Birth Story: The Mooing She-Beast

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Today, my little jelly bean turns six months old. I can’t believe how quickly the time has gone, a full half year of being a mama. And it’s been wonderful. It got me thinking though about how she arrived, so I thought it was about time I tried to write about her birth.

To be honest, it’s something I’ve spent a lot of time trying to forget, but I don’t really want to forget, not really, why would I want to forget how my perfect little girl joined us earth side and made my life infinitely better, forever? But I needed some time. It wasn’t a pain free beautiful experience that I see so often written about. That, in itself, made me feel inadequate, as if I did something wrong, and I couldn’t cope with that for a long time. So, family, if you’re reading, unless you would like a graphic blow by blow account of how I vomited in a pool while mooing like a cow, I strongly suggest you stop reading now. The rest of you, get a cuppa, it was 60 hours from first contraction to baby. 


When I turned 41 weeks, I was offered a sweep, by that point I resembled a whale, and with all babies in mine and toms family turning up at 37 weeks, I was not envisaging still being pregnant, and anyone who knows me, knows that patience is not my strongest quality, so I wanted out, raspberry leaf tea, Clary Sage oil baths, (I don’t think I’ll ever be able to smell that ever again without flashbacks), bouncing on a ball, did nothing except tire my legs and make me smell like Camden Market. So there I was, hot, bothered, fat, impatient, laying back and thinking of England, (much the same that got me into this pickle), and I swear to god, I saw stars. She was not gentle. I went home, feeling like I had passed some strange right of passage, certain it’ll all get going soon. And it did, of a fashion.

That evening, I started to get progressively worse period type pain, and then around midnight, first contraction *this is it!*. It wasn’t. They were coming every 15 mins, like clockwork., I’ve heard of people just going about their business, having something to eat, gently bouncing on a Yoga ball, smiling i
nto the middle distance and stroking their belly. How I envy these women.


By the morning, I’d had a total of half an hours sleep, and contractions were every 5 minutes and Really. Fucking. Hurt. Also, jelly bean had been a little quiet, so I figured it was time to call the MLU. They weren’t interested, I didn’t even get to speak to a midwife. They told me to go to the maternity day care at the local hospital, when I spoke to them, however, they said, I couldn’t go there and from the sounds of things I needed to go to the MLU or the maternity ward. So off we went. *this is it*. It wasn’t.

We arrived at the hospital,  I was on my knees in the carpark. The contractions were that strong. I’m not a wimp, either. But they weren’t getting any faster than 5 minutes apart. By the time we got up to the ward, they were averaging about 7 minutes. I had a lovely student midwife, but they were busy and obviously keen to get rid of me. Which was okay, I didn’t want to be there anyway, but I did want my baby. They gave me codeine. Codeine slows everything down. I didn’t realise at the the time, otherwise I would of refused. Thanks for that. They sent us home. I passed out on Tom in the corridor, given I was somewhere around 17 stone at that point, I’m pretty sure that was fairly traumatic for him.

I hadn’t eaten, nor slept, so decided if I was going to be this tired and in pain I wanted an XL bacon double cheeseburger and onion rings and a milkshake. It was a last supper sort of deal. I sat in the car, in a loading bay,  ready to yell at any traffic warden that may happen upon this illegal park, while Tom went in to Burger King. Contractions started to tail off, my mum had driven down in anticipation of her first grandchild and quite frankly, this mama wanted her mama.

That evening, contractions had dwindled to every half hour, but they were still strong. I didn’t really sleep, I was still exhausted and drained. I had a bath at 3am.


Bored of it all now and having decided that my baby hated me and didn’t want to meet me and that I will be pregnant forever, everything stopped entirely for about 2 hours, I sent my mum home. Predictably that was when it all picked up again.

By 6pm I had to wee standing up. If I sat down, I couldn’t wee. That was uncomfortable. Then the contractions ramped up again from “argh” to “moo”.

I broke Toms iPad.. I mooed the coffee table out the way and Fanta went everywhere and drowned it.


At 1am, I was pretty sure my waters had finally broken. *there’s me sniffing my knickers, “DOES IT SMELL LIKE ALMONDS?!?!* and then the contractions seemed to get immediately more intense. Fuck this, we’re going to the MLU.

I mooed my way downstairs and into the car, at which point the balmy late summer night decided to take an apocalyptic turn and an almighty storm hit.

