Yeah, before you go on, it’s yet another addition to the canon of “questioning my worth as a blogger” posts. Other people have lamented this point and put it better or more succinctly than I could. It’s a post I sometimes think about writing, then worry about being self-pitying or indulgent. Since returning to work, though, blogging has become my biggest shortcoming. The longer I don’t do it, the easier it becomes to ignore. So why now, then?

Well, I guess, when there’s a red alert for weather and the rest of your family are taking a nap, what else can you do?

I’m loathe to use the term ‘blogging community’ because it’s not really, is it? It’s so disparate, dependent on niche, location, regularity, any number of other factors. Still, in some factions, there’s very much a supportive community vibe and in it, I feel like a fraud. I like and comment on posts, agonise over the right amount of exposure and contrast on Instagram updates and proudly boast that my blog is self-hosted in job interviews. I do all of this without actually publishing anything on the regular. I’m not sure how active you have to be, but if there’s a percentage I’m coming up on a deficit.

It’s easy to find reasons and excuses not to blog and subsequently feel down about it. “I don’t have time” is a popular one, followed by “I’m not really saying anything new, so what’s the point?” and “who’s really going to read it?”. I have these at hand so that when I do feel the guilt creeping in, I can shrug it off. Who am I even making excuses to, though? 90% of the time, it’s usually to myself.

The real problem is that I’m stuck in a rut, and I’m not doing enough to dig myself out. Begrudgingly I’ve ended up back at work full time, Sunday ’til Thursday. Two days a week I don’t get home ’til 9pm, by which point I’m clocking in at about 15 hours of waking time. On the days I have off, I have baby stuff to do, family to visit, friends to catch up with and an never ending rotation of housework. Blogging feels like a frivolity. No one is going to go without if I don’t and there’s always something else to be done. At the moment, most of my online time is spent job hunting and half-filling application forms until my eyes get tired.

Sitting at a computer all day seems to have sapped any creative energy and means it’s the last thing I want to do at home. If I do have an hour to spare I go to the gym, because I’m sedentary for the majority of my day. That’s my banner excuse but the truth is, it’s a problem that pre-existed long before my return to employment. I have a phone full of photos I’d planned to use, half-written list posts gathering dust in my draft folder and an ever growing sense of apathy about the whole thing.

There are so many creators just now, whom I love, that are killing it with their content and output. Not just in blogging- in vlogging, film making, arts, crafts, running their own side hustles, everything. Many of them have kids, or work full time, or are always on the go. Everyone’s time is precious, we are all time-poor. Despite this, they’re putting in the work and I’m backing further into my corner.

I need to give myself a shake.

Sometimes I can feel myself brimming with so many creative ideas that I can feel my brain vibrate. Rather than do anything I just sit, waiting to begin, and never really doing so. I used to love drawing and lettering to soothe away a day, and now I have a brand new pack of sketching pens unopened and gathering dust.

I spend so much time trawling the internet, scrolling Instagram, avoiding blogger chats and watching other people get on with things. All the while I wonder what my place in it could be, or why it isn’t.

I’ve thought about changing up my content- it’s not hard to see what types of posts are popular, what people are engaging with. But then, it wouldn’t feel authentic. In some cases I wouldn’t know where to begin. I don’t feel like I do enough to review anything. Much of my working week is spent in boring ‘business casual’ dress and, out of that, I’m not much of a shopper. There are a multitude of beauty bloggers embracing cruelty free brands and foodies tapping into vegan culture- the very USP upon which this blog was founded, before being abandoned until pregnancy awoke a need to document things.

Nowadays, I’m more likely to find myself reading posts and thinking about how I wish I’d thought of it, or even kept a note of ideas when they come to me. Let’s be honest, how often have you read a post that’s not particularly well done and thought “I could’ve done this better myself?”.

So then, why don’t I? After a couple of job knock-backs in a row, and a stressful week in work, it all sort of overcame me one night driving home. Not quite a full on ugly cry, but a general feeling of tiredness. Tiredness at my work situation, tiredness of the same routine, tiredness at never allowing my half-formed ideas to come to fruition. The first thing Ally commented when I got home was that I ‘looked sad’. I realised then that, more than anything, I was tired of this being my default mood.

