Lets Talk About Sex…..

Or rather the lack of sex. There’s an opener for you (no pun intended). Its been 45 days since I pushed Edward out into the world. As I’ve said before, life will never be the same again. Neither I fear, will my vagina.

At a time when I couldn’t feel less attractive, I count my lucky stars that my husband still does. Perhaps its the bigger (soon to be gone) boobs? Anyway, he does, and when I’m still walking about in maternity clothes because I’m carrying a lot of baby weight, alright, alright its excess food weight, its a big boost to me to know that he still thinks I’m sexy. Or perhaps he’s been that deprived for so long he’s slightly delusional? I’ll go with option 1!

Thing is, I feel completely weirded out by my body. Yes, its a thing of total awe and wonder when I think about how it grew, nurtured and kept our baby safe for 9 months. Thats a given, and I hope all Mums feel that way. However, underneath that, all I see is something thats ruined, something that will never be as it was, and more than anything, something that is now functional and not sexual.

I’m not breastfeeding (waits for backlash)…. Thats a topic for another day, but seeing as i’ve mentioned it, he had a poor latch and my supply wasn’t good at all. Moving swiftly on…. So Edward is formula fed, but for the first couple of weeks he did use my milk as food, as a result of that my nipples have had a meltdown and are no longer sure who they are supposed to please! My lovely flat (complete with abs) tummy now feels and looks like a pillow of marshmallow, its former incarnation buried deep under the layers on extra insulation. Generally my frame looks different, the curves are all in the wrong places. My posture is complete shite after lugging around a rather large bump in the last two months of my pregnancy. With a destroyed core, that makes walking tall with a straight back somewhat of a challenge.

Last, but by no means least, we come to the crux, or should that be crotch of the matter? I am terrified of having sex again. I really REALLY want to, but something that I can’t quite pin down is stopping me. At a time when my body doesn’t really feel like mine anymore, that’s the ultimate loss. I go over and over this in my head every day. What’s bothering me? I guess I’m worried about two things in particular….

  1. Will it hurt? I had a second degree tear which resulted in stitches, apparently its all healed, but surely its going to be painful now?
  2. Will it feel awful? I once read an analogy of it being like ‘throwing a sausage down a well’. At the time I thought that was hilarious, now it just perturbs me.

The only way to find out is to bite the bullet and do it, but the thought of it makes me tense up with fear. I know if either of my two concerns are realised, I am going to be heartbroken…particularly number 2. The idea of a ruined sex life is one that horrifies me. It opens up a whole world of worry about what could happen to us as a result.

Maybe I am being dramatic about all of this, maybe I have nothing to fear, but finding out that my worries are real is the scariest thing of all. Plus, how do I get in the mood? Despite hubby’s assurances that he still thinks I’m hot, I don’t see it, and feel nothing but self conscious. What if he’s really looking at me thinking ‘bollocks, thats who I have to sleep with forever’? It may sound mental, but I do think those things, how could I not? I am different after all. I felt like I had achieved something the other day simply by putting a watch on….hardly dressing up is it? Plus, he’s seen the damage, he looked as I was being sewn up, and whats that saying about a mans favourite pub burning down? Never the same again right? He’s off out tomorrow night, and while I sit at home in my dressing gown, he’ll be surrounded by lots of lovely young ladies who haven’t had a baby, and don’t look like death warmed up, with fully functioning vaginas….its not just the physical changes i’ve had, its my mind that feels completely fucked too….at least thats one part of me thats getting some action – even if it is rubbish

x

 

 

 

 

One Month Down 


My son is now 5 weeks old. Firstly, where the hell has the time gone? Secondly, I still find it very strange to say out loud that I have a son, but I do, and right now he’s having a nap so I’m taking my blogging opportunities where I can get them.

I’ve learnt a great deal about myself over the past 5 weeks, I’ve learnt more about my husband, more about us, and I’ve learnt that you very quickly realise that life in clean clothes is a distant memory.

