIN - No matter how many times I tell him to get his stinky body onto his bed he prefers our lovely rug!) I can see baby accoutrement scattered across the floor, sofa and table and the sofa cushions sliding off the sofa in a haphazard fashion. The obsessive control-freak-needs-everything-neat-and-tidy Hannan in me could be freaking out right now.

But then I can also see George playing a tickling game with a teeny-tiny human, and I can hear her laughing. I can see Mooka getting up to go and sniff her, and see her smiling and reaching out for him. And suddenly everything else pales into insignificance. Because that teeny-tiny  human is called Elsie, and she grew in my actual body and came out almost 9 months ago, the newest part of our family, and the reason I'm learning to let go of my need to have everything "neat and pretty and tidy and perfect".

This is a summary of my emotional journey into motherhood...

Lesson 1:
"Ok, so your waters are going!" The doctor said cheerfully, as if this was the best news we could hear 6 weeks before my due date on a casual Sunday night. "Oh! Ok... So..." was my response. "So... we will look to get baby out...next week. Oh, and you'll be having a C-section...Bye!" And off she went. Not really, she did stay and talk to us about what was going to happen but I didn't hear much of the next bit of info as I was trying to digest the fact that we would be having our baby 5 weeks early, and by C-section no less!

And so began two weeks of constant monitoring!

We hadn't bought baby clothes (at least not in the teeny size we'd need), hadn't set up a baby room, hadn't packed a hospital bag, I hadn't even finished work! We had at least written a birth plan, but we may as well not have, considering we were planning a natural-drug-free-hypnobirthing-water-birth plan and I was going be having...well...not that!

The next thing I knew, I was being set up on the ante-natal ward and told to rest and keep the baby in as long as possible, and so that night I spent my time practicing my relaxing breathing (so hypnobirthing came in very handy after all!) and trying to make a mental list of all the things I had to do to prepare, freaking out, returning to relaxing breathing etc etc...
By the morning, I had come to terms with the fact that we were going to be meeting our baby in a week and had cobbled together a to-do list to give to George.


And then the consultants did the rounds.

It turns out that when your waters go early you fall into one of two teams: Team A who think it is more important that baby cooks for as long as possible and that you must hold on until the due date... or Team B who think the risk of infection is too great to hold on and you should try and get baby out (particularly if the baby can reach 35 weeks). This meant that every morning, each new consultant we saw had a different opinion about what to do with us, ranging from "We are going to try and get you to term but don't go into labour please", to "We will have this baby out tomorrow ok?" We even had one ask us why we had 'asked' for an early C-Section...!?

Waiting to go into theatre..!

Each morning we braced ourselves for the next opinion, never quite knowing what was going to happen, which for a control-freak like me was unbearable, until one day, after having been in the hospital for almost a week we were actually asked... WE were asked what we wanted to do.
So we weighed up all the advice we had been given and decided to meet our baby on the day she turned 35 weeks.

And we did! I had the most beautiful Caesarean Section and our baby was born to the dulcet sounds of Sigur Ros. Despite being a preemie she did extremely well and didn't need much neonatal support at all. We spent the next week in hospital before bringing Elsie India Rose home with us.

And that was Lesson 1: You can make a birth plan but baby won't read it!


Lesson 2:
I'd read the books, Googled the parenting blogs, joined the Facebook groups for breastfeeding and asked friends. I felt ready. We'd decided to breast feed. We'd decided to avoid using a dummy for fear of the inevitable 'weaning her off dummy' stage later on. We'd decided we weren't going to be those anxious parents who google everything. How hilarious.
Breast feeding was hard. Elsie, being prem, lacked the latching and sucking reflexes required to breast feed, resulting in me having to express and bottle feed for the first couple months. Then, when she was a bit stronger, she learnt to latch and part of me wished she hadn't. Oh the pain... But then she got the hang of it and I got the hang of it and before long I realised I'd fed her in a café without anxiety, pain or Elsie having the screaming ab-dabs. Then, once she realised how comforting feeding was she wanted to do it All. The. Time. All the time. At all times. At first, it worked out perfectly, because all I wanted to do was snuggle with her on the sofa and watch box sets. But after a couple of weeks, I realized how much I missed the outside world, visiting friends, walking, the sunshine, etc... So my friend brought round one of her daughter's sterilized dummies for Elsie to try. I was standing at the sink washing up, talking to George as he sat with Elsie. I was going over my pros and cons for having a dummy (remember: control freak-obsessive-researcher) and George interrupted me exclaiming, "She likes it!" I turned to see Elsie sucking contentedly away and that was that. It got me and my nipples through a month of her needing to suck to soothe and now she only really needs it at nap times to get to sleep.
And then there was the Googling.. Oh the Googling! It would start with a quick "Just to make sure" and quickly became a "I need to know" before settling on a "Google knows best and must always be consulted". It didn't help that I had Baby Blues for about 2 months after Elsie's birth, making reasonable and rational thinking very difficult and allowing anxiety to reign supreme. But then I discovered this mantra which saved me:
"All babies are different and you know your baby best."
The more I spoke it the more I believed it. And the more I believed it the less I Googled. Now, I only Google sometimes and only after thinking rationally, "I know my baby - what do I feel in my gut".

And Lesson 2 became: My baby will tell me what's up - go with her needs!