Writing, drawing, planning family days out, taking photos, reading books and going to the cinema make me happy. It might read like the first time CV of a school leaver who still includes ‘hobbies and interests’, but it’s true. Comparing myself to others isn’t working. It’s not inspiring me, it’s not spurring me on to do better. It’s a common problem though- not just with me, but the many bloggers and professionals who write about the dreaded ‘impostor sydrome’. All it does is knock our confidence. What we need to do is remember what we love and to make the damn time to do it. I need to stop making excuses and hold myself accountable for what I do (or more likely, don’t) do.

It’s now March. We’re careering towards the first quarter of the year and thus far it’s passed me by. In January I made goals for the year with an unbridled sense of optimism. They centred around self care- not the bubble baths and candles type (not throwing shade at it, I just don’t have a bath). For me, that meant writing, creating, pouring my efforts into things that made me happy. So far, I haven’t done much of that, so maybe it’s time to start again. New month, new season on the horizon and all that.

So, will I suddenly start blogging to a routine, dropping new posts on the regular with an as yet untapped assuredness? Probably not. To be honest I’m not entirely sure what the point in this incoherent ramble has been. A promise to myself, I suppose, to take time out to indulge what I need to do. To remind myself that, while comparison does nothing for happiness, the real thief of joy is a lack of action. It’s time to steal that time back.

How long after the 1st of January do you keep saying ‘happy new year’?

I always thought you said it to anyone whom you were meeting for the first time since the bells. That was fine when I was younger and more sociable but let’s face it- these days, between working full time and having an increasingly mobile toddler means I’m more or less a social hermit. There are people, despite my best intentions, that I probably won’t see until the first tulips make their tentative appearance.

So, if I do somehow wish you a happy new year in March, it’s because I don’t really do very much.

When I do it usually involves damage control. He’s at THAT age.

Whether your plans involved being asleep before midnight or you saw twelve noon the following day, I hope it was what you wanted to get out of it. The year started off on a sour note for me as, two days beforehand, I found out I was due back at work a week earlier than I thought. My initial annual leave of three weeks got extended until new year and I could’ve sworn I applied for the first week off.

Nope. On the 2nd of January I was right back in the habit. The only upside was that despite a 9am start, I took my car to no interruption. The trains didn’t start early enough, I couldn’t fathom the bus timetable but the normally nose to tail roads were empty. Thanks, everyone, for staying at home with your families, friends and loved ones, and keeping the first commute of the year relatively stress free.

So, not quite the ownership I’d hoped to grab in 2018. I knew that after six weeks off it was going to be hard. I almost found it harder than returning after maternity leave. During my annual leave my son turned one and suddenly started to come on in leaps and bounds. It was a lot more work than the first time off with him, but I felt like we both got so much more out of it.

In the space of three weeks, we had four Christmas parties. We visited museums and soft plays and libraries, sat in cafes and parks, saw lights being switched on, went for long walks with no other aim than being outside. We wandered until we got lost and had to find our way back.

The Hidden Lane, Finnieston.

We celebrated my first birthday as a mum, Lucas’s first birthday earthside, the first Christmas where he was really aware of what was happening. He had his first Christmas dinner and met Santa for the first time. It felt like every day he was learning or doing something new.

I felt like I knew more this time, and was able to plan our time better. Sure, it was tough. He’s not so keen on getting changed or taking medicine or being stopped from jamming his chubby little fingers under the door. There were days where it rained so hard we didn’t leave the house, and the two of us grew bored and cranky. At first it seemed like a vast expanse of days stretching endlessly before us.

Then Christmas came, and it felt like I was being hurtled back to the real world.

The return to work loomed over the last of my leave, casting a cloud through which it was impossible to see there and then. I felt so anxious the night before, and the whole drive in. It was busy, it was stressful and… then it was done.

Ashton Lane Christmas switch-on

The next week came and went similarly. I got into a rhythm again. It wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t the end of the world. It still felt like I was wishing my days away. Somewhere along the way, though, I just… forgot to be so bothered by it.

I guess I was just ready to face the new year head on for a change. When I think back to a ‘successful’ year, it’s easy to focus on what happened, instead of how. We look back on good times, yearn for them and gloss over the stress and work and deadlines and dead space that surrounded them. Sometimes luck and opportunity can land at our feet but it’s rare. Not only that but it’s rarely a sweeter success than that which we’ve earned. Or so I’ve found, anyway.

On that note, I started making some changes. I put the work woe aside and celebrated the bells with my family. I started getting my head down and on with things at work. I signed up for an evening course in web design and web authoring. I’ve put away £3 for every coffee I haven’t bought and read double my book readin’ target for the month. I signed up to Veganuary and I’ve been cooking more, eating more and eating better.

