I will never (EVER) write a mummy blog

That’s what I said. Just ask Mr J. In fact the bigger my pregnancy belly got, the more adamant I became that being a mummy was most definitely not under any circumstances going to infiltrate my writing or my work. Definitely not. That would be a little too predictable and a lot too yummy mummy-ish (a stereotype I’m strangely uncomfortable with). On that note, welcome to my blog – a very poorly disguised mummy blog.

The thing is writing this blog isn’t the only pre-Baby J pledge that I’ve failed miserably to see through. It all started in the labour room. So certain was I that I’d been blessed with a superior pain threshold, that I’d confidently dismissed epidurals as a shortcut taken by the weaker women. Definitely not by me – under no circumstances would I be having any needle in my back. I was convinced I’d sail through the contractions on a heady mix of deep breathing, bouncing on a birth ball and gas and air. Yeah right. Fast forward a few hours into labour and the birth ball was lurking somewhat deflated in the corner,  I was begging the anaesthetist to jab me in the spine and Mr J was the one having a suck on the gas and air.

For me, there’s been nothing predictable and nothing foreseeable about being a mummy. Rather than feeling all comfortable and cosy (how boring), Baby J has got me living on the edge of my seat. And I love it. I’ve given up trying to second guess my little lady’s next move and I’m embracing living in complete and utter chaos. I was guided almost entirely by spontaneity in my pre-mummy life, why should giving birth change that? So expect to hear about more broken mummy pledges and tales of how I’m consistently outwitted by a one year old as I share my mainly pointless but sometimes poignant ponderings about my mummy adventures with Baby J.

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