Lesson 3:
I've never been competitive. I've always enjoyed the game more than whether I win or lose. This extends into life too I guess. I've never looked at people who can run faster than me, or sing better than me and thought, "I must get better so I can beat them!" Thankfully I've always felt a sense of comfort that we are all created unique and are stronger at some things than others. However, even the least competitive among us might have moments of insecurity when it comes to their children. One of my best friends had a baby at the same time I had Elsie and it has been the most wonderful thing ever.  We've gone to baby groups together, been at the end of the phone when we're in tears after a sleepless night, and there to remind each other we are actually good Mummies and are doing a fab job! However, it did allow little seeds of insecurity to sneak into my head early on when I saw my baby's bestie reaching milestones before my baby. I spent a lot of time working on that insecurity. I never wanted to be 'That Mum'... I've encountered 'That Mum' in my job as a teacher - the one who pushes and pushes their child to make the next developmental step before they are ready. The Mum who puts pressure on their child to be THE BEST at all things, constantly enforcing feelings of inadequacy on a child who should be playing games and living their best life. I knew that babies born early can be slightly delayed in their development and also that unless there is a problem I need to address, she will get there in her own time. George and I are here to support her as she grows, wait patiently for her to show readiness for the next stage and when the moment is right, provide that challenge she might need to get her moving forward (literally at this point as she's starting to show an interest in leaning forward and towards crawling!!)

In a baby activity group a while back I heard a Mum ask in a panic how old another baby was, as this baby was crawling around. The baby's Mum told her and the woman looked physically relieved and said "Oh OK phew! We have time yet then!" and you know, it made me sad. And challenged me. I've recently been trying really hard to stop my mouth saying things like "No teeth yet unfortunately" or "Elsie still isn't rolling!!" because my girl has got this. And if she's anything like her Daddy she will leave it till the very last moment then wow us all with an impressive display of crawling! (And as for the teeth, as a breast-feeding Mama I can only be glad they aren't here yet... gums are hard enough thanks!!) As I've mentioned in a previous blog, a friend once reminded me that "Comparison is the thief of joy". My baby isn't clapping yet - my best friend's baby is (and it's the sweetest thing EVER!) My baby has zero teeth - Some of my mum group's babies have two or three. My baby is still quite stationary - and for this I am thankful - the PS4 is still safe on the lower shelf! It's all good! Don't compare, retain your joy. And find that one friend who gets it - for me it's my bestie who had a baby at the same time as me - We keep each other grounded with the reminder that our babies are moving forward in their own perfect way.

Sitting up like a boss!

And so lesson 3 has been: Let babies be babies, and don't let comparison steal your joy! (And also, babies can chew and swallow a surprising amount of whole foods with absolutely no teeth whatsoever!)

Which leads me to my final lesson, Lesson 4: I'm extremely opinionated. It's a strength in many ways but also a massive weakness that I've been trying to tame over recent years. I'm learning that just because someone has a different opinion to me, it doesn't mean I'm wrong, it doesn't mean they're wrong, it doesn't mean they hate me... (I'm very sensitive, Despite getting lots better lately, I have been known to feel hurt and rejected if someone declines my offer of a brew..!) This lesson has been particularly important since becoming a Mum. George and I have had to make a ton of decisions about how we are going to raise our daughter. Some are pretty standard, are widely accepted as the norm, such as deciding we will never ever smack, tap or hurt her in any way when she grows up and gets all sassy. Others are less widely known and have caused great surprises to some people, such as giving our 6 month old entire foods rather than pureed food, presented the same way George and I are eating and watching (with nervousness initially!) as she learns to chew and then swallow. It took several viewings of Elsie demolishing fingers of toast and pieces of pasta before I could convince my Mum that she wasn't going choke on it!

Fun with baby-led weaning...

But I am not right and I am not wrong. There is no definitive 'right' and 'wrong'. Only 'right for my baby'.
There are a million ways to raise a child;
Co-sleeping vs basket next to bed vs baby in cot in their own room.
Disposable nappies vs reusables.
Breast vs bottle.
Dummy vs no dummy.
Controlled crying vs Feeding to sleep.
Baby led weaning vs Traditional weaning.

And although I've been told so many times that George and I need to make the best choice for our baby without being distracted by what others are doing, it took many months of anxiety, guilt, hours of reading, and a TON of Googling before I came to the right answers. It's All On Us... We need to respond to our baby with what she needs not what the Baby Whisperer, Supernanny, or any of the SuperMom Bloggers tell us, although their opinions are great to read for inspiration along the way to making your decision! And we need to stand by our decisions, whilst being open to the fact that others may disagree. The first time I gave Elsie a bottle before bed, to help her sleep, or so the Doctor had advised, I cried. Why?! Because I'd read so many Breast-Feeding Warrior posts on Facebook that I felt I was somehow doing her an injustice. Looking back I can see what an emotionally anxious time it was for me, coming out of a period of the Baby Blues and being an anxious person anyway, but now I know it was and is right for Elsie to be combination fed and she adores her evening bottle with her Daddy.

So lesson 4: Honestly, "All babies are different"  - I needed to print it out and stick it all over my house! It is THE mantra to live by as a new Mummy! Elsie needs what Elsie needs!

There are a million more lessons to be learned as I continue on my journey of Motherhood and I am honestly excited to learn them! I'm 100% sure I will learn them through making mistakes, messing up, crying, Googling, and trial and error but they shall be learnt one way or another! And if my house becomes even more untidy, even more messy, and even more chaotic, you know what? I don't even mind.

Anyway, must dash, got to Google 'How to get porridge out of dog hair'... See? Lessons to be learned every day!

Love, Hannan xx

P.S. Lesson 5: You can't die from sleep deprivation. I know because I Googled it. And because I'm not dead yet.

Out of my heart and into the universe...

I have a very limited understanding of the human heart (B at GCSE to be specific). I know it picks up blood with delicious oxygen in it and sends it out around my body. I know it has valves to stop the cheeky blood cells going the wrong way around the one-way-system, even if they accidently miss the turn off and have to go all the way round again. I also know it gets stronger the more I use it which is very handy. But aside from that I’m no heart surgeon or expert in cardiology at all. But over the last year or so I have learnt probably the most beautiful lesson about my heart.

