Gender Disappoinment

Gender Disappoinment

Screen Shot 2018-02-26 at 14.15.58I have huge respect for Ellie AKA @when.harry.met.finn.and.pops for writing this list. We are taught that we must not show gender preference when it comes to having babies. But you can’t help the way you feel..

For example, I always pictured having a daughter first. I don’t think it was rooted in gender bias, more that I am the oldest of my siblings and I just assumed that history would repeat itself. So there was a pang of ‘oh right, thats not what I expected’ at our first scan when we found out we were having a boy.  That surprise quickly turned to joy, but for some the change in mindset isn’t as quick.

Here’s Ellie’s very honest account of experiencing gender disappointment:

  • It’s the elephant in the scan room.

  • You’re there for an anomaly scan, and whilst (obviously) the most important thing is the health of your baby all you can think about is what gender they are.

  • Girl or Boy. Pink or Blue.

  • The sonographer spends an actual lifetime looking at the screen, checking measurements, typing into their computer.

  • You’re trying to look for the famous ‘potty shot’ (you pretty much class yourself as an expert because you’ve looked at approximately 79,386 of them online)

  • It’s a boy.

  • ‘Wow, that’s so exciting, a little brother for H’ – you don’t even sound convincing to yourself

  • You leave, get in the car, it’s all a bit quiet.

  • Neither of you really want to say anything. But it’s there, the undercurrent of disappointment, after all, you were only having two, a boy and a girl would have been nice. The pigeon pair.

  • You we’re going to go shopping to buy the baby something after, there’s no need now as he’ll just live in H’s hand-me-downs.

  • You check your phone, ‘any news???’ ‘Well…. Was I right?? Is it a girl’ ‘The suspense is killing me!’.

  • How to reply to these without sounding like an arsehole? You go with ‘H is going to have a little BROTHER! We’re so pleased’ (insert cheesy grin/heart eyes emoji here).Screen Shot 2018-02-26 at 14.15.02

  • You go home, get on with your day but its there. You know he’s a little boy now, and that’s fine, you were expecting it, you’re never ‘that lucky’ but it hurts.

  • You hate yourself for feeling this way, for wishing the little person inside you was somebody else, but it’s there nonetheless.

  • Whats wrong with you.. Boys are lovely. You know this, you adore his older brother, just like you’ll adore him.

  • Whats this feeling in the pit of your stomach? Does it go away,  or will it always be there now? That longing pang.

  • Gender disappointment is seriously isolating.

  • You feel like the most awful person on the planet, you feel like you don’t have the right to feel this way, you haven’t had to undergo rounds of grueling fertility treatments, you haven’t experienced the heart break of baby loss.

  • You can’t tell anybody because you’re greeted with ‘two boys is lovely, I wish I had two of the same’ or ‘there are people who can’t have kids at all, you should count yourself lucky’ – Yep… thanks. Like I didn’t already feel like a massive dick.

  • You find yourself seeking validation on the internet, scanning forums of specific gender disappointment websites, looking for a ‘cure’

  • You google ‘how to bond with my unborn baby’ – in your mind that makes you a completely shit mum, who doesn’t feel connected to their growing baby? They’re literally a part of you.

  • What if this turns into post natal depression, what if you go all crazy and set fire to a car like Ashley Peacocks wife off corrie.

  • Weeks pass, it gets easier.

  • You pick a name, ‘he’ becomes Finley, you buy him some new bits of clothing, you get the moses basket out the loft. He’s a lot more active now, you can feel him kick, you know his pattern, you know he gets hiccups every evening.

  • You’re starting to get quite excited about meeting him, your 34 weeks now, not long to go.

  • Then your friend announces she’s having a little girl. It’s like a kick to the gut. Guess you weren’t so over it after all.

  • You see, what you feel like screaming at (the very few) people you’ve told your true feelings too, it’s not just the fact that babys gender is X or Y, if you’ve yearned for a daughter your entire life, if you know this is your last pregnancy, it’s like a form of grief.

  • You grieve for the daughter you’ll never have.

  • You grieve for the wedding you’ll never plan (seriously, who lets their mother in law get all involved?)

  • You grieve for the dresses you’ll never buy, the hair you’ll never plait.

  • You grieve for the best friend (genetically programmed to love your flaws) that you’ll never have, the cocktails and spa days that won’t ever happen.

  • You feel bitter. You’ve started to avoid baby groups, its becoming annoying every time somebody asks ‘do you know what you’re having’.

  • 38 weeks. Its showtime. You’ve got pre-eclampsia and he needs to evacuate sharpish, no time for induction.

  • They’re taking you down to theatre and all you care about now is getting him here safely and holding him tight.

  • You hear his cry, your endorphins are racing, your riding that hormonal high and he is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen and suddenly you can’t imagine him being anyone other than himself.

  • You go home, it gets easier. You’re relishing your role as a mum to two, finding solidarity with other mumofboys

  • Time passes, it’s a lot easier, you love your rabble tribe more than life itself, but its still there. There’s still somebody missing.

This list was written as a blow by blow account of how I felt whilst going through gender disappointment. If you feel like you’re experiencing this, go easy on yourself, there’s light at the end of the tunnel and it definitely doesn’t make you a horrible neglectful mother. Don’t bury your feelings and talk, talk to whoever will listen.

Since writing this Ellie has gone on to have her much longed for daughter Poppy.Screen Shot 2018-02-26 at 14.12.19

When Mummy Got Made Redundant

When Mummy Got Made Redundant

unnamed-5Here’s something I’ve realised. That ‘made redundant’ is one of those phrases I use without really thinking. Sometimes ‘being made redundant’ is a perk, being made  because it implies that there a sweet pay -off attached.

Sadly, that isn’t always the case. Ellie aka is @LilyRoseWrites a freelance communications practioner and copywriter Mum to two shares her first-hand of being losing her job this Christmas:

  • The company I worked for was sold in early 2016.

  • When the news of the sale came, I was just a few weeks’ pregnant with my second child. Teamed with the fact my husband’s company was going through the same thing, and his future was uncertain, it felt like the ground had fallen out from under my feet. If we both lost our jobs, how would we survive? I was terrified.

  • As the company’s internal communications manager, it was my job to communicate what was happening to the 2,000 or so employees.

  • There’s a model called ‘the change curve’ that I tend to refer to in my work. It’s a model that shows people’s emotional reactions as they work their way through whatever change is happening to them – interestingly it’s used to describe grief too.