Mooing down the A28 at 20mph as the rain poured and lightening flashed, omniscient thunder, a pathetic fallacy if ever I’d seen one.

I mooed into the MLU, still trickling waters, (for which I apologised profusely), and then sweet relief. Entinox. A lot of mooing goes on in childbirth. You may have noticed that by now. It is the literal sound a cow makes. It’s not flattering, or dignified, it’s guttural and primal and ugh, horrible.

So the mooing stops as I make friends with gas and air. Quite frankly, I felt pissed, and I loved it. After 2 and half days of no sleep and constant pain, at that point, I probably would have offered a  kidney and half a liver for some gas and air. I huffed so much it made me sick. In the pool.

Until you have had a midwife chase you around a big paddling pool with a sieve trying to fish out vomit, then, your dignity is intact, my friend.

My birth plan was simple. Gas and Air, water birth, delayed cord clamping, quiet serene, skin to skin, home a few hours later. Done.

I’m tough as nails. I’m not a wimp.

I thought, if there’s one thing I can do, it’s have a baby without much fuss. 52 hours in though… I’d run a fucking marathon, twice, and I’m REALLY unfit.

It got to a point, where, for 2 hours I could feel her little head, but it wasn’t getting any closer. The midwife didn’t think I was pushing hard enough. I was doing best I could. I wasn’t allowed any more gas and air. I pushed like my life depended on it, but still nothing. I asked for help, I couldn’t do it anymore, I was aware of ‘transition’, I think that’s what the midwife thought was happening. Her words were ” You want a water birth don’t you? So get back in and push.” But it wasn’t Transition. Something wasn’t right, it was taking too long, she wasn’t coming out no matter what position I was in or how hard I was pushing. I carried on asking for help. Something was wrong.

It was 7am, shift change. I remember blacking out and Tom catching me as I started to fall under the water, then a new midwife walked in, took one look at me and said, “get her out”. It all went a bit Casualty, after that. Jelly Bean’s heart rate had fallen to 60pbm. That’s low. Really, really low. Alarms sounded, 5 people ran in, I was shouted at by a doctor and told not to push, which was a bit like Canute telling the tide to stop rolling in. Impossible. Nature is doing its thing, I can’t stop it.

More mooing, this time butt naked in a lift. More mooing, as they tried to put canulas in both hands, (one of which I pulled out mid moo and successfully showered the room in blood in a fashion that Wes Craven would be proud of. Mooed a bit more as two midwives shaved my foof and took off my nail varnish, they had an argument about whether or not to use a Bic or a Lady Shave, which seemed like a terrible trivial thing to discuss as I had machines beeping and lines coming out of me and drips going in to me.

I didn’t have time to consider just how not to plan this was going.

It took EIGHT attempts to get a spinal in. Eight. That was fun.

Then I was in theatre and I couldn’t feel my legs and suddenly, everything was great! Oh morphine, you sexy, sexy, bitch.

I asked if I could take some home.
I told the surgeon that he had the ‘best view in the house’.
I remarked on the forceps, something along the line of “Bloody Hell. Massive. Salad Tongs. Giant Tomato.”. I didn’t realise until later that I had just inadvertently referred to my lady parts firstly as giant, and secondly, as salad.

At some point, (09:18, to be precise), Florence was born.

She looked exactly like I had imagined. Beautiful. Gunky. Puffy. And with surprisingly defined eyebrows. Big black eyes (which went blue, Go Gene Pool! 3700:1!), stared up at me. Oh man, total love.

She promptly pooed on Tom as soon as he held her, he changed his first nappy while asked the surgeon,”what’s the damage?”, cackled to myself and then thanked the surgeon, anesthetist and midwives for their time and wished them a pleasant day. Morphine.

We had to stay in overnight, I lost a lot of blood, I had a catheter, I named him Jeff. I was off my tits.

I hate that I didn’t really get to ‘feel’ her be born. I hate that the first thing she saw was some green cloaked figure and a giant spot light and not me or her dad. I hate that she made her entrance with a pair of salad tongs wrapped around her head. I hate that my body didn’t do what it was meant to.

I feel really guilty about it. About how she got here. I had wanted a natural birth, I’d read countless articles. Doulas, home births, hypnobirthing, even free birthing, (although not so keen on that one). I’m far from a hippy, but definitely in the ‘childbirth is over medicalised’ camp. I figured it’d all happen as it was supposed to. All these women penning blogs about how your body knows what to do, how much better it is to home birth along with smug birth announcements citing ‘no pain relief!’, initially empowered me, but after Florence’s birth, they left me feeling like a big old failure. Like I wasn’t a proper woman, like I didn’t properly give birth, not like you’re supposed to.

