To My Daughter

To my daughter, as the last day of your first year rolls into the first day of your second.

The moment you entered the world, you changed it beyond belief. Never, in my wildest of dreams, could I have predicted, as they placed you on my chest – a brand new human being – the difference you would make. You had so much to teach me – and now, as I recover from the hazy first year and prepare to raise you to become a woman, I have much to teach you.

If you are unhappy, the power for change is within you. It requires courage, but I know you have it inside you to change the world, in the same way you changed mine.

You are independent and strong; that much is already clear. Be gracious and kind; know your own strengths, and recognise the strengths of others.  Be ready to lead, but be willing to follow.

Celebrate winning with humility. Commiserate losing with grace.

Never tell anyone that they are a lesser person for their age, race, gender, sexuality or lifestyle. Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re lesser for those factors. Remember that who we are is defined by what we say, what we do and how we act. Their comments say a lot more about them than they do about you.

Your head and your heart are at war constantly. Sometimes, your head is right, but your heart’s suggestion is more fun. Sometimes your heart is right, but your head’s suggestion feels safer. As for how to choose which one to follow… you’re on your own there, kiddo. When you figure it out, let me know.

Lots of people will say things that hurt you, or that you disagree with, or that you think they shouldn’t be saying. Some of these people can be reasoned with, or are just having a bad day, or don’t know any better. Others do it because they can, because they’re not nice people, or because their reason for being is to make other people feel murderous. The Sims* was invented for the second kind of people. There’s nothing quite as satisfying as putting the Sim version of your enemy in a room with a fireplace and a mess of cheap, wooden chairs.

It is our job, as your parents, to protect you from scary things. But scary things are a part of life, just like sad things, and embarrassing things, and happy things and all sorts of Things that you can’t really assign just one emotion to. If we were to stop you from ever experiencing these Things, we’d be failing you. What we will do, and what I promise to you now and every night when you fall asleep, is to give you the strength to deal with these Things, the foresight to know that this Thing will not last forever, and the comfort you need when the Thing is just too much to deal with right now.

You will know that nothing is impossible. If I could go the entire pregnancy without succumbing to my desire for a share box of 40 McNuggets all to myself**, you can do anything.

I could go on for ages and ages and ages, about all the things I promise you, and all the lessons you have to learn, but I won’t. I will teach you, and you will continue to teach me. We will learn hand in hand. Please know that this is all very new to me too, so try not to shout or get frustrated – and I promise that if I ever shout, or seem frustrated, I don’t mean it.

More than anything, please know that I and your daddy are so proud of you. Every thing you do, from the huge milestones to the teeny tiny moments that take our breath away, we are filled with pride. You are clever and beautiful, strong and independent, loving and funny, everything we could have wished for in a daughter and more. The world is a better place because you are in it, and I am so proud – prouder than I’ve ever been of anything else – to call you my daughter.

* I realise that by the time you are able to read this, The Sims will either be an ancient relic lost to the decades and you’ll moan at me for showing my age and embarrassing you, or it will have evolved and you’ll drag yourself away from The Sims 20 to give me a thumbs up for being a certified Cool Mom.

** I did, however, consume copious boxes of 6 McNuggets. Never more than two boxes in one sitting though, honest. It was the cravings. Stop judging me.

SB In The St David’s Day Parade!

Yesterday was St. David’s Day in Wales.

St. David is our country’s patron saint, and every year on March 1st, he’s celebrated with a series of events across the country. Lots of people carry or wear daffodils or leeks (usually pretend ones!), children have a dress-up day in school, and there are parades in many of the big towns and cities in the country. Back where we used to live, there were never any parades, but where we are now has a big one, so we decided to take SB along. The local association for promoting Welsh language in babies was there too, so it was lovely to get to go and speak to them about upcoming events – it’s really important to us that SB grows up bilingual, and introducing her to her country’s heritage is so important. Technically she is only half-Welsh, as I was born in England, but having lived here so long I consider myself Welsh, and hope SB will grow up to do the same.

Most children dress up for these parades – the shops sell a load of clothing and items at this time of year, as it’s so popular in schools. You can get novelty daffodil hats, traditional Welsh costume, and of course – the rugby shirt. We couldn’t resist, and dressed SB up as a traditional ‘Welsh Lady’ for the parade.

(although not before she’d tried a daffodil hat on for size)

Eventually though, she settled on the Welsh Lady outfit, and was kind enough to let me wear the daffodil hat for the parade.

She had a whale of a time! She was given a little Welsh flag, and we walked the entire route of the parade with her waving it about. She was adored by everyone around her (I think she was the youngest one there in traditional dress), and we even got stopped at one point to have our pictures taken for a newspaper! Everyone commented on her smile and her beautiful outfit – I couldn’t have been prouder.

She’s gone into nursery today in the same outfit (having had a wash after she smeared Dairylea sandwiches all over it), for their St. David’s Day celebration. I’m so happy we’re raising SB to be proud of her heritage and to celebrate it, and really happy that her nursery and the local area do the same.

