Warning: rant pending.

This is a little pep talk for everyone expecting (or one day hoping to expect, or friends with someone who is expecting) their first baby. It is called DON’T LISTEN TO THE STORIES.

You know the stories I’m talking about. The “You Will Never Sleep Again” stories. The “Your Breasts Will Sag Forever” stories. The stretch-mark stories and the projectile vomit stories and the no-sleep stories and the nappy-contents stories and the traumatic birth stories. Especially the traumatic birth stories.

My advice is this: stop listening to them! These stories will not help you but they will probably scare you. And there is so much GOOD about having a baby, and so much practical stuff that you NEED to know, why would you bother with the scary, unhelpful stuff?

It’s like a trigger flips inside grandmothers and mothers and aunties and sisters and cousins and friends and complete strangers that makes them want to spill their most intimate and, in many cases, their worst labour experiences to expectant mothers.

I don’t get it! Are they thinking expecting mothers need to be taken down a peg or something? I imagine their inner monologue goes something like this: “Hey pregnant woman, you are clearly expecting everything to be soft and gentle and loving like a baby powder commercial, and I am here to tell you the hard truth.”

Whereas in reality, the pregnant woman is probably already plagued by nerves and fear and the unknown, alongside her excitement and anticipation, not to mention exhaustion and sleep difficulties and professional and financial nerves and a to-do-list that is getting out of hand. The last thing she needs is your doomsday prophesy.

I remember when I was a good eight-and-a-half months pregnant with my first child and we had gone out for a quiet dinner at the pub after work. There I was sipping my mineral water and eyeing other people’s glasses of sav blanc with longing when the waitress, quite a young woman, approached our table and began regaling me with the story of her sister’s recent labour.

If even half of that story was true, someone will be making a mini-series about it some time soon. It seemed to last for days (both the labour and the story). At one point I swear there were spy-thriller spotlights pinning the poor woman to her hospital bed. At another, some kind of water-jet that suggested they were trying to pressure-hose that baby out like old paint off a brick wall.

Mr B kept walking away from the table, ostensibly to warm himself by the open fire but really to get away from the Labour From Hell story. I could see his shoulders shaking with silent laughter even though his back was turned. Then he would return, realise the story was STILL GOING, and head back to the fire. Unfortunately I was trapped, both by the near-impossibility of maneuvering my enormous belly away from the table and between the tightly-packed bistro chairs, and by the deep-seated social constraints that made me smile and nod politely even when she got up to the bloody bits and the screaming bits and the frankly anatomically-impossible bits (“the baby was coming out sideways”).

Later in the car on the way home, we roared with laughter. “What about the bit with the water torture?” Mr B gasped, red faced and wiping away tears. “How could you have left me there alone!” I shrieked. “She just wouldn’t stop!”

Recently I was at the zoo with a friend who was expecting her second child. Another woman overheard us talking about it, and began to share the stories of her recent miscarriages. It was so sad. That poor woman. We both realised how raw and heartbreaking those experiences were for her, and how clearly she just needed to get them off her chest, to share her sadness and anger at the universe. Neither of us begrudged her this need, because neither of us could imagine how difficult such a situation must be.

But of all the strangers with whom to share her sad, sad story, did she really have to pick the pregnant one? A rounded belly, it seems, is as much an invitation for uninvited stories as it is for uninvited touching.

So, the point of my rant is this: don’t listen to the stories. You don’t need them. Deflect the conversation away, if you can. Sometimes, I point-blank told people, “Don’t tell me that, it’s not helping.”

Because this is your pregnancy, not theirs.

And your baby, not theirs.

It will be what it will be and the one thing that is within your control is freeing yourself up to enjoy it. Let’s face it, it’s a lot easier to anticipate happy things if your mind isn’t full of tales of woe.

ps. That belly? That’s Madeleine, at eight and a half months.

ps2. Here’s another resource: the handy “pregnancy food card” I made when I was pregnant, if you’re that way inclined

This post is slightly off-topic but it seems a lot of my friends have fallen pregnant lately, and some of the questions and comments they’ve been sharing are pretty familiar. And I thought if they were raising these questions and I had raised these questions, then quite possibly a lot of other people would have these questions too. So I thought I’d share what I discovered in case you or someone you know might find it handy.

So first of all, hey Mama! Congratulations!

And secondly, arg! How annoying is that ‘pregnancy elimination diet’!?! That gigantic list of things you’re not supposed to eat when you’re carrying around a little one inside you, that miraculously as soon as you CAN’T eat them you really, really want to? Yeah that one.

