30 June 2017

The Confidence to Choose

I’m just going to warn you now that this is a post about feeding your baby in the first 6 months of their lives. It’s not a rant about how if you don’t feed your baby breast milk that they will have an ear infection until they are 18. It’s just a post about my experience of feeding my 3 babies in the first few months of their lives and what I have learnt from each experience. I was inspired to write this by Sophie from @Bad_Mum_ magazine who posted a beautiful illustration by @memyselfandernest (to see click here.) 

Now I love Instagram and many blogs and Selfish Mother and I love to see everyone’s posts and read their blogs as much as I can and I always try to comment and like if it feels right and genuine. BUT I tend to hold back on certain issues as there is just so much bloody opinion out there and so many feels like theirs is the most important. Don’t get me wrong, everyone is entitled to an opinion and it’s their decision to express it exactly as they want but social media for me is all about positivity, support, love and humour and not getting on my soap box.

I was actually moved to comment on this little pic, because I had 3 very different experiences of feeding my babies and I have actually covered most feeding bases with each child and I'm proud of each one. Purely because I had enough courage to follow my gut instinct on each baby. So, here goes….. here is my story. I will try and keep it sharp but apologies in advance if its deathly dull and I won’t be offended if you stop reading. But I also hope that someone somewhere might take comfort or confidence from this post.

With my first son Bobby, like a lot of others with their first baby I was determined to breastfeed him. I did all the text book NCT classes and I was also lucky enough to get free antenatal classes through the midwife team I was assigned to. This was in 2009 and that time, Breast was MOST definitely best. To the point that if you chose to formula feed your baby in hospital you had to provide the formula and bottles etc.

After 52 hours of induced labour Bobby was born by C section at 38 weeks weighing 8lb 13. Labour and birth choices is a whole other bag of worms… sorry blog post, maybe I might write about that one day.

Anyway, he latched on within 10 minutes in recovery. I was elated. After that he slept for 24 hours. The midwives and breastfeeding consultants were not happy with this. They kept waking him up and forcing my dustbin lid nipples in his mouth and he was having none it. They were forcing him to cry to apparently ‘open his lungs’ so he would latch on. After a lot of breast feeding bullying, at 4am when no one was about I quietly latched him on and all was good. Until the next morning when I was told I had done it wrong. Done it wrong? Apparently I had to hold my massive nipple like a cookie….. a giant fat boy Millie’s cookie. Otherwise it was unhygienic. What the F***? Unhygienic??? I can say that now as I’m 3 babies down the line. I just couldn’t understand as he was latching on perfectly and was actually feeding and not crying. 


Monthly Horoscopes With Russell Grant

Russell Grant's Monthly Horoscopes July 2017


29 June 2017

Feature: Made For Parents

Gro egg Room Thermometer

How long and how often your baby sleeps through the night is a very popular discussion topic for most new parents. Ensuring that your baby is comfortable and staying at a steady temperature throughout the night could help you in implementing a good steady sleep routine.

According to the Lullaby Trust, a charity based in the UK providing information to parents about safer sleeping for babies, room temperature is an important factor to consider when reducing the risk of SIDS. They say the perfect temperature for a baby’s room should be between 16 and 20°C and that this should be combined with a lightweight baby sleeping bag or secure light bedding. 


Advert: Awesome Mama


28 June 2017

27 June 2017

Feature: Your Health Hit


Homemade Healthy Nutella is a favourite of mine as I can recreate it at home easily, and both my son and I can enjoy a little treat together. The usual Nutella is delicious but packed with sugar and processed fats, so have a go at my version and I promise you will love it too. Then smother it over some pancakes, or just eat it from the bowl like me!


