Life Update: Moving house and saying goodbye to my old home.

When starting a blog, it is important to keep your readers engaged with regular posts and updates. 

Sorry for the radio silence, but we’ve been moving house. A task thus far which has been both enjoyable and vomit inducing stressful. I know I’m not the only one who has moved house in later pregnancy, particular shout out to the lady with the pram in Wilkinsons who sympathetically told me she was 32 weeks when she moved house, just by looking at my overflowing basket of toilet roll holders, lampshades, Flash wipes and a darling chevron print bath mat.

The whole experience has been really stressful, as is to be expected, but since we viewed the house over 2 months ago, it has been pretty hairy. A week after we had given our notice at the old house, the letting agent rang to say that the current tenants were refusing to leave. Apparently they were in the middle of trying to buy a house, and they weren’t going to exchange contracts in time. My heart went out to them, for approximately one idontgiveashit minute.

Luckily my landlady is lovely and was completely accommodating to the change, which then turned out not to be a change at all, as we ended up moving into the new house on the original date but not after having to pay an extra 4 days rent because they messed up the dates, and not after me exploding down the phone to the letting agent after they left me a breezy voicemail at 5pm on the Friday, when we were due to be moving on the Monday, that we couldn’t actually move in until the Tuesday. Just as an FYI, turns out crying pregnant ladies tend to scare people into doing what they want.

So with the help of Tom’s dad and brother, Capital One and an electricity and gas bill rebate, we have what I would consider a home.

I hate moving house, which is weird as this one will now be the 15th house in the last decade, but this was a bit more significant than the others. The little house I was leaving wasn’t just a house, in my mind it was my first home. I first moved there after a crappy break up 3 years ago. I was 29 and desperate to not end up in shared accommodation again. I was able to find a little one bedroom cottage which I fell in love with instantly. I hate the phrase ‘find yourself’, it sounds so false and hippy. But that’s what happened when I moved in. I arrived a nervous, slightly damaged girl, terrified of being on my own and loathing my own company with nothing but my clothes and a picture frame and clock that I had defiantly bought post break-up.

I think there is definitely truth the the saying that you have to be happy in your own skin before you can be happy with anyone else. For years my MO was simply ‘not being on my own’, pretty much whatever the cost, I looked to boyfriends for validation, I had incredibly low self esteem and the idea of a quiet night in on my ones scared the crap out of me. I stayed in shitty relationships well past their sell-by-date just because I didn’t want to be on my own.

My mum came down and helped me get the new house together, we bought furniture and put up pictures and mirrors and kitted out the kitchen, and together with my best friend had a flat-pack party. We had a blast. It was like a dolls house but I got to stay in it and it was all mine. Then it came for my mum to go home and I was terrified. I couldn’t do this?! How do you Council Tax?! When is it green bin day?! I’M GOING TO BE ON MY OWN!!

It was like a switch, mum left, and I sat down with a glass of wine (I really miss wine), and it was okay, I even enjoyed my first evening on my own. It was the first evening of many where I sat in my little house, on my own, out of choice. Turns out a bit of independence was all I needed to become independent. I was there nearly 2 years before I met Tom, and I barely recognise the girl that moved in, so when it came time to leave, I wasn’t just moving house, you see. That place was more than a four walls and roof, that place changed me, or rather gave me the ability to change myself. When I got together with Tom, it wasn’t because I was lonely and didn’t want to be on my own, I didn’t stay with him because I wasn’t able to pay the bills without him, for the first time I was actually sticking it out with someone for the right reasons, which was pretty cool.

Looking at the house now, all empty, I see a bunch of memories, girlie evenings, evenings on my own, too much gin, not having to wash up because I didn’t want to and most of all, freedom. Freedom to work out who I was when it was just me, and to get to know that me, and actually realise, that I kinda like her sometimes.

I am now able to sit in my new home, which is twice the size of the previous house, probably the cleanest it’s ever going to be and it’s mine and Tom’s, which is really important. The old house, really, was inequivocabily mine, which is really tough when you’re the other person, so I’m really glad that this is Ours. Baba’s bedroom is currently a dumping ground, but that’s okay… we’ll get there, and everything else is coming together. I’ve spent too much money, but going from a 1 bedroom cottage to a 2 bedroom house with *gasp* TWO reception rooms means that we were seriously lacking in furniture when we moved in, plus, I’m making my daughters first home, and I want it to be lovely.