Of course deciding what you will and won’t eat while you are pregnant is completely your decision, and I’m not here to judge. But in case you found this entire field as tricky to navigate as I did, I thought I’d share this handy printable list I created, to help you out.

Basically, the key reason it’s recommended that you avoid certain foods while pregnant is because of the risk of consuming a bacteria called Listeria monocytogenes. The risk of Listeria infection is low, assuming you eat properly prepared and stored foods. So a lot of people don’t worry too much about it. I get that. But if you DO happen to consume Listeria, even a mild infection can cause your baby to be born prematurely or be very sick when they are born, or even cause miscarriage or stillbirth. As a chronic worrier, that was something I wasn’t going to risk, so I was all up in the faces of the FOOD DON’T lists.

I found the most difficult time to follow a “pregnancy safe” diet was when I was eating out. Which happens to be a lot. You could almost guarantee that there would be at least something on any menu item that was on the DON’T list. So I created myself a little check-list, the size of a business card, that I carried around with me. Wherever I was, I could look up the food on my list to see what was safe to eat and what wasn’t.

(Embarrassing confession: this list came in especially handy with all the cheeses – simply saying “no soft cheese” wasn’t enough for me because there are so many cheeses that half the time I didn’t know what they were called. I’d think I was reading the name of a mushroom or something.)

Alongside Listeria, the other thing the health experts recommend you limit when pregnant is your mercury intake, which can damage the foetus and is found at high levels in some fish. This isn’t a big risk because you’d have to be eating these types of fish quite regularly for the mercury to build up in your blood (and it is recommended that you do eat fish during your pregnancy), but I included the high-mercury-content fish on my list, just to be sure.

My food card is a kind of amalgam of the NSW Food Authority list of foods to avoid when pregnant, and a similar list from the Victorian Government Better Health Channel. Bear in mind that my list is by no means authoritative, and you should do your own research and/or check with your doctor if you are unsure. Also, I erred on the side of caution in most cases so if the lists said “don’t eat unless you have done X, Y or Z,” I just put it on the “don’t eat” list, because honestly that was easier to remember!

>> Here is my Pregnancy-Food-Safety-Card. It’s business-card sized, so you can simply print it off then stick the sides back to back (or just print it double-sided if you have that kind of printer). I laminated mine so that it would survive nine months in my purse.

>> If you want to adapt the card to your own food-choices, here it is in Word format so you can edit it.

I hope this helps! xx

Do you have any handy tips or resources from your own pregnancy that you can share with other mums to be?

Treasure Island,

X marks the spot.

DAGGER IN THE BACK!

Blood running up,

Blood running down.

Blood running up,

Blood running down.

Crack of an egg!

(Spiders and bees).

Cool breeze?

[Whisper]: Tight squeeze.

{From my bloodthirsty childhood, to theirs. What was your favourite game?}

One word (or is it two?): ice-cream. On a big table, stack up a few tubs of the most delicious ice-cream you can find. Mine was my very own bespoke flavour from Harry’s Ice Cream Co, just around the corner in Brunswick: cinnamon doughnut and maple syrup (I know!!). More about that later.

Fill vintage tea-cups with a whole lot of toppings. Anything you like. I used hundreds and thousands, crushed Oreos and crushed Flakes, broken waffle cones, marshmallows, maple syrup, caramel sauce and chocolate sauce. Plonk some cute disposable ice-cream cups and spoons on the table. Invite your friends over, switch on the music, pop a bottle of champagne, and you’re at a party!

Did you know that July is the International Ice Cream Month? This started in the US circa 1984, apparently at the behest of President Ronald Reagan, who called on all citizens to observe ice cream events with “appropriate ceremonies and activities.” Fast forward 30 years and Harry’s Ice Cream Co contacted me a little while ago to see if I’d like a few tubs of my very own flavour, to help celebrate a tradition of eating frozen confectionaries during the coldest month of the year. Darn tootin’ I did!

In the name of responsible research I turned to Facebook, asking my friends to help me come up with winter-friendly flavours. A “vegemite toast” joke from my brother-in-law led to thoughts of honey crumpets, then French toast or cinnamon toast which, in discussions with Harry’s Ice Cream Co, eventually became cinnamon doughnut. And maple syrup swirl for good (really good) measure. Folks, there were actual chunks of doughnut in this ice-cream. It was SO tasty. Harry’s delivered the ice-cream a few weeks ago but in a supreme act of self-control, I held onto it until the Saturday just gone, to use it in a baby shower for my friend Pip.