26 June 2017

Review: bakerdays


Advert: Tommy & Lottie



So, who knew it was so hard to fall pregnant?
At school it was drummed into us that 'if you have sex, you WILL fall pregnant! FACT! Based on this sterling sex education I spent my late teens and early twenties paranoid that good old flow wouldn't show.
Fast forward to our wedding when the hubby and I agreed to start Project Baby B. The glove was off! I was sure to have a bun in the oven by the time our honeymoon was over. Alas! It wasn't as straight forward as we were always told; who knew?
Falling pregnant is difficult and what makes it so much worse is that the feeling of total and utter disappointment coincides perfectly with you feeling like a total shit-heap of an emotional mess! I became obsessed; I downloaded apps (as if these even exist), brought ovulation tests, conception vitamins and generally acted like a total maniacal woman.
I spoke to friends about how I felt, as though my body was failing me and I was feeling worse and worse every month. Everywhere I looked people had bumps and were gleefully announcing their pregnancies whilst I hid in the nearest toilet to cry. The only advice was 'have loads of sex, it will happen'. That's terrible advice. What I needed to hear was; do you know what Amy, it is a painful journey but it will be so worth it.
Instead I kept crying in toilets. I know of so many couples that struggled a hell of a lot more than we did and I honestly have no idea how they didn't fall apart. Eventually I gave up mentally. I was defeated. Not to sound too cliché, but this was when I fell pregnant - instantly!
Once I was pregnant I began to hear all the stories of how hard people found it. It is almost as if it is some sort of secret club and you don't know until you know. I wish it had been made more open and then maybe I wouldn't have raked myself over the coals and got so worked up over when my core temperature was at it's peak. Maybe I would have been able to enjoy the process just a little bit and not had to hide in so many bloody toilets!
Motherhood is such an amazing community but my word, is the journey there awfully lonely.

21 June 2017

Just. Say. No

The word “no” makes up around 75% of my daily conversation with the kids. Surprise surprise, the frequency with which I use it, does not immediately equal well behaved, respectful children. Otherwise, one “no” from me would result in a complete cessation of requests for whatever is being asked for at the time.  As if.

Whether they want to do some impromptu baking (forget it); sweets (I’ve eaten them); a cat (I can barely look after them) or a trip to ANOTHER softplay – the demands can be relentless. 

At the shops, our typical exchange is straightforward enough – I am nothing if not direct.

“Mum, can I please have….”



“No, we haven’t got the time/money/space/etc”


“Sorry, but still no.  Why don’t we……” (distraction)

“But mum….”

“Do you need your hearing checked?”


19 June 2017

The Breastfeeding Conundrum.

The pressure to breastfeed is unnecessarily overwhelming for mums. The midwives were fantastic through my labour, but were quite matter of fact about breast feeding, and I couldn't get through to them that something was wrong. My son didn't ever want to stop feeding and my nipples were sore and beginning to crack. I rang for the nurse and was told to keep feeding and my baby would unlatch when he was ready, so I did just that. 25 year old me lay on the hospital bed, tired, alone, sore and with no idea what I was doing. 3 hours later I had to peel him off as I was in agony. I was bleeding, confused and I began to cry. The nurse came over and said "oh, he's not drinking he's using it as a comforter. Never mind, give us a buzz for the next feed and we'll help. Don't give up, we'll get there in the end!" ...Next feed? A comforter? Keep going? My nipples were falling off and I was meant to do this again in a couple of hours?!? 

I began to dread feeding time. It wasn't fun but I so desperately wanted him to have breast milk and bond with him as so many other mothers do.  Frustrated and tired I started to question it all: Do other mums actually enjoy this? Why didn't it feel natural to me? Would I be happier bottle feeding?

Looking back now I should have listened to my gut feeling but the nurses and health visitors told me reasons why it would work and how important it was to continue. I persevered for another 8 weeks.

I finally put my foot down when I realised I wasn't producing anywhere near enough milk and I was still in pain. I wrestled my demons and moved on. But it wasn't just that, I felt uncomfortable and awkward breastfeeding generally but also in public, I know it's natural and I know women all over the world are proud of it but it obviously wasn't meant to be.

With my second pregnancy, I was dead set on breastfeeding again. It was in the fore front of my mind and I actually couldn't wait, but becoming a parent taught me to be more flexible, to have dreams and aspirations as a parent but to change and adapt when things don't work out, and they didn't...