Obviously this was before jumping on the vegan wagon.

I’ve written a list of goals (not resolutions) for the year to finally vent my creative frustration. I have a beautiful new diary and Ally bought me a calendar- an actual, honest to god one which goes on the wall. Usually I’d fill them with the plans I wanted to make, but I’m prioritising the ones I need to make by writing them nicely.

I’m not saying that Doing Things and Making Changes are a one stop solution for all of our woes. I’m not exactly grabbing life by the balls, currently sitting alone under a blanket on a Friday night, blogging and catching up on Mad Men (I’m on the second episode).

That’s cool, though. It’s not about razing your life to the ground and building a flat pack new build from its ashes (do that if you want, but it’s not my point). Do what you have to in order to forge your own path.

Stirling Arcade before the Christmas lights switch on.

At the same time, don’t forget touchstones or little things that make you happy. I’m a big fan of the idea of change but sometimes the execution can get swamped by self doubt, second guessing and just plain daily life. Plans and goals are exciting, but sometimes being blown off course is where the real experiences are. Fill your reserves to dip back into when external pressures become overwhelming. Things can wait.

That was quite the ramble, wasn’t it? I’m not even sure what direction that was trying to take but here we are. We’re almost a month down in this brave new world of 2018. It’s a curious mix of excitement for the year ahead and enjoyment of the space we’re inhabiting right now.

Do what you will with it, as I will, do what you love and don’t be a dick.

Happy new year.

What’s the worst thing about getting caught short on your period?

If you’re anything like me, you probably have spare tampons or towels stuffed in random bags or pockets. Funnily ever, it’s never that bag you have on you when you find yourself mid-flow. You can use all the apps and period trackers you want but our bodies are funny things: sometimes, we’re just plain ol’ unprepared.

Worst case scenario? Either going without until you can find a shop (or get home), or make like a high school bra and stuff it with toilet paper until you find a shop (or get home). It’s annoying, but it does the job in the interim. When you do re-stock, you load up enough supplies to get you through the next 5-7 days and repeat, ad nausaeum, the following month. Whatever your preferred method of management- tampon, towel, moon cup- they’re always convenient.

When I was in school, you never dared admit your period had appeared unannounced. Period positivity has progressed a lot since then. We’re opening up a dialogue now. Hey, if you want a tampon so badly and you’re in a public toilet, you can even ask the person next to you. No one’s going to laugh. The worst they can do is say no.

We have such ready access to sanitary products. Recently, Tesco became the first chain to roll back the tampon tax. It was a nice thought that the 5% levy (for the luxury of having a period) would go to charities but it was revealed in April of this year that £250,000 had been funnelled into anti-abortion charity, Life. Not the charitable giving we first envisioned. Instead of supporting women, the money was now going to organisations intent on taking choices away. Tesco’s renege on the tax brought the conversation about its abolition back into the headlines and- fingers crossed- the rest of UK might just follow suit.

I digress, but it’s to make a point. Periods are becoming a part of our everyday discussions and we’re never likely to really get caught that short. In our cosy bubbles, enveloped in privilege, it becomes a funny anecdote. When you think about it, our access to products, information and apps really are a ‘luxury’.

Sadly it’s one that many women can ill afford. That wad of toilet paper you stuff down there for an hour or so? 61% of homeless women have to make to with toilet paper, newspaper and even rags for the duration of their period. Not just once, but multiple times. Considering the average period lasts five days that’s a long time to go without. Periods are often longer, heavier and more painful in the winter. We have painkillers and hot water bottles. Imagine how traumatic this must be when you barely have a roof over your head.

If you’re unfamiliar with the Simon Community, allow me to brief you. For more than 50 years they’ve been reaching out to people in an attempt to combat causes of homelessness, provide help to service users and make them feel valued. They’re now launching a brand new service to help the 500 homeless women they support across Glasgow (and countless more beyond). Their Period Friendly Points (PFPs) will, initially, be locations catered specifically towards homeless people, with the hope of expanding into other organisations.

PFPs will be specifically tailored to meet users’ needs, supplying sanitary products, wipes, pants, disposable bags and information. For further peace of mind, pregnancy and infection tests will also be available. Lack of nutrition and a healthy diet often lead to irregular periods. With around a quarter of female rough sleepers admitting to being sexually assaulted, they need all the assurance we can offer.