I have learnt that no matter how full of love you think your heart is, there is always room for more!

Since being with George there have been times when I think my heart will burst because I love him so much. (Somewhere along the way I have transferred from the biological heart to the metaphorical one, I hope you’re still with me!) On our wedding day I could feel it physically in my chest, love brimming out, wrapping us up with its big juicy love-arms.

Sometimes this overwhelming feeling of love takes me by surprise.

All he was doing was fixing the washing line but
I got overwhelmed with love for him!

I’ll walk in to the house and see him doing something perfectly ordinary like making a sandwich or looking at a leaf and I will feel I might cry because my love for him is brimming right there behind my eyes, trying to spill out as hot love tears.

But then last August two things happened that made me think love isn’t measured in capacity at all…

The first thing that happened was we extended our family by bringing home our new puppy, Mooka. That first afternoon we watched him sleeping on his brand new bed, his brand new teddy tucked up beside him, his little furry chest rising and falling as he dreamed about whatever puppies dream about and I felt a new seed of love springing up inside me.

Since then, Mooka has grown into a teenager. He has gone through the ‘Weeing-on-the-floor-minutes-after-you-bring-him-in-from-a-toilet-break’ phase, the ‘Biting-everyone-who-tries-to-stroke-or-cuddle-him’ phase, the ‘Destroying-clothes-toys-and-doorframes’ teething phase and is now beginning to enter his teenage rebellious years (escaping from the house, running down the street laughing at us as we chase him in our slippers, running away when we call ‘Time Out’ and hiding under the chair, wriggling away from anyone who tries to drag him out)… But my love for him as a furry family member has grown as he has grown and my clever heart has made enough room for all the love I have for George and now the love I have for Mooka.

At exactly the same time (almost to the day) as bringing Mooka into our family we discovered that Mooka wasn’t the only teeny member of the Jezeph household that we needed to prepare for, as it turned out we were growing a little human inside my tum!

As is always the case, major life events are never anything like the movies portray them. There was no running into each others’ arms and crying as we waved around a stick all covered in wee… I came into the room and asked George if there was one or two lines on the pregnancy test… He looked, squinted and said he wasn’t sure. I shrugged and said, “Hmm…OK” and waited until the next day. We both peered at the stick and George said “I think that’s two lines…?” And that’s how we discovered that we were to have a mini Jezeph, due to be born in approximately 5-9 weeks!

I’ve heard that the moment your baby is birthed and you hold them in your arms you feel an overwhelming sense of love and protection, and a real sense that you have become a mother.  But the thing is, I became a mother that first day we peered at the questionable two lines. I felt another teeny seed of love being planted and a fierce sense of protection over this teeny jellybean we hadn’t even seen yet.

As the weeks have passed and each milestone was reached; hearing its little heart beating, seeing its teeny face at the first scan, then again at the second scan, (and again at the third, fourth, fifth scan if your bump is teeny like mine!) as well as feeling it move as it learns how to make sense of its surroundings, the love I have for this little human has grown and grown. I have realised that love cannot possibly be stored in my heart as my heart is only the size of my fist.

My love is like the universe – and one of the little things I know about the universe (Again, B in Physics at GCSE) is that it is ever-expanding. It cannot be measured and it is limitless…infinite.

We might have more children in the future, and there is space in infinity for the love I will have for them. Or I may only ever have George, Mooka and Baby, but that’s OK too because that’s almost too much love to deal with as it is!

Having this baby hasn’t completed us, but added to us. And what a wonderful thought, that the love we already contain for our friends, family and pets is complete in itself, with room for more should we need it, expanding just like the universe.

I like the thought of that… so sorry Biology, but Physics wins this one.

The Dreaded Big Blue 'F'...

Recently I've been avoiding Facebook. Not because I'm trying to 'better myself' or because of a clichéd Lent promise to limit screen time (that I will inevitably fail at anyway). I'm avoiding that sinking feeling in my tummy that I get when I tap that big blue 'F' and it presents me with a "1 year ago today" post...

One year ago today I was exploring a local market in Luang Prabang, Laos. I was eating amazing Lao foods, talking to the friendly Lao people and drinking a Lao Beer whilst the sun set over the Mekong. Right now I am sitting in an Owl Onesie, watching a grey, English-Rain type of Saturday afternoon pass by, having enjoyed a nutritious Gregg's pizza slice for lunch.
(CLICK HERE to read more about where we were 'One year ago today!')

It's been a weird chapter of my life since returning from travelling around the world. I am an optimist, probably because the attitude of "It'll be alright in the end" has worked well for me thus far in my life, and I am also a planner (CLICK HERE to read my "Best laid plans" post if you don't believe me!). The trouble is that these two personality traits combined, leads to frequent disappointment that the amazing, exciting and perfectly timed plans of my human brain have not come into fruition. Hannan's brain decides on Plan 'A', gets excited about Plan 'A' and starts preparing for Plan 'A' until Life sidles in from the wings, taps me on the shoulder and pipes up with a "Heyyy...yeah....nope, that 'aint how it goes down my friend! Try Plan 'B' and see how that works for ya!"

In Fiji, The Boy and I were sat on a beach talking about our grand plans for our return to the UK. They were easy enough to understand and, thinking optimistically, fairly easy to achieve...right? They involved finding permanent jobs which would lead to finding our own home we can move into which would lead to being able to find the perfect Puppy Pal to snuggle with on wintery English afternoons. Completed by Christmas (at which point we could construct another perfect plan for life and so on and so forth). The plan sounded perfect and foolproof.