  • This was the first time I’ve been ‘in the curve’ with the people I was communicating to. Teamed with being in the early stages of pregnancy, I was on an emotional rollercoaster.

  • My biggest fear was that if I was made redundant, I’d be having a baby with no maternity pay. I knew I had to get to my ‘qualifying week’ still employed – that’s the 15th week before the baby’s due – to qualify for my pay*.

  • At that stage we didn’t know who would stay employed with one of the acquiring companies, and who would leave. So I decided to hide my growing bump in case it swayed any decisions about my future.

  • My colleagues must have thought I’d developed a rather unhealthy obsession with scarves!

  • The reality is I had absolutely no need to hide it. Nobody does. Being pregnant would never – and simply couldn’t – have a bearing on whether I was made redundant.

  • I believe that in situations like redundancy your fight or flight response kicks in. And as mad as it seems now with hindsight, hiding the bump was my fight. It was my way of protecting my unborn baby from the threat of losing my maternity pay.

  • I wasn’t made redundant. And neither was my husband. My employment was transferred to one of the companies who bought the business. The bump was revealed around the 20 week mark, and the scarves put into retirement. We breathed a HUGE sigh of relief.unnamed-7

  • I knew that wasn’t the end of the road though. Nine months after my beautiful baby girl was born, I was back at work with the task of communicating more redundancies, and the outsourcing of the new business.

  • All with knowing that this time my cards had been marked.

  • In December 2017, I left the office I loved for the last time.

  • Despite the fact redundancy was always expected, and I’m used to dealing with it in my job, I was really sad. Sadder than I ever thought I’d be. I experienced first-hand why the change curve is used to describe grief too.

  • It’s often said that you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. I started at the company full time, and went part time after my first daughter was born. I worked for a business – and a boss – who allowed me to work flexibly, drop everything and run when the kids were sick, or work at home with them alongside me when I needed. I never let them down, and in turn they never let me down.

  • In my job I’ve always tried to remember that it’s not just the employee who’s affected by redundancy, it’s their whole family. Their whole life, in fact. For our family, the issue with me leaving my job would be getting that flexibility again. Working full time and potentially commuting with two small children would put an immense amount of pressure on my husband, my parents, my in-laws, and ultimately me and my girls.

  • So I’ve made the leap to self-employment, and I’m starting out as a freelancer.

  • I had fantastic outplacement support provided by my employer, to help me transition to a new role or a new career. It was invaluable at helping me make the move from employed to self-employed. I’d encourage anyone going through redundancy to make the most of any outplacement support you’re offered.

  • Starting my new life as a self-employed freelancer is scary. But without redundancy taking me out of my comfort zone, I would never have been brave enough to try it. It’s allowed me, financially, to give it a go. It’s given me the kick to look for something different, and the chance to find a new way to be a working mum. So I guess I’ve finally reached the end of that change curve… moving on.  


* There are other factors, such as how long you’ve been employed. Check out for more advice.


Parenting a Rainbow Baby

Parenting a Rainbow Baby

Screen Shot 2018-02-05 at 10.58.09Over the last year I have been fortunate enough to work with Tommys Baby Charity and am continually blown away by the work they do supporting those who have been effected by miscarriage, stillbirth and premature birth.

I have also met some incredible parents who have shown bravery in the face of baby loss. One particularly complex situation is parenting a. rainbow baby’ and the mix of emotions that chapter brings.

This list from Laura aka @postcards_for_findlay is honest, courageous and frankly brilliant:

Now that Leo is one, I’ve been thinking back over our first year together and the practically vertical learning curve which is parenting after loss.

If there is comparatively little information out there about the reality of losing a baby, and the terrifying experience of pregnancy after loss, then the chapters detailing what happens when (if) you get to take that baby home seem to be missing entirely.

In the early weeks and months following Leo’s birth, I scoured the internet looking for stories about what is means to parent a rainbow baby, a user guide if you will, but found almost nothing. It felt like some of the advice out there for new mums didn’t quite fit; after all, whilst I had never had to swaddle an octopod-like newborn, or wrestled a pushchair into a lift, I already was a mother, it’s just my child never came home.

Only now, as I think back to the frightened, confused and utterly overwhelmed woman who staggered (John Wayne style) out of the hospital doors, her heart and arms finally filled, do I realise how woefully unprepared I was for what the next few months would bring. Not only trying (more often than not, failing) to get to grips with newborn life, but attempting to manage the tidal wave of emotions which are part of the parenting after loss package.

I have learned a lot about myself and parenthood this past year, and about what it means to be a mother to two children: one living, one missing.

If I could give that mother the benefit of my one year’s experience, this is what I would tell her:


  • You did it. You survived the devastation of losing a child, and navigated the (at times paralysing) anxiety of pregnancy after loss. You have birthed a living, breathing baby and brought them home. The end.

  • Except that of course, it’s not. Yes, you have done all those things; but that doesn’t undo the fact that your child died. That there is a person whose absence is the first and last thing you feel each day; and the hurt, and guilt, and confusion, and self-doubt which accompanied their death hasn’t just magically disappeared.

  • The birth of a sibling undoubtedly soothes a fractured heart, but your child is still gone, and that can’t change.

  • It can feel as though others are so swept up in the joy and excitement of a new baby that they have forgotten that you are still bereaved; and the support and understanding which you (hopefully) received from friends, family and health professionals appears to evaporate once your rainbow arrives.

  • It’s as if your status as a loss parent has suddenly expired.

  • People may expect you to ‘just be happy now’ failing to recognise the complex emotions swilling around in your head.

  • They may not appreciate the impact the death of your child has on the way you perceive yourself, and your ability to parent their younger brother or sister, and this lack of understanding can make you feel fragile and alone.


  • All new parents are anxious, and a little paranoid, but parenting after loss anxiety is like regular parenting anxiety…on steroids.

  • The stomach-churning fear you harboured during pregnancy doesn’t just pack up and leave the moment they cut the cord. In many ways, the weight of this anxiety is easier to carry, as the burden is shared by others once your baby is no longer in-utero, but (for me at least) it is still present.

  • Even now, at 12 months old, I feel compelled to check that Leo is breathing whenever he is sleeping.

  • Don’t even get me started on the choking fear of weaning, the mind boggling confusion of dressing appropriately for the temperature (thank you British weather) the heart-in-mouth panic of learning to crawl and climb…every bump and bruise fills me with dread and a stomach-churning guilt which often renders me a weeping mess, whilst Leo looks on utterly bemused.

