The Great Telephone Bill Debacle of 2012

About six weeks ago, I innocently wandered from my letterbox back to my house, opening the mail as I did so. Junk mail, some bills, nothing out of the ordinary.

Until I opened the phone bill and had this image forever burned into my mind:

My first thought was, why is there is a comma in the total? Then I thought maybe I'd cry. And then I thought maybe I'd laugh, because the whole thing was so ridiculous. In the end I asked Steve to call Telstra. (I would have called them, but anyone who has heard me on the phone when I'm a bit angry will know that I'm a customer service operator's worst nightmare.) I actually expected the result of that call to be a bit of a laugh at the computer error, and for it all to be fixed then and there.

Not so.

The charges were for the trip we had just returned from. You know, the BUDGET holiday we had in New Zealand. Before leaving, we had bought a data pack from Telstra so we could use our phones over there, including the internet - Steve had told them what we intended to use them for and a suitable pack was recommended. 'Lucky you bought the pack,' the lady said over the phone. 'Without it there are ridiculous charges for this type of thing.'

Lucky indeed. I'd hate to see their version of ridiculous charges!

Long story short: we lodged a complaint, they agreed to drop it by 75%, we still nearly fainted at the almost $3,000 bill that still left us with, I inundated Telstra with angry tweets, we went to the ombudsman, we were then offered 50% off the total, we really freaked out and made them stick to the 75%, we went back to the ombudsman, I sent more angry tweets, and just yesterday the whole thing was resolved.

A phone call that meant we can breathe again: they've wiped THE WHOLE LOT. We owe them nothing.

Life goes on as usual.

Can you imagine the change in mood around here now?

Lessons learned:

- Next time we go away we will stay in touch by sending good old-fashioned postcards
- When you're suffering from insomnia, it is possible to lose even more sleep
- A very relaxed, easygoing person can become a major stress head very quickly
- When you have quite low blood pressure it's actually very easy to raise it (although I don't recommend this particular method)
- Shoulders do not belong next to your ears
- It is possible to not breathe properly for six weeks
- Calling Telstra people morons over the phone doesn't actually speed up the resolution
- Using the word 'ombudsman' a lot makes you feel very important

Walk, don't run

A three-year-old's walking view

I'm a walker, not a runner.

I like the pace of it, the simplicity.

To some people, that sounds slack, like walking is taking the easy way. Not so.

Ask me to run three kilometres and I'll struggle. But walk 100k's? Done, no probs.

I used to run through life.

Fast-paced, ticking boxes, getting stuff done. Every single day was a chance to do, to achieve.

Problem is, a soul can't soak up life at that pace.

Now, I walk my life.

I want my life to be about the 100 kilometres, not three.

I take each step purposefully. I achieve things, just differently.

I'm catching up with myself.

Letting my soul catch up.

Sometimes I yearn to get back to the fast pace. To learn to run the 100.

There are so many things I want to do in the days and years ahead of me.

Sometimes I think that one day I'll be a force to be reckoned with.

Other days I don't know that I want to be.

And so I keep walking.

For now, I'm just a woman walking at a pace her soul can appreciate.

Long boots and big you-know-whats

21 weeks, complete with new boots and
boobs that are keeping up with my stomach

I quite like shopping - for shoes, clothes, house stuff, whatever. But one type of shopping I will only ever do when things are desperate is bra shopping. Actually, you can add bathers to that list as well. Basically, any shopping that involves my boobs is bad news.

(Oh yeah, if you don't want to read about boobs (not in a sexy way) you might want to stop here.)

Because I'm a strange size, it's not uncommon for me to go into a shop only to be told, 'We have NOTHING in that size'. And when they do have something in that size, it's generally not the most attractive of things. Both circumstances are somewhat depressing, and here I stand at age 31 having only owned a couple of 'nice' bras ever in my life.

When I'm pregnant, my boobs consider it a race to stay bigger than my stomach, and so it is that I find myself bra shopping far too regularly.

And it's just awful. The no-wire thing is something I resist for as long as possible, but wire isn't too comfortable either. I have to buy things that are so full-on they rival the Harbour Bridge for Australia's most amazing engineering feat.

