Months of sleep deprivation, loss of physical autonomy, extended exposure to high-pitched squealing sounds, and long hours of rocking back and forth. By the time I got some normalcy back, I realised I was in love, and that perhaps it was a form of Stockholm Syndrome.
SuperMum. She is that lady in the daytime ads for paper towels and other household products. Her home is immaculate, her hair always done, her kids are neat, and when little Timmy comes in caked in mud she simply tilts her head to the side and smiles, hands on hips. Ah, Timmy.
Before I had a child, before the idea of a child was even conceived in my mind, my body and I were at war. It never looked the way I wanted it to, it never fit into the clothes I liked. I wanted to look sleek, I wanted to eat doughnuts for breakfast and fill myself up
I’ve owned my own bicycle for just over a year now. A vintage model, European style, made for travel rather than speed, with a wicker basket on front. I bought it for aesthetics more than anything since at that point I didn’t even know how gears worked. The first time I took it out for
Image courtesy of Pauleanna Reid I’m getting fat. I’m getting fat and it’s a hard fact to face. I’m getting fat but I have to tell myself it’s okay. Because I’m pregnant. It’s a strange thing. After decades of friends, family, media, marketing, and internal dialogue telling me that I need to be trim and
You may have already heard of Steak and BJ Day, it’s supposedly the heterosexual male’s answer to what they deem as a holiday where they get short changed; Valentine’s Day. The argument is that Valentine’s is all about pampering the ladies and keeping yourself out of trouble, so why not have a ‘Men’s Valentines Day’