Six months on, I’m able to look at it a bit more rationally. I didn’t do anything wrong. She got here safely. She’s still here and is healthy and happy. It obviously hasn’t affected her negatively. She’s clever, cheeky, spirited, beautiful, funny and we are so completely in love with her it’s ridiculous.

I’m still not able to entirely look back on her birth with out a slight twitch in my eye and a far away stare, but it brought me the most wonderful little person to look after, forever, so that’s pretty cool.

She won’t be getting any brothers or sisters any time soon, though.


Mama IRL

It’s been two weeks and 2 days since the most traumatic day of my life, but also the best day of my life. Something that was so uniquely terrifying and harrowing as Flo’s birth was, but at the same time meeting her for the first time, finally being able to cuddle her is hard to reconcile.

One day I’ll write up her birth story, but for now, I thought it was about time I introduced you to Florence Ida-Rose. I’m biased of course, but she is the most beautiful little thing I have ever laid eyes on.

Sorry I’m late…

…but I had a baby and then couldn’t really do anything else other than that for 7 weeks. 

I’m grabbing 20 minutes to write something and could be interrupted at any second by my new job as, Mama, so please bare with me. Grammar is likely to be all over the place and spelling mistakes rife, one cares not for such things as trivial as grammar when having a poo in solitude is the optitomy of bliss. Oh and there’s likely to be a lot of auto correct as I can’t find my laptop and Im writing this on the iPad.

ANYWAY, this time 7 weeks ago I was in labour. There’ll be time in the future for a post on that, maybe far in the future. It wasn’t the magical, beautiful experience that so many women talk about. It sucked. Hard. BUT, the cliche is a cliche for a reason and it brought me my beautiful daughter so I’ll forget about it. Eventually.

Shes gorgeous though. My daughter. It still sounds weird to say that out loud. I’m completely smitten and so is Tom. We’re getting used to being parents, it’s pretty awesome and everything that you read in any of the Buzzfeed or similar “You Know You’re A Parent When..(lol!)” articles. 

I think I’m doing ok, she smiles at me so I must be doing something right, I think we’ll get a giggle in the next week or so. When that happens I can probably just pack my bags and head on up to heaven. I also haven’t dropped her or managed to somehow squish her fontenelle (which is a genuine fear, whenever I hold a tiny baby I’m terrified of somehow squishing their brain).

I’ve yet to venture to any groups, I’m not sure I will, I probably should but you know, new people. I kind of imagine mum and baby groups being a lot like school and I hated school, so the idea scares me, but maybe when the monotony of wandering into town each day just for something to do wears thin, I’ll stop by with hackles raised. You know, last week, I deliberately put back some stuff I needed to buy in town just so I’d have an excuse to head back in to town the next day to get it… 

I’m not really sure what this post is about… mostly just saying HELLO! MY BABY IS HERE AND SHE IS AWESOME. 

So, hello, I’m sorry I havent posted in ages, I don’t know how other blogging mums do it when they have such little littles. I’ll be back, but so far, 7 weeks in, we’re doing just fine. 


40 weeks, Where’s my baby?!

So, true to form I haven’t updated for 4 weeks, although it seems longer! I guess time drags when you’re just sitting around waiting for a baby! Here I am, 40 weeks and 3 days pregnant. I REALLY thought I’d have a baby by now! I actually feel pretty good. Just getting impatient. I ended up in A&E on Saturday night with a really nasty case of conjunctivitis so the first part of this week I felt pretty crappy and was hoping Baby wasn’t going to make an appearance until now. However I have cleaned skirting boards and have stopped shoving antibiotic ointment in my eye so I’m ready to be a mum now thanks please.


I was 3 weeks early, Tom was a month early, so we naturally assumed that this bambino would be here a while ago, so these last few weeks have been unexpected. It’d be nice to say that I used that time wisely, you know, the last time I’ll ever have time off to myself EVER, but in actual fact, daytime TV got way more attention than I care to admit.