Basically, whatever I wear I end up in discomfort for most of the day.

This week I was on one such shopping adventure, ready to cry some shallow tears at the ugliness of it all. (I swear if one more person tells me that pregnancy is sexy or beautiful, I will hit them.) The only way to solve my dilemma was to do something equally shallow, yet pretty, to cheer myself up.

And so it is that I now own my first pair of long boots that actually fit my legs! (My legs have the opposite problem to my boobs - they're usually too skinny for boots.)

All is right with (the shallow end of) my world once again.

The Things They Didn't Tell You

I've said no to lots of things this year, all in the aim of keeping the promise to myself that 2012 would be the year of keeping things simple.

That's what no one ever told me: that when you're pregnant and/or raising young kids, sometimes the rest of the world is racing at too high a speed to be involved in. Sometimes you have to step out of the race for a bit.

BUT, what this ultimately means is that when I say yes to something it means that I really want to do it.

Being involved with the new ebook, Things They Didn't Tell You About Parenting, is something I'm proud of. Working with the people who made it happen - Allison, Tracy and Mal - was a chance I jumped at. And contributing to something that is doing so much good... well, you can't go past that.

So, what is it? It's an anthology of pieces by myself and 31 of Australia's top bloggers, all about parenting. This isn't a book filled with tips and advice and how-to's, it's a book of real stories by mums and dads who have lived it.

When I read all the contributions, I cried and cried. In a good (and emotionally unstable, pregnant woman) kind of way. It's good - these people can write, they know how to get to the guts of what really matters.

Best of all, every cent raised from the sale of the ebook goes straight to charity. Foundation 18, to be exact, which funds the orphanage set up in Indonesia by the inspiring Cate Bolt.

In Cate's words: "The proceeds are all going to children who don’t have parents, or whose parents’ greatest concern is whether they can feed their child at all."

The ebook is $4.95 and we'd all love it if you grabbed yourself a copy and, when you realise how awesome it is, tell everyone you know!

Buy Things They Didn't Tell You About Parenting here.

For Steve

When I look at you, I see the man I first spotted a table away.

I hear my thought, 'I have to know who that is', the music that played.

When I look at you, I see our first date. I feel the butterflies in my stomach.

I hear our voices, filled with excitement for what lay ahead.

When I look at you, I see the man who loved me no matter what.

I hear my disbelief and I hear your certainty.

When I look at you, I see your face the day we bought our house.

I hear the noises of the work we've done to make it ours.

When I look at you, I see you in shorts in the snow, I see us on our crazy adventures.

I hear our laughter.

When I look at you, I see us on our wedding day, smiling at each other.

I hear nothing but the certainty in my heart.

When I look at you, I see the lives we've created.

When I look at you, I see the husband and dad you are. That you've fought to be.

When I look at you, I see strength, determination, vulnerability and love.

When I look at you, I see you, for everything I've known you to be.

When I can't see you, I feel your strength and assurance.

When I look at you, I see the story of our life. The story that we're writing every day.

Head to safety?

I used to ask this question in interviews all the time: "What are your weaknesses?"

I hate that I asked it; it's a horrible, mean question - but the way people answer it tell you a lot about them. Some people take the cheesy way out with something like, "I'm so organised and sometimes that's a weakness". I don't like that; I'd often tell them to cut the crap and be more honest. (But more professional wording!) Some would come straight out with a real answer, and then hope you wouldn't put a big cross against their name. I love honesty, so it rarely ended that way.

When I did the interview rounds and was asked that same question, I really struggled. I mean, I do have weaknesses, of course I do. It's just that when I know they exist, I work at stopping them being weaknesses. I work and strive until I can't consider them weak points anymore.

I'm not good at knowing that I have weaknesses. Or, at least, weaknesses that I want to be strengths. It's an uncomfortable feeling.

The thing with writing is that your faults are very readily and very regularly pointed out to you. (As are your strengths, really, but isn't it funny how you focus so much on the criticism instead. The optimistic side of me likes to think it's because we're all keen to learn - and no one ever learnt much from being told they were doing a good job.)

