Coffee and me

Coffee and me were never that close, now coffee is one of my closest allies. The ritual and routine of my daily coffee an emotional crutch and daily high. A mere six years ago I would have one instant coffee when I arrived at work, then usually a barista made coffee on a Saturday morning when catching up with friends and maybe one on a Sunday, maybe not. Maybe I would skip coffee all together on a Sunday! Who needs coffee when you get up at 11am. 

These days I have one barista made coffee everyday, and occasionally even two...

I love having you placed in front of me, coffee - I always admire your beauty; adorned with a swirling milky pattern, your layers of beige hues delicately rolling through to soft, white foam.  The cold and hard feel of the glass as I raise you to my lips for the first sip of your velvety, comforting liquid... 

And relax. I sometimes even take your picture, like others do of a particularly impressive meal out. Thank you coffee -  giver of energy. Sometimes, of an evening, the promise of tomorrow morning’s coffee may flash through my mind.

This change in relationship between coffee and me is rooted deep in my first maternity leave. It was probably sometime around when my daughter was 4-6 months old. The days were blurring into each other, a particularly grizzly faze, my body was exhausted and my mind empty. The baby talk and baby benchmarking at baby activities interspersed with naps, food, playtime - this wasn’t the holiday I thought it was going to be. My life went slowly and obliviously from being all about me to being 5% about me like sand through an hourglass. I dug my heals in and made sure coffee time was something I had everyday, just for a few minutes or if I was lucky, 20 for myself. Conveniently this coincided with the opening of a great little coffee shop in our neighbourhood that opened at 8am (early for the UK).

Frequently these moments were totally unenjoyable. Taking a grumpy baby via the coffee shop, extending the route to our destination therefore heightening the risk of meltdowns. Stopping with a sleeping baby, stressed and on edge waiting for them to wake as the barista bangs the coffee press - why do they do that? Or a group bursts out laughing across the cafe - bastards. One time both the new born and my 3 year old fell asleep in the car so I hot footed it to costa coffee and parked outside, I queued inside with baited breath hoping they wouldn’t wake (I had to turn the engine off - I hadn’t thought this through) eyes firmly fixed on the car through the rain for any flickers of movement and drove back as the baby stirred shoving a millionaires short bread into my mouth with one hand, barely tasting it. Other times arriving at the coffee shop would be light at the end of the tunnel on a grey afternoon after taking 30 minutes to walk the 4 minute walk there. Stopping to look at cats, diggers, splashing in puddles, practising on the bike or scooter and generally standing at the side of the road supervising step climbing or flower smelling. Interspersed with moments of adult chat with neighbours or fellow parents we crossed paths with on the way and then the warm welcome at my favourite, local coffee shop.

Sometimes getting the children out of coats and hats and trying to contain them long enough for coffee and cake to arrive was hardly worth it. Sometimes I felt like I’d nailed it, colouring with the toddler whilst simultaneously feeding the baby and arriving home having killed 1.5 hours!

During these coffee shop trips I would always look in ore and, at times, resentment at the young professionals working in blissful solitude on their laptops. When I returned to work after my second maternity leave I would work from home one day a week. After dropping the children at nursery I would head to my favourite coffee shop to join the professionals on their laptops- be one of them - it was marvellous! I wouldn’t even have to spend 10 minutes standing at the toilet door or in the toilets themselves while the kids opened and shut the door and I relished this time. At the weekends if an unforeseen moment of calm came up I might ride my bike around and grab a coffee sometimes with one child or sometimes none! Or if I was returning from an errand here or there I would pop in and have a covert coffee before returning home. On the days at the office I would get a coffee just around the corner and relish the moments standing in the queue - on my own - with adults - ordering their coffees in such a civilised fashion. This is where it began: coffee time = me time.

Coffee and me will be close forever now. Thank you coffee -  for the moments of freedom, enjoyment and, of course, the energy you give me.

London......I love you

There is nothing like two stints of maternity leave, totalling nearly two years spent attending baby and toddler activities, interspersed with trips to coffee shops, the co-op or park to make me appreciate the thrill of the beating heart of London’s zone 1 and professional working life. 

A love letter to London… 

Now working part time, my days visiting you aren’t a Monday to Friday grind anymore. I commute either by bike or tube and it's a delight. Three days a week at work away from my two young children in the big smoke are a thrill.