The living room and kitchen are probably my favourite spaces at the moment, so I thought I’d share a few photos that make me happy.  I’ve managed to create a little reading nook too, with a chair I got on eBay for £10 with a custom made cover.

I’m still swooning over my découpage rabbit book ends and Alice In Wonderland coasters, and the fact that I have a coffee table now is all too exciting.


I can’t wait for baby to be here in our first family home, but my little house will always hold a special place in my heart as the home where I managed to become the Carrie that was able to have all that I have now.


Sugar and Spice, or, why I cried when I found out we were having a girl

I had always imagined that I would have a little girl, in fact, the thought hadn’t really crossed my mind that I’d have a boy. Not that I didn’t like boys, in fact in a previous life I was more or less ‘stepmum’ to a wonderful happy, cheeky, little boy. But I myself had never really thought about having a boy of my own. Given that it is a 50/50 chance, once I was pregnant I realised this may have been some what  remiss.  I started thinking about boys names, looking at boys clothes, imagining this little rapscallion, in fact, both Tom and I were convinced we were having a boy. I was excited for a boy too.

So why did I cry when I found out I was having a girl?


Not really, well, maybe a bit. And also not because her dad is half Indian and her mum half Iranian, which means our little Chewbacca is going to need extra help when she hits puberty, (it’s okay little one, from personal experience, mama knows).

I cried because, we live in a society where you can buy baby grows which say things like “Future Footballers Wife”, in which gender specific Lego exists. From the minute they are born, society has an expectation of girls, (it also has expectations of boys, of course, but I’m writing this from a girl perspective just now). Girls are still judged by what they wear, every week another story is doing the rounds on Facebook about some poor girl at a school dance who is sent home because her ankles are affecting the sensibilities of the boys. We live in a society where the people who run this country seem to still attribute a proportion of blame to women and girls who are raped because of what they were wearing or where they were when it happened. Hell, I live in society where even I automatically assume that my daughter will want to get rid of her body hair BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT GIRLS DO. I mean, we got the damn vote, but show an ounce of flesh and you’re just asking for it. And this is just in my little corner of the universe, let alone the atrocities committed against women and girls in other countries across the world.


When I was a Small, I liked dresses and shiny Lucky Step shoes (remember them?!) but I also loved my dungarees and wellies. My Lego was red, blue, green and yellow. I longed for a chemistry set, and one of those easy bake ovens, (never had either). I would pack my teddies and dollies into a pappoose and march across the garden because we were going to fight a war. I was a Tom-Girl. Actually, I was just a child.

my stunning mum and I, 1987ish?
my stunning mum and I, 1987ish?
However despite this, soon enough, society came a-knocking. As I got older I realised that I was pudgy. My dad used to point out my ‘spare tyre’. I was probably only about 7 years old. I was embarrassed already of my body. My mum was always on a diet. Rosemary Connelly, Weight Watchers, Aerobics and still called herself fat. I thought she was beautiful, and she was. She is. But society had got to her too. My mum was telling me that she was too fat, that she was stupid or not pretty enough. Don’t talk about my mum like that, I’ll have you. Wait. What? Why would my mum say these things unless they’re true, and if that’s true about her, then it must be true about me as well, I’m too fat, I’m stupid, I’m not pretty enough.

Too fat, too thin, too short, too tall, too broad, too lanky, too human.

Despite all the expectations that society has of women and little girls alike, perhaps the most damaging words are the ones spoken closer to home, that we don’t even realise.

I have not escaped, I am never going to be happy about the way I look. I will always think I am too fat. Not ‘girly’ enough. Not clever enough (and to be fair I will leave the maths homework to her father). But the buck stops here. I don’t suppose I will ever stop thinking those things, but I hereby promise that at no point will my little girl here the words, “Mummy is too fat”, “Mummy is stupid” or any other self-deriding words from my own mouth. After all we teach our children everything that they know, and although I’m fairly certain my kid will be the one who drops the f-bomb during their first day at nursery, I’d much rather that than her think it’s okay to tell herself that she’s not good enough.

Raising girls is hard. That is I why I cried. In the face of a society that continually tells women and girls that they’re not good enough, where it is normal and expected for women to vocally deride themselves for not being ‘up to scratch’, where we are encouraged to be bashful when complimented instead of saying, “hell yeah, thanks!”, I want to raise my girl to be strong and confident in her brain, in her body and all the amazing things it will do, that it is already doing.