I’ve also learnt that being a Mum is a lonely business. I am besotted with my son and would walk through fire for him, but he’s quite dull when it comes to making conversation. Mainly I talk at him, and he responds by looking away, looking confused, or by giving me a windy smile which is a sure fire clue that a massive poo is on its way.

To put it bluntly, a lot of the time I’m bored. How could I not be? Even when I do have things to do its stuff like making up a feed, changing nappies, and managing to eat/drink something no matter how unhealthy. I actually believe I’m powered predominantly by sugar right now. A dear friend of mine lent me her box set of “Sex And The City” which has helped to break up the day. Although it’s just finished so I need something else to give me a viewing fix.

Day to day I try and think of things to do. I’m fortunate that several of my good friends are in the same position as me, but I can’t spend all of my time with them. I also have new NCT friends, but Ed was born a few weeks before any of them had their babies so they are where I was a while back – namely in a state of sleep deprivation and unfathomable emotions, and therefore are not yet ready for meeting up.

Most days I walk into town (oh the excitement) and look longingly at clothes I can no longer fit into – turns out a lot of my pregnancy weight was down to me being a complete fat knacker in the food department and not the baby. Or I’ll find something I need to buy, last week I actually wandered in to buy a jar of Nutella (there’s that sugar again). Town is never relaxing though, I have to know where the best changing facilities are, I also have to time the trips right to avoid feed times, or have to have food with me. Seeing as my boobs don’t work that means trying to find the brain capacity to do the formula making math. Honestly I forgot it was Easter yesterday so that’s a pretty big ask. Usually I’ll end up having a drink and a slice of cake somewhere, because that’s the best way to spend my poxy SMP, and the best way to reduce my waistline of course.

Let’s not forget that when I do leave the house I do it looking a complete state. Yes I take it as a win that I manage to shower and wash my hair every morning, and put some mascara on, but by the time it comes to actually going anywhere I will either have poo or sick on me, sometimes both, and the worst thing is…..I don’t even have the energy to care. Yep, I’ve lost the will to give a shit and to wash it off.

I’ve been thinking about all of this a lot, and I think the boredom and loneliness are definitely my maternal Achilles heel. I don’t mind my current Groundhog Day lifestyle. Nightfeeds are no problem, and I love all the cuddles I get with my little man. I just miss having adults to talk to. That’s why I perk up massively during evenings and weekends when Daddy is home. It’s also why I’m looking forward to starting going to a couple of Mum & baby groups, just to get some interaction. Although I am fully aware that all chat will be about lack of sleep, sore nipples and stool colour….chicken korma is the standard response in case you are wondering.

I wouldn’t change my life for the world, but man alive this first bit is tough. So many huge changes that no baby book can prepare you for. It’s hit the ground running and hope for the best time. Life has been flipped upside down by our little bundle and the adjustment from who I was to who I am now is huge. It’s a beautiful relentless privilege to be a parent. One I am so grateful to have, but I am going to reserve my right to have a bloody good moan about it whenever I like…seriously, it helps me stay sane!

X

Three Is Family


I have been wanting to write this for weeks now, funny how you can never find the time with a newborn. So I am taking advantage of Daddy daycare courtesy of the Easter weekend and finally getting round to posting my birth story.

Tuesday 14th March, I didn’t wake up feeling different like a lot of women say they did. However, I did wake up pissed off with the amount of pain in my hips and the mahoosive size of my feet. Seriously, they were ridiculous, even the giant grandma style shoes I had bought could barely contain them. I also knew I HAD to get to Sainsburys and stock up on essentials – just in case.

I had a couple of obligatory ‘any sign of baby’ messages during the morning. At this point I am going to state that these texts do not help at all, so please, please stop it. The last thing a heavily pregnant lady needs is to have to reply to messages like that. Anyway, I digress….

Back from shopping I had lunch and settled down to yet another exciting afternoon of general knowledge starting with Fifteen to One. However, about 2:30pm I rapidly developed horrendous back pain. “Oh how wonderful, yet another delightful symptom of being 9 months gone” I moaned to nobody but myself. I didn’t for a second think that anything was starting. I decided to listen to my hypnobirthing CD but couldn’t concentrate on it. Then just after 3 pm there was a twinge, and 5 minutes later there was another one. I started to wonder if things could be kicking off, but decided to leave it a bit before calling the hospital. When the twinges continued I decided to make the call. Only to be told that it was probably false labour, and would stop soon. Silly lady on the phone…….

