Tag Archives: training

Homework

Snooze.

Ok, not so snooze.  I’m a geek about the human body but still – THIS SHIT IS HARD!!!

And we’re not even on to the whole bones, muscles, tendons, ligaments thing.  We’re just looking at the skin.  Up close and personal.

I’m not stupid.  My brain doesn’t always leak information.  Just on the odd occasion, but with everything that has happened this week I’ve found even getting time to complete the homework hard.

When I started the course and the tutor was like “expect to do 3 to 5 hours homework a week!”  I was like “Hell yeahs.  I do that in my SLEEP lady! Bring it on!”

The reality is that with two kids, one of which who has been in hospital in the last 7 days (he’s better now, bronchiolitis poor thing) I haven’t even been able to scrape together a few hours let alone time to get out my new couch and give the physical stuff a go.  I’ve managed to practise once this week.  ONCE.  That’s pathetic.

So yeah.  I just want to rub people to make them feel better…

Massages…get your minds out of the gutter!!!

It’s never simple

How how how did everything end up so complicated?

Is it any wonder I have “the mentals”?

Every day something seems to compromise my extremely delicate mental state.

Yesterday it was the lack of salonwear.

Then the rhyme time failure where some newbie, fresh faced teen mums thought that I was evidentally deaf and couldn’t hear them criticising me after the Toddler threw a library book.

Today it was not being able to park at the park…compounded by shitting it about tomorrow.  I’m not scared about class. I’m scared of not getting everything done.

And then topped off by both children refusing to eat.

You see, I need to get my kit tomorrow, after I haved fed O and tried to express off some fresh milk to go in the fridge.

Then lunch and more expression after his feed (if he sleeps) then cooking tea and getting him to nap until 6ish. 

I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if he’ll take it.  This is a very complex arrangement.  So complex that I’m getting a complex about it.

And there will be no one here to bring my shoes in so I’ll have to find time to go and get them.

Sigh.

Even the most simple things in my life become tangled little knots of crap that I have to unpick while getting kicked in the face. 

Fuckit

Omen

If I were superstitious (which I secretly am) I would be taking this weekend as an omen…and not in a good way.

I loved the course on Thursday. My tutor is great, the other ladies are fab.  Ok I’m a baby bore and my boobs were once again the centre of attention, but they can’t help it.

As part of the course – and it is part of the course; don’t do it and you fail – we have to look the part, including buying a kit for oils and full salonwear.

Well, firstly I couldn’t find salon shoes in my size.

Then we went on Saturday to get my kit from a specialist retailer and they were shut.  Yes, shut on a Saturday.

We checked opening hours – open Sunday 10 – 1…

So we went back.

They had had 4 delivered and they were all gone.

What are the odds?

Now I’m not only worried about local competition from ladies already trained in Health and Beauty (I’m barely managing to keep up my new skincare routine in order to look the part!) My brain is going a mile a minute trying to figure out how to pick up this kit on Thursday before my course and fit in the million other things that need doing.

I wish I could just put it down to being just one of those things.

Beauty Therapy?!

I’m going back to college on a Thursday to study massage.

I’m terrified.

It counts as a beauty therapy and I am about as far from a typical beauty therapy student as you can get.

I’m totally stereotyping here by the way and don’t have an issue with people who take pride in their appearance. It’s not that I don’t care about how I look…actually, it is.

You see, I have self confidence issues stemming from the way I look.  I hate my face. I hate my chin. I hate the spots I have constantly. So many years of hating my looks have made me apathetic about them. I do my own kind of ignorance pleading.

“I honestly didn’t know I looked like shit. You mean I haven’t shaved my legs in four months? Oh that? That hair on my chin? Yeah, it’s attached. I call it Fred.”

Years of being apathetic mean I rarely shave (my legs and pits. Never the face. Fred stays!), I don’t wear make up, I don’t care if O is sick on my shoulder. I constantly have some child related stains on my trousers and my hands are covered in pen.

When I do wear make up, I still put it on the same way I learnt at school when I was 14. I remember being taught how to scrape my hair back off my face into a tight bun and slapping on the foundation in the year 11 toilets. My mantra is “there is no such thing as too much eyeliner.”

I’m also one of those people who can wear a brand new suit and still look like they just wore it to bed.

It scares me. I want this. I want to pass and be professional. I want to do other things with this and I’m shitting myself that my looks will let me down.

The Menu

So, as work has not been going to plan for the last two and a half years, I have decided on a complete career change.

After the wonderful birth experience I had with my son, I have decided I want to help and support other parents in having positive experiences right through from late (uncomfortable) pregnancy to labour, birth and into the postnatal period, providing much-needed postnatal support.

One of the things I believe helped me to achieve my empowered birth was consistency of care which is something I hope to be able to provide for couples.

Services I am considering offering are:
Massage – pregnancy, for partners, workshops for labour massage, baby massage and postnatal massage to help with postnatal depression

Antenatal educator

On call labour doula

Postnatal doula with a focus on aiding women with PND

Breastfeeding support.

Now, I know this seems like a lot.  It IS a lot and I don’t plan on doing it all at once. I’m aiming to build up my range of services over a period of about 7 years.

I’m not taking this lightly!