Like me, Pip has a little girl, and baby number two is a boy. Pip wasn’t planning a baby shower, “because I feel a bit silly doing it for the second one, you know?” And I did know, because that’s how I felt too. But I regretted it. Harry is worth celebrating every bit as much as Madeleine, and I really felt that in the chaos of life surrounding my own second pregnancy, I didn’t get to mark his progress or his arrival with the kind of weight I’d have liked to have given it. I wrote a bit about that here and here. So we decided to at least do something for Pip. She wanted to keep it low-key, so we just invited a few of her friends over to my place to indulge in ice-cream and brainstorm boy’s names (what are your favourites?), and generally celebrate that beautiful bump.

So, back to the world’s most easy party. To make it just a bit more fancy for Pip and her friends, I added a few little extras. A stack of cinnamon doughnuts, a hot fruit salad to serve with cream, and some simple bowls of snacks like dried apricots and pistachio nuts. The decorations were kept very simple too. Pip wanted “something to do with elephants” so I painted up a circus elephant balancing on an ice-cream cone to use in the invitations I sent out to her friends, then replicated it in little details around the table. My only other decorative task was a big balloon wall to provide a back-drop to the party (positioned higher than I’d have liked it to to put the balloons out of reach of Madeleine).

Pip’s friends were lovely, the whole party was incredibly easy, and the clean-up took less than half an hour. Have you ever tried an ice-cream party? I’m absolutely a convert. Last week I linked to this ice-cream crawl which I think is a great idea. I’ve also bookmarked this giant banana split as a fantastic idea for a kids’ summer party. And these ridiculously decadent candy-vanilla milkshakes look much too good to pass up. What are your best ice-cream party ideas?

Thank you so much Harry’s Ice Cream Co for giving us this amazing taste experience. They also sent me a gift voucher to cover the cost of some of the toppings. I’m sorry to say my cinnamon doughnut and maple syrup ice-cream was a one-time-only affair, but three of the flavours (pavlova, sticky date pudding and lamington) are available at Woolworths stores across Australia if you’d like to try them. I can attest to the fact that they are GOOD. So good that “I don’t like ice-cream” Mr B had two helpings of the sticky-date pudding ice-cream for dessert the other night, and I had a bowl of the pavlova ice-cream (pieces of meringue included!) after dinner on Saturday, despite having spent the better part of the afternoon already consuming ice-cream!

ps. Please to be noticing my very own logo on those tubs of my ‘bespoke’ flavour in the photo near the top. So special!

At any given moment, if you were to pop around to our house unannounced, there would probably be piles of washing waiting to be folded and put away, overflowing the green chairs in our hallway. As you stepped over the plastic toys and pushed passed the jolly-jumper hanging from the door frame and waded through the various baby-bibs cultivating dribble and milk and browning banana and finally made it to the playroom, your feet would probably crunch over a thick layer of dry Weetbix crumbs. Madeleine likes to crush her own Weetbix each morning before the milk goes on and, as much as I’d like you to think otherwise, I do not vacuum every day.

If you looked inside my handbag on any given day you might find, nestled in with the purse and keys, a couple of broken crayons, a half-empty container of bubble liquid, a sippy cup, yesterday’s gummed-up rusk in a zip-lock bag, and about a thousand used tissues.

The sheer amount of stuff involved in modern parenting staggers me, and accepting at least some of that stuff into my life and home was one of the most difficult transitions I had to make as a parent. (When I lived alone, I would actually take pleasure in adjusting a book on a table until the seemingly ‘casually-put-down’ angle was just right. Yes, I am that person.) As someone who likes everything to have a purpose and a place, and as someone whose home is also her workplace, cumulative kid-detritus can quickly feel overwhelming.

While I was pregnant with Madeleine I had plenty of noble ideas about children in “the olden days” not needing all the STUFF that our consumer society deemed necessary today, and that I would make up in interactive play for what we limited in toys and things. But as any parent could have told me, stuff creeps in. And some of it, while not strictly necessary, does actually make your life easier. Parenting two small children while working, and on extremely limited sleep, is tough. It is tempting to take the easy way, to let the stuff in because it saves five minutes here or buys 10 minutes of peace there. I’m not going to feel guilty about that.