It’s not just about free tampons, though. PFPs will also have staff on hand to whom they can chat to about any issues or queries, or even just open up to a sympathetic ear.

70% of homeless women have never even spoken to anyone about their period. Not a friend, relative, colleague, no one. The Simon Community found that the lack of period conversation among homeless women often stems from traumatic incidences in childhood, and they want PFPs to help fill that gap.

In addition to this, the Simon Community’s street teams will also be handing out Period Friendly Pax which can be refilled by the street team or at a PFP.

I’ll admit that until recently, I was quite ignorant of this. I didn’t realise how many organisations like The Simon Community need sanitary products. When we think of food bank donations, we think of tins and dried food. It was only after my son was born- and subsequently grew so fast that we had a lot of unopened nappies- that I asked my local bank if they needed any baby supplies. To my surprise they said they were desperate for them: nappies, baby milk, wipes, toiletries and, yup, sanitary products. It’s something we take for granted, but could be a lifeline to someone in need.

The Simon Community have made it super easy for people to get involved: a five day period pack costs £15 and you can choose to donate £5, £10 or £15 by texting PFPR28 and your chosen donation to 70070.

You can also become a Period Friendly Pal. By donating a couple of hours a month or week, you can:

  • Visit PFPs to restock supplies
  • Collect donations and sort them into Pax (and refresher packs) at their Glasgow warehouse
  • Raise funds, awareness and products to maintain the PFPs and pax
  • Support and promote issues faced by homeless women, offer a listening ear and be of support for the women to whom the Community reaches out
  • For more information, check out their website here

Whatever you can do to help, it’s worth knowing that even the smallest donation- whether it’s money, time or supplies- can make a huge difference. It might seem like a small step but when it comes to stamping out period inequality, small gestures can mean everything.

This time last year, I was slap bang in the middle of my second trimester. We’d settled into the idea of being parents and life revolved around scans, midwife appointments and shopping for prams. It doesn’t feel like a year, but here we are with an eight month old (I kind of dropped the ball on monthly updates on the blog, huh?). As much fun as it is, I do find myself looking back fondly on the experience of being first-time expectant parents.

Love- or at the very least, lust- is in the air around these parts. It feels like every week brings another pregnancy announcement (seriously people, how much are you having at it?). Every time I see one I get a wee buzz of excitement, even if I don’t know the person. First time parents have so much to look forward to, they don’t even know. Obviously having a baby isn’t the be all and end all. It’s not always immediate cause for celebration. It’s hard bloody work.

If you do choose to have a baby though, for all the hard parts, it’s pretty great. The worst part though? All of the unsolicited advice and intrusive questions. Shortly before my due date, I compiled a list of the most common things I’d been asked during pregnancy. In hindsight, with eight months’ parenting experience under my belt, I’ve put together  a compilation of advice: take it from someone who’s still muddling through, learning on the job. You’re going to be fine.

No one cares about your birth

I mean this in the nicest possible way. If you’ve attended antenatal classes, or discussed a birth plan, you’re probably aware of different birthing options. Whether it’s in a bath, drug-free, hypnobirth, epidural, via caesaerean or getting the ol’ plunger up in there, one thing is the same: whatever gets your baby out safely is what’s natural and normal for you. For me it just feels like another way of heaping pressure on expectant parents. People shoo away the notion of pain relief because they “want to experience as much as possible”. Personally, I opted for diamorphine and had a pretty thorough experience without feeling like I was being punched in the vagina from the inside. If you’re opting for pain relief it’s not wussing out. Giving birth without pain relief doesn’t make you a better parent (although hats off if you did). Giving birth via C-section is still giving birth. Your birth is personal to you, and if people want to judge by their own standards it doesn’t lessen your experience or make theirs any more valid. In the grand scheme of things, as long as parent(s) and baby are happy, no one cares.

Fed is best

Breastfeeding is hard. It takes practise. Considering the UK has the lowest breastfeeding rates in the world, there’s clearly not enough support out there. If you can make it work, and stick with it, that’s awesome. However if, like me, breastfeeding isn’t an option- or hey, if you just choose not to- that’s cool too. Championing one way of feeding at the derision of another isn’t cool. You don’t know someone’s story or circumstance. As long as your baby is happy, healthy and gaining weight, go with what works for you.

