My never decreasing tummy!

Today I had my six week check up at the doctors.

Everything is tickity-boo. My recovery this time has been super. Within a day I was back looking after the Scruff household. I am exhausted and haven't actually slept yet but emotionally and physically I am fine. A stark contrast to my post labour experience with Little P. I didn't leave the bath for six weeks let alone my home. I was traumatised to say the very least.


The problem is, because I am back up and about, I am expecting too much of my myself. Unlike my first pregnancy when my tummy snapped back within a matter of days, this time I still look pregnant. Very. In fact how I look now is how I should have looked when I actually was pregnant. Problem is, I am feeling very self consious and I am struggling to keep my self esteem in one piece.


Those who follow me will know my bump was huge. It was massive. And just in case I had forgotton, I was reminded of its size daily. Everyone from my vicar to the girl who works in Fagins toy shop made comments about my size. Don't get me wrong, they were sympathetic comments. Despite my jokes, witty replies and comedy bump references, they hurt.


During the last month of my pregnancy I became very self conscious and my confidence took a beating. And I'm still whacking it around the head now. The bump has deflated and I am no longer the object of peoples concern but when I look in the mirror I want to cry. My tummy looks like a Salvador Dali and I can see all the stretchmarks my bump hid as well as all the ones I knew about. Getting dressed is depressing. I have one pair of tracksuit bottoms that look just about okay. When I lay in the bath, my body waves hello.

Now before I get a slew of comments about how six weeks is too soon to expect to see a change, and to pull myself together woman and stop being so selfish. I know this. I know that it takes ages for things to settle (I've worked in the media long enough to know that a tummy tuck is the celebrities secret). And I know that in just a few weeks the tummy will start to go down and by next summer, if I put a bit of effort in, the slackness will be tighter and the stretchmarks merely silver 'baby lines' that I don't give a second thought to. I know that these feelings I am having now will pass and they are as much to do with tiredness as they are confidence. And yes I am beyond happy that I have two beautiful and healthy children and I wouldn't have it any other way and my body is the last thing I care about. But I am human - a woman, not just a mum - and right now, today, this minute, I'm just a bit glum that I know my body will never be the same again. I am not a vain person. I won't lose too much sleep over this (I don't get enough sleep to waste), but the realisation that after two kids, my body will never be the same again, is worthy of a big sigh.


That super cute red velvet Luella skirt will never ever do up. The jeggings I bought to go back to work in after Little P, but never got to wear as I fell pregnant again will never be worn. Bikinis, banished. Topshop? Perhaps Notshop.


So, Mrs Scruff, it's time to pull myself together, challenge myself to a restyle, hit a host of new shops, Gok Wan my wardrobe, do a few sit ups, save for a posh swimsuit and learn to love what I see in the mirror. Embrace me, as this is who I am, stretchmarks, wobbly tum and all.

like mother like daughter!

"When she is good she is very very good, but when she is bad she is horrid"

This was said aout me when I was a little girl and as karma should have it, it is what I am saying about Little Miss P. (Horrid is harsh, but that's how the saying goes!)


I love that little girl so much it hurts, but cor is she a handful.

She lights up my life.

She is a bundle of fun and personality. She has a smile that beams from ear to ear and she gives it to everyone. She loves life. She loves to love. She hugs her bears so tightly her whole body shakes.

She has incredibly compassion. I had a bad moment when everything got too much and I buried my head in my hands for a little weep. I felt these little arms wrap around me and saw a face of a little girl so full of care and concern. She got one almighty squeeze.

She picks up everything brilliantly. She is non stop jibber-jabber as she picks up words and sentences. She says thank you and sorry, she counts to ten and says hello to just about every person she passes.


She twirls and dances and claps her hands with glee. Her excitement at a music group or a trip to the park is barely containable. She could burst.

Her confidence and personality leaves me in awe.


But then with such spirit, comes a flip side. She gets overwhelmed by her emotions. When she cries, she screams. When she wants something she will whine and moan until it happens. "Book, book, book, book, book, book, book, book, book, book, book, book, book, book, book, book, book, book, book, book," She can go on forever.