Chris arrived home about 5:15 and said that I was very red in the face as I bounced up and down on the birthing ball. That conversation went as follows….

C: Are you okay babe, you look very red?

Me: Yep I’m okay, I’m having contractions

*Cue husband turning into an excited puppy and leaping about the front room*

C: Really? Okay cool, how far apart are they?

Me: Every 3 minutes

*Cue husbands colour completely drain from his face, and no more leaping*

We were on our way to the hospital at 6:30, its about 50 minutes away and we did it a tad quicker oddly enough. When we arrived we went straight up to the birth centre, I had wanted a water birth and the pool was available. I was examined and was 5cm dilated by that point. The midwife said my waters were bulging and babies head was right behind them. In my birth plan I had stated that I wanted gas and air, but decided not to in the end. I didn’t want to miss anything, or be groggy and not be able to follow instructions should they be needed.

I got in the pool at 7:30pm and was immediately soothed by the water. We had our wedding playlist on, and Sheryl our lovely midwife just left us to it. Between contractions  I was able to carry on conversations and wasn’t feeling any discomfort in those moments. The contractions got stronger, and I began mimicking a cow by moo’ing my way through them. Just after 8pm my waters went – thank fudge I was in the pool already, I’d had increased fluid around the baby and it would have made a hell of a mess if they had gone on dry land. The force of those waters going were pretty violent, they could have propelled me from one side of the pool to the other if there was room.

I sent Chris to get Sheryl as I immediately felt the urge to push. From that point time went by very quickly, I was still managing the pain myself, and baby’s heart rate was stable throughout, but I knew I didn’t have long to go. The moo’ing got louder and the respite between contractions was down to about 45 seconds. I’m not sure when exactly I started pushing, but it didn’t feel like long at all, and at 9:45pm our little Edward entered the world.

Now at this point I am going to big myself up for doing this without any pain relief, and I know thats probably not popular, but its my story so I don’t care. I am a woman that had a baby without drugs to help, and I am so proud of myself for doing it that way. Thats not a slur against anyone that does take advantage of whats on offer at all, perhaps if I had a longer labour I would have been screaming for the entire contents of the pharmacy to be brought to me immediately. I don’t necessarily think I have a higher pain threshold than anyone else either, I just believed that my body could do what it needed to do, and I just had to have faith and go with it. I also wanted to offer hope and positivity to other ladies out there waiting to go through this process who might be scared. You have so got this, and even when its hurting like hell, keep in mind what you get at the end of it. The pain literally does stop straight away. My boy was 8lb 5oz, so a decent size. I suffered a second degree tear, which I did not feel happen either.

Back to the story, Ed didn’t come into this world loudly, in fact he was very chilled out. He had a cuddle with his very proud Dad whilst I was stitched up (again, not painful). What did hurt was the injection in my thigh to get the placenta out. Chris decided to FaceTime his Mum at this point, not great whilst I’m in stirrups with everything on display, thats not something that anyone needed to see, especially my mother in law.

Just after midnight we went down to the ward, I was lucky enough to give birth at a hospital that allowed Dads to stay too. For anyone thats interested it was St Richards Hospital in Chichester and I would recommend it to anyone. That first night was surreal, we were both knackered, but couldn’t sleep as it was too exciting that we were now a three. We stayed in until late afternoon the day after he was born, and then we were released out into the world, ready to come home and start family life.

As any new parent can imagine, life since that moment has changed dramatically and I have so much more writing to do about my/our experiences already. I’m still working out how to find the time, as first and foremost I want to be there for my son, and everything else is taking a back seat. A month has passed us by already, those early days are all a bit of a blur, I have struggled a lot with my hormones and being very emotional, but that fog is starting to lift and I am feeling more confident as ‘Mum’ all the time.