Me and you have had our highs and lows. You nearly chewed me up and spat me out when I arrived here 15 years ago - you can be an unforgiving, cold hearted bitch sometimes. You were a lonely and daunting place at first, but I persevered - made friends, got a job, found an area I liked and settled there.

Kid free coffee at the Tate Modern overlooking the Thames

In the early days I found myself exhausted every few months, so would board the train to my rural home town for a weekend of respite and the country air. I first realised you had got under my skin when, on my return, I would take the number 4 bus from Waterloo back to my Islington flat share and you would take my breath away as we crossed the river and weaved our way through the city. Revitalised, I always felt glad to be back.

Gritty, dirty, pulsing, awe inspiring, unforgiving, beautiful London - I really do love you.

Could I ever live somewhere else now? I’ve come to expect things fast and efficient, choices and variety, culture and diversity, hustle and bustle - you both tire me out and energise me London.

My life now seems to have a more obvious and steady path ahead than when I first arrived and life’s future possibilities seemed endless. AT 23 I thought that one day I would be able to afford the clothes and products featured in Stylist magazine. I would be spritzing my face with himalayan rose essential oil infused mineral water to revitalise myself in the morning before heading to my company in the west end in my role as MD. I would play the drums in a band, speak at least two languages fluently, live in one of the beautiful big victorian terrace houses in Highbury. I would be dropped by my chauffeur behind Selfridges to go shopping, before lunching at the champagne and oyster bar; like the ladies I used to see on my lunch break in Marble Arch, where I got my first job. 

London time!

Nowadays I actually revitalise myself with a flat white from Costa coffee on Caledonian Road before starting my part time job in projects at a local authority. The longer the queue the better, so I can relish these moments of calm and civility before starting the working day. Walking along the busy streets are now a pleasure, ducking and diving the sea of faces, feeling totally present and absorbing the atmosphere, sounds and the detail of the buildings, instead of focusing on controlling two small children.

The wondrous (yet infrequent) evenings out, riding the bus as it winds its way through the dirty, grey streets, steeped in history and culture. Blissful anonymity.

As we contemplate leaving you for good with our two young children my heart aches. I worry I’ll miss you in ways I can’t yet imagine. Like an annoying relative - you get on my nerves and grind me down sometimes - but I’ll always love you London.

Natural labour v drug fuelled labour

My approach to the management of my second labour was quite different than my first. I had my first baby with only gas and air. On paper this labour was ‘good’ described by the midwife who was there as one of the ‘best’ she had seen. I was in a room in a birthing suite at the local hospital with access to a pool and lots of cushions. My body started pushing on its own, I didn’t tear, labour was about 12 hours. The (little mentioned) placenta didn't come out afterwards so it had to be removed which was unfortunate but fairly common.

When I first found out I was pregnant I was very open minded about pain relief but after reading about all the different pain relief options that all came with an increased chance of intervention, it totally put me off. I decided I’d go drug free as avoiding intervention sounded like the way to go. So I bought into the dream, discussed at the NCT classes, of a water birth with flickering battery powered candles and a soothing, preprepared music compilation. I brought hypo-birthing and effective birth preparation books and listened to hypo-birthing cds. I watched One Born Every Minute and some amazing videos on YouTube where women seemed to push their babies out, almost asleep, in a birthing pool.

After my first I was was always pretty daunted by the prospect of going through labour again, so when I became pregnant with my second I was quite keen on having a caesarian. This to some medical professionals and some other mothers seemed quite confusing after my first labour. A doctor actually said, you did so well the first time, it would be EVEN EASIER the second. So really with such a ‘good’ labour why oh why didn’t I want to do it ‘naturally’ again? Because it hurt like fuck is why. It was still a traumatic experience and an assault on all the senses.

Also, instead of being really hardy since enduring my first labour I had instead developed a zero tolerance approach to pain or discomfort. My due date was, in my head, comparable to knowing that you would be getting your legs broken on a specific date and then having a choice whether to have pain relief or not.

First time round I had no idea, now I knew, I choose pain relief. I was much less scared of the statistics around intervention more likely with use of pain relief than I was the first time. Finding out that the cervix never fully closes after your first was reassuring. My priority was feeling as little pain as possible, over avoiding intervention, which was my priority with my first.