My little love, you are breathing amniotic fluid right now, that is COOL! You are already completely mind-blowingly awesome.

I want her to be able to do what she wants without being judged by her gender. I don’t want her to ever think that she isn’t good enough, and I think, that starts with her dad and I.

I am not perfect by any means, but there is one person heading into the world that might think I am, for a little while at least, and I’m just going to go ahead and let her think that for as long as possible.

EDIT: I just want to make it clear that my mum is amazing and if I can be half the mum she was to me when I was growing up then I will be thankful. My post is purely aimed at patriarchal society and the norms it perpetuates in the way women should act. Mum, you’re my hero and inspiration. 

26 Weeks Life Update and What I Wore

Today mark’s the 27th week of my pregnancy, I thought that I started my third trimester last week, but it seems to depend on the app you look at, apparently, this is the start of my third trimester, whichever it is I have a definite bump now and people have started staring at it, which I find a bit odd, and wonder if I used to inadvertently stare at pregnant women’s bellies before, and if I did I am truly sorry.

Baby has been pretty active this week and I saw my tummy move for the first time, which was weird in the extreme but also amazing. I’m looking forward to my next midwife appointment and scan, (I’m getting an extra scan, as they couldn’t get a proper look at her ventricles at the 20 week anomaly scan as she was being awkward BOTH times, that’s my girl).

This time last week my first proper blog post went live, which was exciting, and I was quite overwhelmed by the positive feedback, it’s a bit scary putting yourself out there, and I never expected that anyone would find anything I had to say particularly interesting, so thank you for all your kind words.

I’m usually only in London two days a week now, and work from home the other three as I’m finding it truly exhausting now. My commute is pretty long, usually around two hours door to door, so having the flexibility to work from home is great. I only have six weeks until I go on Maternity Leave, with a week off in between, next week in fact, as we will be moving house.

One evening last week Tom and I drove over to Margate as I had heard that the Mama’s and Papa’s store was closing down and bargains were to be had. I managed to bag a Babymel changing bag (I had no idea regarding brands, but upon a Google search, Netmums has informed me that this is a most sought after one), a cot mobile, cot bumpers and the ‘Medela Swing Fashionable Breastpump’. (I don’t know about anyone else but when I think of fashion, I don’t automatically think of breast pumps, and the word ‘Swing’ associated with breasts conjures up images of cows udders, which while is fairly accurate, isn’t too pretty, despite what my norks may or not be doing these days). Still the Medela comes highly recommended and it was a big bargain. We saved about £120 all together so that was well worth it. Afterwards we went to Broadstairs and had fish and chips on the front which was quite lovely indeed.

Before we went out on Saturday evening to watch some friends play their ukulele’s, I asked Tom to take a few pictures of me for the ‘What I Wore’ segment. I’m not very good at selfie’s and I’m even worse at other people taking photo’s of me, however I sucked it up and as you can see spent the time staring at my shoes because you know, if I can’t see you, you’re not there (toddler logic).


dress – Tu @ Sainsbury’s // belt – Dorothy Perkins // jean jacket – thrifted (originally Primark, I think) // shoes – Converse

Nothing I am actually wearing here is maternity, the dress is sized up and a total bargain, from Sainsbury’s of all places, it is exceedingly large, but with a belt it looks okay, also I don’t mind it being massive as who wants to wear tight fitting clothes when its hot, especially when pregnant.

The weather was warm and sunny on Sunday so we drove over to Whitstable and had a wander and sat on the beach for a while before heading to Macknades, which is a pretty big farm shop in nearby Faversham. They stock some tasty tasty things, so I overspent on all the food before coming home to pig out on posh cheese and pickled onions. That evening I actually cooked dinner. I used to love cooking, and would cook semi elaborate meals at least twice a week, but since being pregnant my palate seems to have turned very basic and I just seem to only fancy boring stuff and have gone off cooking entirely. This is always a winner though, Nigel Slater’s Aubergine Pasta Recipe. It’s a veggie recipe but I added some prosciutto. It really is delicious, although not good for diets given the seventeen gallons of olive oil.

I’m not really sure about these lifestyle posts… I don’t know how often I’ll do them, I don’t suppose anyone is really interested on what I did on a Thursday night. I was more trying to pad out an outfit post, which I felt a bit silly posting, but given the maternity clothes post went down quite well, I thought I should at least show how I’m managing to not muumuu.