This post will never do justice to the experience that we had, the day that a couple became a family, the day that our tiny human started his own story, the day that our beautiful Son was born.

x

Money Talks


So today is pay day. my first pay day that incorporates an element of SMP. Crux of it, it was less than I thought, less than I had planned for. Result = anxiety.

For me, my relationship with money has been very difficult. When I was born my Mum knew she wanted to be there to raise me as much as possible, she therefore didn’t work until I was 3. Now, despite the fact that she was looking after me and running the house, she was seen as less of a person because she didn’t financially contribute.

I’m going no further down that path, but needless to say, I noticed certain behaviours and actions, and from a very young age took on the belief that relying on anyone else for money was a bad thing to do. As far back as I can actually remember, I have thought that it isn’t right to have someone look after you when it comes to finances. This belief was reinforced at various points because of ‘other’ incidents. This has been a huge issue for me and one that I have been coached on successfully.

You might be thinking “can’t have been that successful if you’re harping on about it now”. Its really not that simple though. Believe me, I have made huge strides in this area. Lack of earning power was the only mind block I had when it came to starting a family, because I couldn’t face up to not having a regular wage each month, and we are now a month away from our baby being born.

Sorry, I’m going to sing the husbands praises again at this point, but its my blog, so my rules. Chris is my teammate, always has been, always will be. I know that he would look after me forever if thats he route we decided to go down, I know that if the roles were reversed and he needed looking after, I would do it gladly and without question. However, the reality of losing my London wage is still unsettling.

I can pin it down to one thing……I don’t want to be a burden to him. I don’t want to be a reason he is stressed about having to find more money to support the three of us. He works so hard already, and I can’t/wont put that on him. I’ve made a concerted effort to save as much as possible, in doing that I know that I can be off for a year and still make the same financial contribution to the household expenses, plus have money for myself. This in itself is something I am both hugely proud of, and also pretty sad.

I genuinely take my hat off to women that are comfortable in this situation, that must be a totally liberating feeling. I just cant get there. Even though I fully appreciate that staying at home and raising a family is a huge job, and certainly isn’t a case of putting your feet up while your other half busts his balls every day. Plus I’m not actually there yet, so I have no idea how hard/demanding its going to be. However, the idea of having to go to him and ASK FOR MONEY makes me feel physically sick. The mere notion of it actually upsets me, I just fly straight back to my early years and I can see all that shit unfolding all over again. Clearly there is still work to do around this, and I am committed to doing it.

The amount of time I spend with my head in my trusty spreadsheet is fucking ridiculous. Rows and columns full of formulas, that have ‘kept me safe’ until now. I have always had a year planned out, every penny is accounted for. How much can I save? How much can I spend on ‘fun stuff’, how much needs to go to the house, and where does that leave me? Somehow Excel has provided me with the illusion of a safety net. But thats all it is, an illusion. This is a situation that I can’t control, and in reality, I never could.

All I can do going forward is wait until the middle of each month and see how much plonks itself into my bank account, my vision to predict my financial future has gone. Its scary, very scary. However, the more I think about it, the more i find it quite freeing. I don’t want to live my life like this anymore. I don’t want our child to pick up on this odd behaviour, I don’t want this little niggle in my head to hold me back in any way.  Its toxic and it has to go.

So whats the answer? Looks like its time to have some faith. Time to believe that I’ll be okay without a salary, time to really let go and trust that I have nothing to fear. I have to believe that the dots will connect going forward, there is no other way. Ready, set, go……….

x

 

 

Putting Pen To Paper


As you may well know, I am very interested in the world of life coaching, I’m like a sponge when it comes to this stuff, trying to soak up as much as my mind will allow, which isn’t actually that much at the moment sadly.

Anywho, I belong to a little group on FB which is only for my coaches previous clients, they’re a lovely bunch of people in there. Everyone genuinely seems to want everyone else to do well, for them to ‘get there’ wherever ‘there’ is. Its a place of total empowerment, honesty, bravery and kindness, and I bloody well adore it.

