The one with the birth story

 So after watching One born every minute, wiping away the tears of relief (that i never have to do that again) and shrugging off the ever so slight pangs of broodiness I decided to share my birth story. I’ve read so many birth stories, some of my favourites on the Gas and Air blog  by lovely Clemmie or @midwifeyhooper as she’s known on the social media scene or Sian at Quite Frankly she said shares lots of beautiful birth stories. 

Before I start the actual birth but let me just fill you in on my pregnancy, it was a much wanted and waited on pregnancy. We took two years to concieve then spent the first 26 weeks of the pregnancy worried about a few niggles, bleeding and fetal growth. By the 3rd tri my body had finally got used to being pregnant and my little bean had decided to do some serious growing.

So my actual story begins on a Wednesday afternoon in June 2015. I’m 37+3 and feeling pretty relaxed. My maternity leave had begun and the weather was glorious. I had a friend over for lunch, we scoffed tea and biscuits and I showed her my maternity leave project- an old pine ottoman that I was sanding down to paint white for a toy storage box. She was giggling as I shovelled biscuits in my mouth with one hand and frantically sanded this box with the other. “You’re going into labour tonight and that box will never get finished” Ha! I laughed, and reminded her that after 2 long years and this being my second pregnancy that I knew my body pretty well and this baby wasn’t making an appearance any time soon. That night the other half was working an overnight shift, his last one he’d promised until after the baby as I was worried about going into labour at home alone with my son. So off he went and I went to bed. 3.10am the following morning I woke to the warm trickle, the momentary panic that my pelvic floor had finally given up the ghost and I was actually just wetting myself subsided and I realised my waters had broken. There was no pop that some people speak of, no massive gush. With my first son my waters were broken for me so I never knew what to expect. So I snuck out of bed (son was sleeping next to me as he often did when daddy was on overnights, more for my comfort than his own I think!) and called baby daddy, he got home and off we went to get me checked out. I was having no contractions at this point but the water was still coming. 

I’d toyed with the idea of the birth centre, only off put being the lack of epidurals! But the midwife reassured me the labour ward was literally across the way so I could move if I decided. So I was examined on a beanbag type thing on the floor, all lovely and very non-surgical but I wasn’t sure if it was for me. I kinda like the security and glamour of hospital gowns and stirrups. The midwife decided it was not my waters at all and that I was just having “increased discharge” (sorry for that, I even cringed typing it) We left feeling pretty deflated with advice to wait and see. I was pretty sure I knew the difference between  water and heavy discharge (sorry again). At home I got into bed with my son and we watched 2 or 3 movies back to back. I was suddenly very aware that these were our last moments together as just us, a family of 3…and lazy movie days with him may be a thing of the past, at least for a while. By 7pm with still no pains I managed to convince A to take me back to the hospital. The water was still coming, I was going back and I refused to leave without a baby this time. On examination they decided and agreed that yes, In fact it was my waters that broke (almost 24 hours ago) and now I was at increased risk of infection they were inducing me there and then! Now I must admit, there was a whiff of “I told you so” in the air.

So off I went to the ward, phoned home to say goodnight to my eldest and delight at the possibility of a new baby sister in the morning! They didn’t have a bed on the labour ward for me yet so we patiently waited for one to become available. All the while I was aware that my waters had been broken for near on 24 hours. We waited and waited, 3am came and went. After this I had to sign some sort of release form stating I understood that my labour had not been started within the 24hours and the reasons were beyond their control etc…all a bit of a blur to be honest! By 8am I was on the labour ward and the induction was started. I had actually started having mild contractions on my own but was so ready to get this going properly. I was exhausted!