Sometimes it makes you want to forget the whole idea and run back to safety.

I'm a very Sensible Person but sometimes there's this thing inside me that says, you've taken the jump, now just keep free falling. The fear of it gets in your veins and makes you feel alive. Not surviving just to wade through the crap of each day. Alive.

That in itself makes you face a lot of stuff that you're able to hide really well when you're in a safe, comfortable place.

Eventually, you come to know your weaknesses. Sometimes you have to forget perfectionism, and accept that you can't be amazing at everything.

But when something is really important, you can't shrug it off and head towards safety.

You just have to try harder.

Big fun at Big4 Bellarine

This weekend I headed to Big4 Bellarine holiday park, for a girls' weekend of great proportions. About 40 'mum bloggers' descended upon the place, leaving many of us wondering if our amazing hostess Sophie REALLY knew what she was in for. Mum bloggers are renowned for, um, enjoying themselves when away from their families.

We were put into teams for the first piece of fun - a Great Race around the park. I was in Team Hot Pink and together with my team mates, Claire, Naomi, Suz and Kirrily, prepared with lashings of nail polish so bright it blinded us when we raised our hands, feather boas, tiaras and even hot pink undies. We turned up not wanting, but expecting to win.

And... we were off. The race began with a climb up the rope pyramid in the main playground, which I had covered for Team Hot Pink amidst cries of 'You're sending your pregnant team member up?!' from other teams. Pregnancy, soreness, whatever - this was a race and I was in the competitive spirit. I came down with our clues in hand and we set off to the first challenge.

The flying fox. Yep, I jumped on that too...

Then we raced back to the go-kart area, where I did actually become wary of injury and opted to be team photographer for a few moments, as the others headed around. Most of my team members had fierce race looks on their faces, but Claire had a distinct look of having a lazy cruise around the track...

Next was the toddler play area...

... where Kirrily took one for the team, donning a blindfold to put a nappy on the doll. (As you do.)

Then we were off to quickly view the camp kitchen facilities...

... where each team member had to cook and eat (or at least pretend to eat) pancakes. (As you do.)

Next up was a spot of competitiveness with Team Blue in the campground...

And a little practice putting up a 'tent'.

Then came the football challenge. Claire was chosen to try and kick the footy through the goal posts, mainly because no one else could gather themselves to wear the Essendon scarf part of the costume. She did well, and we hassled another team as they waited behind us. (Go Team Hot Pink!)

Then the jumping pillow. Ah, the jumping pillow. I eyed it off and used the pregnancy excuse again, for fear of it being too great a test for my pelvic floor strength. (Awkward.) But Claire, Kirrily and Naomi took to the jumping with great style...

Our last challenge was the pool, where each team had to find two rubber ducks with their team colour. By this stage, we had realised we were in third place (that damned Team Blue!) and so our competitiveness waned and we sent just one team member in wearing her clothes - thanks Naomi!

Finally, it was back to our comfy cabins for a rest after all that.

Just quietly, I'm hobbling around today after a weekend of running, climbing, flying foxing and dancing. But you know what? Sometimes you just have to forget it all and have some good old-fashioned fun with the girls.

Thanks Big4 Bellarine - I had a blast.

Follow Big4 Bellarine on Facebook here
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[I wrote this post because I was really impressed with the accommodation, facilities and people at Big4 Bellarine and had a wonderful time. I was not asked or obligated to write this or promote them in any way; I just wanted to share my experiences at a place families love to visit.]

Dad-daughter weekend

I woke on Friday morning to a disappointed voice: "Where's Daddy?"

"At work," I answered.

"But it's our day!" she said.

"Not yet, that's tomorrow."

I woke on Saturday morning to a hand waving in front of me. "Bye Mum! You can go now!"

As I showered and packed she kept asking, "Are you going yet?"

She knew she was in for some big adventures while I headed away for the weekend (more on that to come).

They visited grandparents, went swimming at the pool (she was keen to show her Dad that she dives now), ate chips for dinner, watched movies, and had a long, muddy walk through the forest.