When I found out I had gestational diabetes, it seemed I could have an actual medical reason I could use to justify having a caesarian to the confused masses. It turned out the approach of the hospital was that it was not recommended to go to full term due to the risk of still birth associated with gestational diabetes so they induce you. Now, induction I had heard was hideous, so I’d always vowed that I’d rather have a caesarian that be induced. I said I would have a normal labour or have a caesarean which was scheduled a week before my due date. As the reality of what a caesarian would entail sank in, i was just as daunted. It was arranged that they would try doing a sweep a few days before my c section to see if that worked. Now everyone knew that sweeps rarely worked, but hey I’d give it a shot, by this point I didn’t know what I wanted. There was no easy way out of this. The sweep worked.

The day before my sweep I realised I hadn’t done a birth plan, I jotted 2 lines in biro on a piece of paper and put it in my file. My first birth plan was typed in a word document and a page long.

After a long, hard second pregnancy with various ailments to contend with including crazily itchy feet that I contemplated cutting off, urinary track infection, thrush, aches and pains eased only a couple of times by paracetamol, exacerbated by not being able to eat sugar or carbohydrates, I was quite excited about the plethora of pain medication I was allowed to take once in labour.

I was surprised how freely the drugs flowed on requested in the labour ward - it was simply a question of requesting, no on ever said - “come on now you can do it without.” which was the mantra for my first.

When I arrived and was told I was at 3 cm, I requested an epidural immediately but didn’t think I could have one at 3cm, but the answer was yes! As I had to wait for the anaesthetist. I got a shot straight away of something morphine based that I’d never heard of to tide me over.

A midwife even said, when I asked for a top up on my epidural, that she did not want to see me in pain. I did not feel a thing and even went to sleep. I was still mobile so could pop to the loo when I needed to and get into different positions (who knew there was such a thing as a mobile epidural!) and when I was fully dilated I was told to start pushing, this took more concentration and a slight effort compared to my first. 20 minutes later the baby arrived. If someone had told me I needed intervention or a caesarian I would have been extremely calm simply because I wasn't in any pain.

Looking back now I find it strange that you have to choose either to have a natural birth before you really know what you are committing to or how you cope with pain as usually they only have gas and air available in birthing suites which are separate from hospital wards.

I was trying to remember what I learnt at NCT the other day and i really couldn’t remember much. Out of the 8 women in our NCT group - none of us had lived the birthing pool dream that we’d all described in detail on our birthing plans. Was an unobtainable picture painted?

Should NCT scare people with the possible reality or let everyone continue to believe that they can have a pool birth with their favourite music playing. Should they talk about pain relief and how it is fine to use it, that ever one has different pain thresholds.

I’d had access to a pool, had music on, had flicking battery powdered candles - seemingly held by some as the holly grail of child birth, or maybe that is just what NCT made me think, or what all the middle class women in their 30’s who live in Walthamstow seem to want. No one ever said, ‘’I’m planning to take all the drugs available to me - I don’t want to feel a god damn thing’’.  The impression I got was that it was better to go pain relief free - almost like it was the right thing to do - its like mum guilt starts even before the birth of your child! I had the pool, but I got out, it wasn’t working for me, I ended up on all fours with my face in a bean bag where I didn’t have to see my partner, midwife or student midwife at all, a bit like a cat finding a dark, warm corner. This experience was also helpful in my confident decision to take all the drugs with my second labour, as I wasn’t left thinking - if only I had a pool birth with flickering candles, it would have all been perfect, serene and pain free. If only I’d have breathed in the golden light harder.

Personally I’m glad that NCT didn’t emphasise the pain or that the birthing pool dream was slim and that the chance of intervention and tearing high, I’m glad i went in blind the first time as I was quite relaxed and just got on with it. Knowing that I pushed a 9lb 9oz baby out my vagina with only gas and air gave me a lot of confidence to know that no I do not want to do that again thank you very much.

Oh so tired

Tiredness is not taken seriously enough. It’s such a debilitating, all consuming feeling. People fling the word ‘tired’ round willy nilly and its hard to compare who is the tiredest with someone else who says their tired, although I know for sure if someone in their 20’s who doesn’t have kids says their really tired, that they are not as tired as me. 

Last week I was soooo tired, yet again, I started thinking that there must be something physically wrong with me. Then I remembered a similar thing happening with my daughter at around the 6-9 month mark. I actually went and had a series of blood tests to see if it was my iron levels or thyroid or some underlying issue. When they all came back clear, the doctor told me that it could be that I was looking after a baby. I wasn’t convinced.

There really should be a recognised scale or term used for extreme child induced tiredness in order to give it the respect it deserves. I need this to gain the understanding, sympathy and possible help (in the form of hot drink providing) that I need.