Feature: Your Health Hit!

“ Plankety Plank “ 

Planks are such a great exercise as you can do them anywhere, like me on my kitchen floor. You don’t need any equipment and they will strengthen your core and can help reduce back pain. If you are a postpartum then these can ease you back into exercise nicely. 

How to perform the plank: Place your forearms on the ground with the elbows directly below your shoulders, and arms parallel to the body at about shoulder-width distance. Clasp your hands together. Your body should be in a straight line from your head to feet. Brace your abs then lift yourself up onto your tip toes. now hold this position ( beginners you can start on your knees then aim from 10 seconds) Once you have held the plank for 90 seconds, its time to start making it more challenging by lifting alternate feet off the floor. 


Feature: Fashion with Carrie!

3 Insta-Worthy Outfits - Summer 17’

As from next week we can safely say that Summer is here – it’ll be official from the 21st June! So, what better way to celebrate than to show you 3 fabulous outfits that can get you from beach to street in style. It’s no easy feat but we will get you Insta-ready so you can go grab a bite and double up on your wardrobe capsules.

1. If you haven’t seen me all over town donning these fabulous trousers, then let me tell you, I will be wearing these all summer. On the school run, brunching with friends, and in the playground. Besides being super comfortable and flattering they are also chic on the beach or around the pool with a bikini top. Easily paired with a throw on t-shirt or vest top to complete the look, but staying stylish at the same time. Love.


15 June 2017

Grandad’s Paella!


Feature: Made for Parents

Ewan the Dream Sheep

Around a month old is a good time to start establishing a good bedtime routine, as this can help your new baby to begin to understand the difference between night and day. Even though in the early days, they will probably wake up three hours-ish after you’ve put them down, it is just about giving them cues as to when it is time to fall asleep. 

One sleep product that has been an absolute must have for our little tester, and has become an important part of his bedtime routine, since he was a newborn, is Ewan the Dream Sheep. As I mentioned in my Newborn Essentials, white noise seemed to help soothe and encourage the little one to fall asleep, especially in the early days.

How does it work?

Ewan the Dream Sheep is a white noise machine that has been specifically designed to help settle babies and toddlers to sleep. 


13 June 2017

Be the change you want to see!

Each year seems to be getting worse and more hateful than the last. I'm talking in the world here, not me necessarily. Perhaps I just notice it more, I certainly take a much greater interest in World Affairs than I did in my teens and early twenties. I may not read a physical newspaper publication but thanks to the Internet and social media I can access any article I want. Due to 'Breaking News' notifications Hubby and I have sat and watched the recent terror attacks across the world unfold. We have commented on the amount of 'fake news' with small snippets of truth intertwined. Perhaps in this instance fake news is a term too strong. It is hard in the shock and confusion of the moment to get all of the facts correct. Once the official statements are given, once the whole story is told and once the dust begins to settle the drama is lost. Those not directly affected can start to move on and confine it to a distant memory.

Negativity Sells

The Daily Fail recently wrote a post about Slummy Mummies and it causes a storm in the world of mums. I have not read it because I wasn't interested. But I know it had the desired effect. It sold papers! Plus, lets not forget, those 'Slummy Mummies' that they bad mouthed all had a social media boost of followers and peak in the sales of their books or other products. The tone of the article is completely irrelevant; negativity sells. It always has and all the while we buy into it, it always will.
Our favourite soaps; Eastenders, Coronation Street and Emmerdale are all based on negative storylines. You can claim all you like that their story lines help raise awareness about some very important subjects, and they do, but the truth is negativity sells. Negativity gets views, it hooks people in and keeps them watching. I haven't watched any of these soaps for many years, but even 15 years ago when I did watch them, everything ended badly. If everyone got to walk off into the sunset and have their happy ending Disney style would the soaps have been as successful? I'm willing to wager not!