I came home to a pair of my favourite people so happy from spending time together.

And a three-and-a-half year-old so exhausted that she had a slight meltdown and was in bed by 6pm.

The mummy wars: do they even exist?

My view on motherhood is pretty clear:

It's not a job, it's just life. Sometimes life is wonderful, sometimes it sucks a bit.

Mostly, I think we all have our differences - values, views, methods of doing things - but more importantly we all have ONE HUGE thing in common.

We're all trying to do our best.

End of story.

Except, it's not. There is, apparently, a 'mummy war' being fought. We're being told by the media that we all want to know which parent is doing it right and of course, which ones are doing it WRONG. Which ones should we point our fingers at and alienate for their WRONG choices? Which ones should we put a BAD MOTHER label on?

This week has been a tough battle in the 'mummy war'. Headlines have been aimed at breastfeeders, smackers, working mums, those who complain... and that's just in the last few days. (It's probably important to mention here that these are mostly (and I say 'mostly' because part of the smacking story did actually make me quite uncomfortable) not stories about people mistreating or abusing their children in any way - that's a whole different kettle of fish.)

I think it's great to have discussions about parenting. I love hearing about how others do things - that's what shows me what options are open to me, it helps me and my husband make informed choices about our own ways of parenting. And it's okay to have views on what others do - there is no other way to form your own boundaries.

That's (in part) why I read lots of blogs - hearing from other parents has opened my eyes to the world of choice in parenting. Knowledge equals less judgement, and better personal decisions.

But every time I hear someone outside the headlines talking about these stories, I hear one message: Can we leave each other alone please!

And so, I disagree with the media. I don't think any 'mummy war' actually exists.

I think they've created it, just for the headlines. (I know! Shock, horror!)

I think that most of us couldn't care less about finger pointing. We want to talk about things, but not in a nasty way. I think that if it was all presented differently we'd actually enjoy discussing our differences. Which would be much more constructive.

We're all trying to do our best. End of story.

What do you think about the 'mummy war'?

Breastfeeding and me

Breastfeeding is quite the Hot Topic in my family.

Between each of the women who have given birth, we have covered most bases. Ask Mum about her breastfeeding experiences and she’ll say she loved it - but weaned each of us the minute we learned to walk, as she couldn’t stand the thought of a child walking to her to be breastfed.

My sister-in-law chose not to breastfeed, feeding her two children formula from the get-go.

My sister has breastfed each of her three children ‘full-term’, that is, until they have been ready to wean themselves. She is also a breastfeeding counsellor with the Australian Breastfeeding Association and (obviously) a proud advocate of the benefits of breastfeeding for babies, mums and families.

As for me - when my daughter was born over three years ago I was adamant in my choice. There was no way on earth I would breastfeed. Despite talking through it with my mum and sister, who both gently suggested I at least try it, the thought of having milk coming out of my body quite frankly repulsed me. And the idea of a small human sucking it from me was even worse.

But, safe in the knowledge that everyone said breastfeeding is hard work - difficult to establish, stressful for the mother, a steep learning curve - I agreed to give it a go. It was a token effort, made simply so I could shrug and say, ‘Well, I tried, but it was too hard and too stressful’. I did it so that I’d be armed with an excuse for bottle-feeding, to shift the blame because I felt I’d be criticised for that choice in the community.

What no one told me is that breastfeeding can be extraordinarily easy.

My baby got it on her first try. I was shocked, and even the midwives were astonished. (‘Are you sure this is your first time?’ they asked me.) I found myself with no excuse; I had to do it.

I tried to give it up a few times. When I had mastitis two weeks later I suggested to my doctor that I get some bottles, but she shook her head. Turns out that the best way to help cure the infection is to feed (painfully) through it. Damn.

Then I tried to give it up a few months down the track, but my daughter wouldn’t take bottles. I subscribed to the theory that if a child is hungry enough they will take a bottle eventually. Turns out that isn’t true. Myth: busted.

