Breast Can Be a Pest

So it’s #worldbreastfeedingweek and tonight Channel 4’s #Dispatches is airing a documentary into the pressures, pains and stigmas of breastfeeding.

I have heard so many opinions in the last few days as to what is best etc etc and I wanted to share my own thoughts too.

Whilst I categorically do not deny for one moment that #breastisbest, I hated breastfeeding. Absolutely hated it and gave up after a few days. Cue the lynch mob!

I fully understand why the NHS are encouraged to help mothers choose breast over bottle but if it wasn’t for me ringing the bell for one of the nurses on the ward in the night telling them my few-days-old daughter was starving and they HAD to give her some formula rather than them forcing me to try and achieve what little milk my body was producing again, the consequences just don’t bare thinking about.

Not only was I in incredible pain in my left boob (long story – benign large tumour removed at 23, loads of scar tissue, blah blah) but my right boob didn’t seem to want to play game either. I ended up with a breast feeding expert lying by my side in bed like a new lover trying to milk me like a cow, achieving only a teardrop of milk each time. It got to the point where, as I say, my daughter screamed the house down, no doubt ruddy starving, and where I had to put my foot (and two boobs) down and said (in much nicer words), “Formula now please, or else!” Even then they resisted a little. I showed them my unhappy face and they whisked my baby away, fed her 30ml of formula and we both got the best night’s sleep we’d had since she was born!

I did keep trying but it just wasn’t working. I was ‘released’ from hospital after four days and as soon I was home, I tried the ‘milking machine’ I had bought. It was official. I definitely was not a milk producer! I gave up there and then and immediately from that moment it was a case of happy mum, happy baby which I am a MASSIVE advocate of across the board.

Over the coming weeks, various heath visitors, midwives and breastfeeding support ladies came by and whilst I personally didn’t feel any pressure - I had decided from the outset that I would do what was right by my baby my way – not in a cocky I know best kind of way but in a I know me, I know my baby kind of way, but it did make me worry for people less confident and more vulnerable than myself who really would feel the pressure and in turn would put too much pressure on themselves. 

Having a baby is a bloody whirlwind for all manner of reasons where every mum and dad just wing it from each day to the next. No added pressure is required! I absolutely commend the NHS and the incredible support on offer to us very lucky ladies completely free of charge but the look of disapproval I received when I said, “No, sorry, I’ll be going onto a bottle” after her showing me every single breastfeeding position under the sun (‘the rugby position’, ‘the sideways position’ – Christ, it was like the Kama Sutra of breastfeeding without the fun!), all of which were to no avail was not commended nor appreciated. She couldn't add me as a 'breastfeeding lady - tick', 'target not met' and off she went.

I don’t doubt the health benefits from breastfeeding and yes, I do get a pang of guilt for that which is why I am a health mad obsessive when it comes to my little girl’s diet now. But it’s not just about physical health, there is also the mental health side to consider which doesn’t seem to be talked about as much. Had I have continued to breastfeed, I would have cracked up and my baby certainly wouldn’t have been in great health either. I immediately relaxed the moment I switched to formula and my baby was a content little soul with it. 

OK, I did become a bit of a control freak as my midwife jokingly called me one day having told her that I set my alarm every two hours to feed her to prepare her next bottle – waking her with a feed rather than her waking me and then having to traipse downstairs and sort it all out with a screaming baby in tow. I feel this meant she became a content little girl as I was always right there with a bottle before she even knew she needed it 😉  Again, whilst I think her “control freak” comment was meant a little more seriously than her tone implied, I didn’t feel the need to take her comments personally or to heart because it just goes to show that you must do whatever works for you, whatever makes you, and in turn your baby, happy.

I can’t comment on the ‘breastfeeding in public’ argument that is also covered in tonight’s show because the most public I ever got with it was wopping my boobs out on the ward in front of my poor dad who, bless him, just said, “aw.” I do feel that it should be less of a stigma however. I laugh at the time my poor husband felt he had to stare at the floor when my best friend took out her (fantastic) boobs to feed her first child in her living room and empathise with my poor friend who felt she had to spend most of another friend’s wedding in the ladies loos breastfeeding her daughter when the Hand Jive was on.

I hope that had breastfeeding worked out for me that I would be laughing in the face of adversity and feeding my child wherever I needed to but, realistically, looking at the hopeful selection of breastfeeding tops (that soon became defunct pyjama tops) that I'd bought before having my baby – tops that were so ruddy confusing with wraparound this and tug at and knot that, I know I would have become a breastfeeding recluse who just sat breastfeeding topless in her own living room. I would never have been one of those fabulously demure mums who just fling a beautiful silk scarf over them and baby and make it look easy. But maybe that’s just it. There IS a breastfeeding stigma out there and it needs to change. Yes breast is best but it can also be a bloody pest! Mother Nature was clearly a man 😉

To My Darling Girl, Mummy is Fast-Approaching 40 and I'd Like to Share My Hopes, Dreams and Tips With You (Just go with it!)

You're not even two yet but every day I wonder about your future and hope I'll be there. I hope one day you read this and take note. I'm sure there'll be eye-rolling and tuts and mutters of, "God, Mummmmm, you're SO embarrassing" - if young people still talk by then and aren't talking through robots or holograms or whatever platforms are around at the time. It's that classic Peter Kay line isn't it - "Me and your mum used to load the dishwasher OURSELVES....we used to have to cope with a car EACH!.."!