When she tantrums she will lay on the floor screaming for all to witness. The harder I try and gain control of the situation or calm her down, the more wound up she becomes. I want the ground to swallow me up as I sense every strangers eyes on me as they witness this battle of the wills.


She pushes me so I lose my temper. I point my finger at her and shout. The guilt, the upset. I feel like a failure. I have failed her. I am a bad person. I am a bad mum.



It's all part of growing up..for both of us. This parenting game is tough. Its a rollercoaster of emotions. I don't know what I am doing and I know some times I get it so right but others I couldn't get it more wrong, but I am loving every (well, almost) minute of it.

Could there be anything better than seeing my beautiful little girl blossom and bloom ? Nah. I'll take the tantrums and bad moments on the chin if this is what being a mum is all about!

The Good Food Show and Wine Show - free tickets up for grabs!

 The Scruffs like food.

In fact our household revolves around what we will be eating next. I am not just talking eating and cooking food, but watching it too. Food Porn, as I call it. So imagine my glee when I was asked if I would post about The Good Food Show and The Wine Show. What? A whole arena full of booze, food and cooking. Hellllloooooo, my pleasure!

This is a bit exciting for me as I have never done a giveaway before. I've got five pairs of tickets to give away for each of the shows - The Good Food Winter Show (at the NEC Birmingham 24-28th November) The Good Food Show Scotland (at the SECC Glasgow 22-24th October) and the Wine Show (Olympia 12-14th November).

So whats its all about then?

Lets start where we all like to begin...clutching the corkscrew.

When it comes to buying wine, I only ever look at bottles on offer and even then I choose the one that is the biggest bargain - ie it has the most money off. In a restaurant I do the classic - go for the second cheapest option! In a nutshell I haven't the foggiest. Chardonnay? Shiraz? Meh! BUT I do know that nothing pleases me more than chinging then chinning a glass of something rouge, rose or blanc plonk.

The BBC Wine Show is hitting Olympia alongside Masterchef Live. Oz will be there, alongside Tim Atkin, Suzy Atkins and Rob Buckhaven (not sure who Rob is, but hey ho). They'll be hosting tastings where you can learn a few tips to wipe away the smug turned up nose of the Sommelier, and you get to try lots of tipples. There's a wine market so you stock up on your favourites (with free delivery too, so no need to attempt to get them home) and the best bit, a chance to learn how to Sabrage....you wot? You know, open a bottle of champagne with a sword. As you do.

Oz Clarke enjoying a Pinot

All this booze talk is making me peckish. Lets haul over to The Good Food Show.

James Martin. How much do you want to bet he'll be making a creamy pud....

 All the favourites telly chefs will be at both events (Birmingham and Glasgow). There will be an enclosed cookery area so you can get close enough to nick a little sample taster off the plates! If you fancy yourself as a bit of a kitchen wizard, your dishes can be judged by Masterchef hosts John Torrode and Greg Wallace. There will be a producers market selling weird and wonderful ingredients (and in Glasgow it will be the best of Scottish produce) and the Saturday Morning Kitchen experience, including the omlete challenge

Gordon will be in Birmingham and Glasgow effing and blinding over his souffles.

My tummy is now rumbling, so I need to go put on my pinny.

For more information on the events and to purchase tickets (£16.50 for Glasgow and £20.50 each for the other shows) check out the website www.bbcgoodfoodshow.com. If you would like to win a pair of tickets (valid any day except the Saturday), email me on vmriedl@gmail.com adding which show you would like to attend as the subject (Birmingham, Glasgow or the Wine Show). Don't forget your postcode. The first five to email me for each show, wins. Good luck!

competition closes by 5pm Friday 17th September, so chop chop (boom, boom!!)

Happy one month birthday Boy!

The Boy is one month today...and boy is Boy growing fast.

I am a milking machine. He is a milking monster.

I had him weighed last tuesday and already he is 9lbs15, which is great news as it means he is actually taking something from me. I have so many breastfeeding anxieties including not knowing just what he is doing hanging out on my boob.

He has a very mellow nature so far. Maybe he is still in the sleepy new born stage, but he seems very chilled. He is now managing to go from the 11pm feed (a bottle of expressed morning milk) through to 3am and then 6.30am so at least I am now only getting up once in the night. The 2am and 5am wake up call was killing me!