5 months later, March 2016 and we are pretty much in the same position as that first day back in England. Winter arrived in her frosty glory and the gardens went to sleep, meaning less gardening work for The Boy. After 5 months of me applying for jobs and hearing nothing back, moral is low... No job means no moving into our own home, and no moving into our own home sadly means...no Puppy Pal.

Life has been slow and frustrating for a lot of the time since we returned home and we've found ourselves saying things like "Was travelling really worth it? Did we really need to spend such a lot of our savings, use up 9 months of our life, uproot our stable jobs and completely wipe the slate clean? If we'd not gone we would be doing this or that by now, maybe we could have bought a house, found our Dog and moved forward in our careers..." And on days like today I take my 'one year ago today' Hannan and I pop her right beside my 'actual-today-sitting-in-a-onesie' Hannan and I feel the burden of how different those two lives are.

And I am aware of how gloomy and doomy I sound. But the thing is, since January 2015, 9 blogs ago, I've mostly posted gorgeous photos of stunning beaches, tales of travelling life in all its glory and blogs that possibly (probably) came across as though we were living the perfect life. And now I realize that it isn't fair to present my experiences in such a rose-tinted manner. It took a post from a friend of mine on Facebook to realize how easy it is to filter our social media profiles to portray ourselves as happy, whole and perfect, when actually, the truth is that I had days in every country I visited when I did nothing but mooch around our room, moan about missing home and cry. But that wouldn't make it to Instagram. It isn't 'Facebook-Perfect' and it won't give the impression that I have the perfect life.

I am constantly putting myself under pressure to live life like 'this person' or 'that person' based on what I see on their Facebook page. I see posts of people travelling, getting their puppy, decorating their first house, having babies, perfect hair and make-up, romantic stories of husbands and wives doing loving deeds and see my friends wearing gorgeous clothes and I place myself side-by-side to them and I feel sad. My hair and make-up are far from perfect, I am wearing an actual OWL ONESIE and I just snapped at MY husband for forgetting to shut the door...

It's easy to share the beautiful moments in our lives (and important to do so as it's these moments that remind us of how lucky we are to have friends, family and happy experiences) whilst airbrushing out the imperfections, the mistakes, the stories that prove how human we are. But it's time to be honest.

My friend Abi summed it up on Facebook like this:

"I once read that "comparison is the thief of joy" and it's so true! Guess what......no one has it together! Except Mary Poppins"
 

as she described a stressful, 'not-perfect-in-any-way' sort of scenario whilst taking her baby girl swimming. When I read this, the sense of relief that other people feel they sometimes fall short was overwhelming and I needed to hear it more than even I knew. Having obsessed over several people's Facebooks that very day, lining myself up beside them to see if my life was remotely interesting, it was a real wake-up call. I use Facebook every day and there's no shame in that. As I said, if I wanted to give it up I would have done so at the start of Lent! But I refuse to let it bring me down into a spiral of self-doubt and shame.

So know this: True friends will celebrate our perfect moments and support us through our failing moments and the world will be a more secure, confident and positive place for us being honest about the lives we lead as perfect and flawed as they are. If comparison is the thief of joy I need to start being secure that I AM good enough and my life (even through the mundane, feels-like-we-won't-ever-move-forward moments) is exciting and worth living! 'Aint nothing thieving MY joy...

And I think I might turn off the 'One year ago' function on Facebook...

 

Fiji, Friends and the Five life-changing lessons...

I'm a planner. I'm organized, efficient and productive. In an obsessive, over-the-top kind of way as well. This time last year, I bought a notebook and divided it into each country that we were visiting, with subdivisions for each area/city, noting down things like places to visit, cheap or free attractions, things to be wary of, places to eat, friends' recommendations etc...

However, after about a month of planning, each and every evening, hours and hours worth of data carefully and meticulously oragnized in my travel notebook, The Boy casually mentioned that he'd rather just 'wing it', as is the nature of backpacking apparently. I had a tantrum and then reluctantly agreed and we decided to use the notebook as a 'reference point' rather than a 'mini-spiral-bound-travelling-dictator'. His idea of travelling was that we would just turn up at the airport, look at each other, shrug our shoulders and find somewhere to stay. Well...you may remember how well THAT went in India (see this blog for details). However, for the most part, anti-planning has been a really exciting approach to travelling for us. It turned out to be so freeing to say "Hey, we LOVE it here, let's stay another week" without the pressures of booked trains or hostels to rearrange. We ate where we felt like eating and visited places that looked like fun taking opportunities as they presented themselves to us. We took advice from other travellers we met along the way, friends, family and occasionally, "The Notebook" and all in all had a really fantastic experience of 'playing it by ear'.

So, at the point of leaving New Zealand, we had been travelling for 8 and a half months, and had pretty much reached "Master Level" in 'winging it', backpacker style. I'd researched Fiji online briefly (remember, no stressing, no over-planning, just a quick glance at "The Notebook" to triple check we could enter visa-free) and found that we could waltz in without a visa, as we were only staying a week or two at most. We flew the red-eye (early hours in the morning) and arrived at about 5am, having had zero sleep, bleary-eyed but ready to explore the islands and find a beautiful beach to chill on for a couple of weeks.

We got our passports checked and the woman casually asked us the name of the hotel we were staying at. We replied, as we always have done, that we haven't booked anywhere, but it was the first job on our list of things to do in Fiji! Cue narrowed-eyed peering from the woman, followed by 'discreet' phone call to...someone. And then "Please take a seat over there" as she tucked our passports away on her desk and called the people behind us to come forward...