The child free person at work after a later night than usual saying they are tired is probably on a 3 where as a mum with a newborn baby could be an 8. Although your scale for tiredness is only really comparative against your own experience/life circumstances. This doesn’t make the young person after a series of nights out statements of tiredness any less annoying. This person actually believes that they are really tired! (hysterical laughter).

In response to me telling a young, free and single colleague that I felt a bit sick from feeling over tired, she told me that she felt tired as well but from having had too much sleep.  (hysterical laughter). Initially I starred at her blankly trying to absorb this information before wondering why on earth she would have told me that! Another, when I said I was a little tired, asked ‘what time did you wake up?’ reminding me of how I used to rate my tiredness on such a short term influences. What time I woke up nowadays seemed totally irrelevant as it was 4 years of life that was making me tired. Perhaps the battle to leave the house, debating and negotiating imaginatively in order to simply get the toddler to put her shoes and coat on to leave before the baby started crying, one of many tiny daily battles that wear me right out. 

I think when you reach an 8/9 on the tiredness scale you actually have PSCIT (Pre-school-children-induced-tiredness). People would really feel for you when you say you have PSCIT, doctor’s would be able to diagnose this and you could even call in sick to work with PSCIT where by your boss would say - "poor you, rest up and don’t rush back". You could shut the annoying youths down with this. “I’m so tired”  -  "Well, I have PSCIT". You could explain away irrational behaviour with this, ''I'm so sorry, I have PSCIT'' and people would nod sympathetically, ''Oooo no poor you''. 


A bit of a letter to tiredness…

Shrouded with a heavy weight I cannot forget you, you are weighing me down during every move I make as I start my day, I cannot shake you off, you cloud my every thought and make everything harder and less enjoyable. You are a total bastard.

Sometimes you make me feel like I am not able to string a sentence together, let alone gather my thoughts enough to make decisions or arrangements.

You make me lose perspective, making mole hills into mountains. The dangerous thing is I do not realise this at the time, I am not aware that my reaction to something is because I actually am just dog tired and that tomorrow I may not feel the same way.

Coffee can barely make a dent in you, but perhaps temporarily take the edge off. Sometimes overdoing the caffeine can feel horrendous and add to the pain with inducing a feeling of panic in the form of rapid heart rate and nausea.

With heavy legs I go about my day. Planning when I could squeeze in 20 winks so you may ease just a little. Then the opportunity is finally here - nap time. Time to shake you off. Sometimes the pressure is just too much and my mind darts around like crazy not letting me drift off or just as I do there is a little cry jolting me back up to the surface. If I get a few winks I feel like I’m winning.

The afternoon shift has arrived, with a few short hours of activity time before 5pm - also known as - the beginning of the end. From here on now its all down hill till 7pm when the kids go to bed. The second the kids have gone to bed and I feel you ease a little - how typical - a second wind at this stage of the game. This usually scuppers my early night that has been at the back of my mind all day so you aren’t as bad tomorrow. 

Blissful loafing and leisure time then, night night tiredness, see you soon.


Read more:

Returning to work after maternity leave
Managing my post baby holiday expectations
My post pregnancy identity crisis
My top newborn tips
A big baby

Tips for visiting your new parent friends

When I think back to when I visited my friends to meet their new born babies before I had my own children I feel pretty bad, I remember sitting opposite a friend juggling her crying baby and didn’t even offer to hold him once I’d finished my food so she could finish hers! I know she probably didn’t expect me too or hold it against me, I had never held a baby before and was quite daunted by the prospect and in all honesty it didn’t even cross my mind to offer. Now with a 3 year old and a 6 month old baby myself I’ve written a list of tips that would have been very handy for me in those days.

Somethings may seem small (or obvious to some!) but for me it becomes all about savouring the little things in life for yourself when you are on maternity leave as full time carer of another being - 24/7. A slice of cake, a shower, silence, a nap - things that previously went unnoticed, before you had a baby, back in the days when all your free time outside of work was indulgent self fulfilling leisure time.

1. Offer to hold the baby. Having a baby is all consuming, they are with you 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Shoulders hurt, arms ache, its intense. Even just a few minutes of not holding the baby is great. During out of the house meet ups for coffees or lunch this is really great, as its quite hard to juggle a wriggling baby on your knee while eating or feeding them, while trying to eat yourself and hold a conversation.

If its possible and the mood takes you, you could even take the baby for a little walk if they are restless, to have a look around and give your friend a couple of child free minutes.