I was stressed that he wasn't able to focus his eyes - in fact when we put him down at night his eyes are like saucers - mad starry eyes, but he is now engaging with our faces and I think I may have even got a smile (please don't burst my bubble with an "it's only wind" comment!)

I took him to see a Craniel Sacreal therapist. I am never actually quite sure what they do as they appear to be doing not very much but I do like a bit of alternative therapy. I am worried about two swollen areas around his temples. They could just be part of his face shape, or they could be a result of his face first entry into the world. The therapist says she can help so we'll see. I don't see a huge difference after one session but I have another appointment this week.

There's not a lot else to say about him. As for Miss P and us and how we are coping...that's another post!

What I will add is that he is unbelievably cute. I have an enormous urge to protect him and I just cannot stop loving him.

I am so pleased he is here.

In a bit of a tizz

Yesturday was a bad day.

Little Miss P threw the mother of all tantrums in church. I don't think even God could forgive such a disruption.

The whinging continued throughout the day and to make matters worse, Boy, who we have barely heard a peep from since he arrived three weeks ago, found his lungs and has been exercising them ever since.

There were tears...lots. even Mr Scruff had a look of pure despair.

This is hard, really hard. I will hold both hands up (except I can't because the Boy insists on being carried all the time) and say I am struggling. I knew having two under two was going to be a challenge, but I wasn't prepared for this.

Now before you remind me, I know I am tired - nay, exhausted - and everything seems a gazillion times worse when you have had no sleep, plus my hormones are still up the spout, so a lot of this will wash away, but this is how it is right now. I am full of anxieties, which I will post about in more detail - how is Miss P coping, am I breast feeding okay, do I have enough milk, why isn't my tummy going down, are my stitches healing well, has Boy got eczema and therefore allergies like his sister...blah blah blah.

I like being in control and I have no control over my household. I thought I would be able to slot Boy into our routine but he has his own agenda. I am well and truely getting my knickers in a twist as I try desperately to coordinate both my childrens needs.

Today for example, Boy woke screaming from his sleep, obviously looking for the boob, but I had just started browning some mince for Miss P's tea. Eek. She then decided that she wanted her lunch early and so started pulling at my legs crying 'beans, beans'. So I had her at my feet, him slung over my shoulder being jigged and a half made bolognese in a kitchen that looked like a bombsite. I didn't know which way to turn.

I try to stay calm but I can hear the tone of my voice breaking - a sign that I may lose it soon.

There are moments of pure delight. When Boy is happily cooing in my arms and Miss P is snuggling in as I read her a book. These precious moments are what I am clinging onto as I try to wade through this chaos.

I will find my feet, but boy, what a bumpy road.

The Scruffs put on a bit of a do!

 Last Sunday was a very special day.

One year ago Mr Scruff and I tied the knot. Not wanting to be overshadowed, it was also the day Little Miss P was christened. A two-for-one do.

Our wedding was a day no one thought would ever come, least of all us. You see a few years ago, Mr Scruff and I were due to get married. But whilst everyone else got carried away with wedding plans, Mr Scruff and I held up heavy heads as we struggled to keep our relationship together. It wasn't the intimate wedding we wanted, but most importantly the timing was disastrous.

So with freezing feet, six weeks before the big day, Mr Scruff and I called it off.

Fast forward a couple of years. We'd lived apart, done some soul searching, moved back in together, had a baby and bought a house. We were happy. Very

We had decided the time was right to have Little Miss P christened. Whilst compiling the guest list it dawned on me, lets get married at the same time. Draw a line under it. Kill two birds.

Mr Scruff was nervous. He feared squabbles over guest lists and cushion covers, costs spiraling out of control, attention he didn't want, a hoo ha. Trust me I said. And he did. I had four weeks to organise a bit of a do.

In a firm voice I informed my parents and future in-laws that if this wedding was to go ahead it would be strictly immediate family and close friends only. There would be no bells, no whistles and no frills. Just us and forty people who we loved dearly and who loved us too.