 Screen Shot 2018-02-05 at 10.58.48


  • Rainbows are, without a doubt, little heart healers.

  • They can never take away the pain of losing a baby, nor could they ever replace their sibling, but they soothe the soul and bring pure, unadulterated joy back in to a world which, it seemed, would forever be cast in darkness.

  • They enable you to live out a version of the life you had hoped for, dreamed of. Fantasies of trips to the park, lullabies at bed time, lazy Sundays reading stories and building bricks, all the things you were so cruelly denied when you heard those fateful words ‘I’m sorry…’ come to being once your rainbow baby is home.

  • Babies are also great at filling your time. You will never forget that someone is missing (who could ever forget that their baby died?) but those endless hours which stretched out before you in the weeks and months after their death are suddenly swamped with distractions like baby sensory classes, lengthy pushchair walks and multiple daily outfit changes.

  • You are forced to ‘do life’ again; when the waves of grief strike (which of course they still do) you can’t crawl back into bed and hibernate because there is a small person who needs feeding, or changing, or a cuddle.

  • But the things which make it easier, also make it harder.

  • Sometimes you feel like you can’t carry on; all you want to do it hide yourself away and cry at the injustice of the hand you have been dealt.

  • Or you want to sit and think about your baby, to tenderly go through their things, or rearrange their flowers, or just remember ever tiny detail of the precious time you spent together; but you can’t, because you never get a moment to yourself.

  • Similarly, every wonderful experience you share with your rainbow, each milestone they reach and memory you make, serve as another reminder of all the things you missed out on with their sibling.

  • I never really knew what life would have been like had Findlay lived, because he was my first baby.

  • I didn’t know that I could readily trade my old hobbies and interests for soft play and dates with Mr Tumble and feel fulfilled.

  • That joy could be gained from watching your child get stuck in to a plate of spag bol.

  • That despite the overwhelming responsibility, and at times relentlessness of motherhood, I could genuinely miss him after only a couple of hours apart.

  • That the intoxicating smell of his head nestled in my chest could erase the day’s calamities.

  • That his elation at taking his first, tentative steps could make my chest ache with pride.

  • I didn’t know what motherhood would feel like, so it’s only now that I can fully comprehend the scale of what we have lost.


  • When your path to parenthood has been fraught with heartache, it’s easy to feel you need to just be thankful that you got to bring home a living baby; what could you possibly have to complain about? And of course you are, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t challenges too.

  • Parenting is tough; the days are long and sometimes it can feel like you’re just hurtling from one unremitting situation to the next.

  • The monotony of eat, sleep, poop, repeat in the early days; the frustrations of weaning a child who refuses to entertain a spoon; 52 weeks of disturbed nights; these are enough to test even the most saintly of us.

  • It’s okay to admit that some days you find yourself fantasising about getting in your car and disappearing off for the afternoon, in pursuit of a quiet spot where you can drink a hot cappuccino and read 50 pages of a paperback without interruption.

  • You’re not being ungrateful; you’re just being human. After all, somethings are hard to cherish (I’m looking at you silent reflux. You too, epic, running down the leg of a White Company romper your boss bought whilst sitting in a return to work meeting, poonami…  


  • You know, the ones you meet at baby massage, or bounce and rhyme; those for whom (at least to your mind) pregnancy and having babies is a straightforward certainty.

  • You will hear mothers bemoaning that they didn’t get their water birth because the pool was busy, or casually referring to ‘when’ (rather than ‘if’) they have number two, and your heart will ache with the knowledge that when your baby died, so too did your naivety that pregnancy always leads to happily ever after.

  • It can feel like the death of your baby, and the lens through which you now perceive the world, separates you from other parents.

  • You may look and sound like them, but you feel like a visitor from a silent, unseen world (one which you more than anyone desperately wish didn’t exist) trying to infiltrate ‘normal’ life.

  • The complaints of other parents seem trivial alongside the devastating marker against which you now measure experiences, and it can be hard to feel sympathetic towards Nicola, who hasn’t had a manicure since January.

  • At times like these, you may question how best to respond to the terrifying ‘is he your first?’ question, for fear of being ostracised or judged. And maybe you will be; the sad truth is some people don’t want to hear about babies dying and they may back away sheepishly, averting their eyes and muttering platitudes.

  • But that says far more about them and their inability to manage bereavement than it does about you.

  • Or maybe you’ll find out that they too are nursing a broken heart. After all, we never know what battles people are fighting.


  • Ok, so that seems like a bit of a paradox – but it’s true. When you’re frantically Googling ‘is it possible to die from sleep deprivation?’ or comparing the salt levels in sliced bread whilst vigorously thrusting the shopping trolley backwards and forwards singing ‘5 little speckled frogs’ in your best Mary Poppins voice in Morrisons, you realise then that you’re not so different after all.

  • For this reason, I’m so grateful for my mum tribe, the wonderful women I met at antenatal classes. Despite the variations in our roads to motherhood (and we are all unique in that respect too) we have battled through the trenches of these last 12 months together. All equally clueless. All trying our best.

  • Often when I feel myself succumbing to the guilt and anxiety which I know are a direct by-product of Findlay’s death, it’s amazing having this bunch of lovelies to help me pick up the pieces and feel like I’m not alone. And sometimes, what I’m feeling is actually just completely normal mum-guilt; and that’s good to know too.Screen Shot 2018-02-05 at 10.57.42


  • When Leo was born, I naively assumed that if I could survive the death of my child then I could handle anything life with a newborn could throw at me. I mean, how hard can it be to function on four hours of broken sleep compared to the pain of burying your child?

  • The answer: bloody tough. Throw in issues with breastfeeding, OCD-like expectations of how the house should be kept and a husband with an extremely demanding job and it’s a recipe for disaster.

  • Parenting can be pretty gruelling at times, and when you’re simultaneously grieving, you don’t have much reserve left in the tank.

  • Grief doesn’t stop when a rainbow arrives, although often it is pushed into the background where it bubbles away (perhaps unnoticed by others) until one day it boils over in a hot mess.

  • Trying to be super mum whilst juggling the reality of life with a baby and keeping the lid on your grief is not really possible…eventually something will break, and in all likelihood that something is you.

  • You don’t need to prove to everyone that you can be a perfect parent; you don’t need to justify yourself or show the world that you deserve this baby.