I thought about persisting with bottles at other times, but circumstances dictated otherwise. With the hottest Victorian summer ever (the year of the Black Saturday bushfires), I knew the best way to help her stay hydrated and healthy was to not only continue with breastfeeding but to not mess with something that was working so well.

And it really did work well: she thrived. Why change things?

I didn’t want to breastfeed at all, but in the end I did it for nine months, and you know what? It wasn’t so bad. I came to like the ease of it, and I slowly learned that this baby was teaching me a valuable parenting lesson. She taught me to watch her signs for being ready for things, and not to try forcing things differently.

When my second child is born this coming October, I once again know exactly what I’m going to do. This time, I’m not setting rules for myself and him/her. We’ll do exactly what works for us. (I have a slight suspicion that because I want to breastfeed this time it’ll be harder, but that’s just me being a pessimist.)

In my family breastfeeding is a Hot Topic, and we’ve covered all bases. But at the end of the day, all that matters is we are a family filled with healthy, happy children. Each set of parents did what worked for them and their babies, and all judgement was reserved.

Just as it should be in the wider community.

Tea of choice

I'm not a 'real' tea drinker. My Mum says that's her big failure as a parent; that none of her children will sit and have a cuppa with her. (She's joking.) (I think.)

I'm not a coffee drinker. That is my husband's greatest disappointment in his choice of wife. (Which is odd because I could think of a million other reasons he should be disappointed.)

But, in recent years, I've managed to get used to herbal tea.

Peppermint has been my tea of choice. It's helped me calm down through anxiety and pain, and lately it's stopped me eating excessive amounts of chocolate to settle my poor old pregnant stomach. (The term 'excessive' is open to interpretation.) (And I never said anything about ice cream!)

But this pregnancy is messing with my mind. Just as I get used to being okay with something, it all changes - including my liking for peppermint tea. Now I just have to smell it and it makes me gag. This fussiness thing is KILLING me.

And so I do what I always do when I think I'd like to be adventurous with my tea drinking: I head to the hills' best (only?) tea shop. I wander, pick up various concoctions and have a good sniff and wonder if it will sit gathering dust in my cupboard, like many have before, or whether I'll drink it.

This visit, the test was easy. If the smell didn't make me want to spew, I bought it.

Whoever said I'm not a tea connoisseur?

I came away with three to try:

Raspberry leaf - I always thought this was just for the last trimester, but I've been told it's good for aches and pains. For that reason alone, I expect to be drinking this by the litre. I'll even put up with the fact it looks like cobwebs, and tastes a bit like how I imagine cobwebs would taste when mixed with hot water.

Chamomile - I'll try anything to get a good night's sleep. The only worry is that drinking tea before bed will have me peeing all night, and thereby (hopefully) (semi, at least) awake.

Herbal chai - This is purely for the YUM factor. It's gooood, and should help me warm up on cold wintry mornings.

And I'm enjoying the ritual of it. It takes me back to my childhood, watching Mum carefully and precisely prepare the tea. Using it as a time to sit down quietly. I've even found myself trying to do the same brainwash I was subjected to as a kid, giving my Abbey a little cup of cool herbal chai as we have a 'tea party' together.

Meanwhile, Steve, our resident coffee snob, watches on in horror.

What's your tea of choice? Or a you a coffee addict like my man?

It's a kinda magic

"I want to see the place where you got married with Daddy."

A random request. A reminder that we haven't been there for years. And so, we drove up the mountain, the three and a half of us.

There's this thing when you've been together as long as we have. When you're parents together.

And when another human is inhabiting your body, when you feel your space is so enclosed already that as someone else comes near you, you just push them away.

Walking through those gates I always feel a sense of calm. I remember driving in there that afternoon, feeling that same sense of peace.

I remember being asked if I felt nervous. "Not even a little bit," I answered. Excited, yes. Worried about being the centre of attention all day, yes. Nervous, no.

I was exactly where I should be. With the person I was meant to be there with. Simple as that.

The gardens are beautiful, but still when you walk in there's no sense of what lies further in.