I have a post scheduled for Friday that I’m a bit nervous about as it is quite personal, so we’ll see how that goes! Blogging is really new to me, or rather blogging properly, the amount of half arsed BlogSpots out there with my name on are nobodies business. Hopefully I’m doing it ‘right’.

Favourite things: about being pregnant

Tom grabbed this when we went out for a late drive in the week. I really like it,even if my posture is atrocious.

Re-reading my last post about maternity clothes, it occurred to me that I perhaps sounded quite negative about this whole pregnancy lark. It’s not that I don’t like it, I just maybe don’t love it. The worry is CONSTANT, every other story in my Facebook news feed seems to be about some sort of birth related tragedy or near miss. However, when you take all that away, (and the ability to tie my own shoelaces), it’s not so bad and could be an awful lot worse.

To strengthen my PNPMA (prenatal positive mental attitude), here is the first of my favourite things lists, starting with my favourite things about being pregnant.

1. Food.

Food is pretty much one of my all time favourite things. For once in my adult life I haven’t really been worrying about what and how much I eat. Fitness fanatics amongst you will probably scold me but you know what, I don’t even care. For 15 years I have stressed constantly about my size. Pregnancy has given me a 6-9 month window of not having to worry about points, sins and calories, and my fitbit  has been relegated to the bedside cabinet until further notice.

I was always a pass-me-the-cheeseboard sorta girl, but this daughter of mine seems to have other ideas and it’s all ice cream and jelly beans. Actually her nick name is Jelly Bean, based on the fact that jelly beans were about the only thing I craved in the beginning, other than mint humbugs and drinking yogurt, but ‘Humbug’  or ‘Yop’ as a nick name just seemed a bit mean.

2. Clothes

Despite my  previous post, and the fact that maternity clothes can be hard to find, the one item I was looking forward to being able to legitimately wear were maternity jeans. Having never being able to find jeans that would fit my legs and relatively slim hips versus my high and pretty much non-existent waist has always been a nightmare, so when I first tried on a pair of maternity jeans, HALLELUJAH! such comfort! I’m pretty sure I’m going to keep them around and bring them out on future Boxing Days and other high food traffic occasions.

3. Tom

Tom has probably been my most favourite thing about being pregnant, which is a good job really, seeing as I guess he’s going to be around for a while. He’s been amazing, looking after me, and hardly ever complaining about the fact that he ends up on the sofa every other night because I’m snoring, also he does way more around the house, which is a definite perk.

Although, in all honesty, my favouritest favouritest thing is seeing how engaged and excited he is about the baby, and how in love with her he is already. It makes my heart melt. God knows what I’m going to do when I actually see them together for the first time… ugh. 

4. Public transport

This one is a little bitter-sweet, who wouldn’t like to sit down on the Tube while your fellow commuters stand in each others armpits, but I always feel a bit torn, slightly embarrassed when someone offers me their seat and then somewhat indignant when I have to stand up for 8 stops while trying to control the heartburn that is trying to expel my stomach contents or when my knees and hips have decided they are no longer friends with the rest of my body.

I never know which way to lean on this one, some people seem to feel quite strongly that it was my choice to have a baby so deal with it, personally, I was brought up to give people a seat if they were elderly, pregnant or just looked like they might need to sit down more than me, so people with young kids or carrying lots of stuff, but whichever view, Public Transport when you’re pregnant can be both a joy and a nightmare. Weirdly I’ve found teenagers and young women probably around 16-25 offer up their seats far more readily than men, specifically business men who-are-very-busy-with-their-very-important-business, and have found middle-aged women the worst, they tend to scowl at you then look back to their book as if, HOW DARE YOU BE PREGNANT AND MAKE ME FEEL AWKWARD, in fact, a colleague’s sister experienced a woman actually shout at her in the Tube once when she was heavily pregnant exclaiming “If you wanted a seat so badly, why didn’t you ask rather than shoving your stomach in my face!”. Nice lady. Also, the man who knocked me down the stairs at Aldgate station, he got the crazy pregnant lady waddling down the train after him, except I did that thing where you’re really angry and think you’re going to say something profoundly clever and put them in their place, but you don’t and you sound a bit stupid and then think of the perfectly scathing put down comment about half an hour later…

5. My Body

Its awesome… I mean, it looks like crap, but I’m so grateful to it for being able to do this amazing thing. The other week I noticed that my ribs had completely moved, which while being kind of gross is actually pretty amazing, but I’m growing a human, which while still makes me think of the chest bursters from the Alien films, is also deeply cool.