  • You just need to be gentle with yourself, and don’t forget to ask for help.


  • This is a tough one to write but it’s something I was so afraid of.

  • Would I love this baby as much as Findlay? How is it possible when my heart is SO full of love and longing for him that it aches under the weight of it all? I remember my mum once telling me and my siblings that when a new baby comes, a mother’s heart grows as big as her belly to make space. ‘It’s like I have three hearts’ she said, ‘one for each of you.’ This is something I tried to cling to but in all honesty I doubted. 

  • I was scared that Leo would be born and I would wish that he was Findlay. No baby can ever replace another, but I didn’t know how I would feel seeing him. Why would this boy get to live when the other was cruelly snatched away?

  • Or would loving Leo take away, or overshadow my love for Findlay? All siblings have to share their parents, but how does it work when one isn’t here to command attention, or make memories? Our time with Findlay was so brief, the memories we have finite, would having Leo somehow diminish those? All these thoughts and more plagued me throughout pregnancy, alongside the paralysing fear that we would never find out, that Leo too would be taken from us.

  • I feel ashamed now to admit that I ever doubted my love for either of my boys. I love them both with a depth and strength beyond measure; my heart has indeed expanded to encapsulate them both…just as my own mother told me it would


  • Guilt for the days when I’m not being grateful for and enjoying every moment.

  • Guilt for Leo on the days when I feel sad; that it might rub off on them, or is somehow neglectful.

  • Guilt that I can’t always be 100% happy, that even the most beautiful memories with Leo are tinged with sorrow, and what this might mean to him as he grows.

  • Guilt for Findlay, for the times when I am happy. That he may think I’ve somehow forgotten him, or am moving on (which is an impossibility).

  • Guilt for when I don’t have the time or space to dedicate to him in the way I could before; for the days when I don’t get down to the grave or when I haven’t looked in his memory box for a while.

  • Guilt for those parents who do not yet have a rainbow in their arms, or those who have never carried a baby in their womb.

  • Guilt, guilt, guilt. Basically, if there’s something to feel guilty about…you probably will.


  • For all the trials and tribulations; the anxiety, the doubt, the overwhelming feeling that you might not make it through the day with your faculties (or all their limbs) intact, a rainbow baby will fill your heart and soul with love.

  • The confusion of experiencing joy and sorrow, love and longing, gratitude and injustice for your life all at once.

  • Above all else, rainbow babies bring you happiness, at a time when you never thought you could ever smile again. They are a piece of you, a piece of their sibling and their own special unique self. Someone for you to love and cherish and, in doing so, piece together t

  • he broken fragments of your heart.

  • They bring the colour back to your days, these babies born in the storm. The sun doesn’t always shine, but they are a little bit of beauty to have and hold.

  • Precious little rainbow, the last 12 months have been a pleasure and a joy (as well as a baptism of fire!) and I cannot wait to see what the next year will bring.

Screen Shot 2018-02-05 at 10.58.31

Advice for My Past Mama Self

Advice for My Past Mama Self

unnamed-8Third baby and I thought I was pretty knowledgable about parenting. But 10 days in to Greta and I’m learning stuff everyday day. Motherhood is a constant learning curve. And if there’s one thing I know for sure: the moment that you think to yourself ‘I’ve nailed this parenting malarky’ is the moment your kids morph into different beings and prove that, in fact, we are all winging it all the time!

Anyway, lovely Shelley and Sophie from @hi_mama_letters have copiled a list of everything they wish they could tell their ‘former mama selves’:

  • We are secondary school friends. Our births and early years of being mothers couldn’t have been more different; yet we both felt pressure, we both felt guilt, we both felt lost at times.

  • Motherhood can be (insert choice of expletive) hard at times. As a mum, you hardly ever get time to reflect on how far you’ve come and sometimes it isn’t until you’ve got through the hard times that you look back and realise how kick-ass amazing you really were. In our list, we reflect on our different experiences, talking to our past mama-selves…

  • Sophie – An unplanned home birth. You still can’t believe it happened how it did – that within a couple of hours you went from being sent home at 2-3cm dilated to having a baby in our bedroom. Now you know how lucky it was that your amazing midwife Jane arrived at just the right time to stop the paramedics whisking you off to hospital (and the possibility of a roadside birth) and taking complete control of the situation. She shut all the windows to keep it warm, set up a recovery area in the bathroom without you noticing and instructed Stu to bring in all of the towels we owned – even the good ones.  Fifty three minutes later, she caught Felix as he made his headfirst, super-fast entrance. It feels surreal now; Mum was there making tea for the paramedics, siblings arrived with balloons and a tray of Krispy Kreme doughnuts and my husband’s 93-year-old grandmother held Felix when he was hours old. It was pretty much the best I could ever have hoped for; I know how fortunate it was.

  • Shelley – Wipe those tears, hold those newborn babies close. As you sit there in shock staring into their eyes for the first time, the anaesthesia still leaving your body, you can’t process it. You won’t for a while, both times – a long while. But know this mama, you have not failed! Having them by emergency c-section does not make you a failure. You were strong, you were brave, you were committed. You wanted those perfect births so desperately, but believe me, in years to come, you’ll just be so grateful for those perfect babies.

  • Shelley You did breastfeed your girls, it may not have been for as long as you wanted to, but you did. You won’t say that for years. If anyone asks you, you never give a straight ‘yes’. It’s an answer wrapped in self-deprecation, apology and guilt. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You did the best for you and your babies and I am very proud of you!

  • Sophie – You were bamboozled by the NCT session on breastfeeding. You and a friend always shuddered at the idea of breastfeeding and the NCT session did nothing to dispel that worry. You stood in the hallway and cried when we got home, wondering how you could even be a mother if you found the idea of breastfeeding so overwhelming. But you did it, and breastfed beyond a year. Weaning was where it all started to become challenging. Felix was slow to take to solids and dropped down the centiles. It led to hospital referrals and the label of ‘failure to thrive’. You didn’t know what to do. Now he eats; it’s a very limited diet of oven food, but every waffle, every pizza, every fish finger feels like a victory.unnamed-10

  • Shelley – Once these first few months of hazy sleep deprivation are over you both find your rhythm. Routine works for you. The structured naps may tether you to the house at certain times of the day, but don’t let anyone make you feel silly about this – ignore the eye-rolls you can feel through the phone as you schedule plans around her naps – it’s not them who’ll have to get up with her in the night. Continue to do what works for you with confidence, she’s sleeping, no one should judge you for that. 