Ohhhh, what the heck is this, now?! Just when you start to relax, having winged it through seven countries relatively hassle free, JUST when you think "Yeh, we got this, we got this travelling malarky. We are soooo free and soooo chilled..." then BOOM. You find yourself sitting in what can only be described as a rum storage room but is clearly being passed off as the "Immigration Office for Fiji", looking at a man with scary stern eyes and no smile, wondering what code word you must have used that triggered such a hasty response...

Turns out the entry requirements for Fiji include having somewhere pre-booked to stay in. I think they are trying to avoid a "homeless traveller sleeps on the street" scenario, and fair play to them, but we had not been aware of this requirement and so we were in somewhat of a pickle. We sat in the 'office', surrounded by the boxes of rum (what are they doing with all that rum at the airport?!) and waited to find out if we were in trouble. After looking at us for a few minutes, he said he was going to book us in somewhere and asked us what our budget was. We looked at each other and mumbled something about not having a set budget, but that we basically needed to spend as little as possible. He slitted his eyes and looked at us suspiciously.

"How much money do you have on you now?" he asked. We again, looked at each other and the mumbling began again, "Well, I suppose, we don't have much, but really, in the bank I'd say...erm...maybe...well actually to tell the truth we are in our overdraft, so essentially we erm...have got money but are keen to not really use it so...erm..."

This did not go down well. He stood up and said he was taking George to an ATM and we had to get out this specific amount of money. Now. We clearly came across like those guys you see on "Border Patrol" who are the shadiest characters and you just KNOW they 're getting busted. Except we WEREN'T shady characters and really just wanted to SEE a beach before jetting back to Autumnal England!

So The Boy and Scary Immigration Officer returned with the cash and both seemed slightly more relaxed. And then, reassured that we weren't actually penniless, the hotel booking commenced. He tried to book us into a place on the mainland that we had heard wasn't all that great and whilst he was on the phone I began to whisper out of the corner of my mouth to The Boy... "Tell him we want an island...This is our only chance to have a Fijian Paradise Holiday, we want an ISLAND..."

...The view of another teeny island from
our teeny island...

"Erm...excus...excuse me? We'd actually quite like to stay on..erm...an island? Maybe.... *points to map* this one...please?" Without saying a word, the man picked up the phone and phoned the Beachcomber Island Resort and after a lot of quick mumbling he announced that for 4 nights all inclusive it will cost 'x' amount. The Boy and I looked at each other, both trying to read the others' expression. 'X' amount was more money than we had anticipated, and would cause us serious financial problems on our return to England, but it was the final destination on our round-the-world extravaganza, so surely, we could overspend a little bit?! Our thoughts were interrupted by Scary Immigration Man bluntly telling us that if we don't accept RIGHT now, he will deport us... Right now. And so the deal was done. He booked us 4 nights all inclusive and we finally left the 'office' for our much-shorter-than-originally-planned beach holiday.

...The view from our room. Green, green, green
until you hit the blue, blue, blue...

We arrived on the island, tired from the red-eye-no-sleep-at-all flight, behaving like zombies, more than ready for our first day on the beach. We were just filling out the forms at Reception when the manager approached us and asked if we were the ones who were collared by Immigration at the airport. She then went on to explain that she had upgraded us free of charge, from a bunkhouse to a private room, because she felt bad about our misunderstanding at the airport.

...So blue...Just SO blue..!

And our souls sung, and the sun seemed brighter and the sea seemed bluer and our room was perfect. Because, our first impression of Fiji was scary and stressful, and at one point I thought, what's the point?! Let's just get deported already! But the moment we arrived on that little island, our imaginations of the 'Paradise Getaway' began to come true.

I mean seriously... LOOK how clear and
blue this water is!! This is the ACTUAL SEA!

The island was tiny. So tiny that, when walking around it one afternoon, The Boy said after ten minutes "The sun is burning hot isn't it, maybe we should head back" and I stopped and looked around and said "Well... we are back, look..." and lo and behold, there was the bar we'd set off from!

...Conquering ANOTHER fear...Water. Oh, and
fish actually. Fish freak me out...

The water surrounding our paradise island was ridiculously perfect, being in paradise and all. It was so blue that I kept picking some of it up to see if it was actually coloured blue in my hands. I had a conspiracy theory that the Fijian government must pour tons of blue food dye into their oceans to keep the tourists coming each year. The Fijian people were amazing. They sung as people arrived onto the island and they sung a goodbye song as people left. They organized daily activities including snorkelling and fish feeding,  turtle conservation demo, games and competitions, day trips to other islands and of course, the traditional Kava ceremony.

We got to know the staff and even spent an evening drinking Kava and chatting with them in their staff bunkhouse, with one of the chefs giving his Sulu (man-skirt) to The Boy as a gift.

...We won a 'dancing with partners' game and
celebrated with a free pitcher of beer...

We met some new friends and spent our days sunbathing, snorkelling, eating (3 huge buffet meals a day split up by morning and afternoon tea and cakes, our tummies were constantly full...) reading, playing cards and sleeping. Four days flew by, and before we knew it we were listening to our own Goodbye song being sung, waving our friends off, crying and hugging the staff of the resort, promising we would be back again soon.

...Our friend Lauren leaving the island while the
staff wave and sing the Goodbye song...

And I so hope we will. It was the country we spent the least amount of time in, but it had one of the biggest impacts on me. The kindness, friendliness and fun of the Fijians on Beachcomber was overwhelming and that, combined with our new-found friends from around the globe meant that Fiji will remain as one of my top memories of travelling.

...About to board our final flight from
LA that will take us home! Note
the sleepy eyes of a man who is
done with all this flying...