Epidural in (amen) Drip going, I managed to relax a little bit. As I was an infection risk I had two midwives by my side the entire time, God bless them! A couple of hours went by and my contractions weren’t progressing as they’d have hoped so they upped the dosage on the drip and we waited some more. They were hoping for 3 contractions in 10 minutes but my body was maxing out at 1-2 every ten mins. It is procedure also to keep internal exams to a minimum when waters have broken early so they’d examined me once at the start and decided once my contractions were more regular they’d examine me again! It was around 11.30am when my lovely lady broke the news that they were struggling to monitor baby’s heart rate so may have to put a clip on her head, now I’d seen this little metal fish hook like contraption in my NCT class and was so not up for this! But I understood it was for the best. We decided to wait another 10 mins or so and then push on (excuse the pun!)

Lying there, tired, dazed, and suddenly very nauseous I proceeded to vomit all over myself and the midwife who passed me a sick bowl just one second too late. Mid-vom my other half poked his head around the corner- “oh my god!” He declared. This was echoed by the two midwives who then hurriedly lifted the sheet covering my legs to reveal a little brown haired, blue skinned baby! Yes ladies and gentlemen, I vomited out my baby. Literally, threw up and out popped my little daughter. Just to set the scene- sick bowl in one hand, baby in the other, legs still all over the shop and blood everywhere. But for the second time, I had found my happy place. The final piece of our puzzle. My other half delighted in telling people that our daughter literally “fell out” but that’s another story.

The following few hours are a blur of visitors, nausea and constantly asking people “am I acting weird?” Convinced all the drugs had sent me to another dimension and everyone was looking at me like I had two heads. My lovely midwives could not get over how my little bundle had arrived and said they had never ever experienced a birth like mine, I vaguely remember telling them I was going to sell my story to Mail Online (lol)

So there you have it, Baby I fell into the world -26th June 2015/12.27pm/7lbs5oz to complete our little family.

Pink Pear Bear

Admission Impossible


So the time is looming and I feel nowhere near as prepared or capable as I should be for the challenge. My 10 year old is about to enter his last year of primary school. You know, that cosy, familiar, nurtering bubble. Well that will soon be swapped for a school bag the size of a small car and a blazer ten times too big, bustling halls and public transport. My big fish is soon to become a very very small fish in a bloody huge pond.

I think he’s far more prepared than me, he was sold on the “massive playing fields and swimming pool” at one of the schools we viewed. Glad to see he’s got the fundamentals right. But for me, as for all parents facing the same its so much more than that. This is my baby, my first born about to embark on the next chapter. Secondary school is a huge stepping stone, one that in my opinion begins to mould the person into the type of adult they may become. Shits about to get serious.

So besides getting over the emotional, letting my baby fly the nest stuff (OK, he’s only starting secondary school..not leaving for Afghanistan!) I’m also extremely conscious that living in London puts huge pressure on finding and bagging a place at a decent school. states that London has the highest proportion of oversubscribed schools – 69 per cent – compared with 52 per cent in South-West England. Read more on this here. Bloody brilliant. My sister lives in Surrey and literally just applied for the local secondary (which happens to be amazing) and her twins got in, along with the other 28 kids from the class. London is fiercely but subtly competitive. I’ve been told to prepare for parents avoiding eye contact at the school gates, not wanting to disclose which schools they’ve applied for, rumours of cash incentives and inside knowledge. Not to mention, being Catholic means a lot of “hoop jumping” to ensure we meet the criteria. I find this a huge pressure as it takes away from the real reason we should be attending church.

We have 4 schools on our wish list, and to be honest I’d be happy with either of them. 3 are single sex schools with great history and reputation but also hugely over subscribed and the fourth is a co-educational, new school. One that was heavily campaigned for by our governers and will practically be a feeder for our current school.

My thoughts range from what if he gets a school none of his friends get to what if we choose a school based purely on an amazing reputation and it just doesn’t get him. Although the “choose” bit of that is a bit of a lie, the only choice we have initially is what schools to write on that bit of paper. That actual choice is made by boards, panels, governers. Anyone but us. Despite how it may sound, I am trying to stay pretty relaxed about it. Ultimately, what will be will be and I’ve said to my son that whatever happens, his happiness is paramount.