The invites: One morning we were all up early so we played about taking long armed shots of the three of us. I stuck them on a nice piece of card, hand wrote the wheres and whens and sent them off.

The order of service: A graphic designer friend put some fancy font on white card and tied it together with ribbon! Easy but effective.

The flowers: I went to the garden center and bought a car load of white flowers. A whimsical array of Dephiniums, gyp, daisies, stock and pink tinged roses. A mum chum, who happens to work in a florists, helped me make the button holes and bouquet and I had a wonderful afternoon arranging the flowers in anything I could find - vintage vases, jam jars, coronation mugs, my mums crystal bowls.

Er, I hope our marriage is more successful than theirs!

The outfits: These had been purchased for the original wedding and so added a bit of sparkle to the day. Mr Scruff strutted in a sharp fitting black Armani suit with black slim tie. And as for me, despite my desire for vintage, my dream dress was a floor length white evening dress by Valentino. Swoon (and ready-to-wear so surprisingly well under budget). Problem is, I had it fitted to be like a second skin pre-baby. My milk filled boobs made me look like Jordan. Cue some carefully placed ribbon, some serious expressing in the morning, the miracle that are Lilypads nipple covers and a little prayer for a leak and bulge free day.

Photographer: Er, none. Both of us hate being the center of attention and we both agreed that the pictures we always love and what friends have taken. So that's what we did. We asked all our friends to snap away and send us the pics. We got some great reportage shots BUT it did have its downfalls. Being a sun sensitive sort of chap, Mr Scruff put his sunglasses on when we left the church so most of the shots he looks like a Blues Brother. A pro would have told him to whip em off!

The venue: The service was held in the North London church I grew up in, which is literally five seconds from my parents house. So it was all back to my folks for grub. My mum is a superb home cook. She put on a continental buffet - home made quiches, salami platter (my dads Hungarian), tomato and mozerella, cous cous and roasted veg, salads, salmon, herb crusted chicken. For afters her prize winning cheese cakes, a mountain of strawberries and cream and a tier of fairy cakes all washed down with Prosecco. Yum.

My mum could show Delia a thing or two

So the big day arrived and alleluha the sun was shining bright. Mr Scruff and I took Miss P to the park and had a big fry up for breakfast. I did my hair and make up - an up do and liquid eye liner - a seriously tricky combination to attempt when ones hands are shaking with nerves. BUT it all just whipped up and flicked on in one!

So did such good luck last? Did it heck. A flapping Mr Scruff left Little Miss P in a hot car a little too long and so at 1.30pm (the service started at 2pm) I was still at our house, sitting in a cool bath trying to take the beetroot colour out of my baby.

Finally cooled off, we arrived at my mums at 2pm. Eek. Mr Scruff flung on his suit and off he went racing to the church. As for me, I literally pulled on my dress. There was no time for the obligitory standing in front of the mirror and sighing. In fact I was still trying to do the hook and eyes up, walking up the church!

My stomach lurched as we approached the door. My dad squeezed my arm and said "you can do this - you have the Hungarian spirit in you." With that we walked down the aisle to a piece of new classical music by The Aphex Twin.

The service was friendly, intimate and low key. There were lots of laughs (just what are the right lyrics to This Little Light of Mine?), cheers (at the 'man and wife' bit) and tears (Miss P when she was doused in water). With beams on our faces we all skipped out with the sound of You're so Cool (the theme tune to True Romance) playing loudly and proudly!

The family Scruff. Little Miss P's screams echoed around the church - a far cry from the angelic sounds it is used to

da da da daaaa

Bit togged up to be walking down a busy North London street!

Back at my parents, we lazed on the lawn, chatted, joked and wiled away the sunny bank holiday.

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to...er yes mummy bear, perhaps if you hadn't expressed so frantically in the morning, Miss P may have been better fed for her big day...oops!

Our wedding day was everything we wanted it to be. It wasn't fancy, our pics would never make the pages of a bridal magazine, there were no outrageous antics or wild stories to tell and all of our guests have been to far grander dos, but to us it was priceless.


Despite our low key/ low cost efforts, I LOVE a good wedding. In fact my guilty pleasure is Brides magazine. I'd love to hear all about your 'I do' and invite you to post all about it!