  • Sophie – The four-month sleep regression changes your life. Felix woke up every hour of every night for five weeks. You have lows that you have never experienced before and had thoughts that you would never believed you were capable of. The first year was one long sleep regression. It was brutal. You weren’t expecting motherhood to challenge you in such a dark, numbing way. Now he sleeps in between you and Stu every night and I think that’s all he wanted. It was such a game changer to realise it, and to just accept it.

  • Shelley – You’re the first of your friends to have a baby, you’ve just hit 25. Life up until this point has been about pushing your boobs up in whatever outfit you’d chosen to dance the night away in with your friends, not getting them out in front of them to silence the piercing cries of a newborn baby. Life has changed. You feel lonely at the moment, somewhat removed from the conversation. But new friends will come into your life, ones with babies who you relate to more right now. Your older friendships will remain, they’ll always be there, you’re just dancing in different clubs right now – they’re in Pacha; you’re in the bump and babes club in the local children’s centre. At least the sick on your shoe is from your baby!

  • Sophie – You end up being one of the last in the friendship group to have a baby, which was a huge benefit. Asking a million questions about everything made your pregnancy so much more reassuring and your friends’ wisdom and guidance was such a source of strength. The old adage about it taking a village to raise a baby is so true; it extends beyond a village now, it’s the other side of the country or the world via social media, it’s the blogger behind a computer sharing her thoughts, it’s the brilliant midwife publishing a book. You took on advice like water, and still do. 

  • Sophie – You loved your job and worked with an amazing team who gave you incredible support throughout your pregnancy. But the day you were supposed to go back to work, you didn’t go, as you literally couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You lied and said Felix was ill. You weren’t ready mentally and it was no surprise that you left after the obligatory post-maternity-leave three months. With hindsight now I regret that decision. Having the understanding of long-established colleagues when you’re a parent of a young child is a really privileged position and I gave that up all too easily. 

  • Shelley – Your firstborn is ten weeks old and you are sitting on your laptop putting the finishing touches to your freelance marketing services website. Seriously women, I want to high-five you and shake you in equal measures. You fell pregnant whilst you were both living and working in Australia and returned to no statutory maternity pay due to Australia not being a ‘reciprocal agreement’ country – who knew that? Not you! Your work out there did not count. There is no maternity leave. Oh, and that strong desire to be equal is driving you (insane) too, to contribute, to be a strong women who can do it all. Half of me wants to tell you to slow down, there is time for a career – enjoy your newborn, worry about what episode of The Hills to binge watch during nap time instead of trying to seek out projects. But, on the other hand, well done you! It’s over 7 years later and you are still successfully freelancing – that drive and initiative has allowed you to work around your children all this time – you did that!

  • Throughout these challenges we searched and searched for answers online. The snippets we read in forums weren’t enough. We shared our struggles with each other, but had completely different experiences.

  • ** Sophie and Shelley wanted to create a space that had as many voices of motherhood as possible; to give the writer time to reflect, honestly and openly with no judgement and to create a resource for other mamas going through the same challenges now. hi mama is a digital library of letters from mamas to themselves, was the result. More than 50 mamas have written a letter to themselves since we launched in September, and tens of thousands of women have read those letters, telling us how they have brought them comfort and reassurance. If you’d like to write your letter, follow us on Insta or visit our website () for everything you need to know. **


Life After Divorce

Life After Divorce

christening2Back in October Hollie De Cruz shared her reflections on splitting from her husband. It was was one of the most read lists from 2017.

But what does life after divorce look like a further down the line? Here, brilliant Kiera from Mama Designs shares her experience 3 years later:

I have been a single parent of two for 4 years now and divorced for 3. This is some of what I experienced and some of the stuff I wish someone had told me.

  • My marriage ending after 13 years together is the hardest thing I have ever been through and the deepest, darkest time of my life.

  • It is like suffering a loss and you go through the stages of bereavement, especially if it comes as a shock, which mine did.

  • It took me about 2 years to feel properly normal again. I remember speaking to a friend of a friend, not long after it happened who told me this and I couldn’t quite believe it.  It is true though. It doesn’t mean to say you won’t be happy within that time but to feel properly normal it was about 2 years.

  • Take time out for yourself, self care is so important. I ran,  every day.  It gave me my headspace. It also got me slim, which is an added bonus!  Meditate, exercise, whatever works for you. Even if it was not something you did before, try it, you might surprise yourself!!

  • Make sure you eat properly, even though it will be the last thing on your mind.

  • Your children will be reason enough to plaster a smile on your face and carry on, even on the darkest days.  Hug them lots. This will be confusing for them too. Make sure they know that you both love them.

  • Telling the children was the hardest thing. I carefully planned the day out with all four of us after we explained and we went to the Julia Donaldson exhibition and then went to town and got a teddy bear made for each of them  and we put the heart in to show them that we both loved them and whenever either one of us wasn’t there, if they felt sad, they could hug their bear. Then we went out to eat and let them choose the location (hello Burger King!?) surrounded by teenagers in town while such a big thing was happening was weird.

  • I always tried to be the better person.  Having an amicable divorce/ break up  was so important, even though I didn’t feel like it at times. I understand that this is not always possible but if it is possible, it is such a good thing, for everyone involved .

  • However bad what has happened to you is, your kids do not need to know that, they can be spared the details. They have two parents and assuming both love them, then they don’t need to be in the middle of an argument or used against one another. It is the children who will suffer.

  • Becoming a single mum is a huge adjustment and it takes time.  I remember in the early days wondering how I would do things on my own with them and then doing it and feeling stronger. The first time the three of us ate out in a restaurant, my new slightly smaller family unit.  How empowering taking my children on holiday felt.

  • Someone recommended a book called “Excuse me your life is waiting” I read that, and “The Secret” and they really hit a chord with me and I discovered the Law of Attraction, something that I would have previously thought of as a bit woo woo.

  • Get in control of your finances.  Especially if this wasn’t something you did in married life. Get a spreadsheet and keep a track of all your outgoings and income. You might be surprised to find you are eligible for working tax credits too.

  • It is ok to keep your married name.  I wanted to have the same name as my kids, I had had my married name for 8 years, I did not want to change it. Do what feels right for you.