Over Christmas a lady in the group suggested pen pals for 2017. What a marvellous idea! You see, while I am typing this out on a keyboard, and whilst I know this will appear somewhere on the web, I feel its hugely sad that we’ve lost touch with the art of actually hand writing a letter to someone.

For most of us, the only things that come through the letterbox these days are bills, and far too many of them. Unless its a birthday or Christmas, there’s hardly anything nice to pick up off of the mat. So how refreshing it would be to see an envelope without a window, and a stamp instead of a franking label?

There’s something hugely personal about a handwritten letter for me, it means that real care has been taken, thought and consideration have gone into it, and its a snippet into someone else’s world, which for me is always fascinating.

There was a bittersweet feel about this for me. Many years ago, like almost 30 years ago, I asked my Nan if we could be pen pals. I didn’t get to see her that much, and felt like it would be something that I just shared with her. She was over the moon to be asked to do this, she would have been about 73 at the time, and loved the idea of getting to know me via letters. To my shame, and this is still something I bitterly regret, I think I wrote her one or two letters at most and then I got bored. Nan would bring it up fairly often as I got older, and I’d just look a bit sheepish and change the subject. I let her down, because I was only 8 and didn’t see the importance of it all, I didn’t get how much it meant to an old lady who just wanted a better connection to her Granddaughter. That’s something that I cant ever make up to her now, and so I knew if I was going to do this it would be done properly.

All those that were interested paired up, some people asked for more than one pen pal. I’d be totally up for that apart from lack of time and energy, and I didn’t want to let anyone down by being ‘the shit girl that never responded’.

The lady that I joined letter writing forces with is a total sweetheart, I follow her blog, I love her posts in the little FB group, and I felt that this could be a really cool thing to do.

So, we agreed first of all that there would be no pressure on the frequency of the letters, both of us felt that it needed to be genuine, and not a forced ‘letter a week’ type scenario. We would right when we could, and not hold each other to ransom if a reply didn’t appear immediately. Like the rest of the world, we are busy people and both have responsibilities.

I was pipped to the post (no pun intended) as a letter came through the door about a week later. I was so excited to read it, to see how our written relationship would start. It was a wonderful letter, full of insights into her family, her busy life, and into who she was. I was thrilled to see a few well chosen and well placed swear words, and laughed openly several times as I read it. Then I re-read it, and read it some more. It felt like a real privilege to be allowed in to someone’s world, someone who apart from our connection on social media, was unknown to me.

What touched me the most was a card that she had made me as well, that’s the one at the top of this blog post. I’ll keep the message inside for myself, but needless to say, I was pretty blown away by it. She didn’t have to do that, but clearly our interactions had struck a chord with her. I had lifted her spirits, and helped her just by being myself, and by being genuine, and in turn she had done the same for me. I have high hopes for this ‘project’ if you will, who knows, it could be the start of an awesome friendship.

I have written back, and I totally enjoyed the process too. I zoned out, I didn’t look at my phone, I didn’t think about the next thing I had to do, I was ‘in that letter’, in the moment with it and what I was writing. I had a message to say it had been received and that she couldn’t wait to read it. Just seeing that made me smile.

So, if there is someone you haven’t spoken to for a long time, and you’ve been thinking about getting in touch with them, maybe write a letter instead of sending a text. Unless you’re like me and keep all texts (yes, its odd I know) then that text isn’t going to last very long, it’ll disappear along with all the others, deleted, or lost, or dropped down the loo, it may not even get noticed. But a letter, a letter is different, its a keepsake, its for them, or for you, its deeper, more meaningful, and I bet it’ll really put a smile on someone’s face. It’ll hurt, I mean seriously my hand was bloody agony at the end of it because I’m so out of practice. The world we have moved into is based on keystrokes and not joined up writing. That aside, its so worth it. Something that is so simple, and that’s the beauty of it. Completely unfettered by modern life. Its stripped back and basic, which is something that I for one sorely needed.

x

As One Door Closes


I’m not quite sure where my heads at with all of this at the moment. I’m hoping that by getting it out of my noggin and onto a page it will start to make sense to me. By ‘this’ I mean the fact that on 9th February I finish work for a year to go on MAT leave.