And so, with a strange cocktail of sadness and anticipation in our hearts we set off home, flying from Fiji to LA, and LA to London within the space of 2 days. We hadn't told anyone that we had run out of money and we were coming back, leaving them to think we were staying in Fiji and then exploring America until Christmas, and the excitement of not only seeing our families and friends again, but also surprising them cushioned the sad thoughts that our trip of a lifetime was over.

We surprised George's family in Guildford, and then travelled up to Preston to surprise mine. Then, having felt so very sneaky having been in the country for about a fortnight without any friends knowing, we finally texted round and had a grand reunion.

...Jonesy so excited to be reunited with us. See
his smile? He loves us so...

So now we're home...It seems like only yesterday I was writing about our upcoming travels, wondering where the year would take us and what we would learn. I've been thinking about it a lot since arriving home and I think these would be my top 5 lessons the world has shared with me...

...Our friend David, chef at
Beachcomber. He gave us his Sulu,
which I wore ever so stylishly...

1. Love freely... Just because you should. Not to get money in return. Not because it's your job to be polite. Not because you're scared karma might look upon you unfavourably, but because it's good and right. The kindest, most loving people we've met this year all had one strong characteristic in common...they loved unconditionally.

2. Be scared...A HUGE one for me, with my plethora of fears and anxieties. I used to have spider dreams all the time such was my anxiety of them co-existing in the world with me, but the other day I spotted a teeny spiderling and I gently poked it with my finger. It didn't like it and I kinda felt bad afterwards but I did it. I actually poked a spidey and I'm now invincible!

...The nightmare spider
in Laos. Fears galore...

Well not invincible, but I am braver than ever and will now at least think about trying new things before deciding they scare me!

...The dreaded 17 hour minibus ride that we
no longer speak of...

3. Great Britain is tiny...I used to complain about travelling 4 hours to get from Surrey to Lancashire and vice versa. Now, having experienced a 30 hour train ride in India, a 17 hour minibus ride in Laos and countless 2 hour journeys from Surfer's Paradise to Brisbane just for afternoons out with pals, not to mention the 10 hour flights here and there, I will never again see a 4 hour journey as anything more than a little afternoon trip!

...I was so nervous about travelling in India. I had
been warned about being poorly and ended up
feeling so very healthy and happy..!

4. Take risks... If I'd believed everything I'd been told about the countries I visited before going, I'd never have left my sofa back home. Every single country was totally different to how I'd pictured it based on hearing other people's anecdotes and even reading guide books. Everyone experiences the world differently, including me! If you hear a country is awful to visit, or scary, or has 10 foot pythons in the toilets and spiders in everyones' bed, take it on, bear it in mind then get up and go and decide for yourself. Opinions are infinite and experiences are unique.

5. Throw the tick list away... My biggest (and most life-changing) lesson is exactly this. I literally wrote a list of things I wanted to see, do, experience and 'tick-off'. Some of them I did, and some I didn't, and it took me a long time to move on from the feeling of 'incompleteness', seeing items on my list not ticked off as I left the country in a plane. Having a tick list also sometimes means you only see things to say you've seen them, and I am, even now, guilty of doing this. When we visited Sydney Opera House, we stood outside it and I said "Right, we've seen it now, shall we get a Subway?" (I was obsessing about Subway that day, it's all I wanted) and that was that. Off we went for a foot long Veggie Delite...

...The obligatory selfie. You can practically see
my thoughts of a Veggie Delite..!

We didn't spend an hour marvelling at the architecture or going inside or actually seeing an opera (do they even do operas there? I assume so but I'll never know?) or learning about its history. We'd ticked it off and that was that. But maybe our experience would have been more meaningful if we had learnt about the woman/man who built it, or the creative reasons behind its unique shape... Don't get me wrong, I have a bucket list and it's exciting and motivating to have a list of things you want to accomplish, but for me, it was quite oppressing to have a tick list, as it made me anxious when we couldn't tick something off, and made me feel false elation when I could.

Since arriving back, the one thing most people have asked is this...
"What was your favourite place to visit?"
And the answer always changes. Because one day, I'll be craving a curry and I'll remember the amazing food we had in India, and India will climb up to my number one spot in the travelling charts in my head. Then another day, I will be cold and wintery in my house and I'll remember the days spent on Thai beaches, enjoying the beauty and tranquillity of such an awesome country and Thailand will be my number one memory for that day. Or I'll see a Facebook post from friends we met in Laos and I'll remember meeting their Lao family, sharing meals with them and painting the little girls' nails in their tiny village home. And Laos will be my favourite country in the world. For that day. And so on.

...Home, where the rain refreshes the traveller's
weary soul..!

But for now, the best country in the world is right here. England, where my favourite people in the world live, and where Autumn is every colour of the rainbow, and where a cup of tea is just right.

So I think we'll stay put for now...

Love Hannan xx

Mission Objective: Be afraid...

It's no secret that I'm a spooky-boo-scaredy-cat. I mean, I wrote a whole series of blogs about the things that scare me and believe me, they're just the tip of the iceberg...ICEBERGS - another thing that terrifies me. The whole Titanic thing and they're just so freaky BIG...! I feel sick just imagining them...

Anyway, I digress. So I get spooked. A lot. And when we arrived in New Zealand, eager to get on the open road and explore, I quickly picked up on the New Zealand Backpacker Mission Objective.

Every country seems to have a different objective and I reckon we hit them all...
India was all about 'Spiritual experience' - Learn about the culture, eat curry, find yourself involved in a Hindu worship ceremony and try to work out how to avoid kissing all the statues without offending the Swami...Mission completed!
Laos, Cambodia... 'Historical education' - Explore historical sites, learn about the chilling effects of war, meet locals, live simply...Mission completed!
 Australia was all about 'Chill out man'... just surf and have BBQs and be sun-kissed and peaceful...Mission completed!