It’s hard to believe that just 26 weeks ago there was nothing, and now there’s a little person, who’s already fully formed and completely perfect, who already seems to have a semblance of a personality just by the way she moves or when she kicks, just simmering away gently in my tummy until she’s cooked and ready to meet the world. I’m in complete awe every time I see my belly move. Pregnancy definitely isn’t the bed or roses I thought it would be, it’s hard work, but I know that all the heartburn, Tube Twats, extra pounds, and ill-fitting clothes will be a million times worth it when she actually gets here.

Is a muumuu a mama’s only option? Maternity style or what passes for it.

As the season has at least attempted to try and change, (and by that I mean I have worn sandals twice in the last week, and as far as today’s weather is concerned, I’m just going to pretend it’s not happening), and that today marks my transition into my third trimester, (HELLO 26 WEEKS), I thought that it would be apt to do a post on maternity clothes.

The words themselves, to me, conjure up images of the trapeze dresses of the 1950s, floaty kaftans and large hats of the 70s and the big dresses (and hair) of the 80s, (sorry mum), however, on the whole, the 2010s aren’t proving anywhere near as glamorous. 

I can still just about see my feet

I’ve heard it before, “I’ve never felt more beautiful than when I was pregnant”, maybe you feel/felt the same, and to you lovely ladies I say, “Godspeed! May you never know the troubles of your tall, broad-shouldered, chubby sisters” especially during pregnancy.

This would also apply to any body shape, of course, I’m not monopolising the ‘i look like crap corner’ with my own personal brand of  rubenesque  rugby-esque figure. Put it this way, if you had trouble dressing your body shape before you got up the duff, heaven help you now.

Throughout peacetime, the brands which you may consider to be fashionable and stylish, turn on you like a snake, that shop you always wandered into where you knew you were going to find at least one thing that you’d like…not any more ladies! It’s as if as soon you’re harbouring a small human, the fashion gods declare war on you, your growing midsection and those new-found 40Es and you’re left scrambling in a sea of smocked tunics and leggings punctuated by the odd empire line dress and hilarious HANDS OFF THE BUMP t-shirt. (They are hilarious though aren’t they? I mean, they’re so witty and cute….>_>)

I guess you could say my aspiring style, floats somewhere in-between a 3 year olds dressing up box and Gwen Stefani circa 1999, usually ending up somewhere around 6 on the manic pixie dream girl scale.

(Let it be known, with the mention of the commonly disliked MPDG comparison, the closest I’ve come to the Xbox is using it to watch 7 seasons of Gilmore Girls on Netflix, and I’m really not much of a nerd at all, about anything, except maybe  buggies. After months of furious Googling, try me on the benefits of a three-wheeled chassis on 15th century cobbled streets or what size buggy will fit in a Toyota Aygo and we could while a way an afternoon, my friend.)

It seemed like there was nothing out there for me, and that was hard, I like to dress up and just because I’m having a baby doesn’t meant I don’t want to still have a sense of style, despite what Dorothy Perkins Maternity range may infer. Quite frankly I felt like crap and wanted to look nice.

Essentially, the high street brands where I would usually shop had closed their metaphoric doors on me for now.

Being a size 16 prior to pregnancy and then only being able to stomach carbs for the first 4 months of it, plus the prospect of a heavily pregnant summer means I’m on the size 18 of things. Coupled with my long torso which means that all dresses in the world ever are basically empire line anyway and sit about 3-4 inches shorter on the leg than they should, has made for some fun and games in the already very diluted pool of maternity fashions.

With that in mind, I headed to the internet and the high street to find out that literally NO ONE stocks their maternity lines in store, with the exception of a handful of shops that you need to travel miles to, and even once there, they appear to only stock half of their diminutive range physically in store.

After many tears and tantrums, of which Tom can attest to, especially after a particularly epic breakdown which involved me, trembling chinned and stamping my feet in just my bra and pants one Saturday morning, these are my top 5 places to find maternity clothes that didn’t make me feel like my only option was a muumuu:

1) eBay
Second hand is definitely the way to go. Cheap and usually in great condition from high street maternity lines, the good thing is that you’ve usually got a range of seasons up for sale so there’s a lot of choice.