Now, on the face of it, that’s a big all round thumbs up, and I’d say 99% of me agrees, but I cant ignore that quiet voice that’s a bit scared of all of this.

I’ve worked for 19 years now, very nearly half my life. Its what I have filled most of my time with in that period, and its about to end.

Those that know me, know how I feel about my working life…..my views on it are not that favourable to say the least.

I don’t really have any passion or drive for what I do, I’ve done it for so long that there are no challenges in it, and the gone off slightly dodgy looking icing on that cake is my hideous commute.

All I need to say is, I travel on Southern. You can then massively sympathise with me and all will be well.

So with all that negativity, what’s with the 1% whisper that’s unsure about all of this? Its the unknown, pure and simple. It happens to all of us. In 2009 a relationship of mine ended, we’d been together 7 years and quite frankly I don’t think we should have made it to 7 months if we were really honest with ourselves. I knew for a long time that the end was coming, it had to, I’d have gone out of my mind otherwise. However, from the day that I realised “you know you are with the wrong person and you cant ignore it anymore” it took another 9 months for the relationship to end. Why? Because so much of my identity was wrapped up in that couple. I’d lost myself in it, and the thought of being out there alone was fucking scary.

I don’t think that there is anything wrong in admitting that at all. I stayed because I was afraid, and that wasn’t the only time that had happened in my life, but that’s a path I’m not going down.

What the hell would I do without being in that relationship? Where would I go? How would I spend my time? Even things like how to do the food shopping as a singleton had me holding off the inevitable.  Needless to say within a few weeks of the spilt, I found my feet, and it was an awesome experience. Yes I had the unnerving feeling of ‘starting all over again’ but whats wrong with that? Everything in my life had stagnated, and this was a push that I greatly needed.

So, back to the present, I guess my feelings about MAT leave are similar to my past experience. Obviously I know this is a ‘no choice’ situation, but in terms of getting my head around it, the process I am going through is the same. All that time spent at a desk, reconciling, analysing, formatting etc….and moaning. Yes, a lot of my time has been spent moaning. You see for all its faults, my current situation serves me, it gives me an income, and something to be pissed off about.

Same with that old relationship, it wasn’t right for me at all, but it gave me a place in the world, one where I could hide away from actually ‘living’ instead of existing.

As I came into London this morning and saw the city skyline, I felt a twinge of sadness. The realisation that the door on this particular chapter is coming to a close hit me hard, because its not just this role, its all the roles I have had since I decided not to go to University and instead get a job as an office junior all those years ago.

So now I have to detangle myself from this ‘identity’ of Finance bod, for its not who I am anymore, its not who I am going to be ever again. There is a new role coming, one that I am hopelessly unprepared for, that throws me straight in at the deep end without guidance, and one that I am hugely excited about. I’ll be the ultimate newbie. With a complete new skills set to develop. My proficiency in Excel isn’t going to help me when I am up to my ears in baby poo.

I’ve come a long way since I was 19, both professionally and personally, I don’t think the younger me would ever have seen herself at this point in her future. She couldn’t see any further than  the next payday. Funny how we all change over time.

12 working days, that’s all that stands between me as Finance Professional and me as ‘Mum’, 12 days until the corporate wardrobe is discarded and the maternity jeans step in to take their place – for the next few weeks anyway. 12 days until I no longer have to deal with (unnamed) people in the office and their last minute demands, 12 days until my soul destroying commute becomes a thing of the past and I get back to the point of finding a train journey enjoyable (maybe).

Almost two decades, and we’re down to the last 12 days………..bring it the fuck on

x

To The One Who Kicks Me


It’s a totally bizarre feeling to completely and utterly love someone you’ve never met, but that’s the current situation.

I’m now 34 wks pregnant…time flies right? I’m in this very weird place of wanting to meet you so badly, but not wanting this bit to end. You see, you might be the only time I do this, the only time my body works actual miracles, let’s face it ladies that’s exactly what we’re doing here.