These are the Alfred Nicholas Memorial Gardens, in Sherbrooke here in the Dandenong Ranges. It was once the summer residence of the man who developed the Aspro painkiller, and the property has had several uses (including a children's hospital during the war) until it was put into the hands of Parks Victoria and opened for public enjoyment.

When we first came here we were just out for a wander, a place to breathe against the heat of the day.

Then we came to the lake.

"Let's get married here."

We were married in summer, nine years ago, on the small island on the lake. A string trio played as the people most important to us gathered.

I smiled at my husband-to-be as I walked over the bridges to reach his side.

There's something magical about a place that gives you such hope, you want to promise another person you will love them forever.

There's this thing when you're in the place we are in right now. A bit of magic is just what's needed.

A pre-Mothers Day letter to my daughter

Darling Abbey,

Three-and-a-half years ago you were born, and I became a Mum.

By the time my first Mothers Day came around, your Dad and I had discussed how we felt about Mothers and Fathers Days. Quite simply, we were as impressed with the idea of those as we were about Valentine's Day. (Yuck.) And so, each time a Mothers or Fathers Day has arrived we ignore them - except to visit your grandparents. Maybe. If we're feeling charitable enough to ignore the fact we don't like these days and would prefer to (and do) visit them at other unscheduled times.

Last year at childcare you made me a glittery wooden spoon and a card. This year at kinder, I'm pretty sure you're making me a card that tells me what you love about me. (You haven't yet learnt to keep a secret.) (For the record, you love that I read you stories.)

I love that stuff - making a nice card or a funny little offering, not buying me stuff that ads on TV tell you I want. (If I want diamonds I'll hint to your Dad for another occasion.) But I love it no more than any other day you come home armed with paintings and paper plates that you've scrawled your name over, or a picture that you say is of the three of us with big smiles on our faces.

One day when you're older you might want to buy me something small, or make me breakfast, or pick some flowers from our garden for me. But whether you do those things on Mothers Day or on any other random day doesn't matter to me. Frankly, whether you do those things at all is neither here nor there.

What I want is for you to love the people in your life, and to show them that. And show them whenever the urge takes you, not when a date on a calendar tells you to.

You are one of the most genuine, kind people I know - and I don't want that turned into a fake, forced showing of affection by the commercial world. Just be you. Show your love in a way that's you. If you grow up to really love those days and feel that helps you express your affection, then do it - but do it for your own reasons.

In our family we'll celebrate Christmas and birthdays with love and excitement. The rest of the year, let's just give life the chance to happen, and enjoy the hell out of it.

Love you.

Mum

The big, bad world

My girl running around a lake in the city

Abbey twirled around as we waited for our friends out the front of a city theatre. Her little dress spun, and she lifted it up as she jumped and danced around.

Another mum, with twins in a pram, walked over and spoke to Abbey. 'Don't do that, sweetie, THE BOYS will see!'

If you want to make me angry, just tell my child what to do. Gets me fired up every time.

'Don't say that to my daughter,' I said.

'What?' she answered, clearly shocked. 'Do you WANT your daughter... (then she looks around before whispering)... exposing herself?'

'Um... she's THREE.'

'Yes, but you never know who's looking.' She gave me a knowing nod, and walked away.

I'm the first to put my hand up and say I'm pretty naive. I've never had to deal with anything terrible, and I've not done anything much 'wrong' in my life. And, while I'll have to face some realistic conversations with my girl one day, I can only use my attitude to life to guide her.

She is yet to know anything of 'stranger danger'. She approaches the world as, in my opinion, a three-year-old ought to: with innocence and fun and not a worry. In terms of dangers, she knows about not touching hot things, how to cross a road, water safety... and that's about it.

My approach to discipline is pretty straightforward, too. If there's a safety issue or a life lesson, then it's worth insisting she does or doesn't do something. But if she's having fun and it offends one person? No. It doesn't work like that, not in my world.

I want to know what sort of life people are living when words such as 'exposing herself' are deemed appropriate to use in relation to a young child? When a child twirling around at her mother's side is thought to be in danger?