There was a little scare, where I thought my waters had gone. Turned out I just pee’d myself. It’s a really annoying thing, when the baby’s head is very low, you sit down and go for a wee, and nothing much happens, so you think you’re done, stand up, then baby’s head moves off your bladder and gravity does its thing and then you’re standing in the council offices with your best friend, trying to get a parking permit, and she makes you sit on your coat in her brand new car because you think your waters have gone but actually, YOUVE JUST WET YOURSELF for the first time in 29 years. (I’m lying, one time when I was about 13 I laughed so hard I pee’d myself). Not that I was under any illusion that pregnancy and childbirth was anything but dignified, but when you’re living it, the indignity of it all really hits home.

Take shaving for example, I’ve touched on it before, the dark genes thing, I’m simply not able to go long without shaving my legs, pits or anywhere else for that matter, (tummy has become a fun one since its started expanding). After a few days it’s a bit like hundred acre wood. It’s never bothered me massively, you get used to it, quick swipe with Gillettes finest and job done, (well, for at least 3.5 hours…) which is fine, if you can reach. Which I can’t, at least without some kind of fat pregnant lady contortionism along side many grunts and trying not to upend myself in the shower. Oh to be pregnant in winter! I try though, give it a good go, leave the shower feel accomplished and as I’ve just done now while writing this, realise I’ve completely missed my knees. *sigh*. And let’s not even start on the obvious parts of the anatomy that are on display during that ‘special’ time. 😦

Other than the wetting myself situation (which ended with a trip to the MLU for them to confirm that no you have just pee’d), there has been very little to indicate that this little madam is on her way. I’m desperate to avoid induction.. I’ve heard too many horror stories, but I guess if it comes to it then that’s just the way it’ll be.

It occurred to me that babies tend to turn up when your body is unable to sustain them anymore, I am extreamely robust, with the exception of sodding conjunctivitis (thanks public swimming pool), I’m pretty much indestructible according to my friends, so I am slightly worried that this baby isn’t going to come out at all. Or wait until she should be two or something, which I think will become quite inconvenient, not to mention she won’t be able to wear any of the lovely clothes I’ve spent a fortune on, however, that would be terribly unlikely. What is more likely, is that by the time I blog again I really will be a mama for real.

Sillyness aside, Tom and I are so excited for her to be born, I can’t stop wondering what she’ll look like and I just want to cuddle her so much and see her little face zone in on ours and just be a family.

It will also be really cool to be able to shave my legs and not need help to get off the sofa too.

36 Weeks, and packing The Bag.

Yesterday marked my 36th week of pregnancy. This actually only dawned on me as I was walking into town last night to meet my friend. Maternity leave has a way of making me forget what day it is… (I suppose I better get used to that).

I should really apologise for my blogging absence. It has been one month and 5 days since my last post. I am still here. I am still a rubbish blogger. Since then, I have started my maternity leave. I had planned to do a blog post about how weird it was to leave the world of full time work after 14 years, knowing I wouldn’t be returning for quite some time and how it was affecting my sense of who I was and how I thought I would cope with the transition, but as it turned out, the answer to those questions was ‘it didn’t’ and ‘seamlessly’, which I didn’t think warranted a blog post.

I thought perhaps once I was on Maternity Leave I would have lots of time to fill… I thought I could blog about all the cutesy craft projects I was undertaking. Except the reality was that I spent the first week sleeping and doing intensive driving lessons.

I was going to do a post on the nursery… which I think I’ll still do, however I thought I would take stage by stage blog worthy photographs, which I didn’t, because I spent an hour up a step ladder hammering cable tacks into the ceiling but then had to go and have a nap because of the exertion,  I repeated step laddering and hammering daily, and usually in just my bra and pants as it was so hot, so again, didn’t feel I had the ability to ham that up into a blog post.

I thought I would be super prepared by now. I’m not. So this blog post comes to you straight from the OH GOD I’M THIRTY SIX WEEKS PREGNANT part of my brain, and the fact that my midwife is visiting on Thursday and she will tell me off if I haven’t packed The Bag.

I have been following various pregnant lady Facebook groups, and making notes anytime someone asks about The Bag, I figured if I wrote down everything then I wouldn’t miss a thing. Also, I REALLY like lists.

