Never in my life did I imagine I would write a blog, nor did I think I would read one. I thought they were all self indulgent trite, a lonely version of twitter in a hideous virtual world where everyone thinks their thoughts matter. Actually maybe that is exactly what a blog is, but now I enjoy reading them. And I no longer care about being self indulgent.
Mainly because I went and had myself a baby.
In the wee hours, countless breast/bottle feeding sessions spent messaging fellow new mums and trawling the internet for the answers to gestational diabetes, reflux, eczema, latch problems, post natal depression, schools, terrible twos, psychological trauma, parental guilt (and the best latest box set to watch on Netflix)… the list goes on, led me to some hilarious and reassuring parenting blogs and warzone message boards (parenting is SO political!?). It also led me to some terrifying journeys into my own paranoia (but more of that later…). I am definitely not what some would call a natural at this mothering malarky, but I do my best, and I bet you do too.
So here I am, sharing a load of whatever I feel like and moaning about the things I have experienced with my babies, hoping to make sense of it all, and possibly accidentally reassure some others at 1..2..3..5 am along the way.