What are your thoughts, is it worth the hassle and hoop jumping for a “prestigious” school that looks good on a CV? Or should we get out while we can and move to the countryside?!

A Mum Track Mind

Penny for your thoughts…

  Keeping it short and simple for this post, wondering if anyone can relate. Here are just some of the thoughts I have on a daily basis…

1. Am I doing a good job? 

2. Who left me in charge of two human beings?

3. I wish I’d napped more when I had the chance.

4. Will she be as bright as her brother?

5. Will that even matter? 

6. I need to eat better.

7. How do women work, clean the house, cook dinner and care for more than 1 kid at a time?!

8. How the hell will I manage it?

9. Can we afford a nanny and/or cleaner?

10. Is my youngest going to grow up thinking my iPhone is an extension of my arm? 

11. Am I too old for topshop? 

12. Should I give up breastfeeding now? 

13. How am I going to ever give up breastfeeding? 

14. Why must I secretly compare my children to others when I know they’re perfect the way they are? 

15. Why can celeb mums pull off trackies with a top knot and look effortlessly stylish whereas I just look like a homeless person. 

16. I must drink more water.

17. Have they had their five a day?

18. Does anyone ever actually have five a day?!

19. How many organix carrot sticks is too many?

20. Why is so much baby food orange and why am I so shit at stain removal? 

90% of these thoughts are at 2am. 

Am I the only mama with a weird, over-thinking brain that struggles to switch off? Anything you’d add to the list?

Oh, and if anyone can actually answer some of these questions I’d be eternally grateful! 


Tick box tales 

 Ever get that feeling you don’t fit in anywhere? I’ve got mum friends and non-mum friends and generally my life is pretty well balanced I’d say, but sometimes I wonder which box I would tick.

Having my fist baby young (20) automatically put me in that “young mum” category. Despite not being that young my baby face (soz about that) often meant I was faced with awkward questions like “are you the nanny?” Or “is he your little brother?” When he started school was when it became especially apparent as he goes to school in a fairly affluent part of SW London where your average mama is mid-late thirties. It never bothered me as such but one day my boy came home and said he wished I was older like the other mums. Why?! I wondered if it was because the other families seemed to have it more “together” at that point (whatever the hell that means) We were still in our mid twenties trying to figure life out, muddling through and raising our boy…these parents were knee deep in mortgages and life insurance plans. Luckily now my 10yo is grateful for his youthful (lol) mama who can win the parents race at sports day with her eyes closed.

So I spent my twenties hanging around the outskirts of most groups, dipping in and out when I felt relevant. My non-mum friends were doing what most twenty-somethings were, spending summers in Ibiza, jumping from job to job, boozing and the sleeping in every weekend. My mum friends, whilst we shared some interests that mostly revolved around the kids (football, homework, when little Freddie is doing his holy communion) that’s kind of where it ended. Me and the other half even dabbled in some socialising with some other parents and whilst a select few are actually some who i’d now consider real friends the majority of the time we just didn’t click. Not because they weren’t nice people or the fact they were 10+ years older but because we were just in different places in life with only one common denominator- the littles.

Fast forward 5 years or so and I’m on baby number 2. She may as well be baby number 1 as its been so bloody long I sometimes doubt myself and my ability. Saying that, you may think you’ve forgotten everything but then stuff happens and you go, oh yes I remember this. Like at 2am/4am/6am  when the little darling is clawing at my boobs for a feed I remember that my first was bottle fed and slept through from 4 months. Or when I’m scrubbing 3 week old broccoli from the creases in the highchair I remember that broccoli is a bitch to get out.