  • If you can make arrangements for child care and financial matters yourself and amicably it is a much nicer way to do it but you might want to seek legal advice.

  • You might not always agree on things with your ex. You might have to make compromises.  You do this for the sake of your children and for a happy life. It is not good to have stress and upset in your life. I have always tried to limit this.

  • Some people have different attitudes towards single mums.  The airport customs guard who asked “where is there dad?” to which I shrugged my reply.  He said “you are taking them on holiday on your own lady?” Hell yes!!! I would sometimes get looks from mums on holiday who might think I wanted to pinch their husbands!  I am definitely still aware of this when I take the kids away but mostly people are friendly and supportive.

  • Don’t air your dirty washing in public ie post negative stuff on social media, pick up the phone instead and cry on someone’s shoulder/rant, moan, whatever but nothing will be gained from airing your dirty laundry in public. I never did and it is something I am hugely grateful for. I really cringe when I see other people doing that. I think that they will regret it!

  • You are stronger than you think! I kept telling myself this!Me on my 40th

  • Use your friends and family, let them look after you.  My family, especially my mum and my close friends were my absolute rocks.  I will never forget their unwavering support.

  • Your house will feel empty without your children. You might not want to see friends with children when you don’t have yours. Keep yourself busy at first, you will learn to enjoy the time.

  • You might go online dating. It will be horrendous, hilarious and your friends will be constantly on the phone wanting the latest in your dating saga.  I was contacted by everyone from age 21 to 76 I think and some of them were horrendous (Bob Vodka the aging goth, the lollipop man, couples!  I remember laughing till we cried with my friends reading the messages! My tip for online dating is coffee not wine!  Ever heard of coffee goggles? No?  I rest my case!!

  • I have heard of some people becoming consumed by unhappiness and have it define them as a person, people saying “she never got over him/it”. I was determined not to let this happen. Count your blessings. There are still lots of good things in your life and you need to remember this.

  • Put some happy music on and dance around the kitchen to lift your mood. You may feel silly at first, but it will lift your mood and make you smile!

  • Firsts are hard, birthdays, milestones, even parents evenings etc but each time it gets easier and you keep a brave face  on for the sake of your children until it becomes normal.

  • Finding out my children were having a new sibling was hard, really hard but after hearing two friends different stories of how a new sibling was handled I was determined to be like the positive story. My children love their baby brother so I have embraced that and they see me making a fuss over him every time I see him. They would not understand if I didn’t so why wouldn’t I? How it made me feel was irrelevant, my children were and are the most important thing.

  • I miss my in laws, the whole family.  We stayed in touch but it was never the same. My parents were sad. Break ups are sad for everyone as it affects so many people in different ways.

  • You will be happy again, truly happy, but it does take time. It is a journey.

  • I am a much calmer, happier chilled out person (and more self aware) than I ever used to be and I think that this is due to what I went through.

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Surviving Hyperemesis Gravidarum

Surviving Hyperemesis Gravidarum

unnamedAs I reach the very end of this pregnancy (due date been and gone) my body and brain have cleverly erased all memories of what early pregnancy was like. The truth is the first 15 or so weeks of this pregnancy were far worse than with my previous two. Perhaps because I was carrying a girl this time?

One thing that kept me sane during those months was reading and rereading Susie Verrills brilliant blog post on Hyperemesis Gravidarum. By far the most honest and revealing account of what its like to suffer with something WAY beyond morning sickness. I used Susie’s words as a stark reminder that although I felt shit, their were many people out there in a far far worse place. Struggling on in the face of real adversity.

Since then I have been meaning to help raise more awareness of HG and am really grateful to Gemma for sharing her story:

  • On 19 January 2015 I was beyond ecstatic to learn that I was pregnant. We had been married for 4 months and couldn’t wait to have little mini versions of ourselves running around, so we were completely struck with joy and excitement when we realized we were really doing just that.

  • The vomiting started on 2nd of February. The last time I was sick was on the 23rd of September, and little Florence was born on the 24th, a whole day early.

  • I suffered from Hyperemesis Gravidarum (HG) – extreme sickness in pregnancy that Google tells me can result in nausea, weight loss and dehydration. That really isn’t the half of it. In writing this list I’ve done my best to explain what it is to live with HG, and offer some strategies that may help anyone struggling to live with it.

  • Educate. If you have ever suffered from HG you will already be overfamiliar with how it ravages your body, corrodes your spirit and robs you of the joy of being pregnant.

  • Of course, and I’d hope that it would be assumed, I was beyond happy to have conceived and reminded myself daily how lucky I was to have done so. But, and for those who have never witnessed HG with their own eyes, allow me a moment to have a really good moan (I really earned it) – it was really bloody awful. REALLY BLOODY AWFUL.

  • Imagine the first few hours of the worst hangover you have ever had. But worse.

  • Smells made me ill, sometimes smells that weren’t even there.

  • I had burnt the back of my throat with stomach acid. I

  • had friction burns on my elbows from propping myself up 20+ times a day just enough to be sick in a basin.

  • I couldn’t keep down even the tiniest sips of water.

  • I lost a stone and a half.

  • Walking to the bathroom felt like I’d completed a 20-mile run.

  • And I was trying to smile through it all- I was expected to smile through it all.

  • And I couldn’t leave my bed- do not underestimate how isolating this can be.

  • This, and so much more I’ve blocked from my memory, is what HG is. For me, it lasted 9 full months.

  • As awful as it was, I know of others who have had it much worse. For me, it did become more manageable with medication, and subsided briefly around 25 weeks, but returned 4 weeks later.

  • HG is not morning sickness, and without wanting to undermine anyone’s experience with morning sickness, the difference between the two must be better understood.

  • If you know, you know. Yes, it is more than morning sickness. It’s more than that “all day sickness” women report to be suffering from. Because this was my first pregnancy, I had no benchmark for “normality”- like how do you know when it is beyond what is expected during pregnancy? Well, after two weeks of constant vomiting and realising my wedding ring kept slipping off my finger I knew something was really not right.

  • But after seeing a doctor I was sent on my way with a two-week sickline and a look of vague sympathy that felt more like a prescription to “suck it up and get on with it”. But with Google as my only medical qualification I meekly headed back to my sick bed.

  • It was only after my sister, the less dramatic of my siblings, told me I looked like I was dying that I knew something had to change. I was admitted to hospital within a few hours and where I remained for 3 days. After a super-strength IV concoction of vitamins and 6 litres of fluids I felt like a new woman. Briefly.