*

A few days later, we were at a busy inner suburb beach and I spotted two girls running around wearing nothing but their knickers. They were, at a guess, about nine and seven, and the smiles on their faces as they ran in and out of the water were beautiful. They were having fun, just enjoying a sunny day with their family. Carefree.

I looked around, this other experience fresh in my mind, wondering if anyone was going to voice an objection to these girls or their parents.

No one did. I saw nothing but smiles as people walked by.

I guess the world isn't so big and bad after all. And it's a relief to know that.

The reformed office worker

I always knew I'd work in an office.

I mean, let's face it - I wasn't going to be a tradie (yuck, dirty work) or a doctor (have I ever told you how bad I am about germs?) or a teacher (all those children!) or a scientist (apparently paying no attention in science classes wasn't a good start) or an athlete (I did anything possible to avoid sports at school). So I was office-bound.

Working in an office was good. It was hard work, it made me feel important. It also meant I had a time in my life where I climbed a ladder and earned lots of money. Cool.

Then I left and became a reformed office worker. You know, like a reformed smoker - all refreshed now that their view isn't clouded, ready to take on the world that's now clearly ahead of them.

Remember in the movie Mary Poppins, when the father loses his job? He suddenly loves the world, he gets the joke. (And becomes slightly mad.)

That's me.

Kind of drunk on the height of my new life.

And then I want to reform everyone. Mention your bad day at work to me and you're at risk of hearing my rant - 'Just leave and follow your dreams!' If I read an article about how leaving the office at 5.30 every day revolutionised a person's life, because they now get to eat dinner with their kids - I want to ring the person and tell them that being grateful for seeing their kids for an hour a night just sucks.

There is more out there. Take a jump.

I want to tell people that we all need to take a stand together, show the corporate world that it just can't work like that anymore.

And I feel angry at businesses. I really do. So many women I know, and now I'm starting to hear the same of lots of men - they just can't keep it up, they're leaving to spend more time with their families. And with themselves.

That whole world has beaten them down until they finally realise that none of that shit matters.

And so the business in question shrugs, says they'll replace that person. That's that. They let them go.

I know so many talented people out there whose doors should be being knocked down. Man, that makes me angry. Businesses should be begging these people to work with them in whatever capacity they can.

They're not. They're too stubborn, too short-sighted to see that just because people don't fit into the 9 to 5 box, it isn't the end of the story.

Hey corporates? The joke's on you. At least, that's my hope: that so many of us will take a stand that they'll have to learn differently. (Idealistic? Me?)

I always knew I'd work in an office. But even at the height of it, I knew there was more for me - whether that was to run the world or earn squillions more, I wasn't sure. Turns out it was neither. Surprises tend to happen when you take a jump.

Now, I get the joke.

Something's changed

17 weeks

How therapeutic is a good whinge!

I've always thought of things in a very black and white way - if you're not happy about something, change it. If you chose something, don't complain. But dare I say it? That a little bit of grey may be creeping in?

Maybe it's okay to have a bit of a whinge every so often. Maybe it's even quite healthy. I think so.

I had the whinge session to end all whinge sessions - writing it out here (and what I published was just a tiny bit of the whinge I initially wrote!) and talking to a few people about it, including an almighty complain to my Mum.

It's been good for me.

These last few days things have felt different. I've felt better, physically (hello full nights of sleep!), but even as I type this with a dodgy stomach and a headache I still have this feeling that things have changed.

My whinge gave me the chance to sort the crap from the real issues here. When I got the frustrations of one thing out of my head I had space to think about how I clicked with Abbey, right from the moment I knew she was there. I think I did with this one, too, but then got distracted - by all the physical frustrations and lots of focus on how we need to support our little girl through this change.

It is possible to focus too much on your kids. No point trying to help her through something if I don't have a grip on it myself.

Things have clicked back into place for me lately. I can feel the baby moving around inside me and I've spent some time just quietly, doing things that have ridiculous words for them, like 'bonding' and 'connecting'. Just being, really, and getting my head around the whole thing. (Roll your eyes if you like, but it's an important part of things for me!)

Thanks everyone, for letting me reach this point.