So it turns out New Zealand's Mission Objective was 'Do something that scares you'...

Hurray! I haven't been scared hardly at all since we left England! Except for nearly every day in some way or another what with spider scares and snake scares and shark scares and sea swimming scares and flying in aeroplane scares and...

...The beginning of the walk...pre-tears...

Anyway, as usual I threw my concerns into the deepest corner of my unconscious and leapt headfirst into our first challenge. A five-day camping hike in the gorgeous Abel Tasman National Park on the South Island, near Nelson. Our friends Ben and Donna, at whose house we were staying had prepped us really well. We'd been out and bought walking boots (my first pair, despite having lived in the Lake District for 3 years...) and they had kitted us to the max with layers and layers and waterproofs and camping gear and cooking gear and maps.

..The Boy, powering ahead..!

We'd bought food enough for five days and packed the whole load into our backpacks. And I was actually excited!

For those who don't know me very well, I'm not the most outdoorsy person in the world. Not for lack of trying mind you, I really love being outside, I love being active and all that. The problem is that sometimes, only sometimes, nature gets a bit in the way of my enjoyment. I'll be trying to enjoy a lovely walk and the cruel wind will start piping up and before you know it, I'm freezing and miserable and irritated by my hair whipping my eyes. Or I'll be walking in the grass, or sitting enjoying a picnic when a horrible spider intruder will come striding in and ruin my happiness. Or I might be trying to enjoy a beer and a campfire on the beach but all I can worry about is whether a snake is going to come out of the nearby jungle and wrap me up...

So the idea of a five day hike in a hilly and coastal national park filled me equally with excitment (pretty views, sleeping under the stars, quality time with my husband etc) and dread (spiders, mosquitos, sandflies, spooky darkness, big hills).

...That first lunch stop.
At this point I was scared this adventure
might kill me...

So, trying to be positive, I set off. We'd waved Ben off after he had dropped us off at the start of the walk and, backpacks filled up and layers on (turns out it's cold in NZ in winter!) we began our adventure. And our bags were SO heavy. We'd been walking about two and a half minutes when I needed my first rest stop. I looked back to see how far we'd come and could still see the road with the cars on. Felt completely overwhelmed with how far we had to walk just to have lunch never mind before we camped, fought the desire to freak out, and carried on plodding.

...The Boy, 'promising' he wasn't
getting annoyed with the frequent rest stops...

I first cried about an hour in. The heavy backpack was causing each step I took to become a terrible ordeal and I could tell The Boy was losing patience with me beneath the gritted-teeth-smile. I had to stop every ten minutes because crying whilst walking was just too tricky. That first day lasted forever. But we finally made it to the campsite and never before have I enjoyed sleeping in a tent so much.

Even the darkness and spooky empty campsite and cold spider-filled toilet blocks couldn't squash my elation at finishing that first walk. Sitting by the campfire with a mug of wine and a square of chocolate I thought to myself "Blooming Heck, I might actually be able to DO this..!"

...Morning of Day 4. The huge smiles
are because today's walk is only
3 hours..!

Over the next 5 days we walked about 45km, camping at completely empty camp sites due to it being low season, having a brew on an empty beach, eating the same meals every day and feeling our backpacks getting slightly lighter each morning. By the end I felt so accomplished and proud. I even managed to go the last 3 days without crying.

..."Craters of the moon" walk. Steam pouring
out of the ground and huge hot mud pools...

For me, the camping hike was a scary venture. For George, not so much. He still had a hankering for danger, so as we travelled up the North Island in a rented campervan, we booked him in for a skydive. That should feed the fear-beast in his belly! And it did.

We spent the next couple of weeks exploring the North Island, swimming in natural hot springs, visiting Hobbiton and the Hobbit Holes, seeing friends and enjoying the beauty of New Zealand.

...Swimming in the natural hot springs was
gorgeous, getting out and being cold was not...

Because it really is something else. I very much feel like I have conquered some of my fears about being 'outdoorsy'. I learnt how to camp, hike, wee in nature and swim in a river.
Without any worries about nature getting in the way!

After conquering these fears, it was time to move on. Money was falling through our hands like sand and we had to make sure there was enough left to allow us to actually get home. Having only paid for our flights up to Los Angeles, we could very easily end up broke and homeless, wandering around Hollywood for the rest of our days, wondering if we could possibly sneak onto a plane to London when no-one was looking...

...The Boy Baggins...

So we sat down with our abacus and worked out how much money we had left after booking tickets home, and the answer was...really none at all. Having pre-booked flights to Fiji we decided it would be ludicrous to fly in and out of Fiji without seeing it AT ALL, so we decided to just go for it. What are your 20's for if not for getting into crazy debt?! I'll let future Hannan sort out our money issues when we get back. For now, present Hannan is going to FIJI and it will be paradise!

Turns out "getting to paradise", particularly on a whim, doesn't work out so well in Fiji. But that, my friends, is another tale for another time. Keep a look out for that one, it's a good'un.

The moral of this story is: Be Brave, Try new things and reach your own limit, not the limit the world has decided on. My 'something scary' was a five day hike and camp, The Boy's was jumping out of a plane at 12,000 feet.

Each to their own!

...Rest break, Perfect weather, Stunning view, NOT sulking...promise..!

There's a time for fighting and a time for flight-ing...

They say you learn something new every day... And today's nugget of learning is brought to you by Hannan, free of charge. Listen up and switch your learning brains on because here are some facts about chickens...

...My favourite chicken
named Rainbow by me...

Did you know that when you get new chickens you can put pretend, plastic eggs in their nesting boxes as a 'reminder' of their purpose on this planet.