It has always been the same

I can't help but feel we have failed to realise it has always been the same. Negativity has always sold. Hysteria has always got the heart pumping and blood flowing. People don't just want to know what is going on in the world, they don't just want facts, they want things that make their life seem more normal or to give them a form of escapism from the mundane. This is why Eastenders and Coronation Street have been so successful for so many years.

The World has Always Been a Scary Place

The world can seem a very scary place at times. I am conscious not to say 'especially now' because there have always been large periods of fear in our communities. In the UK alone over the last 100 years we have seen 2 World Wars, the IRA and many more. Is ISIS just one more in a long line of others that went before them? I don't want to dull this down; people are loosing their lives. Innocent bystanders. My point is this has always happened. These idiots are not original. Reports of gunfire on our streets, of the wrong person being targeted and killed by gangs have become a reality. These things are no longer things of horror stories. The difference is these reports lack hysteria as they are considered isolated incidents. But they do happen.

Plus that just covers the last 100 years. What about the Witch burnings, the Priest huntings, the Civil War?

Is It Time For Change?

Perhaps humans are in need of the scales to tip in the favour of positivity. The idea of clean living and a positive attitude is no longer attributed to the hippies among us, it has become and accepted and encouraged way of living and thinking. The World is a huge place and the truth is most of us won't ever see a notable percentage of it. For each of us our World is actually quite small. As a parent mine has become even smaller. Can I influence the radicalised? Can I stop bad things from happening? No. What I can do is make sure my little World is the best it can be. I can not influence others but I can influence the happiness of my household. I am in control of that and that is what I plan on focusing all my energy on. I have to power to raise kind, considerate and loving human beings. People who not only understand right and wrong but people that understand others have different ideas, different believes and different values. People that understand that those differences are the things that make us special, make us interesting. They are not the things that make us a threat or a danger.

We Need To Be The Change We Want To See

No one is going to make the world a more positive place for us. If that is what we want then it is time to be the change we want to see. It is time for us to take this into our own hands and forget about trying to change the whole world but change the teeny, tiny percentage that we occupy. Stop reading the hate, stop buying it, stop believing it. Negativity sells but it doesn't need to be the truth and we don't need to buy it or buy into it.
I have acknowledged the recent attack on social media but this is going to be the last time it gets a mention from me. Of course my thoughts will always go out to those effected, the innocent lives that have been turned upside down. However I will not be giving the 'Evils' the satisfaction of anymore attention. I am not saying everyone should do this, people should be allowed to process how they need and I am a huge believer that your social media is your own no matter what other people think. For me, from now on, my social media is going to be terrorist free. My day will go on as it has before, I will pause for thought of those that have been lost and their families but I will not dwell. I will not stop visiting London, a city I love. Nor will I let fear rule my life or play any part in it. I do not want my daughters to remember feeling fear at such a young age for something we can't influence.

I am lucky that my girls are too young to understand what has happened recently with London and Manchester. I know they will start asking questions soon enough and I plan on answering them. It won't be easy, I know, but I refuse to shield them from it all. These are facts of our lifetime and they deserve to know. I hope I can help them see that it is a small minority and that these people do not reflect all humans. I hope to teach them to to focus on their positive, to focus their energy on their little percentage of world and to focus on being the change they want to see for their future.

Written by Kirsty from @winnettes


Feature: Word From The U.S!

An Ode to a US City


12 June 2017

Labelling Motherhood

Since becoming a mother I have noticed how people, love to ask questions:

So what do you do? 

Is it your day off? 

Are you working part time? 

What do you do all day?

When are you going back to work?

When my close family and friends ask me these types of questions I immediately get this sinking feeling in the bottom of my stomach.  I hate questions like this, and I constantly find myself having to justify my choices. Honestly, sometimes I wish I could just avoid such conversations. 

People began to ask me these types of questions when my son reached the age of one. As a first time Mother, I found myself becoming quite defensive in my answers. I would answer most of the time with, “Oh I am just a Mum.” 

Four years on and two children later, when I am now asked such questions, I really feel like throwing something at the person asking me (obviously that would be highly inappropriate.) Other times, I want to tell them that I sit in my lounge with my feet up, eating popcorn and watch Netflix all day.