But not all stuff makes life easier. Some stuff just gets in the way. In the way of creativity, of clear-thinking, of mental health, of the path to the kitchen. And some stuff might be good stuff but when combined with about a billion other small pieces of “good stuff” it becomes bad stuff. Claustrophobic, messy, over-crowding, unwelcome stuff.

Last week was not a good week around our place. For various reasons were were all stretched, capacity-wise, and tempers began to fray. By Friday afternoon, my subconscious had somehow centred the entirety of my own unravelling temper on all the stuff in our house. It was driving me crazy. WE HAVE TOO MUCH STUFF I CAN’T BREATHE IN THIS HOUSE. And so I started on a paring-back rampage.

It was cathartic in a way that probably should have been predictable. I worked until late that night on the playroom, sorting out toys to give away or throw away, putting some in a cupboard out of rotation, and bringing others out. At the end of it I’d removed two giant garbage-bags worth of toys and other bits and pieces from the room, and Madeleine’s previously overflowing toy-box was only one third full. When she came down in the morning, she was thrilled. There were her favourite toys, easy to find. Here were some “new” toys she’d never discovered because they’d been buried under all that stuff. Harry had his own little cart in which to store his toys, and Madeleine quickly cottoned on to putting Harry’s toys away whenever they were dropped.

That afternoon, Madeleine lined up her two dolls in chairs next to Harry, pulled a collection of books from the shelves, and proceeded to “read” to all three babies. I hid in the kitchen, sipping a cup of tea while leaning on the bench, and listened to the stories. Later we pulled out the paints, one of Madeleine’s favourite activities, and it was approximately 78 percent less stressful than usual for me because with the room so much cleaner and more organised, the combination of two-year-old and brightly coloured paints didn’t seem anywhere near as chaotic.

Not once did she ask where all her stuff had gone.

Do you want to start your day off really well? Listen to this.

Is there any sound in the world better than a baby laughing? It is right up there with a cat purring and the tea being poured. Probably better than both, which is saying something special.

Sometimes when I am in the middle of my everyday, just going about my business of feeding children and dressing children and changing nappies and kissing scraped knees and bringing out the craft paint and putting away the craft paint and changing the children’s clothes and washing the paint-covered clothes and finding the lost toy and finding the other lost toy and feeding the children again and reading stories and playing chasings and playing hide ‘n seek and changing more nappies and supervising ‘sharing’ and, and, and…

… Sometimes in the middle of all that I will get a lump in my throat so large I can barely swallow.

It happened to me yesterday as I was carrying Madeleine upstairs for her afternoon nap. She wrapped both arms around my neck and rested her head on my shoulder. “Just a little nap, Mummy,” she reminded me. And there was the big fat lump, blocking my words, making my eyes swim.

It is in ordinary moments like these that I am reminded of just how extraordinarily lucky I am to have Madeleine and Harry in my life. And how narrowly I missed out on having them, if I hadn’t changed my mind about having children until after it was too late. The thought that they almost weren’t here leaves me breathless.

But already I can see Madeleine taking more pleasure in dolls than I ever did. She uses them for role-play, mimicking the mother-like actions that she sees in me, as she cares for her own little “Baby Suzy.” Madeleine and her Daddy Pig doll go to work together. “Busy Mummy, very busy,” she informs me with weighty authority. Then later she’ll put Daddy Pig in the little toy pram and announce that they are off to the tea house together.

When you are the mother of a girl, dolls can be a fraught subject. Once considered a simple and innocent pastime, it seems dolls these days are loaded with gender stereotypes and social politics, and carry the weight of a girl’s future profession and confidence and self-worth on their often all-too-bony shoulders. But what can you do about it? The fact remains that a lot of girls (and a good number of boys) simply like playing with dolls.

That’s why I love the ideas behind emerging company Girly Girl Doll Company so much. They recognise that children like to play with dolls, and that some little girls want to be princesses. There’s nothing wrong with that, they say. Let a girl dream. BUT let’s show her how to dream even bigger! Give her options, broaden her horizons, encourage her to explore and play and innovate, and teach her empathy and compassion for others.

I can see this being fantastic for Madeleine. Because I really don’t want Barbie to be her role model. But at least right now, Madeleine has zero interest in super heroes. If I tried to interest her in a superhero doll, male or female, she’d be unlikely to go for it. She’s just not a lycra-lovin’ two-year-old. The girl likes pink, and the girl likes tutus, what are you gonna do? Show her that pink-tutu-wearing girls can do great things and have great adventures too, that’s what!