A younger me always imagined that I would have kids in my late twenties. I didn't spend much time thinking about it in honesty but that was the kind of 'breeding age' that lay dormant in my subconscious. Late twenties seemed so far away at one point (ha! It now seems so far away from the OTHER side!) but by the time I reached my late twenties, kids weren't even on the bucket list. Still living in the first house my partner and I bought together, it was a party house. Socialising was what we did then. Kids would've just dampened that. Second down the list was travelling. Thankfully, the hubbie (then, boyfriend. Blimey, even the word 'boyfriend' takes me back to those days!) travelled far and wide together and were fortunate to create so many amazing memories - both together and independently in our working lives, something I am over the moon we did pre-kid(s).

Before we knew it we had reached our thirties. By this point we had bought what we thought would eventually be our 'family home.' We travelled and partied some more, woke up one day and somehow were in our mid-thirties, but didn't feel a day over twenty. By this point, kids were on the radar but still weren't a huge priority, just 'something we should probably think about'.

I was 38 by the time our little munchkin arrived in our lives. I won't bore anyone with the struggle again (read my previous blogs to be bored with that!) but certainly, 38 wasn't the age I ever imagined my first (and now likely, only child) to come into the world. Whilst late thirties is a much more common time for starting a family these days, I can't quite shake the feeling that I'm in the 'older mum' category. Not that I should be concerning myself with a 'label' but, with my own mum always seeming a young mum to my brother and I (and still does!), I do wonder if I'll appear older than her friends' mums. Will I be severely 'uncool' or embarrassing? Will I see through all her major achievements and be around enough to just be there for her and to enjoy a great deal of her life?

I appreciate that I'm not writing this as a pensioner (!) but I can't deny it's something that plagues my mind from time to time. So, as I approach my (gulp!) big 4-0, still feeling as though I'm in my late twenties I might add, I wanted to share my hopes, dreams and tips for my wonderful little girl:

* Laugh. A lot. It is said that a day without laughter is a day wasted. Find humour in even the tiniest things and dullest of days. Surround yourself with people who make you laugh. Not just a little 'ha ha' but a fully uncontrollable, 'can't breathe, it hurts' belly-laugh, the kind that makes you roll off the settee clutching your stomach. Life isn't just about the big, exciting moments (make sure you have plenty of those too of course) but is equally about the tiny, silly moments. Make the mundane fun. Shopping in Tesco isn't exactly something to write home about, but you CAN make it fun. Life is too short not to. Don't look for excuses to throw a party. Just throw a party. Stick some tunes on, get some people round and put some curly crisps in a bowl - is it anyone's birthday? No, exactly! Make every day a day of wonderful memories made. Take up each and every experience, but just...

*...DO NOT DO DRUGS. Just don't. I won't offer a lecture here but just don't, ok? Come ask me about it and I'll show you pictures of teenagers, with their whole lives ahead of them, on their deathbeds or something, but seriously, just DON'T! One stupid moment of apparent 'pleasure' can instead be gained from Point One above: Laughing. And there is nothing wrong from getting addicted to laughing. Unless of course it is induced by laughing gas - and don't do that either. It is for dicks. And you're not a dick.

* And whilst I'm nagging, don't smoke. I'll tell you all about your 'Grandoug' (Grandad Doug) and his battles with COPD and terminal lung cancer from years of smoking. I'm hoping cigarettes are a distant crappy memory by the time you're old enough to even consider it, but don't vape either - basically, just don't put chemicals into your body. End of.

* You'll spend most of your younger years caring what those around you think, which is of course a lovely trait too because by default, it also makes you empathetic, but just don't worry about what anyone thinks OF you. You'll spend all that time anxiously caring only to hit thirty and say, "I couldn't honestly give a SHIT!" Every day that follows that milestone you'll care less and less. So start as you mean to go on and pride yourself in not caring earlier. Don't concern yourself in worrying what clothes you SHOULD wear or music you SHOULD listen to. Do YOU like it? Wear it. Do YOU like it? Dance to it, which leads me to....

* DO appreciate music and the power of singing in the shower as though to a 20,000 strong crowd. Never discount dancing to a song because it's a 'bit cheesey' and ALWAYS do the conga and Auld Lang Syne on New Year's Eve. DO dance around the bedroom pretending you're recording your latest music video. The adrenalin is incredible and will make you feel fabulous! Don't ever grow out of that. I'm not ashamed to say that I still do it. I can still remember every imaginary shot I acted out to Madonna's Immaculate Collection - I'll show you one day. I appreciate that will make me the afore-mentioned 'uncool mum' but, remember, since I turned thirty I don't care what you think ;)

* Travel the world. I will worry like mad, I'm sure of it, and will no doubt want you to update me every single day so I know you haven't been trampled by an elephant, but do go see our fabulous planet. If money's an issue, try and find a job where travel is an option - they'll pay for it and put you up in great hotels to boot (I'll worry if you're in a hostel ;) ) Bonus!

* Dream big. There is nothing wrong with dreaming big. It doesn't always work out exactly as you dreamt it and is sometimes a side-step from the actual dream but if you want something so badly, go for it and don't let negative people get in your way. I loved the moment I sent a job acceptance letter from the BBC to my old school who had told me to look for "more realistic" career choices.