ASOS surprised me massively, having never been a particular fan pre pregnancy, their maternity range is amazing. Their clothes look like normal people clothes that are cut for normal people who want to look nice but just happen to have shoved a beachball under their top. They are also quite a fan of the midi length which is great news over here at Closet Watermelon, as it means that it’s knee-length and I won’t flash my granny knickers unlike dresses from….

3) New Look
My gripe with New Look isn’t their fault, their maternity range is by far one of the most inclusive and diverse out there in terms of high street stores, but due to the aforementioned long torso all their pretty dresses skim my arse. Their jeans and tops however are cheap as chips and actually look quite nice… I just avoid the slogan t-shirts.

4) Lindy Bop
Now this is a style thing for me, and won’t appeal to everyone but I am a big fan of pretty full skirted 50s dresses. Lindy Bop do this style with aplomb and at fantastic value. Although not maternity, their skirts are so full and sizing generous that they easily accommodate a growing baba. In fact I’ve probably felt the most ‘me’ in these dresses thus far.

5) Blooming Marvellous @ Mothercare
Surprisingly on trend, with good staples like jeans and maxi dresses, not as dowdy as I originally thought. Their stuff does tend to come up slightly on the small side (on me), but the jeans I got from there are the comfiest ever. In fact I will probably continue to buy maternity jeans for the rest of my life because…well if you’ve ever seen that episode of Friends with Joey’s Thanksgiving Pants, that’s why.

A few other tips:

Size up on tights, maternity tights are a complete waste of money, no matter where I’ve bought them, they just don’t fit properly, so I gave up and now buy mine from Evans, as i’m now out of the range of sizing up in M&S.

Bras. Asda. Actually I’ve noticed them in Sainsbury’s too, they’re called comfort bras and look somewhere in between a sports bra and a crop top. They won’t win any style awards, but for sleeping in and if you’re not wearing anything particularly form-fitting, they’re on the button at around £6 each.

Shoes. I’m at a loss here, I’m a size 8 anyway, so finding bigger shoes is already a nightmare. None of my shoes fit, with the exception of my converse and saltwater sandals. Those babies are going to take a beating this summer.

This was the sort of information I was looking for when I first found out I was pregnant and it felt like I was doomed to a summer of smocks, so if this post points even one pregnant lady in the right direction to not feeling like a sack of potatoes then my job here is done.

I may start doing a ‘Pregnancy Style’ type post once a week or so, I’m not very good at getting pictures of myself, but I’ll try, as I probably should at last start documenting my bump as it slowly eclipses the sun.

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Hey Baby!

Starting a new blog is hard. I have lots of ideas and topics that I would like to talk about but I think maybe I’ll just start at the beginning. One day I peed on a stick…

12 week scan where tiny spawn is all healthy and lovely.

I have always wanted to be a mum, since I was a little kid, it was just one of those things that I knew I wanted, its not the same for everyone else, I know that, and by the way, it is totally okay to know the exact opposite too, people need to get off that whole ‘you’ll change your mind’ bull crap, but I couldn’t imagine not being someones mum, one day. That day happened on the 17th January 2015… my period was a few days late, my boobs were really sore, which was new… and more suspiciously… I really didn’t fancy a glass of wine. IMAGINE THAT. Yeah, something was different, the difference was that a tiny human had started growing in my uterus. Thanks to ClearBlue, it turns out I actually became pregnant sometime around my work christmas party and the start of the booziest 4 weeks of the year. whoops. So… heading downstairs to tell Tom, who may as well have been Ghandi, he was calm as a cucumber (although he did have the flu so it’s quite possible he thought this was some kind of hallucination), I was the one that was freaking out. As mentioned, I had always wanted to be a mama, always, never a doubt in my mind, so why was I freaking out, I was 32, in a long term relationship with someone that I knew would be an amazing dad, we had talked about having kids, so why? I still don’t know, I was terrified and excited at the same time, I felt guilty for getting pregnant so easily, I was scared to tell my mum, but wanted to tell her so badly. I was worried about what people would think and I was scared I’d be a terrible mother. That I was already a terrible mother given the aforementioned four weeks of Boozemas, New Booze Eve and Booze Day. All this lasted about 3 hours, by that evening, unable to tell anyone my news and a sick boyfriend at home, I left the house to meet up with friends feeling a mixture of disbelief and excitement, this was it, I was going to be somebody’s mum, I got this.