  • Fight for medication if you need to. When I got home from hospital I felt amazing. I could finally focus on getting excited about being pregnant. For 8 hours.

  • Then I threw up my antiemetic (anti-sickness drug)  and it spiralled very quickly. 24 hours later I was back in hospital with my soon to be BFF the saline drip hooked up to my arm. It’s amazing the difference hydration and a few (medically administered) jabs in the butt can make. But I had been lured into this false sense of wellbeing before and knew without additional medication it wouldn’t be too long until I was back. I cried when the midwife was discharging me, and begged her to give me something else to help me stay on top of the sickness, and eventually she got the Doc to give me a second antiemetic (which at the risk of sounding melodramatic, I believe totally saved my life).

  • Battle One was mine.

  • Battle Two was a little more difficult. Convincing my GP to continue to prescribe this miracle drug on the outside. BUT despite having never given this drug to a pregnant woman before (reserved only for chemo patients apparently), I persuaded him that my life and my sanity depended on it and left with the script desperately tucked into my bag.

  • I collected that prescription every 10 days until I gave birth, and soon learnt that even a day without it would end with a sleepover in the antenatal ward.

  • So, you know you. You know how bad things will get without intervention – don’t be afraid to fight for it.

  • Stay on top of staying on top. At the time, I refused to take ownership of the thoughts that ran through my mind and suffocated my happiness and my hope at my lowest point.

  • I have never been so conflicted in my life.

  • This was a planned and already very loved baby, but in the darkness of those first few weeks I have to admit that if I had been offered an “out” I might have taken it.

  • The guilt that comes with even a flicker of acknowledgement to these thoughts is crippling.

  • How dare I even think such an awful thing when I was so lucky to be living out my dream. Given, not in the way I’d always imagined (which, for the record, was looking like Blake Lively when she was pregnant- Dream Big, my friends) but I know the heartbreak of those who aren’t so lucky, and I could never look them in the eye and confess to these selfish thoughts. But I was so weak and so beyond exhausted, and the sickness had entirely consumed me.

  • I honestly couldn’t see how I was going to make it out the other side of this darkness and I was so deeply ashamed. I felt so alone. I felt like a total failure- how can you even be bad at being pregnant? It’s biologically what we were made for, and there I was, barely making it through the days.

  • I was so angry. Why me? I couldn’t understand why coping with being pregnant was so beyond my capabilities, I’d always imagined popping out lots of babies and now I wasn’t sure I could even pop out the one. I was resentful of anyone else who was pregnant who seemed to be breezing through, and Lord save anyone who dared to complain to me that they too “suffered with morning sickness in the beginning”, before blossoming into this gorgeous glowing pregnant Goddess I could see in front of me. I was 16 weeks in, I was not glowing. I was not radiant. I was not excited. I was not happy. But I had to be everytime anyone asked how I was feeling.

  • I felt like I’d become such a burden on my wonderfully supportive and understanding family and even I was sick of hearing myself say “I feel sick”.

  • Looking back, I think this was because I didn’t have a space where I could have my thoughts and feelings understood. More than understood- validated. Taken seriously. Not that my family didn’t do these things – they did, and they did them with compassion and such love and support, but I still felt frustrated,  alone and misunderstood.

  • Find someone who really Gets It. Talk about it. After I had Florence, I found friends who had been suffering too, but who also got caught up in the ideals of what’s expected of you when you’re expecting.

  • Do not be ashamed. You are doing well if you even make it out of bed in the morning. Allow yourself to feel like crap, but commit to getting back on the saddle after a little wallow.

  • Even in the wake of giving birth my experience still haunted me. I was certainly traumatised by it. I thought about how selfish it would be of me not to give her a sibling based on the possibility of having to go through that again. Yes- she was worth every single ounce of vomit and every needle in the bum, but how could I ever risk feeling like that again – with a toddler in tow?! I couldn’t look after myself for months, never mind parent.

  • Around 1000 women a year chose to terminate their pregnancies due to the extreme effects of HG, so this really needs to be taken very seriously and treatments standardized and effected without struggle.unnamed-4

  • Take your recovery seriously. Three weeks off work and I was feeling The Guilt. After being completely devoid of the ability to function beyond vomiting into a bowl, I returned to work.

  • Even with all my medication, I was still unable to leave the house without my trusty Golden Cow butter tub which my dad, in a moment of true Ferguson genius, supplied as a sick catcher. It was perfect – big enough to hold even the biggest of vomiting episodes, and it had a lid. If you’ve ever had to throw up in a car, you will appreciate how important this was. I drove about for months, working with my new fav accessory never far from reach. WHY. WHY DID I FEEL I NEEDED TO GO TO WORK? I was very ill. If you’re vomiting so often that you can’t be without a portable sick bowl, you’re probably too sick to be at work. But I felt I had to be. I wasn’t sick-sick, I was just pregnant-sick. And I made myself worse by insisting I had to be there.

  • Slow down- you are not an emergency service. People will cope without you, if ever there was a time you needed to rest, it is now. Work can wait. Don’t be motivated by guilt.

  • Live the cliché. Round up the troops. It takes a village. Call for back up. You won’t get through HG without an entire team of supporters behind you. Use them and let them in. Cooking, cleaning, shopping, babysitting- delegate. Allow yourself the time and space to rest and recover, or at least to get on top of the symptoms.

  • Have a Gingernut. LOLZ. Seriously – I didn’t realise the world was full of so many gingernut enthusiasts until I was pregnant. I’ve just thrown up an ice cube that took me 15 minutes to eat- but please- pass me the gingernuts! With all the best intentions in the world, people are genuinely shocked that you haven’t been eating one every few minutes if you’ve been feeling sick. It’s such an obvious choice of treatment!

  • WELL. I’ll tell you now. I forced myself to eat ginger biscuits, ginger sweets and drank ginger ale, ginger beer and ginger tea, and I promise you that all it achieved was what I can only assume to be a lifelong aversion to ginger and a tenfold increase in already raging heartburn. If you have any friends who ever have the misfortune of suffering through HG, if you don’t want to lose them forever, do not mention the G word. Ever.

  • But seriously, eat what you can, when you can (which I guarantee will be the second most popular recommendation- “little and often”). You probably won’t fancy a kale smoothie, and be ok with that for a while. Eating two cheeseburgers in a row is better than eating a salad and puking it up. It’s not a permanent diet choice and you really don’t need the guilt of your food choices to add to your long list of things to worry about. Take a good pregnancy supplement if you can stomach it and eat what you can while the waves of non-nausea strike.