* Don't be a worrier. The one big lesson I have learnt in my almost forty years is that nothing is EVER as bad as it is in your head. Every single moment I have ever worried about has turned out to be absolutely fine. I remember being in my early teens and dreading a maths exam so much that I hoped I would die in my sleep so I didn't have to sit it - I was always dramatic! I didn't die of course and sat the exam. It was fine. I didn't do very well because maths isn't my forte, but you know what, that was fine too, because in the great scheme of things it just didn't matter. Was my dad a bit cross with me? Yeah, but then he was cross at many things I was rubbish at - maths, science, woodwork, art.....but I was good at English and Drama and Music and Spanish. You'll always be rubbish at some things and great at others, but just don't worry about the other things in between. The world needs people of all types and of all talents, whatever those talents may be. Worrying is all-consuming. Don't let it consume you. Beat the worry with a big pokey stick because everything is always ok, no matter what. And if you find yourself worrying, come talk to me. It's likely I'll have a really dull anecdote to make you feel better stored up my sleeve.

* Don't waste any of your life in a job you hate. Yes there are bills to pay, and yes you may have to stick it out a little while longer whilst you sort it out but do look for something that interests you. The anxious Sunday night feeling is a mug's game. Life is too short.

* Be kind. Find pleasure in doing nice things for others. Sounds clichéd I know but there is nothing like the feeling of knowing you did something good for someone. Relish in making someone's birthday a silly surprise or sending them a little silly something in the post. It warms your cockles and does your heart good.

* Always use your manners. Even when those around you don't. You never need sink to someone else's level. Stand on your moral high ground and wave at those below you with a great big grin. Try not to get cross when someone doesn't thank you, instead, take a teeny tiny moment to pity them in their moral 'low-ground' and then delete it from your mind. They're not worth it.

* Take photos. As stated, I don't know what technologies will be around when you're old enough to do so but use whatever means to take photos. Memories are great in your head but there is nothing like having a photo to look back on, even of a seemingly teeny tiny moment. I even screen-shotted the text I sent out to family and friends the day you were born and the one your daddy sent after he had left the hospital and printed them out on photo paper. I shall treasure them forever.

So, in summary...Enjoy every precious moment. Laugh. Make every day a day of memories made. Throw parties but just don't do drugs or smoke. Don't care what others think and don't be a picky worry wart. Dream big, believe in unicorns. Enjoy the powers of music and of travelling the world. Be in a job you are happy to go to each day and surround yourself with good people. Be kind, be polite. Take photos.

I hope you can always come to me for any of the above and anything in between. You are the absolute apple of our eyes and make us so proud each day. I know you will be a wonderful human being because you already are. But (oh, and never start a sentence with 'but'), never feel the pressure to be anything at all. Just be you.

Love, laughter and happy ever afters,

(Your nearly forty year old) Mum xxxx

The Classic Work / Life Balance / Juggling Act / Spinning Plates…

I have been asked to write this particular blog by the fabulous team at MummyJobs.co.uk (and DaddyJobs.co.uk) – ‘Getting Mums (and Dads) Back In to Business.' www.mummyjobs.co.uk www.daddyjobs.co.uk

Now before my current employer reads this and panics – don’t worry, I’m not on the hunt for jobs…and there’s many a reason for that which I shall explain later on.

So what’s my ‘back (to work) story’?
I went to back to work when my daughter was seven months old – to some that was too early but:
1) I was in the very fortunate position to be going back to a job I loved and missed

2) Whilst a fabulous and successful company, it is a small company and it didn’t sit right with me to take any longer off work – and no, I don’t feel guilty!

3) Money! My maternity pay was paid in full for three months and then down to statutory maternity pay every month thereafter – ouch.

My daughter took to nursery like a duck to water and so thankfully I never had that worry, having socialised her massively in preperation from being a few days old – I knew from early on that I wouldn’t be taking any longer off.

Going back to work was the classic ‘going back to work for a rest’ scenario. I absolutely loved my time on maternity leave, it was so precious and memorable but I was ready to use my brain again and to have more diverse conversations! As soon as I went back, I realised how much I enjoyed my own company too – driving in with the radio on, grabbing my morning coffee, having two arms to do everything…!

I don’t work on the doorstep of home – on a normal day, it takes 40 minutes to drive into work but get the traffic wrong and it can be a two hour journey – nicht gut! Add that to the still occasional disturbed night’s sleep that a one year old can bring and it can be a killer. As selfish as it sounds, I dread her catching another cold or teething again – my priority is of course whether she is ok(!) but I can’t lie that I don’t then wonder how much sleep I’ll lose and dread my alarm going off!

I am constantly asked why I do it, why put myself through that when I could maybe find a job closer to my doorstep?

I fought to do what I do (again) today. I say ‘again’ as my first jobs, having always wanted to work in TV and Media were for the BBC and Granada as well as having my own column in my local paper. I also did random jobs like rollerblading around the country for the new Diet Pepsi roadshow – as you do. Once I grew up a bit and moved out with my now hubbie, it was time to get a mortgage. Working as a freelancer didn’t have the same appeal by this point and, both being freelancers at the time, mortgage companies wouldn’t touch us with a barge pole. It was time to get real and look for something more ‘sensible.’