2. Push the buggy. This is something your friend does A LOT, so if circumstances allow offer to push the buggy so they can just walk along loose and free - a strange but wonderful sensation.

3. Ask about the baby and/or comment on the baby. Maybe you have never been around babies or just sink back into talking about what you used to with your friend, but your friends whole life is currently centered around their new arrival so ask about it - say how lovely the baby is, even if like most they look like a little old man.

4. Don’t cancel. Your friend has been looking forward to this a lot - a chance of a civilised meeting - a change from the mundanity and solidarity of days at home with a baby.

5. Don’t be late - your friend may have selected a nap time for your lunch date so she can, well, eat her lunch and talk to you while the baby sleeps. Or the baby may get agitated if your sitting still for too long. You being late may mess up this much look forwarded to lunch date!

6. Bring food. If your going to your friends house to see the baby for lunch time - bring lunch! Don’t expect them to cook you a meal. If going over for coffee and cake - bring the cake, bring the coffee - you get the picture! Most people bring a present for the baby, but a little present for the older child is really lovely as they have seen the new baby get a lot of attention. What was also lovely was when a friend of mine got me hand cream too.

7. Don’t over stay your welcome! This is obviously dependent on your friendship status but I would say a first visit at someones home with a new born shouldn’t be more than 2 hours! Your exhausted and grappling with a lot of massive changes, hosting can be very draining! 

It would be great to hear any tips you have to add?

What to say and what not to say to a pregnant women

What to say

• How are you feeling? I understand why friends who have never had kids and have never asked how you are feeling before don’t ask, they just wouldn’t think too. I was the same before kids, you have no idea. But this is a top tip. Maybe even call or text to ask if you haven’t seen them for a while.

• You look great. Always compliment a pregnant women. I seem to get loads more comments on how I look really nice when I’m pregnant - its great! Some friends who  would never usually pay a compliment seem to shower me in them . Maybe because you look the size of a house and they are trying to make you feel better - who cares, I’ll take what I can get!

• Are you free this weekend? Don’t stop asking a friend to do stuff when they are pregnant, this is when they need the most invitations to feel that people care and are supportive. Maybe suggest a lunch, the cinema or a something cultural on a weekend afternoon. 

What not to say

• You look soooo tired.

• Christ you are massive.

• Don’t tell them that story of how your friend’s 5 month scan showed up deformities (told to me a week before my 5 month scan), or how your friends baby died at 38 weeks (told to me when I was 28 weeks pregnant) or how their baby died during childbirth (when 3 months pregnant). I know these things pop to mind when discussing babies, pregnancy and birth with a pregnant women but trust me this is not your audience.

• How much weight have you put on so far?

• Can you take this box to the stationary room please.

• It’s your turn to wash up.

Gestational Diabetes, Me? No, surely not.

The first week of being told I had gestational diabetes was spent in care free denial. This must be a mistake - only over weight, unfit people who had a bad diet got diabetes. I thought that I should probably request another test as I had a really bad cold at the time and was using a throat spray when I was supposed to be fasting, maybe it was that which had tipped the reading over into the gestational diabetes range. I was fit, healthy and eat well. Admittedly the treats had increased with the pregnancy, to roughly a chocolate bar or equivalent every other day. I was embarrassed to tell people about this diagnosis as I thought it would make them think I was really unhealthy. I had been sent on the test as my 20 week scan showed that the babies tummy circumference was measuring on the larger side, on the 94th percentile. This didn’t worry me too much as my daughter had been born on the 98th percentile and I hadn’t had gestational diabetes then - big babies were in the family. 

The introduction to diabetes group chat at the hospital revealed that pregnancy hormones mean that the body needs 2-3 times more insulin to be able to process glucose in the blood, and if your body doesn’t produce enough too much glucose can remain which goes into the baby and can make them grow too big. You are more susceptible if you are overweight, are of certain ethnic origins, have previously had a big baby, or gestational diabetes before. As Erin was 9lb 9 ozs I thought maybe it was possible that I had it and that this was why. The first week using the blood test pricker thingy showed my blood was in healthy perimeters, I was testing the limits of this with larger portions of carbohydrates than recommended as there was still a niggling doubt in my mind that this may be a mistake. On Saturday night I treated myself to ice-cream and chocolate to see if that had an impact and got my first reading over the recommended highest value. Oh holly jesus I couldn’t eat any more ice cream! 