  • Dry hair shampoo (I need this all the time due to having a fringe… so this was a no brainer – my mum thought I was mad but I figured maybe I wouldn’t want to be the ultimate grease-ball in all photographs of my perfect new babe)
  • Zinc (I don’t know why… but someone mentioned it)
  • Dried fruit (This is funny, for energy apparently, but clearly they mean jelly beans. but yes, “dried fruit”)
  • Lip Balm (I’m rubbish at putting lip balm on… but hive mind list dictates that it is very important to have lip balm)
  • Ear Plugs (for the sleeping if I have to stay in)
  • Hand cream (well I suppose L’Occitane is better than NHS standard issue)
  • Water bottle x2 (NOW THIS IS CLEVER… one, obviously for water for drinking, and the other important not to confuse the two for weeing. I would never have thought of this but more seasoned mamas suggest that having a water bottle with sports cap full of warm water makes The First Wee far more bearable, which if you think about it and the general state of your nethers once it’s expelled a little human makes ALL of the sense. 10/10 suggestion).
  • Boob pads.(I have bought some Tommy Tippee disposable ones, but my friend kindly bestowed some reusable ones upon me and I can’t wait to use them. They’re really soft and absorbent and you can just chuck them in the washing machine with the 27 baby grows I’m going to go through a day).
  • Witch Hazel (self explanatory).
  • BIG pants (I found this slightly amusing as ALL my pants have been pretty massive for months now, but big pants I shall take, instead of the paper pants that some lists suggest, because… well.. because paper pants, that’s why).
  • Instant ice pack (obvious reasons)
  • Boob cream
  • Nursing Bras. (I should really go buy some of these).
  • Phone, Ipad and chargers
  • Flip Flops (for wandering around)
  • Maternity pads
  • Pjs, nightie and dressing gown
  • Socks
  • Blanket for baby
  • Nappies
  • Sleepsuits
  • Hat
  • Baby wipes
  • Cotton wool
  • Birth Plan and Notes
  • Food, other than the dried fruit jelly beans, I guess taking some food would be a good idea. Apparently oats are really good for your milk supply, I don’t need anyone to twist my arm to eat a pack of Hob-Nobs to be honest.
  • Cash for more food and/or parking
  • Hand held fan
  • Pillow
  • Tankini (I hurriedly purchased a maternity tankini from ebay a few weeks ago in case I am able to get in a pool)
  • Shampoo and shower gel
  • Flannel
  • Towel (I saw one lady describe how she had to dry herself off with Blue Roll after her shower as there were no towels available, so a towel I shall take)
  • make up (positive thinking)!
  • contact lenses and glasses
  • hair brush
  • hair bands and bobby pins
  • deodorant
  • muslins
  • FUN FACT: Quite a few people suggested Arnica, which to me seamed sensible given bruising etc, however, DID YOU KNOW that taking Arnica after birth is actually really bad as it can increase heart rate and blood pressure and can also increase the chance of bleeding, and can also interact with various medications that may be given to you by doctors. So no Arnica.

So there are few things I still need to get, but I do have most of the stuff. If anyone can suggest anything that they found invaluable, do please let me know!

I have decided to breast feed… and have been trying to mentally prepare an BF friendly autumn wardrobe. I have also invested in nipple shields which sound like they might just be the best thing ever. Although boobing is arguably the best way to feed your baby, I have heard so many horror stories that I am determined to not punish myself if it doesn’t work out. I’ve read so many stories of mama’s who have spiraled when trying to breast feed, feeling guilty and like they’re bad mothers, which sounds awful. I guess I may feel differently if I come across significant difficulty, but I am going to try really hard to breast feed but if it doesn’t work out, i’ll try and not beat myself up about it.

As I write all this, I’m still struggling to try and get my head round the fact that this time next month I will be a mum. It still doesn’t seem real. We have the pram set up in the dining room and every time I walk past it my eyes go like dinner plates as my brain struggles to work out that this bump is going to be a tiny person lying in there… the same happens when I’m washing her clothes. I just stood and stared at the washing line adorned with tiny sleepsuits the other day, for about 20 minutes, quietly muttering.. “Oh god…” Simultaneously swinging between being absolutely terrified and so excited I could burst (literally), then settling somewhere in the middle.

Tonight we are going to look round the Midwife Led Unit where we’re planning on having her. I daresay that will make it even more real. Although many people have said to me that it doesn’t seem real until you get them home. Which I can completely understand, how on earth they just let you leave with a tiny little person that you are solely responsible for without doing some kind of exam, or test is beyond me. However, with that said, I CAN NOT WAIT to meet her. I’m so excited. And scared. Even writing the last few sentences made my eyes well up.