I ended up working in ‘sensible’ jobs for eight years and had by then worked my way up, travelled all over the world in my role(s), and had a company car. But I was bored. Oh so very bored. Whilst I threw myself into my work and still gave it my all (I have never quite known how to press the ‘slow down’ button!), it just wasn’t for me. I missed creativity and the art of having ideas. I missed writing and production and words. Pretentious and arty farty as that sounds, I can’t deny it!

I decided to have a look at what was out there in the media industry but panicked that I had now been out of it for too long to be taken seriously any more. Thankfully I was invited in to see a fabulous TV and video production company, then based at MediaCityUK, with bases there and in China and the rest, as they say, is history.

That was now four and a half years ago and I haven’t looked back once. I can honestly say that my job is my passion, my hobby. I love the work and I love the people. I am surrounded by people on the same level and no longer have ‘the itch.’ It is a fantastic, and I appreciate enviable, position to be in, but my God, have I worked hard for it and to be back here.

Life is definitely tougher with a child in the mix too. The nights I get home at 7pm, I have to practically get her straight to bed or ring my husband and ask that he starts her routine as I’m stuck in traffic. I dislike those nights, I have to say, but I do manage to strike a balance, and I hope one day she agrees that I did that.

We also work on a huge, well known TV show which can mean that we are filming into the very early hours, resulting in getting into bed any time between 12am – 5am – these are of course days when I don’t see that little smile at all albeit my husband always sends me a little picture of her all tucked up in her PJs which helps (me at least).

The saying goes, “Work in a job you love and you’ll never work another day in your life” and that is SO true. If I didn’t feel this, I’m not sure that I would feel balance was being restored. The guilt does kick in on occasion but then I know we’ll get that time back and I’ll more than make up for it.

I have been able to find the balance thanks to having a boss that understands the value of flexible working.

Monday and Thursday, when I work full days, I am lucky enough to have my mother in law and parents look after her respectively. Tuesday and Wednesday she is in nursery 8am-6pm – my husband takes her and I pick her up, meaning I leave work at 4pm to avoid the traffic. Fridays I don’t work and we have a lovely, quality mummy and daughter day. That day is so important to me.

Thankfully, our director understands that it is results that are important, not time-serving. I wish for so many people that their companies understood this too. It works both ways. I have always wanted to give my all when it comes to my work but it makes you want to do that more so when you are given the respect and freedom from the top to say what is effectively, “You’re doing a good job, it doesn’t matter about the exact hours you do it in.” It is all about give and take and I respect that so much. Equally, I understand that on occasion, I will have to work a longer Tuesday or Wednesday or go in on a Friday but because the respect and the trust is given, I want to repay it, and everyone is happy.

I asked a male friend who is MD at his company recently and whom has two young children, also travelling a lot with work, “How do you maintain the balance?” He stated that he picks and chooses the trips he takes and makes sure he never works weekends. Choice is what gives us the balance, and the balance is what keeps us all sane, let’s face it!

Yes, I’m absolutely shattered, yes I struggle to get out of bed some mornings and yes, some nights I go straight to bed once we’ve put her down. But to me it is all worth it. The balancing act for me isn’t just about keeping my daughter happy but keeping myself happy too – happy mum, happy baby, I say – I do so by making sure that every extra hour I spend working or travelling is put back into her in the evenings, on Fridays and at the weekend – seieng that little smile light up when we’re playing, doing something simple like reading a book or are on the little train at the park is all I need to know that all’s good in our little world.

Equally, I want her to know and to learn that the reason we are able to have such lovely times (and granted, the best things in life are indeed free!) are because mummy and daddy work so hard. Does money make us happy? In my opinion no (it certainly helps!), but no, money gives us choices and I feel it is the luxury of choice that contents us.

Had I not have been in such a great flexible position at work, I would indeed be running for the hills. I have been miserable in some of my more ‘sensible’, ‘real’ jobs and that is certainly not something I want to bring home to my daughter. I hope she too can one day find something she loves to do and pursues it.

I am so proud of a wonderful friend of mine who, upon returning home one night to her then baby, thinking she would miss him entirely before bed, and who subsequently shouting ectstatically, “Mummy!” as he saw her – cue lots of tears from her and a subsequent resignation! She is now so unbelievably happy in her new (‘home early role’!) and equally I couldn’t be happier for her.

Another fabulous friend who had previously been a teacher and had commuted every day, upon having her second child said enough’s enough and now runs her own children’s party business, marks exams and papers, private tutors and runs children’s music, football classes, you name it – I am so ridiculously proud of her – things were so happy at home that she then got pregnant with her third child (!)

Life is tough and we all have to get by which ever ways suits. There is no right and wrong. Let’s face it, every person you look at who seems to have it all covered is winging it just like the rest of us! Hats off to each and every ruddy one of us!

#RoyalBaby3

Well it's officially a right royal congratulations for the third time to good old Wills and Kate! I've always felt a slight affinity with the pair. I'm not a royalist nor against the royal family, in fact I don't spend any time thinking about the Royals at all generally. So I guess the said affinity comes from the fact that Wills and Kate got married only a couple of months before my husband and I. The build-up to the royal wedding was also the lead up to ours and so whenever I see footage of their big day, it takes me back to the giddy final couple of months of prep for our own big day.