Peoples questions tend to revolve around my job status. I’ve often at times found myself waiting in line to pay at a coffee shop or supermarket only to be asked in a general conversation, if it’s my day off today. I always wonder why there’s an assumption that it has to be my day off. Maybe I do not work, maybe it is my day off, maybe I have recently been made redundant or maybe I work for myself. The list of answers seem endless to me. There are so many choices and options in today's day and age that no one really needs to be categorised. The questions and maybe even judgements never seem to stop. I do not understand why we live in a time where everything and everyone always needs a label or has to be placed in some category.  
I want to use this blog to share with you my thoughts on labelling motherhood. To anybody reading this, please realise I do not mean to criticise or offend anyone; these are just my interpretations and opinions on certain aspects of labelling motherhood. 
Don’t get me wrong, it’s natural to fall into certain categories, but the problem I have is when other people decide to question me, label me and then make judgements on my “role.” Only I should be able to label myself, it is my prerogative.


9 June 2017

Losing Lexi

I was 18 when I fell pregnant. Still a baby myself but a grown up in my own head. The pregnancy was nothing short of miserable. Sorry for the small amount of TMI but my nipples were so sore. I had to wear a bra to bed to hold my boobs in place because if the bed sheet so much as brushed over them, I was in tears. I have never in my life (even after being pregnant again) felt something so painful and uncomfortable!!! I was sick from 6am to 9pm. I vomited everything. Water, food, everything. The normal amount of weight for a woman to put on during her first trimester is about the amount of weight I lost. I spent 90% of my waking hours driving the porcelain bus.

At about 8 weeks I had my first bleeding episode. I rushed to the doctors who said there was nothing I could do but go home and put my feet up. Once the bleeding stopped I was sent for an ultrasound to make sure that tiny heartbeat was still racing. It was. I had a number of bleeds through the pregnancy. The outcome was always the same. After a few days rest and an ultrasound to check on the baby’s heart, all was good. Then the fluid started leaking. Only periodically, and in small amounts.

In hindsight I probably should have been put on bed rest, but because I was a secretary, and I wasn’t overly “active” due to the fact that I spent most of my days sitting at my desk, or vomiting in the toilet, the doctor said I would be fine to continue working.

Because of my bleeding and the leaking fluid, I was referred to a specialist hospital in Brisbane. Being a high risk patient is so very exhausting. Every week we had to make the hour long trek to visit the high risk doctors. It was an all-day event (we all know how doctors like to run on time!) An hour to get there, waiting for anywhere between one and 3 hours, then all my scans and tests, then another drive back to the coast. Through everything, the sickness, the travel, the stress of being high risk, nothing could take away our excitement. Feeling that baby move inside me was the most incredible, unbelievable feeling in the world. I couldn’t even fathom how it was possible. Here I was, utterly in love with this incredible man and we had created life, and I was growing it! It wasn’t until about 23 weeks that the joy turned to fear.

I presented to the hospital with mild contractions, about 4 minutes apart. I was sent via ambulance to Brisbane. I wasn’t dilated and they managed to stop the contractions. I was kept in for a few days so they could monitor me. Over the course of my stay, I was told that there was not a lot of amniotic fluid surrounding the baby. This would mean that in the highly likely event that I was to deliver her early, her lungs would not be as strong as they should be. I was given steroid injections, and before I was released, I was issued instructions to come back in a week for another lot.

I was in hospital for my 19th birthday. I got flowers from my family but it was still the loneliest birthday I have ever experienced. Once again, because I was a secretary and pretty much sat in my chair all day, I was told that I could go home and continue working but if I felt any more contractions or had any other concerns; I was to come back immediately. I wish it wasn’t the case, but I would be back sooner than any of us expected.