...OK so I didn't build the actual COOP...
...but I did get all their food ready and put the
fences up..!

So when they wander in on that first night into their new home they go "ey, Rainbow! Look at this! That seems vaguely familiar...oh NOW I remember what the point in being a chicken is! Let's have a go then..." and hopefully have a go at laying real eggs. How cute is that?!

...Collecting the eggs, but which one
is the pretend egg..?

Did you also know that chickens will respond one of two ways when they feel threatened. If you go to pick up a chicken to give it a quick snuggle she will either run away squarking and flapping her mighty wings, or she will adopt a 'brace' position, bend her knees, put her wings out a bit and freeze, still on the ground, allowing you to pick her up on her own terms, the brave little soul that she is.

She will either fight, (by accepting her fate and being real brave) or fly (almost literally).

And the funny thing about that chicken fact is that I am exactly the same. In fact, I think we all are. When faced with stress, conflict, danger or anxiety, our body goes into 'fight or flight' mode. We will either face the danger head on, or freak out and leg it right out of there.

This has been a well known feeling in my life, particularly since the start of our travels back in January. Having spent a lot of my adult life battling with the sneaky, naughty monster we call "Anxiety", I have frequently found myself facing situations in which I have to decide whether to brace myself and 'go with the flow', or give up, cry, stamp my feet and refuse to play. Now, I'm not even talking about serious incidents, or huge disasters. Even the little things in my life can trigger a 'fight or flight' moment and I often find myself standing there, deciding which way to deal with it.

If you read my previous blog, you will already know about our big decision to leave our comfy day-in-day-out lives in Surfer's Paradise and dive into the 'Helpx' network backpacks first. If you don't know about this you can hurry over now and go read it by clicking here! But if you are in a bit of a rush, like when you read a quick blog while doing a wee at work or need a 5 minute filler while riding an escalator, I'll quickly explain. Helpx involves volunteers (us) staying with hosts around the world and working at their house/farm/hostel/boat/anywhere for a few hours a day and in exchange we get free accomodation and food. It's a bit scary for people like me (control freaks) because:
a) You have no control over the type of jobs you do. Although lots of people say they are easy going they still tend to have a pretty good idea of wha they need from you.
b) You have to take a huge risk each time you stay with a new host. Being someone who likes routines, planning and in-depth detail, it can be slightly daunting turning up to stay with someone for two whole weeks without knowing anything about what they're like or what your routine will be!

So bearing these anxieties in mind, when I found out that on our first Helpx project we would be staying on Macleay Island, in a very rural area, off the coast of Queensland, and that there were spiders in the house, and snakes out in the bush at the bottom of the garden, I was less than thrilled. First anxiety hurdle reached, thought process as follows:

"This is freaky, I hate this. Is that a spider in my hair?!?! No, just fluff. I want to go home, I miss my safe house... NO, I can stay here and be fine. I can do this. Don't give up and leave, be brave.  FIGHT: stay positive, stay strong, maybe check under the pillow every night for Huntsmans. Bring it on..." 

Hurdle cleared! Woooop! Well done Hannan, look at you fighting your way across Australia. Then came the next hurdle: First day of work. I was gardening in a garden with every Australian beast in existence lurking under leaves. Even as Eileen was explaining what I needed to do I could see 3 naughty big spiders spreading their bodies across between the plants waiting to smile at me. This time the thought process first involved a bit of FLIGHT in the form of sneaking to the loo to cry, minor tantrum, telling George I was going home and then evolving into the decision to FIGHT the fear and see how that went, or as Eileen always told me "Feel the fear and do it anyway...!" 

...The raised bed I assembled, layered
up with the good stuff and planted
those teeny babies inside all snug
in their dirty duvets... 

And it went really well! I certainly felt the fear but straight up did it anyway!

By the end of the two weeks at Eileen's house I  was so much more relaxed and so much less anxious. I was fetching tools out of the shed, (even getting the 'spider-checking-routine' down to 10 seconds from a crazy minute and a half) planting in the veggie patch that I built MYSELF, and even picking up chickens and snuggling them (a huge success after initially not even being able to stroke them for fear of having my eyes pecked away). I was a fighter, brave and true, and really enjoyed living the 'simple life' of a happy gardener living off the land.

After enjoying Macleay Island for a couple of weeks, we ventured North to the Sunshine Coast and spent a couple of weeks staying in a house with an amazing cliff/rainforest garden.

...Beautiful rainforest garden on a cliff out the
back of the house...

Having been lulled into a false sense of security with all my Fighter's "I can do this" mentality, I tackled each of the jobs head on initially. After a couple of days though, and having seen a LOT of gigantic Huntsman spiders the size of tarantulas, the routine of "work - eat - go to town - sleep - repeat" began wearing me out. I lost energy and excitement for the concept of Helpx and missed seeing friends, having personal space and feeling relaxed (because being anxious and choosing between flight and flight all day long can be terribly exhausting). All of this combined with a serious demise in dollars brought us to a big decision. Maybe it was time to bid Australia farewell and move on to visit New Zealand.

...Both indifferent to the others'
presence...

The Helpx lifestyle suits many people (and of course we had only done it for a short while) but we were ready to be in control of our time again, and not feel we had to penny pinch just for the sake of gaining another week in Australia. It felt like we were just fighting to stay in Australia, even though we couldn't afford to see any of it!

So we packed up our things, blew the last of our Australian budget on a day seeing koalas and kangaroos (obviously) and climbed onto a plane that will take us to the next destination.

Australia...it's been amazing. Life changing in fact. We love your beaches, your weather and your laid back look at life. But I've done my fighting. It's time to fly. New Zealand? Get the kettle on, we'll be there soon.

...Time to fly..!