The day of their wedding, our then street had the obligatory street party with a real buzz. I'd just returned from a huge global work trip at the time and so once I had the trip over and done with, the street party was that one final milestone til I was about to say "I do" too.

Hop forward to Kate's first pregnancy being announced. I remember it well, albeit not quite as fondly. I was driving home from work. It had been a tough day. The newsreader said the words, "Kate Middleton is pregnant with her first child." It landed at a time when of course we had also been married for coming up to a year and were already getting the, "Baby?" question from every man, woman, cat and dog. Only we had no news to report.

I had come off my pill a little while before our wedding. We figured 'why not' at the time. We didn't necessarily expect anything to happen straight away as of course you hear all the tales of 'needing to get the Pill out of your system' etc, nor in our what now seem like naive minds at the time, did it matter if I had a 'Bump on Board' at the wedding - it would hardly have been a shotgun wedding after 12 years together!

We saw out the whole of Kate's pregnancy and subsequent George across all media by which time we'd almost been married two years. Still no baby news for us.

During this time so many more of our peers had been married themselves, followed by what seemed to us like immediate pregnancy announcements. Please don't get me wrong, we were over the moon for EVERYONE. Truly over the moon for those closest to us.

Before we knew it, Kate and Will's Numero Dos was on its way. As were many of our peers' number twos. It kind of hit home around then. It wasn't happening for us.

It's a strange feeling. Feeling so happy and excited for everyone else and yet so bitter at times, not in the ugly green eyed monster sense (but, yes, maybe that at times). A little bitterness then anger then a strange black emptiness (I am trying my best not to sound too dramatic here but if this blog isn't to be honest, then surely there's no point?) - an emptiness that makes you question everything - What will the future look like? Should we have tried sooner? And then the classic, worst of obligatory questions when life doesn't seem quite fair..."Why me?"

I remember an evening when I'd signed up to sing in a rock choir (as you do!). I'd done so as, even though my work kept me MORE than busy and with a huge production or two on the go at the time and a great social life, I felt I needed something that was just about me, that just took me away from everyone and everything for a little while. Complete escapism. I walked over to the venue straight after work and was in pretty high spirits. I was looking forward to a damn good sing song if I'm honest, something that would feel like a method of alternative therapy.

I'd heard only a few days before of a fabulous friend's pregnancy. Again, we were absolutely over the moon for them but I can't pretend that it wasn't also balanced out by what felt like a huge punch in the face. On that walk over to my new found 'me' time, my phone beeped twice. Two new texts..within moments of one another. PUNCH. A scan picture, "pleased to announce....." followed by...PUNCH...another scan picture with, "pleased to announce."

Now, for fear of losing any of my wonderful friends and family over this (!), I really do have to stress how genuinely excited we were at each announcement. There's absolutely no doubt about that. We are so lucky to be surrounded by so many wonderful people who we love to pieces, and if you're happy, we're happy, if you have some huge, exciting news then it's equally huge and exciting for us too. But I can't pretend that I didn't need a little sit down in between those two text messages. And I'm someone that is pretty bloomin' unshockable by nature! I remember feeling like I didn't know which way to turn. Or what to do with myself. I felt quite alone in that moment. I felt that whilst I had so many people around me, rooting for me, I was suddenly all on my own. Like no-one could possibly understand. I did have a fabulous friend (you know who you are!) who had been through exactly the same however. Twice. Whilst I wouldn't wish what I know she's been through on anyone, it WAS a huge help to know that she had been through all of this and that every single feeling and emotion I was experiencing, she'd been there. I thank you for all those chats and for keeping me sane at times when I wasn't sure how that was possible.

But on this particular occasion I just wanted to speak to my husband. I called him and as we talked it felt like one of those scenes in a film where the protagonists are sat still whilst everyone else is going at a faster pace around them. And it's just the two of you against the world.

My husband is fabulous when it comes to a good old chat. He always tells it exactly as it is and is great at summarising (he's the practical Ying to my waffling Yang!) and at just making you see sense. He's a no nonsense, no bullshit, no drama kind of person. If I need advice on something, he always seems to know what to say. But on this occasion, he just couldn't find the words. He was heartbroken too. There was no rhyme or reason to be found. It was basically just, for want of better words - shit.

Not to just wallow in our what then seemed like a huge sob story, we all know now that our story had an incredibly perfect and magical happy ending. There are of course people who never get their happy ending. I can't even imagine the injustice they must feel and quite frankly I just want to wrap them up in cotton wool and protect them from the rest of the world where they don't receive any scan pictures nor celebrity baby news (to tell a sideways tangent anecdote - the 'OK' magazine I once read whilst in the fertility clinic - mid legs akimbo I might add! - not the clinic's finest hour when it came to their choice of reading material - every celebrity and their ruddy budgie was seemingly pregnant!).

Which brings me back to Kate and Will's baby number three. It is almost a full circle moment for me. Having felt that little affinity with them when our wedding bells rang closely together to the lump in the throat moments prior to what we now know to be the gorgeous George and Charlotte right through to their third pregnancy - the first pregnancy they've announced where I can smile and think, "aw, lovely."