Anyway, with it being so long I decided to do the whole nct/antenatal thing and met a really lovely group of mums. All around my age and of similar interests. I decided not to be that annoying mum in the antenatal class’s that knew all the answers, turns out there was no fear in that happening! These first time mums knew it all, they were bright eyed, keen and eager to learn, armed with Google facts, bounty packs and pre-natal vitamins coming out of their ears. I was more concerned whether they were serving chocolate biscuits or digestives in the break and if I’d be finished in time for the school run. Don’t get me wrong, it was great to refresh my memory and I lapped up the round of applause I got for birthing a 9lb2 baby with no cuts or tears (I know, get me!) but yet again I was stuck straddling either side of this tick box. Yes they were the same age, similar jobs, interests etc but I was again in such a different place in my life. I’ve actually kept in touch with only one of these mums, her babe is a similar age to mine and hey, it’s never too early to start a mini #girlgang  We keep our friendship simple, sharing our common interests (our kids and wine) and that works! As I slide comfortably into my thirties I’m becoming more of a me-pleaser and less of a people pleaser.

I guess what I’m trying to say is we don’t have to tick just one box, and we don’t have to tick all of them. Sod it, draw your own box and start from there. That’s what I’m doing anyway.


3 Little Buttons

Well this is exciting! 

 So I’ve been nominated by the lovely Petite Olive Blog for my first Liebster Award. I’ll be honest, as a complete newbie to this I had to do a quick search to find out what this meant.

A Liebster Award is basically a snazzy way for New Bloggers (under 1000 followers) to connect, get their blogs seen and discover others. I absolutely love this idea, it can be pretty daunting starting something new and in a world where “parent bloggers” and the likes are ten a penny it’s hard to get yourself seen.

Not saying I’m the next Mother Pukka but you gotta start somewhere right?! 😉

So here’s the rules, I answer the questions put forward by Petite Olive. I then make up my own 11 questions and nominate 11 new  bloggers. If you are nominated you answer the questions given and start your very own chain with your own questions. Don’t forget to mention and link the blog who originally nominated you.

Get it? Ok here’s my answers:

1. What made you start blogging? A lightbulb moment during a night feed 💡I was inspired by the high calibre of female and parent bloggers out there right now.

2. What’s your favourite TV series? Eastenders

3. What’s your favourite restaurant? Nandos

4. What’s your biggest fear? Serious illness/death

5. Who are you the biggest fan of? I’m my kids’ number 1 fan

6. Do you have any hobbies? I enjoy creating nursery and home prints, to sell and for my own home, instagrammin’ and Facebook, reading and walking.

7. If you could live anywhere, where would it be? Somewhere hot!

8. Baths or showers? Baths when I have the time, why do babies seem to wake up as soon as you step in a bath?

9. Are you a morning or evening person? Evening

10. What is the first thing you do when you wake up? Feed the baby whilst checking my phone 🙂

11. Righty or Lefty? Lefty!

Now my nominations are:












And the questions…

1. What is your best childhood memory?

2. What do you do for a job?

3. Why did you start blogging?

4. What would your “death row” meal be?

5. What’s your dream celebrity dinner party line up?

6. Do you have any bad habits?

7. What would be your advice for a new blogger?

8. Dark or milk chocolate?

9. Tea or coffee?

10. Trainers or heels?

11. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?
Good luck! And thanks again to  Petite Olive Blog for the nomination, check her out!


Nailed it 

As an avid lover/fan/advocate of presentable and pretty nails/toes not just on women but men too I’ve spent years roaming the “cheap and cheerful” nail shops of south west London, paying reasonable prices to have cuticles trimmed to bloody bits and to bathe my toes  in a questionably clean foot spa. Don’t get me wrong, these nail shops serve their purpose and are absolutely raking it in but after having kids I was often faced with the dilemma of 2 kids, one night out planned and no one to watch them whilst I run to get a quick mani-pedi. I wasn’t 100% comfortable with bringing them, the fumes are pretty strong in most of these shops plus some are less than welcoming when you’ve got the littles in tow. 