Good and bad, I’m really looking forward to this adventure, (once I’ve packed my bag, of course).

NEWSFLASH: Parenting is Terrifying

And I’m not even an official parent yet.

I’ve been a bit quiet recently, and I don’t really know why, writers block perhaps, or maybe that I feel a bit of pressure (that I’ve put on myself), to write weekly witty prose about the realities of pregnancy and other related issues, but to be honest, the past week, I’ve not felt very witty, or profound. I’m tired. I’m really, really tired, that’s for one thing. At 31 and half weeks pregnant, I’m now what I believe to be the ‘uncomfortable’ stage. I’m big. And it’s warm. And I’m scared because I’m going to be a mum soon and quite frankly I feel like I need adult supervision most of the time so I’m second guessing myself.

I desperately want to go on Maternity Leave, which I think is forever imprinted on my face with the ‘GO ON WITHOUT ME’ look I seem to be sporting Monday – Friday, coupled with my colleagues continually commenting on how tired I look, and I think, Sod it, I’m just going to go on leave now, I can’t do this any-more and then I flash forward a year and see myself crying my heart out because I have to go back to work and leave my baby with god-knows-who knowing that if I wasn’t such a lazy cow and had started maternity leave later I could have had another 3-4 weeks with her.

I feel like I’m going to cry most of the time. Hormones really are wonderful things. I feel so utterly unprepared. The nursery is a mess, and for ages I was all like, ‘nah I have loads of time’ and now I’m not convinced that I do actually have loads of time. I feel like I simultaneously have too many and too few baby clothes, and I’m worried that she’ll be too big to wear the sleep-suit I bought her to wear home, so much so that I’m considering buying it in a bigger size (emphasising on the important things as always, I know it doesn’t bloody matter what she wears home as long as she comes home, but for some stupid reason I can’t get it out of my head), I’m worried that I’m not going to be able to breastfeed. I just spent half an hour Googling ‘flat nipples’ while I should have been working, I look at the state of my kitchen and I wonder how I’m ever going to be able to keep it clean enough with a baby in tow. I was awake worrying about the sash window in our bedroom, and how it only opens from the bottom and envisioning a little careening themselves out of the window, I’m awake half the night, and the past 3 nights I’ve ended up asleep on our old mattress that is lying in the nursery because I can’t get comfortable, or when I do, I snore like a freight train and wake Tom up so feel guilty and then sleep really lightly and start thinking about plug sockets, stair-gates and sash windows and accidentally killing my child.

Then there’s the movement thing. which is fun. Tom is from a medical background, and I would say I’m fairly level headed, so I don’t tend to panic, but on Monday JB had been significantly quieter than usual, so we went to the hospital to get checked. Everything was fine naturally, but it was a bit scary, I’m so attached to this little thing that the idea of anything at all going wrong, no matter how statistically unlikely it is would quite literally wreck my world, and the thought that if it did that it would be my fault, or there would have been something I could have done to stop it is just…. AGH. Nope.

On top of this, I feel like I’m losing my friends. It’s probably my fault. Perhaps they think I’m now running around with other mummies, or I’m not interested in them, but that’s not true. I haven’t had a personality transplant, or at least I don’t think I have. I’m a bigger, slower, less intoxicated version of myself, sure, but I’m still me. I don’t actually want to talk about being pregnant all the time, but it seems to be the only thing that gets brought up, I’d actually quite like to hear about that new job, that holiday they went on, their business, you know the normal stuff we spoke about before I got up the duff. And when the baby is here, I’m also going to want to talk about those things, and let’s face it, I’m going to be hilarious on that first night that I go out and I get drunk on half a glass of wine. Although, I’ve probably been rubbish as well, as I’ve been so knackered and haven’t been the best at staying in touch. It takes two I guess.  They do say that being a new mum is pretty lonely don’t they, so I guess it’s just practice.

I’m worried I’m not going to pass my driving test, I’m due to take my test in a month, and I’m scared I won’t pass it and then I won’t be able to take it again before JB turns up.

I’m worried that my baby won’t have the same relationship with my mum as I did with my grandma because we don’t live round the corner and can’t pop round for tea and that just about breaks my heart even though it was my decision to live so far away. I have also been missing my grandma dreadfully recently.

I’m worried that once I stop earning and go down to statutory maternity pay that we won’t be able to survive and I’ll have to go back to work early.