Plus… it makes for some really adorable pictures!

Sagging and stretchmarks – but I still love my post-baby body

I never had the figure of a model, even before having a baby (anyone who’s seen me in real life will assure you that this is an understatement), but – as often happens – my body has deteriorated even more since giving birth.

I don’t just mean downstairs – although I think it’s fair to assume that, after giving birth to a 7lb human and spending two hours being stitched up again, things will never quite be the same as they once were – but I digress, as I never spent too much time admiring the pre-baby state of my foof anyway.

I mean the rest of my body. My boobs were amazing during pregnancy; D will definitely attest to that. When I’d given birth and breastfeeding hadn’t worked out as planned, I went through a few days of absolute agony and rock hard tatas as the milk came in (cabbage leaves, cabbage leaves, cabbage leaves – I cannot press enough how important they are), and then… sag. I can never go bra-less (not that I ever did before), but now I can also never wear non-underwired bras. In fact, it’s so bad, I’ve had to resort to push-up bras to give myself any notion of cleavage – don’t believe when people tell you that breastfeeding will ruin your boobs; pregnancy will sort that out for you anyway.

As for stretch marks… some new mums will proudly declare that they have no stretch marks. They have every right to be proud, as how anyone can avoid those stripy little buggers is beyond me. It is quite difficult not to hear someone talking about their unmarked body without muttering “bitch” under your breath, but it’s only because stretch marks are seen as the unrivalled enemy of the new mother (in reality, I really don’t think they’re that bad). I am covered in stretch marks, and I’ve tried using a few different oils and body butters, but in the end, I’ve decided to just embrace them – they’ve been likened to tiger stripes on Facebook, which I really quite like – because none of the oils were doing much about it.

And with regards the rest of my body… I don’t have much time or energy to exercise these days (although illness seems to be taking care of my weight at the moment), and I also don’t spend as much time covering myself in lotions and doing all the posh cleansers on my face, as I seem to have my first ever spot breakout in twenty years going right now – but, despite it all, I don’t feel like I care. I can just brush my hair into a ponytail and leave the house, without make-up, without really looking at myself in the mirror, even. In terms of clothes I go for comfort – jeans, trainers and men’s sweatshirts seem to be my ‘style’ at the moment.

I see some mums who are out and about and they look immaculate, which is great for them – I admire that they have the time management and the energy to do that. But do I feel envious of them, or wish I could do that? Nope. I’ve realised in the last few months that the way I look really doesn’t matter. My body’s worth isn’t measured in the clothes I wear, or the people who look at me and think I look nice. My body carried a baby for almost nine months; my body gave birth to a beautiful little girl. It’s helped me in dealing with my scar; my body has survived serious illness – the stretch marks and the sagginess are battle scars that prove that whether it’s illness or pregnancy, my body has fought and won and come out on top.

I hope more than anything that I can raise my daughter to be proud of her body, to recognise that how she looks doesn’t define who she is, that no-one has the right to make her feel bad about the way she looks, and that the most beautiful trait in a girl or a woman is confidence in who she is. If I can achieve that, in a society that tries to convince even the youngest of girls that looks are everything, I’ll know I’m doing a pretty good job.

So much for ‘impossible’…

I don’t like bragging, and I’d never normally do it in my blog – and I sincerely hope that this post comes across as non-braggy as possible, but I am so bloody chuffed and proud that you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t hold back. 

I got a 2:1 in my second year of uni. Not only have I passed my second year, meaning I can move on to my third and final year of university, but I’ve done it with what is – in my eyes –  a pretty good mark! I was expecting to scrape a pass considering the quality of my last essays, but it looks like maybe they weren’t as bad as I thought! Considering I did the last essays with a two-week-old baby in my arms, recovering after the birth, I don’t think I’ve done too badly. I’m very proud of myself, but I’m also very proud of D, who’s passed his first year with a 2:1 too! Not to mention a couple of ‘1st’s too in some of his modules! 

SB may not have the absolute smartest parents on Earth, but I think we’ve proved we can work fairly well under pressure. I think I’m more proud than I expected because so many expected – and were even waiting – for me to drop out. They didn’t think I’d carry on with uni, they’d ask me – and my parents – what I was going to do without uni, where I was going to go. And yet here we are, having finished the academic year, passed it (pretty well if I do say so myself), and ready to see what the next year will bring. 

It won’t be without its challenges, I know – I’ve got a dissertation to do in my third year, so it’ll be a stressful time, and there’ll be exams for D – but if we can get all these essays submitted on time, to a 2:1 standard, with a difficult pregnancy/unplanned induction/newborn baby, then I feel like we can take on the world! I want SB to be proud of us as she grows up, for continuing with our degrees and getting them done, because we’re doing it for her. That’s the aim now – not classifications, or jobs. Those are the bonuses – the most important thing to me is the hope that SB will know, and be proud of us for carrying on and getting our degrees, to make sure she has everything she needs, wants and deserves. Today I feel like we’re one step closer to making that a reality.