Just say no

This is the one piece of advice that I wish I’d take under advisement when Lucas was born. When we came home from hospital, all I wanted was a nice quiet day or so to adjust to our new life as three. This didn’t happen. For the next few weeks, into Christmas and new year, it felt like a constant procession. We never had time alone just to be ourselves. People mean well but, with the onset of baby blues, it can be a bit overwhelming. Don’t be afraid to say no if you’re not up to visits right away. Take your time, enjoy the first few days at home with your baby. Family and friends will still be there when you’re ready.

Take your time

One of the weirdest realisations about having a baby is that life goes on. I remember standing looking out of the window of the maternity ward, looking at the buses and cars going up and down the motorway, going to and from work as if nothing had changed. For us, our whole world had changed, but the world kept turnin’. Coming home felt like our little bubble had burst.

Since then we’ve bought a house, moved twice, I’m doing a phased return to work and looking at nurseries for the little man. I don’t know that the enormity of this year of change quite hit me until recently, until it hit me all at once. Change can be hard to process, and having a baby changes everything. Your lifestyle, relationship, body- everything. If you need some time to adjust, fine. You’re allowed to feel like change is hard to keep up with. Be kind to yourself- you’re doing the best you can.

Comparison is the thief of joy

Once your baby’s born you’re thrust into a myriad of milestones. First time smiling, laughing, rolling over, sleeping through the night, eating solids, cutting a tooth. Some babies roll over within a matter of months. Lucas was about six months before he nailed the ol’ back to front roll. Was I worried? No. It meant I could pop through to the next room without worrying. He still doesn’t have a tooth, but nothing I do is going to make that happen faster. Babies do everything in their own time. Looking at what other babies do- or don’t do- can send you spiralling into a tailspin of parental guilt (if you’re anything like me). Likewise, if another mum snapped back to pre-pregnancy weight, or if their baby latched on to the boob while you had to opt for the bottle. Ask yourself “does this in any way impact me or my child?”. If the answer is no, let it go. Parenting is a minefield of worry and the hardest thing to do is learn to pick your battles.

Enjoy the little things

It’s an old adage but it’s true. Babies are only babies for a short while. Before you know it, they’re actual real, independent, little people. I was guilty of getting caught up in thinking of the next Big Thing and trying to do as much as possible. As soon as I went back to work for a KIT day, it felt as though the last eight months hadn’t happened. Trying to overreach was just stressful. While I still like finding new things to do, it makes me appreciate chilled days more. I went along to a CBT course run by the NHS wellbeing services, which helped massively. If you don’t have the time or inclination to sign up, there are plenty of resources out there. Spending the afternoon in a library, getting some fresh air, not getting dressed til 11am, , writing down one thing I’m grateful for every day, even- gasp- putting my phone down helped massively. As did putting Lucas down for a nap, patching the cleaning and actually having a hot cup of coffee.

Take it in your stride

Like I said, people are only too happy to throw advice at you. Some of it’s helpful and well meaning, some of it isn’t. Most of it will be unsolicited. When it comes to parenting, everyone has an opinion, but only you know what’s best for you. Smile and nod. Very few of us know what we’re doing, but we crack on. You got this.

…what would I tell you?

There are so many ‘get to know me’ posts out there. Ten random facts, seasonal tags, my favourite […] and, of course, the ubiquitous A-Z of me. I’ve tried to write some before but they always felt a little forced to me. I love reading them though. They appeal to my inner nosey bugger. My problem is that I just never felt like I could drum up enough interesting facts, certainly nothing that I’d want broadcast on the internet. A recent discovery courtesy of Eleanor and Lucie totally resonated with me though. Mostly because it involves my favourite beverage.

How many times have you met up with someone ‘for a coffee’ and ended up sitting for hours putting the world to right? Some of the biggest decisions and realest conversations of my life have been made over a cup a’ joe. There’s something about the smell of a fresh coffee that stirs my senses like nothing else, and makes me so inclined to sit down for a chat. On that note, put the kettle on (or get me an Americano and I’ll square you up) and I’ll tell you all about it.