It was just after I’d had my little girl I noticed a new nail bar opening up in Putney. It wasn’t just any nail bar though, London Grace were offering “no nonsense, high quality nail treatments” They promised no over-filing, no excess cuticle cutting or “fakery” such as extensions. This fab place also have their own range of “no nasties” polishes, they serve snacks/drinks during your treatment (coffees, juices and even prosecco!) The deal-clincher for me though, as a mummy who likes to keep her claws in relatively good nick was the “pamper and play” Monday’s. Effectively a babysitting service whilst you get pampered!  Umm, amazing or what?!

I am yet to try this out but I can assure you they every time I’ve been there with babe no2 (1 is at school) they are smiley, friendly and fume free! I don’t feel like I need to put a gas mask on her face before we walk in, the lack of acrylics and “fakery” means there is a very fresh, airy feel to the space. 

This place is my go-to suggestion for friends with and without kids. They have literally covered all bases, I’m currently looking into booking their Grace space for my friends hen-do in August. I’m not sure I could ever bring myself to visit “USA classy nails” or the likes again *disclaimer this is not a nail shop I have visited or as far as I’m aware actually exists.* 

 London Grace are currently at

26 Putney High st SW15 1SL 
but they are also opening a second shop this month in Clapham! 

Check them out! X 

When lighting strikes twice…

It’s 2005, I’m 19 and 5 months pregnant with my firstborn son. This pregnancy was a surprise (well the surprise was that the pill doesn’t always work, who knew?!) but my boyfriend and I were dealing with it, we were scared yes but we could handle this! 

It was my 20 week scan, we were so excited about finding out the sex. I was convinced it was a boy, mum in law thought girl as I was carrying so neatly. The sonographer took the measurements she needed to take, working her way around this little wriggly worm on the screen. She did the femurs, head circumference, crown to rump. She then explained that she would be looking at the chest next, checking the organs; heart, lungs etc. I hadn’t felt nervous at all, never once in my pregnancy had I worried about the possibility of anything going wrong. I was younger and maybe a bit naive to potential problems. It was before the days of access to google at your fingertips (I had a brick Nokia with the slowest internet ever that cost me about a tenner to even log on to) so you could say ignorance was bliss. My second pregnancy could not have been more different, I actually had to put myself on a self-imposed Google ban as I was convincing myself I had every pregnancy issue going. 

I knew something was wrong when she suddenly stopped talking, she looked at the screen and then looked at me. She excused herself and returned with a man, I’m assuming he was some sort of consultant. To be honest, everything after this moment was a blur right up until I held my son in my arms. In hindsight, I’m not sure I had a flipping clue what was happening or being said half the time.

He was diagnosed with a cystic congenital adenomatoid malformation (ccam) or congenital pulmonary airway malformation as it is known today. It is a rare condition affecting only 1-25,000 babies. Where normal lung tissue should form, instead there are cysts. The cysts, depending on their size can affect the position of the heart and push down on the diaphragm. I was offered a medical termination at almost 6 months, which we didn’t even consider. I just knew he was meant to be on this earth, my baby boy fought one of his biggest battles before he even entered the world. 

On December 5th 2005 my little bundle of blue came kicking and screaming into our life, at 9lb 2 he was certainly well equipped to beat this condition. He continued to thrive and despite numerous admissions into hospital he was becoming a bright, kind and adventurous little boy. Two days after his 2nd birthday he had a lobectomy to remove the lower lobe of his left lung. He was under the care of the Royal Brompton hospital who were and are simply amazing in everything they do. Fast forward 8 years and you would  honestly never know anything had ever been wrong, the only telltale sign being his “shark bite” scar along his shoulder blade.