The concept behind Girly Girl Dolls is that children can customise a doll of their own, choosing hair and eye and skin colour etc, letting their natural creativity take the lead. A portion of proceeds from every doll sold is donated to girleffect.org, an international movement working to include adolescent girls in education, health and economic investment. In addition, any accessories purchased for the doll will have a corresponding social mission. So clothes purchased for a doll will also be used to fund donations to international orphanages. A medical kit for a doll will help fund medical care in at-risk areas around the world.

Girly Girl Dolls are part physical product and part interactive experience. After the child customises the physical doll to make it their own, a series of interactive apps and accessories guide them through a labyrinth of experiences, meeting other characters from other cultures along the way.

Don’t you think this is a lovely concept? It takes the focus away from looks and turns it, instead, onto adventure and imagination and empathy. Because tomboys are not the antidote to princesses. Little girls (and little boys) should be allowed to be either, or both, or anything in between. But let’s bring up tomboys and princesses who are globally aware, creative, bold, adventurous and compassionate.

If you’d like to get behind this idea, Girly Girls is running a crowd-funding campaign right now in which you can reserve a limited edition (one of 500) doll for just $1. Ultimately the cost will be $125. Take a look around their website to learn more.

* In case you’re thinking play has no relationship to a child’s future choices, Sam actually did become a vet.

When I carried Madeleine into her playroom at 6.30 on the morning of her second birthday party she breathed “The park!” in wide-eyed wonder. I put her little sock-feet down on the grass where she was used to feeling floor-boards and she slowly spun around, taking in my dodgily-drawn toadstools, wonky painted fir trees and floppy crepe-paper grass. “Wowwww. The park!” she whispered. And just like that I felt like Picasso.

Winter in Melbourne means Madeleine will probably always have her birthday parties indoors. But she loves – she really loves – the park. So we created the a picnic-in-the-park party for her in our home. It wasn’t that difficult, or that expensive, and I imagine you could make this bringing-the-outside-in scheme work for all kinds of woodsy party themes, like a teddy-bears’ picnic, a fairy kingdom, or a woodland creatures party.

1. On a budget

Most of our decorations were home-made for just the cost of cardboard, paint and some masking tape; or found around the house:

* A back-drop of fir-trees painted onto butchers’ paper

* A green trim of crepe-paper grass around the skirting boards

* Red and white toadstools painted onto cardboard and stuck around the room

* Cardboard cut-outs of bees, butterflies and ladybirds, also stuck around the room

* Blue and white cardboard clouds, strung from door frames and other high places

* Red and white polka dot paper cups and plates

* Red and white paper bunting, on loan from the lovely lady at Mint Jelly

* Autumn leaves, collected from the park with Madeleine several weeks earlier

* A picnic rug

* Two fibre-glass toadstool stools, on loan from my Mum

2. A little bit more

If you can spend just a little more, helium balloons will always be well appreciated by little ones. We (and by we I mean my generous parents who wouldn’t let me pay them back) purchased a helium kit from Spotlight. I chose to use only yellow balloons as I wanted to create a “sunny sky” effect and blue would have made the room too dark (that’s why the clouds were partly blue instead). I dangled some of the bees, butterflies and ladybirds I had made from the balloons, to make it look as though they were flying around the room. As you can imagine, these were very popular.

3. Your one extravagance

Our one big splurge was three sheets of 1m x 3m synthetic grass, and we went back and forth in the lead-up to the party as to whether or not we would go there. Originally, I thought my idea to use the synthetic grass was genius. I figured that off-cuts would be a super-cheap, easy way to create a “wow factor” in the room (I REALLY wanted to earn that soft “Wow” from Madeleine), and make it a snatch to clean up. I was right about the wow-factor, and the easy clean-up. But this grass is surprisingly expensive. At one point, we were thinking it would be cheaper to just lay real turf in the playroom!

In the end we decided to go ahead and get the grass because we would use it afterwards in our courtyard, to create a bit of a softer, ‘garden’ area for the children to play until we could afford to pull up the tiles out there and landscape (that could be years).

So there you have it. Madeleine’s “winter woodland picnic” themed birthday party. Games were mostly parallel play (because have you ever tried to get a bunch of two-year-olds to do the same thing when you want them to?), with a bit of stop-start dancing and a mini treasure hunt thrown in. Add some cake and chocolate and surprisingly-popular healthy snacks into the mix, and your party is done and dusted, right there.