If we were having coffee I’d ask for it black, two spoons, no sugar, no milk. I’d tell you that I started drinking it when I was a poor student, and milk and sugar were luxuries (but roll-ups and four packs of Strongbow were necessities). At first I studied film studies, which I left after a year and a half, before going back to study film production and finally a Master’s in Creative and Cultural Business. I’d lament on how coffee got me through student film shoots, and fuelled my Master’s assignments and finally dissertation. During deadline season we’d hole up in an empty classroom, sit in a circle and pass books across the tables, stopping only for a coffee and cigarette break. I’d sit there for hours, then go home and retreat my room with a coffee to power through another thousand words. I’d no doubt sigh as I thought about how hard I worked only to wind up in a vicious cycle of customer service jobs.

If we were having coffee I’d tell you that I studied events, branding and public relations, and that it was my dream (or rather is my dream) to work in that creative capacity. However, timing was not on my side and I never quite caught that fish. Instead, I poured my energy into volunteering, kicking up my blog again and preparing for parenthood. That I made creative outlets for myself when I couldn’t find it through work, that I’ve gone down a different path to what I thought- one that will, I hope, bring more opportunities my way (although I’m not sure what they might be).

If we were having coffee I would say that I’m actually quite proud of some of my blogging output. That writing is the one constant in my life, regardless of how long I go between doing it. It’s the one thing I’ve always done without too much difficulty. Once I’m in the process, it’s great, but writer’s block strikes more than I’d care to admit. My confidence in my own blog is picking up, and in growing it (albeit at a snail’s pace) I’ve come in contact with some pretty great people, writers who continually inspire me and push me to do better, even if they don’t know it. I’d say that I’m comfortable writing for myself, but that writing for other people is a different matter. I devour magazines and websites with a good long read to get stuck into, but rarely think that could be me. Sometimes I see writers’ communities like The Olive Fox and wish I could pitch something that people would want to read. Maybe someday I will.

If we were having coffee I’d tell you that I want to write more, to draw more and create more, but that my time management sucks. It’s always been pretty lax but in recent years- nay, months- it’s gotten considerably worse. So bad that when a time is suggested, I automatically add an hour on to when I’ll get there. When I think about all the stuff I want to sit down and do, it’s kind of scary. I wish I had the drive to match my ambition. For now, some caffeine will do the trick.

If we were having coffee, the time management chat would lead me into my CBT class that I’ve been doing for the last few weeks. I thought it was a postnatal group for new mums to meet up, but turns out it’s a mood management group for people living with depression. I don’t know if that’s me exactly (I’ve never been to a doctor about it, anyway). However it’s taught me to think about my thoughts, be mindful of when certain thoughts occur, to take stock of my surroundings and break out of the cycle that I’ve found myself in. Part of that is managing my week around new or alternative behaviours- doing something new, or even doing old things that I’d forgotten I loved. Things that seem trivial when work and parenting and mortgages are also in the ether, but things that keep me more grounded than any of those things.

On a lighter note, if we were having coffee, I’d talk about my love of travel. Before our son was born, Ally and I went to Berlin and planned a whole host of other trips. I’ve never been the type to want to find myself travelling across Asia for weeks at a time. What I do love is seeing Europe, its cities and cultures, packing in as much as we can for the short bursts that we’re there. I’d love to do the great American road trip, travel from one coast to another and end up in Hollywood, explore the hypnotic richness of South America or head up north to Canada. It was our plan for the next year or so. In hindsight, perhaps a baby was a blessing in disguise since America’s coat is on a shaky nail. Maybe in four years…

If we were having coffee I’d say that my Californian ambition comes from a love of movies, a nostalgia for an old Hollywood that I’ll never know. I’d ask your top five favourite films, because no one has just one. I’d ask your favourite genre, actor, director, moment in cinema. Apart from writing, it’s my other big passion and, like writing, my cinema attendance fluctuates dramatically. I’d say that, in spite of my fairly expansive home collection, I’ve missed out on a lot of the classics. From then on I’d talk about documentaries, real life, true crime, a fascination with serial killers and conspiracies and how it all grew from staying up late as a ten year old, secretly watching The X Files with the sound turned down.

If we were having coffee I’d comment on how nice it was to be in adult company, after spending most of my days with a baby whose conversational skills are limited to gurgling and crying. I’d tell you that it’s a treat to chat to someone who can not only listen but respond, too. He’d probably be there, depending on the time of day. I’d tell you that finding out about him was a huge surprise, but one that I ultimately feel will be the making of me. He’s made me reassess what’s important to me, to realise the joy of slowing down, appreciating the little things and not letting any moment pass unnoticed. He’s grumpy and drooly thanks to hitting the teething stage, but when he smiles at me he makes me feel like the most important person in the world.