Now, we were assured when I fell pregnant with Isa that there was no higher risk of any complications and she proved that by arriving pretty drama free in June 2015. Besides, how unlucky would one have to be to give birth to 2 kids, 10 years apart and they both wanna give me heart failure with life threatening illnesses….nah, not gonna happen! Despite this, something still niggled at me. I found myself becoming superstitious, I seemed to have this one magpie following me everywhere so I convinced myself it was just waiting for something bad to happen. Now obviously the magpie theory was nonsense but after everything it kind of helped me make sense of it all. 

That something bad happened in November, after 10 days of suspected bronchiolitis my little girl was showing no signs if improvement, she was refusing feeds, sleeping lots then not sleeping at all, she was just downright miserable. We were admitted into hospital so she could be tube fed whilst they did further investigations. Whilst in hospital (the amazing St. Georges, Tooting) she developed a terrible stridor, the sound of her hoarse, dry and raspy voice with every breath haunts me to this day. The amount of energy it must’ve taken her tiny little body to just breathe in and out breaks my heart. Steroids and nebulisers eased the discomfort but it wasn’t until we saw an ENT consultant (my hero) that we knew what was really wrong. I was alone when I found out, the other half was on the school run with our son. It didn’t occur to me I might need him there, that was until the sting of hot tears on my cheeks and sheer panic took over. My little girl, a tiny 4 months had a mass in her airways. It was seriously compromising her breathing and they were rushing her straight to emergency theatre. What? How? Hold on, this can’t be happening…not again. It’s hard enough watching one child drift under the spell of anaesthetic and seeing them wheeled away, a tiny body drowned in wires and tape, but two? 

Panic, fear,despair, the feeling of its not fair, why us…all over again. 

 After the longest 2 hours of my life we were taken to recovery to see our little bean. The surgeon explained that the mass was a parapharangeal abscess, an infection in the deep nodes of her neck. They had drained almost 40ml of pus from it. Again, it was very rare especially in babies her age. They wanted to do further investigation once she was well to see why she could not fight this infection and it developed into something so serious. She spent 4 days intubated in intensive care whilst her airways recovered but once woken up her strength and determination amazed me, the babe was smiling after 24 hours after seeing none for almost a month then we were home 3 days later. 

Now, 4 months later I can reflect on what we went through. I can appreciate that yes, call it unlucky that something like this happened twice but as cliche as it sounds, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. It’s taken a while to get back to normal, every little cough or cold we worry if she will fight it. But again, she continues to amaze us. As does her big brother. What a blessing, our two little heroes. 

Baby rhyme time or mum wine time? 

Baby groups, some mums swear by them for sanity and socialising, others avoid them like the plague…I still can’t make up my mind.

So on Wednesday I went to my second ever baby group with my little P.  It’s a relatively new group, upstairs in a pub function room?! I hadn’t intentionally not been to any but juggling 2 kids, one of which has an extra-curricular schedule to make any mum wince, I just haven’t really had the time! 

I wasn’t a massive “baby rhyme time” mum first time round but thought I’d give it a go as that annoying “should I be doing more with my baby” feeling creeps in every now and then. I mean, as much as I’m sure she loves watching me fill the washing machine 5 bloody times a day and nothing beats bouncing around like an absolute nutjob in the jumperoo for 15 minutes so mummy can wipe down the sides (with a baby wipe obvs) we thought we’d broaden our horizons, so off we went. 

Firstly, it was absolutely pouring down. I’m talking biblical. But I’d committed, little P was strapped in and ready to go. There was no turning back! We were a bit late and I looked like a drowned rat. Ahh well I thought, it’s only a load of mums in a pub, leggings and ugg boots are like a staple mum uniform for at least 9 months right? Right? Wrong! Think twinsets and pearls, Joules and Boden. Where were the crusty cereal smears? The baby sick shoulders? I’d just walked into an episode of the bold and the beautiful with babies and I clearly didn’t get the dress code. 