I’ve been thinking about kindness lately, and how much of it is conscious, and how much of it is innate. What do you think about this? I believe some people have a talent for kindness: being thoughtful and generous is their natural default. I married someone like that. Mr B is generous beyond anyone I have ever met, and I get to witness this every day. A long time ago I told this little story about Mr B and the simple kindnesses by which he marks his days. These events are not even remotely unusual in life with my husband.

So here’s what I am thinking about. There is a lot of noise out in the world about the tiny dictatorship that is the toddler attitude, and I’m no stranger to what that means. On any given day, I can be screamed at because the mandarin didn’t stay in one piece after we peeled it, or because I didn’t wash and dry the Peppa Pig top in time for Madeleine to wear it an hour after she spilled food on it, or because I lifted her off the swing after only 40 minutes of pushing.

Recently Mr B bought me a copy of the Reasons My Kid is Crying book and it really did make us laugh. The poor little tot on the cover is heartbroken because somebody broke his cheese in half. Madeleine has actually made that same face over an identical tragic dairy-related event.

But do you know what? As any parent, or guardian, or aunty or uncle or grandparent or friend or babysitter or big brother or sister or anyone else who spends big chunks of time with a toddler could attest, these little people have a natural tendency for love, and affection and, yes, kindness and even thoughtfulness.

Sometimes when I am so tired that for a moment I just have to put my palms over my eyes and press, hard, to stop the pain from exploding out of my temples, Madeleine places her own sticky palms over my hands. “Hi Mummy,” she will softly say, with a smile.

“Poor Harry,” Madeleine will announce, when Harry is crying. Then she will run over to him and make the funny noise that only she can make that always makes him laugh, or do a little dance for him, or give him a toy (or six). Then she will run to me and report back. “Harry waa waa! Me la-la-la. Me toy.” And I’ll say “Thank you for helping, is he happy now?” She will beam. “Yes!”

Like most toddlers, Madeleine loves to help. She wipes down her little table after eating, she helps me load the washing into the dryer, she holds doors and gates open for me when I’m pushing the pram (that is actually genuinely helpful), and she even ‘helps’ lift the pram up the steps and into our house. When she asks for apple and I give it to her, she says “Day doo (thank you) Mummy!” in a happy singsong voice, unprompted. It melts my heart every time.

In quiet moments, Madeleine strokes my hair, or kisses me, or snuggles into me just because… love.

When she is kind to me, or her brother, or a little friend, I make a big deal with the recognition and the praise. Because her kindness, her generosity of spirit, it’s all there. I believe it is innate in Madeleine, as it is in all of us. Terrible Twos and Tiny Dictators and tantrums and sharing lessons not-yet-learned… they are all there too. But there is enough noise about those things in the world.

I don’t believe in the concept of original sin. I believe in original kindness. Original love. Original affection. Yes yes, and original want, and original selfishness, and original… I don’t know… frustration! I guess I believe in original humanity. And I am proud, oh so proud, of the kind and thoughtful little humans that my children are today, as well as the big humans that they are to become.

Anyway, WE WILL ALL BE OK. Which is why it’s definitely not as bad as all that, you know? And last night, I took a little break from it all. A friend and I went out to see Three Stuffed Mums, as part of the Melbourne Comedy Festival. There’s nothing quite like a good belly-laugh with The Sisterhood, as we bond over those toddler Abs of Steel that appear when you’re trying to wrestle them into a pram or car seat; or the fact that the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end when walking past a teenager’s room because of all the static generated by their numerous electrical devices (not to mention the funky smell); or the sad reality that after performing the miracle of pregnancy, childbirth and often breastfeeding, most of our body parts now seem to want to head south.

I’m really grateful to these funny mums for comping me the tickets because not only was the show a great laugh and very close to home, it was also such a treat just to get out at night! It’s so rare that I do, I’m always mildly surprised to see everyone else out and about and enjoying the evening, just as though it’s a normal thing to do. I keep forgetting. This novelty was so profound that it wasn’t even ruined by the fact that after getting all dressed up (read: put on lippy, swap flip-flops for heels and unearth a jacket without have spit-up on it), I couldn’t find my umbrella so I had to walk down the street carrying Madeleine’s miniature, multicoloured and spotty number to keep off the rain.

If you want to go see these mums and laugh along with them (and me), you can get your tickets here.

(Photo is an old one of me with two of my dearest girlfriends. It makes me so happy to look at this.)