It doesn't quite end there however. Whilst it doesn't feel anywhere as close to the sadness of not knowing whether you will ever have a baby at all, nowhere near as close, there is a tinge of wonder as to whether we too would ever be able to add to OUR brood. We are of course absolutely besotted with our incredible little girl and she is everything we dreamt of and more but I would love for her to have a brother or sister, someone who can always be a great friend to her as my brother always was, and is, to me. It's just not that easy a decision for us. Our decision to add to our family doesn't come from 'trying again' but from sitting down and saying do we choose to finish doing up the house or pay for treatment. It's as cold and callous a decision as that. You may read that and think we seem heartless or shallow putting something so materialistic in the same frame, but then we want a lovely home for our daughter, and are fortunate enough to have that, but we want it finished..and therein lies the moral dilemma. It might seem an obvious decision for many and a no brainer but it's just not that plain and simple. There's all the time out of work for all the prods and pokes, there's the months of hormones and injections, which quite frankly, I'm not sure I want to put my body through again, and there's the generally feeling crap, which I'm not sure I want to bring home, not to our little girl. Fertility or in our case lack of, is without a doubt something NOT to be taken for granted. There are people in my life who I swear only have to sniff sperm and they're pregnant ;) And I'm not being all green eyed monster there, hats (or keks!) off to you!

There's a lot to think about and a lot to consider but I know one thing's for sure, if I could go back to some of those darker days and tell myself that it would all pay off in the end, I would never have believed it. Our little girl is by far worth every second of the crap that we went through. I'd go through it ten times if it meant I got her at the end.

Oh ...and congrats Kate and Wills!

Stuff I've Learned

So this is my first blog post baby. My pre-baby intention was to blog regularly once she was here - ha ha ha haaaaaa - a hilarious thought knowing what I know now!! This will only be a short post (I think! Let's see how we go) but I'm using it to dip my toe back in the water so to speak and then intend to get back into the routine of a full swim!

I had a little girl, Etta - an absolute little star and only now, at a year old, have I been able to sit down and dedicate a little bit of time to writing away. As much as I absolutely adore what I deem as precious time with her now I'm back at work, I do look forward to her two-hour Saturday morning snoozes on daddy - I use the first hour of 'my' time singing and dancing to Flashdance and Grease whilst washing and drying my hair - even mocking up a little welding scenario to 'She's a Maniac' - guilty pleasure :)

So what have I learnt in the last year? I figured this was a good place to start and to get my digits type-happy again:

#1 Having a poo is the best, most pro-active, fun part of the day. The one five minutes in the day where I can be in a room, just me (unless the dog decides to pop in - welcome to the joys of our home!) reading the news, checking social media and messages - apologies to all those I have replied to whilst on the loo but this is my life now! I have informed my lovely colleagues that if they get a reply to an email on a Friday (the day I'm not in work) then there's a massive chance it was a mid-poo-reply! Sorry guys but I wear my heart on my sleeve - we're a close team and all that ;)

#2 Postman Pat Special Delivery has nothing to do with delivering parcels but should instead be called Postman Pat - 'Man (& black and white cat) with a Van'. Doesn't stop me singing the theme tune all day however. Gone are the days I'd be humming Kings of Leon's Sex on Fire.

#3 Bing is a little s*it. Sorry, but I've said it. Flop needs to sort him out whilst he's young coz he's a ruddy nightmare! On that note, who IS Flop? Tragically, a friend and I actually had this very conversation - is it his dad / carer / uncle who took him in?? Or as my friend believes, his mentor?? Answers on a postcard please!

#4 Becoming a mum is life-changing, tough and shattering at times, but beyond worth it. It's quite honestly the most fun I've ever had / am having. No-one else would get away with tiring me out this much and making life as topsy turvy as she does

#5 Babies are psychic. Once down in their cot, they know if you have just (delete where appropriate) sat down with a drink / sat down with a meal / sat down on the loo / started a film or any hobby related activity / closed your eyes - and that's when they choose their moment to wake up again. I am desperately searching for Etta's crystal ball every time this happens

#6 Suddenly life is so much more interesting, even doing the 'big shop' is now an activity filled with fun with tonnes to see and do. I love finding new things to point out or new words to say and revel in her shouting 'peas' or 'cat' in the pet aisle, or much to the laughter of half of Sainsbury's recently, "Cock-a-doodle-do" near the eggs

#7 I ruddy LOVE my sleep but can't believe how used to being constantly shattered I am. Having a job which often involves filming into the early hours, I remember the days I would get home at 2am, then sleep til 9 and get in work for 10. These days, if I get in at 2, I'll organise her things for the next day til half 2, get four hours sleep then help the hubbie get her ready for nursery at 7 (seeing her before nursery far outweighs any slumber) - something that had you have told me years ago, would've acted as a perfect method of birth control but you know what.. now? I wouldn't have it any other way :)

So, there we are. My first post-baby blog. Whoop. I've just cheesily internally high-fived myself. Hoping to really get back into this now but let's face it, she'll probably wake-up each time I sit down to start..and yes, I'm writing this on the loo ;)

Refusing to Feel Guilty

There's a lot of guilt-tripping when it comes to pregnancy / impending mum-dom and you know what, I point blank refuse to feel guilty about anything now or going forward. This isn't me on the defensive, I just see and hear it a lot aimed at other women and it makes my blood boil for them. Especially those with a much thinner skin than I.