The group as whole was average, sang a few songs and did some bubbles and then a bit of standard mum chat (you know the one where you pretend you’re not comparing when you ask “how long has she been crawling?” But really you’re thinking why can’t my baby do that yet?!) before leaving. Now this was just one group in one part of London and I know not all are like this, the women seemed nice enough but just not “me” whatever that is. I’m left wondering if we do these baby groups because we feel like we should, like that big invisible “mum manual” tells us that baby groups are an integral part of babies social development. Whereas, I think Little P can gain just as much enjoyment and stimulation from playing peekaboo with her brother under piles of washing, picking Cheerios off of her highchair (using that pincer grip nonetheless) and dropping them on the floor or rolling around the living room whilst mummy chases her with the Hoover! For now anyway. 

As before I know it, I’ll be dropping her off at nursery where she will be seeing new faces and interacting with babies her own age everyday, making new discoveries and exploring this wonderful, crazy world without me. 

Is this thing on?




So I guess these things start with introductions…I must warn you I don’t exactly have a way with words and will generally just write whatever pops into my sleep deprived, coffee fuelled baby brain.


My name is Sadie, I live in London with my boyfriend (is that even a thing when you’re 30+ and 2 kids deep?!) and my aforementioned 2 kids. My precious son was a happy (scary) surprise when we were 20 years old. We had been together for 4 years but were nowhere near ready for a child. But somehow we muddled through and 10 years on I think it’s safe to say we did a pretty good job.  Next up, my precious little petal (see what I did there) who is 8 months, she was very much planned. Mostly in my head for about 6 years but managed to get the other half on board eventually. Now this time round irony came to smack us in the face with a big fat nope and our little girl took a lot longer to conceive than we’d expected! After a “on the pill” pregnancy 8 years previously the boyf was convinced he had super strength sperm, ’twas not the case! So when it came to actually trying for a baby this little bean made us wait 2 years.

Now our little family is complete, I think I’m done with the whole having babies thing. As sad as it makes me, all my friends are now getting married and getting pregnant and I’m just over here like hey, I’m getting fat. There are various reasons why I’m 99% sure I won’t have any more kids but I won’t bore you. Besides, there’s still that 1% so never say never!

Now, as I mentioned before little p is approaching 9 months and the thought of work is creeping back into my head. I’ve lived a glorious 9 months in a baby bubble but reality is a bitch and I gotta keep my ass in Gucci (Topshop) I wouldn’t say I hate my job, but I’ve kinda just always done it. As I had my son so young I just fell into a job to pay bills and nursery fees and just coasted along. Now I’m thinking, do I really want to do that again? Is there more to this mama business?

I’ve toyed with the idea of being a stay at home/work at home mum. Not sure we could completely afford it but my selling point is think of the thousands we’d save in  childcare (literally thousands if you live in LDN) plus I’d get to really enjoy my time with my little p until she starts school, something I missed with my son as he was in full time childcare from 9 months. As an avid social media follower and lover of all the #mumbosses #instamums (some of my faves are @motherpukka @theyesmummum and @mre.souer to name a few!)my feed is filled with  cool, funny, sweet anecdotes to real parenting on a daily basis, not only that but these mums run successful businesses, manage to brush their hair/teeth and get dressed every day! So I look and I hit like and become inspired to do something (God knows what) and join this super cool imaginary girl gang but then I put the phone down and go back to just being me, just being a mum.

A few weeks ago, during a night feed (no my baby doesn’t sleep through and yes she does still feed at night) I was scrolling Instagram, all those cheesy motivational quotes kept popping up. They’re not all cheesy mind, but lots stink to high heaven. I got to thinking, with some help from my sister what if we created original, simple, yet relevant and real prints for homes. It’s hardly life altering or incredibly inspirational but it’s an idea. And the only ideas I tend to get involve chocolate/wine/carbs a dark room and an 8 hour sleep (did I say idea, I meant a never gonna happen daydream) I’ve only printed a few for myself so far as it’s purely in experimental stages, they aren’t bad but I want them to be better so watch this space!

Who knows, maybe I’ll be my own #mumboss eventually!