I went to the hospital for my appointment with the diabetes doctor a week later and thought maybe my results would show that there was little to worry about. Over a shock filled 40 minute appointment I was told that the glucose readings would increase as my pregnancy progressed no matter what exercise I did or how I managed my diet and that the majority of women end up taking tablets or insulin injections before they reach the end of their pregnancy. That there is a risk of the baby being still born, so they induce all women with gestational diabetes at 38 weeks.That the gestational diabetes would go once I had given birth but by the time I was 60 I would be guaranteed to have it no matter how I lived my life. The babies insulin could drop really low once its born so would need monitoring and may have to go to the special care unit. The baby would then be at higher risk of getting diabetes when it was older. The only good thing that came out of the meeting was that I was told that alcohol had no bearing on diabetes, although that gem wasn’t much used to me while I was still pregnant.

According to the doctor it must be in the family as i had the gene and pregnancy puts so much pressure on your body that it gives you a glimpse of what you will experience later in life, such as diabetes. So it would seem that this was a lot more serious than I had previously thought. It was all quite shocking and upsetting made more frustrating that a lot of things were taken out of my control.

My antenatal book was suddenly full of appointments for regular growth scans, meetings with the diabetes team and the obstetrician. This pregnancy was a whole different ball game from my first, 3 years ago which I sailed through without so much as a cold followed by a natural birth with gas and air.

I had always thought if I had to be induced, I’d rather have a planned c section as i had heard a lot of labours being hideous after being induced and end up in an emergency c section anyway. I started to wish I’d never watched one born every minute when you see them stretching the women to get the baby out during a c-section. So many questions floated through my mind - would I be able to breast feed? be in hospital for ages? be able to look after the baby and Erin whilst I recovered?

My boyfriends attitude of ‘lets get on with it’ and ‘it is what it is’ made me want to punch him in the face. The day after the revolutionary doctors appointment he told me there was no point dwelling on it - the day after - I think at least a week to digest would be more reasonable.

I did seek comfort in chocolate and ice cream during pregnancy which I always found quite lonely - the offers of going out dry up and you are left on the sofa with just ben, jerry and cadbury’s to look forward to at the end of the day or mark the start of the weekend instead of a beer.

Pregnancy was supposed to be a time to freely enjoy more chocolate and ice cream guilt free and now I couldn’t. My dreams of what I would eat once the baby arrived floated through my mind during cravings. I would probably be the one of the first woman to put on more weight after pregnancy than during. This truly sucked. It wasn’t just about sweets, it was a lot amount limiting your carbs, fruit and general portion control.

It was strange adjusting what you had previously thought as as healthy on top of what you already couldn’t eat because you were pregnant such as certain cheeses, smoked salmon etc.

I sometimes felt like I’d involuntarily left normal life, sitting in a coffee shop watching people eat sandwiches and share pieces of cake freely. I would sometimes forget and put sugar in my coffee and not even realise till I’d drank it.

Snacks to replace chocolate with - nuts, yogurt, fruit but only 2/3 pieces a day and not more than a handful portion. I could have eat all these by 2pm along with my lunch and still be hungry, what else was there left to eat. When I had mentioned this to the doctor his exact words were - ‘hunger is good for diabetes’ (but perhaps not for a pregnant women?) The nice thing is I get a scan every 4 weeks which is lovely, the second scan revealed his tummy had slimmed now slightly. I’m over the shock now and just getting on with it, but I have to think about it everyday and try and remember to do 4 blood tests, while dreaming of the pizza and beer I’m going to consume once the baby arrives.

On the whole sympathy is thin on the ground, and you just have to suck it up and get on with it. I know there are worst things that could happen but obviously a risk of a still born baby is not something to take lightly either. People telling me that what the diabetes doctor has told me was over the top and their friend who totally ignored their diagnosis had a perfectly healthy baby and natural labour and their knowledge from what they googled over a year ago when they had the test, which came back negative, is probably more reliable is not remotely helpful. 

Some are great at sympathising - ‘that must be such a worry’ or ‘how shit that you can’t eat as much ice cream or as many cookies as you want.’

Some people’s responses when I tell them stem from having just as little knowledge and as many presumptions that I had before I was diagnosed, such as ’ did you know that you can get this Chinese tea that takes the fat out of your blood’ or ‘but your feet don’t look swollen at all’. Or regaling you with a story of their second aunt removed that had a gluten intolerance, before offering you a slice of cake.

Time to stop talking about it and focus on my pizza, pasta, beer and chocolate ice cream party for one I’ll be having in a couple of months!