  • Reach out. Unfortunately for me, I discovered the readymade network of support that is the “Insta-mum” community after I had Florence. Since surrounding myself virtually with all these amazing women, I have heard so many re-assuring voices of HG survivors (Susie V, I’m looking at you!).

  • There’s something to be said for hearing someone else talk about the horrors of matted hair, overactive saliva glands and phantom smells that follow you everywhere and make you gag. It made me feel a million times better about what I had been through- I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t a total drama queen. In fact, I did a damn good job of getting through it.

  • Look for support locally, I’ve since discovered Pregnancy Sickness Support, a charity who strive to support and empower women going through or who have been through HG or severe nausea and vomiting in pregnancy. Being heard and being validated will make such a difference, and might just pull you through your darkest days.

  • Plan a second pregnancy. But plan a second HG pregnancy- just in case. It’s not a case of falling into the trap of thinking negatively, it’s a case of being prepared.

  • With Florence, I was totally ignorant of what was in store for me. I’d do anything to be ignorant again. The chances of HG reoccurring in subsequent pregnancies are very high (70-80%), but planning and getting your health professionals on board will really help. Look into pre-emptive care and medication, studies have shown these to be successful in reducing severity and duration if HG does happen again.

  • I know fine well what I could be getting myself into if I was lucky enough to have another, and that is something I just cannot get too excited about. I have already said – she is absolutely worth every second, and for me, I think that will be my secret weapon.

  • I knew she would be worth it when I was pregnant- but now I know just HOW worth it it all was, I feel it will be less of a mental struggle the next time.

  • I also have the experience of what worked for me last time, and that will cut out a lot of vital ‘Trial and Error’ time, and I know where the line between ‘sick’ and needing medical attention lies, and will seek help as soon as that line is crossed.

  • I know that it will end. And I know I would do it a million times over to have another baby.

  • Waiting won’t reduce the chances of it happening, for me, it’s just about getting to the stage where I am ready to cope with that again.

  • Plan for sickness friendly activities for other children, and accept all forms of help- human or tech-based entertainment will be welcomed warmly in my house.

  • And I hate to be that person, but you really might not get it again. I mean- you absolutely might- but isn’t the thought that you might not a really wonderful one? It’s almost enough to make me take the leap. If I am sick, I know I will get through it, because isn’t that what mums do? And if Kate Middleton can do it in her L.K Bennett heels, I sure as hell can do it in my trusty Air Max 90’s.unnamed-3

** If you are suffering from HG and looking for more support, please contact PregnancySicknessSupport.Org **

The Highs and Lows of Being an Older Mum

The Highs and Lows of Being an Older Mum

Screen Shot 2018-01-31 at 11.39.50I had Bertie at 30, which I think is pretty average. But I often wonder how things might have been different if Ben and I had started earlier or significantly later.  There are pluses and minus’ to every age and how that shapes your experience of Motherhood.

Here Anniki Editor of Selfish Mother and Co-founder of Hot Bed Collective, tells all about being an older Mother:

I was 40 when I had my daughter after struggling to conceive for two years. I think older Mums have a different experience than younger women. So, here’s a few of the positives and negatives (worth saying that I didn’t CHOOSE to be an older Mum- it just happened that way and I feel thankful that it happened at all).

  • Some people say that you get more rigid as you grow older, and that was certainly the case for me – I felt like the first year of parenting was a crash course where my personality was broken down to the point where I started to hallucinate about Oprah Winfrey being my Fairy Godmother (and visualising her face was the only thing that gave me comfort on those long, sleepless nights).

  • I was like a wild horse getting broken in. By the end of it I was ready for the glue factory.  Screen Shot 2018-01-31 at 11.40.17

  • The fact I was rigid meant that I lost my temper a lot.

  • I know this is universal for parents everywhere, but when I say lose my temper I MEAN smashing stuff, throwing stuff out of windows, breaking plates…I’d never done any of these things before and I wonder whether being older made my anger worse? Our house was like an episode of ‘Eastenders’ for a while, and I think my partner often feared for his life.

  • You have less physical resource. You are frazzled and wonder if you can go on.

  • Also, your knees make funny noises when you walk because your ageing body hasn’t been designed to carry a nine pound, six-ounce baby. When you walk downstairs, your daughter mimics the sound of these knees and says – ‘It sounds like slime Mummy.’

  • Each time you meet another Mum, children’s entertainer, friend of a friend- anyone…you try and find out their age.

  • Once you find out their age, you then calculate how much older you are than them, and whether you could be their Mum.

  • You can’t read any instructions on packaging, and it’s a struggle to read the writing on story books at bedtime (especially if the font is dark on a dark background- can someone do something about this please and take into account that many of us are geriatric parents?)

  • You feel sad that a second baby is unlikely. This isn’t an issue to start with (because you’re too busy throwing plates out the window, and hallucinating about Oprah) but when all your friends start dropping number two, it makes you depressed (though you know you’re lucky to have one child- yeah you know that because everyone reminds you ALL THE TIME).

  • You calculate how old you’ll be when your child leaves primary school/secondary school/university/gets married/starts their first job/has a child and then tell yourself it’s stupid as there’s nothing you can do about ageing, and you’re just going to have to roll with it.

  • Besides what about all those old fashionistas on Instagram? Age is irrelevant now right?

  • On the positive side, you can’t be arsed with getting involved with petty feuds; you know yourself well, and don’t waste time maintaining friendships which aren’t working out.

  • This is a major benefit of having spent more time on the planet and being able to spot wankers a mile off.Screen Shot 2018-01-31 at 11.39.17

  • Also, you don’t feel like you’re missing out on ‘having it large’ or big nights out because you’ve got all that shizzle out of your system.


  • Though you do feel sad when nobody knows anything about your pop culture references and you worry that you need to do a crash course on millennial culture so you can keep up with your daughter.

  • But you do give really good advice because again you’ve had more experience.

  • So, overall being an older Mum is up and down. You roll with the punches. Okay your hair is going grey, you’re angry, and you may be approaching the menopause but it happens to us all. We all age and it’s a choice how you do it.

  • And age is just a number these days, right? (no, it’s not but let’s pretend it is and move on).Screen Shot 2018-01-31 at 11.39.33