I know parenthood is absolutely riddled with worry. I also know that will never change and I’m going to worry about something relating to my child every day for the rest of my life, but I guess it’s all got on top of me recently.

And then I read this all back and I struggle to not hashtag each paragraph with ‘firstworldproblems’, however, this has been rather cathartic, so thanks if you read it. I’ll try to think of something far more exciting to write about next time. I’m going to try and do a little craft post soon, I want to make a mobile for JBs room, and raided Hobbycraft last weekend, so stay tuned for that at some point over the next few weeks!

What I wore: 30 weeks and a heatwave

According to the news, this week is going to be a heatwave. This is indeed the UK, however, so I’m not expecting holiday climes, but high 20’s/low 30’s are apparently something we should be prepared for.

If it was up to me, and I’m sure the majority of the population this would mean descent to the beach for a bit of a breeze and a paddle, however, sadly, we’re all still expected to contribute to society and off to work we must go. A fact sadly lamented by all on these sweltering days, but possibly slightly more of anyone that works in a city, particularly London, and possibly a million times more so if you’re a heavily pregnant mama counting down the days to maternity leave.

Trying to keep cool, while also trying to not be arrested for indecent exposure is somewhat tricky, yesterday I pretty much just wanted to walk around the city naked but I don’t think that’s necessarily a popular choice. Unfortunately trying to combine work appropriate attire, public transport, laptop bags and no air conditioning is pretty much impossible at 30 weeks pregnant, which means for one thing, the work appropriate attire has gone right out the window and I can be seen sporting flip flops or converse on my feet, and some kind of maxi dress/jersey dress on my body, complete with the sweaty ‘don’t mess with me’ face.

I ended up sitting on the inside seat of my train yesterday which left me sandwiched in between business-man-who-needs-a-lot-of-space-to-read-the-Evening-Standard and the wall of the train. Around half hour into the journey I thought I was going to pass out as there seemed to be a distinct lack of Oxygen… at least future Caroline knows to sit on the outside so she can breath.

I bought a fan when I went on holiday last year… This is now going to stay in my bag as a summer staple as ones hand or train ticket do not a good fan make, if you do nothing else, then buy a damn fan. 10/10, A++ would recommend.

One thing I’m incredibly grateful for is working from home, which means I’ll only have to brave the city a few times this week.

This ‘what I wore’ post is from Saturday, where I had a lovely day in the park for the Canterbury Folk Festival, the weather was glorious and this was actually something I could do without getting exhausted. I managed to find an array of no-booze-booze in the little Tesco, so I didn’t feel like a social outcast and sat in the sun catching up with friends. It was probably one of my favourite days of late. Being pregnant has left me feeling a bit left out of social things, as I get tired earlier, am obviously not drinking, and feel like I don’t really have much to say and anything I do have to say isn’t really of much interest to my friends who don’t have kids, and I don’t want to be a bore, but Saturday was very nice indeed thank you very much.

In my post about Maternity Clothes I waxed lyrical about Lindy Bop and their beautiful vintage inspired dresses, and this dress has become a staple… (and I was even more excited to find out that they do little girl versions of the dress as well… but that has to be something for a future post!).

You’ll have to excuse the photos, they were taken on the iphone after we’d been out all day, so make-up was non existent, and the photo’s are a bit over exposed, but it’s the best I could do. Perhaps when I get a bit more confident I may try and do it properly with a real camera and a tripod and stuff. That’s what bloggers do isn’t it? 

Whenever I’m feeling a bit frumpy and rotund, this dress makes me feel like me. I paired it with my red Salt Water sandals, which I love, they’re on their 4th summer and have been swimming in the Atlantic, Mediterranean, North Sea and English Channel (the last two are clearly the most exotic). I’m desperate for the patent yellow or turquoise ones, (and you can get them in tiny person size also…). 

The hat was a bit adventurous for me.. I bought it for holiday last year and I didn’t actually wear it… with beating the heat in mind, however, I decided to brave it on Saturday, I added a vintage silk scarf for a bit of colour and I learnt something new… hats do actually keep you cooler!  (logic has always told me that adding items of clothing could only make you warmer).

dress – Lindy Bob Audrey dress // sandals – Salt Water //  hat – Accessorize // scarf – vintage, gifted

So my beating the heat tips?

  • get naked*
  • buy a fan
  • don’t get on public transport
  • wear a hat

*In lieu of getting naked, find a summer dress you like, so at least you look fabulous while sweating it out, glowing.