I was 24 weeks and 5 days along. It was the 3rd July 2006. I was at work. I started getting a queasy stomach. I went to the toilet and as I sat down, my waters broke. I walked out to my boss and he saw my pale, panicked face. I told him my waters broke. He literally picked me up and put me in his car, and sped me to hospital. He ran every single red light on the way. He took me to the hospital and I was once again given some drugs to slow my contractions and whisked to Brisbane via ambulance.

When I arrived I was taken to the birth unit, I was hooked up to a drip, and given antibiotics (just in case). They did a swab and some blood tests to check for infection, and gave me the steroid injection that I was due to have the very next day. My contractions slowed down a little but didn’t completely stop. I had to wait for what seemed like forever for the swab and blood results to come back. Somewhere between my arrival in Brisbane and those results coming back, my temperature spiked to almost 45 degrees and my contractions came back with a vengeance. I have never felt so sick in my life. I actually thought I was going to die.

In my messed up state I can remember them telling me that I had a massive infection raging inside my body and they needed to get the baby out. If they didn’t, we would both die. I had to sign a consent form. Let me tell you I have no idea what that signature looked like because I wasn’t even able to see properly, let alone write my name in cursive font! As I was being whisked to surgery my man and his mum, who had managed to pull off an hour drive in about 30 minutes, arrived. He touched my hand as I was wheeled past him. I can only imagine how scary that moment would have been for both of them. The last thing I remember before they put me to sleep was lying on the operating theatre, hooked up to all sorts of machines, the lady on my left wiping my tears and telling me that “everything is going to be OK, you are in good hands”, then darkness.

I woke up to the recovery nurse pulling a tube from out of my throat. It sent be in to a massive coughing fit. She put a trigger in my hand and told me that was my pain relief and to click the button if I feel I need more… I responded to this news by clicking that trigger about 50 times, only to be told it cuts off after a certain amount has been administered to prevent people overdosing. Go figure!

Once I came slightly out of my drug haze, I was surrounded by my man, his mum and my mum. The nurse came in to tell me that I had delivered a tiny one pound 9 ounce girl and that even though she was so premature, she was doing ok! I could relax then. She was ok. My man went with his mum and dad to get something to eat while I recovered a little more, and when he got back we were to go and see our little lady. My rest and his dinner were to be short lived. Our little lady had other plans.

I will never forget being wheeled into that Neonatal Intensive Care Unit to see her, surrounded by doctors, covered in tubes. It was the most confronting, traumatic experience of my life. I was wheeled up next to her tiny crib. I could not stop the tears. I reached out and touched her little hand, and I’m certain that if I was standing, I would have collapsed. It was in that instant, that my heart broke. Nothing prepares you to see your tiny one pound nine ounce, baby having drips, oxygen masks, and CPR.

Nothing prepares you for having to turn off her machines either. That decision was thrust upon me in that instant. She was fighting, but she was fighting against them. That day, only one day after my perfect little baby was born, I had to make the most gut wrenching, world shattering decision that any mother could make. Turning off my child’s life support, goes against everything that I thought was my motherly duty. It was like trying to walk forward in a hurricane; you know you need to keep pushing forward but that wind just keeps pushing you back, no matter how hard you try to fight it. My duty was to protect, raise and nurture, and here I was about to make a decision to end my baby’s life. My head and my heart battled against each other. I knew she wouldn’t survive anyway, there was not a chance. But having to actually voice it, and give them the go ahead shattered my already broken heart. When the inevitable happened, I wanted her to die wrapped in my love. Not with strange doctors hands on her, and tubes all over her tiny body. My angel girl took her last breaths in my arms.


"A boy and a girl, how perfect" ...

Is it perfect to have a son and a daughter?  I read on a family members birth announcement - on Facebook - a congratulations from someone who actually typed:

"congratulations, now you have the perfect family. One of each".

No pressure then.  The poster apparently had a boy and a girl and I felt glad that she considered her own family perfect - is that reality? I bet she has had moments of fucking hating her perfect life ... explosive nappy, screaming toddler, sore nipples, trying to breast feed whilst the toddler needs you to get the potty, giving up breast feeding and then mentally hating yourself for turning to bottles ..... life with ANY children is NEVER perfection.