Every little move you make pulls on my heart strings, you make me feel superhuman, I know that whatever lies ahead, you will always be the thing that I am most proud of. I never thought I’d get here you see. For a long time I convinced myself that you were not part of the picture, and that I was okay with that. That’s a big fat lie your Mums just admitted to.

You were always in the picture, in the background or on the edges, it’s just meeting the right person to help get you here was the hardest part, and letting myself believe that as a result of that you could actually go from a picture in my head to an actual little person was no easy thing either, I’ll explain all that to you someday.

There was the tick tock of time too, we don’t get an endless amount of it to do as we want, but fortune favoured us and now you are on your way. In no time at all you’ll be out in the world and not warm in my tummy.

I do wonder what you are doing in there. You feel like a little Octopus sometimes with kicks being felt in all directions, like there’s a rave going on…now I’ve been to a few of them and I know what goes on – just saying!


What do I know about you so far? Well you’re very contrary, you’ll kick the bejesus out of me but the minute your Dad touches my stomach you’ll play musical statues. That’s something else I know, you like your music. You seem to favour Mumford & Sons, Offspring and the Foo Fighters in particular. This pleases me – these are good choices, although there was that one day you went wild to Whitney Houston…there will be none of that under my roof. Your Dad thinks/hopes/prays that you’re a budding drummer, he’ll show you the drum room soon enough. He’s getting pretty good. If ever I can’t find the pair of you, that’s where I’ll look first.

You like to keep me awake, and do you know what?  That’s absolutely fine. In those wee small hours when your Dad is snoring his head off next to me, I lay in the dark and think about how lucky I am, what a phenomenal, wondrous and huge privilege it is already to be your mum, so you kick away my little one. Right now, I am solely responsible for you, Dad looks after me and therefore you, but making sure you get here safely is down to me, and I want to do what’s right by you.

Oh, you should also know that Dad and I have nicknamed you Norm, and I’m afraid that no matter what goes on your birth certificate, that’ll probably be what you are called the most. Look you might not like it, but there are far worse things to be called, you can trust me on that….

It’s impossible not to imagine what you’ll look like, we both have our theories on this, will the ginger gene win through and you’ll be a redhead like me? Here’s hoping! You are likely to be tall though Norm, it runs in both families. You could be a long baby as well, both of your parents were.

We love laughter and silliness in our house, and we both have everything crossed that you’ll inherit my sense of humour, as I am blatantly the funnier parent. Your Dad is the brains of the operation, full of so much knowledge and an unnerving number of random facts. If you ever play against him at trivial pursuits…well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

In all seriousness though, we don’t want to push hopes and dreams on to you, because they are ours and not yours. I don’t want to steer you in a certain direction, or to tell you which path to follow. I will never make you a promise I can’t keep. All I want you to know is that your Dad and I will be by your side in whatever you do, we’ll teach you and arm you as best we can. When life hurts you, and it will my darling, we’ll be the arms that will make you feel at home. Now, whilst I am always available, may I suggest that you go to your Dad for the greatest hugs – top tip there. Above all else, we will love you, without condition, for all of our days.

It’s not going to be plain sailing, we’ve never done this before, and neither have you. Plus, we really like our sleep, so if you could keep that in mind it would be appreciated. However, we are already a family, and you are the best addition we could have ever asked for.

So, you keep on doing what you’re doing, I’ll keep doing what I’m doing and soon enough we’ll get to meet. Soon enough two will become three and life as we know it will change forever. May you stay safe in there for a little longer Norm, I don’t want to see you for at least 3 weeks okay?! You do as your Mum tells you, for the time being anyway.

Before I sign off I just wanted to say thank you, I can’t put the reasons why I’m thanking you into any logical order, or even into words, but one day perhaps I’ll be able to, right now all I know is that you are bringing me, well us, to the start of something that we are beyond excited about.

With untold amounts of love to you my baby

Mum xx

PS when you arrive it’ll be bright and loud and scary, but we’ll both be there with open arms for you. There could be a few people around, I’ll be the one looking like an exhausted mess, and your Dad will be sobbing in a corner. X