Today kicked my butt. And I mean really kicked. my. butt.
It started at 5.40am when the same council workers that had been there at 10pm last night, arrived and started their day of work outside my home. This alerted the dog who deemed it necessary to tell the whole neighbourhood there were strangers afoot! As you might imagine, loud dogs wake babies. In this case, my two.
I’ve been pooped on (twice), pee’d on, thrown up on (again, twice), painted on and scraped mashed potato off my leg.
I may have forgotten deodorant in all the excitement and that…
No. It means No. No questions, no conversations, just No. My child doesn’t seem to get that, unless she’s the one saying it.
When she hears ‘No’, she hears:
Maybe just one more.
Or Two more
Maybe mum will do her crazy yelling thing if I do it again.
She doesn’t really mean no.
Of course it means do it again.
It’s totally ok to keep pulling the dogs ears.
‘No!’ It means I’ve had enough of saying No, and I’m now yelling it because:
There is an impending accident.
There is a close call.
Her drink is about to go flying…
To everyone that’s recently turned thirty, hold onto your hats — next week you turn forty! It’s clear that those numbers don’t stack up, but hear me out.
I recently turned 40. The big 4–0. And to be honest, that number always seemed so far into the future that I never truly thought the day would come. And now I’m wondering just how quickly I’ll get to fifty, or sixty? *insert screaming-face emoji here*
It’s not the number that bothers me but the fact that, inevitably, my time as a living, breathing human will eventually come to an end. Fact…
When I was 22, I bought a pair of Converse shoes. It wasn’t my first pair and certainly not my last — but it was a special pair. Why so special? They have always been my favourite pair of shoes and as a result, they’ve been on some pretty special adventures.
When I did a ski season, they took me up and down the mountain each day as I hitchhiked up to my job with my mates. Then they went on the road trip afterwards — an endless summer of beaches, beers and music with the best friends in the…
Have you ever looked into a child’s eye? I mean really, really looked. At the shape — round, oval, how they sit so neatly under the eyebrows. The size, how delicate and petite they are, like a perfect marble. And how perfect the skin around it is.
As an exclusively breastfeeding mum who didn’t really share the job with anyone else, I spent hundreds of hours up close with my babies, no more than 10 inches from their face. All hours of the day, in all manner of places. …
Then there’s the daycare drop-off and getting to my desk by 8.30am. Then I have 9 hours of dealing with sometimes questionable individuals before making a break for it to get back to daycare by 6pm for the evening pickup. Drive home in time to feed the baby dinner, bath her and then breastfeed before getting her in bed as close to 7pm as possible. Hopefully, amongst all that, I’ve managed to wash the bottles and start the sterilizer plus start defrosting a meal cooked the previous weekend for hubby and I, otherwise it’ll be cheese on toast or take-away…