8 June 2017

When I Was Growing Up...By Yvonne Telford (Founder Kemikids)

When I was growing up, I went through a few difficult periods that I pray my two young daughters don’t go through. The root of most of my childhood difficulties was not having a mother to love and guide me when I needed her the most.

My mum died in childbirth when she was 35 years old, and I was just ten. She died leaving six children behind while trying to have the seventh one. The year she died was the year that my body started going through physical changes. This was the year that my body started to stench due to perspiration, my pubic hair started to grow and my breasts started to develop.

Apart from when I got married and had my children, this was the period when I needed my mum the most. This was the period in my life when I needed support, explanations, love, encouragement and reassurance. This was the period that I needed to be reassured that what was happening to me was normal, and to not feel ashamed - but instead to embrace the changes.

But since there was no one in my life to explain the changes that I was going through, shame reared its ugly head and I started to feel awkward about my body. I hated what my body was doing; I just wanted to remain a little girl. And since I was the first amongst my friends going through these changes, I remember wondering why the same was not happening to them. This made me feel even more alien and alone. I had no one to talk to. Maybe, just maybe, I would have talked to my older sisters if they had been home with me... but they were away in boarding school.

“Why did you not talk to your father?” you may be thinking. The truth is we did not have that kind of relationship. I am not even sure that my father (who was now the sole parent of six kids under the age of twelve) noticed the changes. Even if he had noticed, I am not sure he would have felt comfortable talking to me. My father is from a generation of Nigerian men who feel some roles should be left to the woman of the house. Plus, he had just lost his wife and he was dealing with his own grief.

To cut this upsetting story short, I discovered a way of dealing with my changing body. I can’t recollect how I discovered it but I found a way of hiding my embarrassing but developing breasts from the world. Without going into the details, I discovered how to strap my breasts flat to my chest. The method I used made me flat once again (like those of my classmates and friends) and this was how I coped through this period of my life.

Fast forward to today. Now that I am a mother, I am very careful about what I say to my older daughter whose body is going through some changes. She is almost ten, and just like me when I was her age, has started going through some physical changes. From my experience, I understand this is an important time in her life. I am so glad that unlike my mother, I am here to explain these changes to her. I am glad that she is embracing the changes and she is not ashamed of her body. For this alone, I pat myself on the back.

Even with the changes my older daughter is going through, she still dresses in front of me and still allows me to wash her in the bath. Right now, I am teaching her how to wash properly. I have bought her first deodorant and we have had several grown-up conversations about the changes she is going through and what to expect.

To sum this up, I am grateful that I have been blessed with the gift of life to do for my daughters what my mother could not do for me. As long as the universe continues to bless me with life, I am looking forward to doing the same with my second daughter. I do not take my time here for granted and from first-hand experience, I understand that the role of a mother is irreplaceable.


Feature: Beauty and Wellness

A (Fairly) Exhaustive Guide to Non-Toxic Nail Care Products


Rag'N'Bone Man Parenting Parody - SO funny!!


7 June 2017

Feature: Fashion With Carrie

The Fashion Faux Pas Making a Comeback:


6 June 2017


Pink! How controversial has this colour become???

As a teen studying sociology I hated feminism. I thought it was outdated and totally irrelevant to modern day society. What a bad woman I was!

This all changed very quickly when I became a parent to my eldest daughter. I wanted her to feel empowered. I taught her about amazing leading ladies from Florence Nightingale, Rosa Parks to Emma Watson and Malala Yousafzai. I taught her she can be whatever she wants to be (which included a goat feeder for quite some time)

Cait has had dance lessons and karate lessons. She has decided she only wants to wear jeggings for huge periods and then decided she wants all things pink. Played with Barbie and loved Thomas the Tank Engine. I had this down! Cait was becoming a well rounded, strong young lady.

Then I fell pregnant and was submersed into the world of gender neutral.


5 June 2017

Bad Friday


Feature: Your Health Hit!

Banana Pancakes  -  This is a Kids favourite

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