Firstly there's the breastfeeding debate. Following surgery to remove a bloody mahoosive tumour in my early twenties, I have been warned that one boob may not even 'deliver' anyway, but that aside, you know what, if breastfeeding doesn't work out for me or for baby, for ANY reason, then I'll know I've tried and will move on. I refuse to sit around feeling like I have failed them or that I'm a terrible parent. Like everything in life, it's not for everyone. And move on I will. 

I caught a debate on the radio recently whereby women were calling in in floods of tears, feeling like the Mother from Hell for 'giving up' on their child. Whilst I don't doubt for one second that "breast is best", I see it like a school sports day - it's not about the winning it's the taking part. I'll give it a ruddy good go but hey ho, if it's a no go, I won't be crying on the radio over spilt (breast) milk!

Then there's the maternity leave debate. I only plan to take months off and following that share the childcare between mum, mother in law and nursery. And I'm not going to feel guilty about that either. I happen to feel very fortunate that I Iove my job and fought to get back into the media industry having left it years ago. It's my passion, a hobby, I love the people I work with and what we do every day and that doesn't mean I'll love my child any less or that they'll be neglected in any way. They'll have a lovely life and will be loved, fed, watered, with a roof over their head with ruddy John Lewis nursery wallpaper and an entire Mamas and Papas range for God's sake. So no, I don't feel guilty and I refuse to begin to feel guilty. And I know parenting is much more about the time you give to them, more importantly quality time, as opposed to the material things, but they'll still have that in bucket-loads, regardless of busy jobs that we have to fit around them.

I'm not looking forwarding to balancing the two hats, I have to say, and I know for a fact it won't be easy, but it'll all be fine. Parents all over the world do it every single day, not to mention single parents who, quite frankly, I've no idea how! Now THAT'S a juggling act! Hats massively off to you!!! Then there's women in third world countries who have a baby one day and are back off to work the next day, baby in tow, as they work hours on end for what we would consider pennies here. Amazing women who, it appears, have equally amazingly well-behaved children to boot so I actually think they have a lesson to teach us and not the other way around!

It's in supermarkets that I tend to see all the, shall we say, 'sights'. Children that are dragged up, running riot all over the shop, walking around with parents who have no morals or manners to pass on, who are shouted at at a thousand decibels in between a verbal slur of effs and blinds. Kids who look filthy, unwashed and uncared for. That's not me being judgmental. Like Catchphrase, I'm just saying what I see. So, until mine are in the same predicament, then, no, I won't be feeling guilty. 

I read an article the other day about women all over the world and what they pack in their hospital bags before giving birth. A woman in Africa had packed everything into a plastic bag. 'Everything' included a sheet because the hospital, that she had to WALK a mile to I must add, didn't have sheets, or even beds for that matter. The Western women in the article had multiple bags packed complete with tablets (the electrical variety), mobile phones, midwife notes (even a midwife in many parts of the world is a pipe-dream), games, numerous outfits for both mum and baby, magazines and huge amounts of pampering toiletries. I can't say I won't be the same, having already ordered my hospital bag from Accessorize and with varying nightwear options ready hanging. I've even thought about when I should go get my hair, eye-brows and a good old wax done ahead of the day. Now THAT makes me feel guilty!

I think there's too many comparisons made when it comes to babies, and if you happen to have one that doesn't quite behave like another, mums start to wonder what they've done wrong and panic. If every baby was the same, someone would've written a one size fits all baby guide book and invented a miracle cure for sleepless nights by now! I'm sure there are people out there thinking what would I know having not even had a baby yet but I'm just preparing myself for a motherhood mantra to use during moments of complete knackered-ness and bewilderment - that I'm a bloody good mum and have no reasons to feel guilty.

What's in a Name?

Picking names took us ages and so much longer than I / we expected! There won't be any 'reveals' in this blog by the way, I'm very much of the opinion that I don't want to refer to our little person until they're here and like I've heard a few people say, if someone dislikes the names you've picked (not that we would care in any way as of course it's a very personal thing), they're less likely to pull the 'ugh, hate that name' face once it's physically attached to a teeny tot.

We first started talking names about three months in - past the 'safe' stage. It was during a trip to Wales in the car - following the obligatory singing of a rock ballad / duet on Smooth FM - standard! I had started a little list on my phone and read each name out. I was rather proud of my choices and was feeling pretty sure that Mr J would agree with a name for each sex and there we go, job done. Ha ha ha ha haaaa. We ended up with a shortlist of about three names in total (not even per sex!), and even then I'd started to go off some of the names on the now micro list myself...so it was back to the drawing board.

A few weeks later, I came home to a little tub with pieces of paper in and was asked to pull them out one by one and read them aloud for us to discuss. I was given the instruction of not pulling my face at any of them but to at least try and be diplomatic and open minded - it was hard not to at some of them but I behaved (ish) and read each one out. I couldn't not laugh at one of the names however - he'd tried to make a little event of the name choosing, bless him, he's really lovely when it comes to sentimental moments like this, but when one of the names he'd entered was basically a huge-haired 80's popstar slash Eastenders trollop, I couldn't tell whether it was a joke to see how I'd react or whether he'd written it as a mistake. It wasn't a joke it seems. Or a mistake. But I did laugh. Lots. I won't mention the name for fear of offending anyone(!) but needless to say the piece of paper with THAT name on was screwed up and tossed aside!

