A trip to the park should be a cosy, heartwarming affair. Right? Giggly squeals from small rosy-cheeked faces. Little fingers clutching at blue rope that's inclined to give you rope burn if you hold on too tight (or have to haul your not-so-little self up by). I used to offer silent blessings to the park-gods for every half hour killed at the play area with the small people in my stay-at-home-mum days. I also used to smugly survey my winning-at-life-ness when it was always everyone else's kids starting toddler wars or causing general chaos while mine politely waited their turn on the slide, or offered to help push tiny ones on the swings.

Oh, how the tables have turned. Now, an outing to the park resembles the Hunger Games. Except instead of being the person running from the threat of death, I am the one trying to rein it in. Yes, that near death experience is, in fact, my child. My child with a myriad of complexities. My child who sees the world entirely upside-down compared t…

Easter Island

Something we are constantly told as parents of special kids by almost everyone we encounter is this. ‘Make sure you look after yourself. You’ll be no good to anyone if you don’t.’
This advice is dished out readily and in abundance, but, like the slightly-out-of-date dessert your late-night nemesis self just couldn’t resist, it leaves a slightly bitter taste, and the reality is never as good as the idea.
I already feel bad. I feel like a shitty parent most of the time. Adding to my mile-long to-do list with another self-care tick box is not helpful. Also, I know I’m never doing enough. It’s the nature of having a child so complex. I’m constantly thinking of all the things I could be bettering to improve the outcomes for my beautiful boy, and generally for our family, and there’s literally always more. I’m consistently missing the mark, because the goal posts are permanently being shifted. Family life ends up being this crazy pressure cooker of trying. Trying our best to make sure ever…

Ridiculous Road Trips

On the recommendation of a friend I recently listened to an excellent piece on BBC Radio 4's Woman's Hour. The link's here if you want to check it out: 
It's a fifteen minute interview with a very articulate, obviously intelligent lady on the difficulties of being both a carer and a mum to a disabled child. This might not be on the radar of many typical parents. I mean, how can you be a carer and a parent? All parents are carers right? Taking care of all kids is a tough

Well. Let me spell this out clearly. 
Typical parenting tough - a bumpy journey from the shocker of Babyville to the comfortably predictable Grown-Man's-Land. Sure, there are rough points. Sometimes the kids all get carsick and the vehicle interior ends up redecorated with putrid smelling sweetcorn and carrot (wtf is with the magical veg-in-all-vomit thing?) But it's all good, you're prepared for that shit, and although unpleasant, you'r…

Daily Fail

We all know The Sun, and its infamous page three, is a staple go-to for those choosing to binge on a news-diet of tits, WAGS and Eastenders gossip. It's greasy beer and kebab stains on the white vest of journalism are shamelessly unapologetic. Most of us don't rely on the overly processed crap The Sun spews out in providing us with a healthy balanced world-view.

But this? This is where it gets dangerous. When the most read, and possibly most influential (at least on a mass public level) national newspaper decides it's perfectly acceptable to objectify two strong, smart, capable British leaders on their front page, you know the murk-o-meter has reached a new low. The English Prime Minister, and the leader of the Scottish National Party - women who have undoubtedly had to work harder and continually prove themselves more than their male counterparts- reduced to nothing more than sexual objects emblazoned across the most popular press in the country (check here for those all…

All the things no one told you about becoming a mum (and some things you wished they had)

1-At some point in your parenting career you will accidentally ingest your child's faecal matter. Usually in the process of determining whether it's mashed dribbly biscuit or shit on your trousers.

2-Your hoo-hah will never be the same again. This, dear friends, is truth. No amount of pelvic floor exercises can make up for the fact you have pushed a watermelon sized object out of a much smaller sized orifice. And probably needed stitching up afterwards. That shit ain't so fun.
Of course, if you have a C-sec, this won't apply. In which case, I am very happy for you. Really. Very delighted, in fact, for you and your in-tact vagina.

3-The more you convince yourself you will not be that parent- the one whose kid throws those shit fits-the more likely you are to birth Jodie from the Amityville Horror. Karma's a bitch man.

4-You've not felt pain until you've stepped on a lego brick. You also realise your levels of self control while trying not to shout the C-w…

Hospital Funzies... said no person ever

It's really something when a potentially enormous life event gets swallowed up in the chronic chaos of the daily. Mainly because life is so full of the life-or-death stuff it becomes the norm. I'm currently sat in Poole hospital, hanging out in the pre-op ward. Not for shits and giggles you understand- I hate hospitals with a passion and would rather walk across hot coals than choose to be here. I even pass all B-hospital-duties over to S, as far as possible. That's not to say I haven't spent my fair share of time here. I have, which is probably why I hate the place so much. While I completely understand the life-saving benefits of a free NHS, and wholly appreciate the settings which provide that care, for me there's too much association with past stuff. Too much time spent visiting parents as a kid, and too much time here myself in various capacities. So yeah, not my forte. 

I'm here because they need to get a growth out and there's a small chance it might …

Radio Human

I'm a science girl. Unashamedly, I might add. Statistics. Evidence. All that good shit. That's not to say I don't also hold some entirely irrational and non-theory grounded opinions. I do. 
- I ALWAYS look left to right when I'm crossing the train track in Poole High Street. (Yes, Poole High Street has an actual train track running straight through the middle of it.) If you think about this it's entirely ridiculous. I've yet to see the invention of an invisible silent train that doesn't trigger the barriers, and I'm pretty sure that won't happen in my lifetime. 
-As far as possible, I avoid stepping on these at all costs:

In my overactive imagination, each manhole (square?) is a trapdoor-style portal into the underworld, waiting to suck unsuspecting passers-by into a parallel dimension. The only basis I have for this is Red Dwarf. Hardly the height of empiricism. 
- I smack the TV if it's fuzzy. No reasoning. None. I am well aware it's like…