There were two names he'd entered however that had also been in my original list and that just 'sat' with both of us, one for each sex, and so we took that as a sign that they were the 'meant to be' names and the job was done. We had our names.

Having never had a middle name myself and with my original, maiden initials of 'LL', I didn't want my child to be without one and so the thinking caps went back on for those. (Footnote: My dad even joked recently that my middle name should've been 'Olive', so that my maiden initials were 'LOL' - it would have been fitting for me, I have to say!)

Choosing middle names was a tough one too. Mr J actually goes by his middle name, his official forename being a traditional passed-down family name - a name of which his dad, cousins and uncle also have. It's such a lovely sentiment and a great tradition, particularly as the name in question is his Grandad's of who was a huge pillar of his community, was incredibly well thought of in the area, he was practically a local celebrity and sounded like a bloomin' fabulous chap all round. However, there have been impracticalities of this ie. post - when Mr J lived at home it wasn't always clear whether the post was for him or his dad, unless their middle initial was also stated - which it wasn't always; hospitals - it seems that the hubbie had two medical files - one in his actual name (first name, middle name, surname) and the other in his not-so-actual-name but the name everyone knows him as (middle name (but referred to name), surname). It has also meant that we have had to continually remember to state his official name in any official documents, which isn't always easy! This caused problems when he paid his student loan off and was owed money back - not helped by the fact that his old bank account into which his student loan was originally paid, and subsequently the over-payment paid back into, differed from his official name and so a happy bunny he wasn't! So you can imagine why, as lovely as it is, should we have a boy, I've managed to persuade him that we don't follow the tradition but will happily accept the tradition by means of a middle name and a compromise!

During a recent night out with my sister in law, we also discussed all the ins and outs of name choosing. There are so many unwritten rules, it's a wonder anyone has a name at all and we don't just shout "oi, you" at one another! The choices are made even harder when you're pretty much the last of your family and friends to 'pro-create' meaning loads of names have already gone!

She and I discussed a few of the things to consider, as follows:

- It's best to pick a name that you can shout 'nicely' across a park and that doesn't make you sound like a rogue character from 'Corrie' - especially with such a broad, Northern accent. Certain names can look lovely on paper and sound beautiful when said by someone else but when shouted with an accent......not so nice!

- You don't want too popular a name for fear of the entire class being called the same. I was one of three Louise's in my class and my brother one of four Chris's. How I didn't have a nervous breakdown at my lack of name originality and lack of middle name is beyond me (#FirstWorldProblems!) - I joke with my mum and dad about this too, so if you're reading this, I've grown to love it, don't worry :)

- With two best friends and two extended family members also currently pregnant - three of the four whom are due to give birth BEFORE us, it's best to have stand-in names in the event our names are 'nicked' before our very eyes ;) This will give us huge problems being that we don't have any stand-in names!

- You can't have a name that is destined for Eton, when in fact, they're going to be going to school in the North West...you can of course, but be prepared to hire a counsellor!

- Celebrity / famous names. Now, whilst we didn't actively look at any in this category, we did find that there were certain names that we fell in love with only to realise that we couldn't particularly use them due to our surname being Jones, for example:

* Jessica Jones - There's a new Netflix series out with this name
* Grace Jones - Crazy, singer lady
* India Jones - We LOVED this name and were so close to sticking with it. Not only do we think it's a beautiful name but India is a place we both love, having both been independently and together but, no. There's the Temple of Doom and Raiders of the Lost Ark films to consider! Doh!
* Thomas Jones - "It's not unusual..."
* Jack Jones - There's a song lyric, a shop and the fact that it's cockney rhyming slang for being on your own! No.

- There are then things that are personal to one party but not another. For example, I absolutely loved the name Freya, but it turns out this is also the name of an IT project at my husband's company, so that one soon lost its sparkle! Or maybe one of you loves a name but another hates it because you knew a slapper down the road with that name or a junkie boy. Those names soon lose their sparkle too!

- During a meal out with my best friend, it also turns out that initials are a consideration too. Names with middle names may be all very fair, well and lovely, but put the initials together and it's a bit of a bugger if those turn out to be S O D or P O O. In our case, with a J-starting surname, we need to avoid the likes of F A J or B O J.

Yep, it was a tough old one but fingers crossed we get to keep one of the two names we've got! It would be just our luck that a brand new horror film comes out the same week as it's born and of the same name! Please. God. No. Can someone please send me a Deed Poll link just in case? ;)

Don't even start me on the whole, 'but it doesn't look like a [insert name]' once we see him / her for the first time!

And don't worry, mum, (and here was something else to consider, albeit a tiny thing!) if you ARE in fact reading this, the framed Scrabble names piece you have in the hall with all our names on (for those who don't know, my mum was once given a lovely gift from a friend with all our names on spelled out in Scrabble letters - mum, dad, me brother, hubbie, sister in law, niece, nephew, our dog, brother's dog - given at a time when I think everyone had lost all hope or belief that we'd be adding to our brood!) - I've checked, mum, and the letters of our two names (girl or boy) would fit alongside the others, so please don't anyone nick our names. Life is tough enough ;) I thank you...