So what… it’s New Year?

So here we are in 2018. How does it feel?

For me it feels fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. But I’ve never been a massive fan of new year and all the traditions that seem to come with it – resolutions, parties, $1.6 million spent on fireworks in one city. It doesn’t make any sense to me.

When I was in my 20s – New Year was one disappointment after another. Always the biggest set up for what was usually the worst night on the calendar. Whether that was because the guy I had a crush on ended up with another chick or because I fell out with my friend. Or my hair went frizzy in the rain on the way to the party and it all went down hill from there.

So by the time I reached my 30s I was over it and quite happy to just have a few relaxed beverages on the beach with mates and watch the local fireworks.

I lived in Sydney for 8 years and never once bothered to head to the city for the celebrations. I couldn’t bear the thought of the huge crowds – making getting taxis or just being able to see any decent view a big hassle. Camping out for 24 hours for the best spot of some fireworks…? Really? I can’t even tell the difference between this year’s and last when I watch them. It would be wasted on me. I’m a New Year’s Eve Scrooge.

And as for resolutions or moving on or changing lives. Has anyone ever changed their life because of new year… honestly?! Or do we do it because of our own sense of self, of responsibility to others – those we love or to show love to ourselves? If anyone wants to make a change in their life then my first bit of advice would be to make the change when they’re ready. Not because it’s new year.

That isn’t to say it isn’t a great vice for setting some goals. For realigning your vision with your partner. For reminding yourself why you get up in the morning. But it certainly shouldn’t be the why. “Why are you going to make that change?” “Because I made a New Year’s resolution.” Uhhh uhhh. Wrong answer. “Because I want my daughter to be inspired”. Better.

What the new year boils down to for me is this… I saw a post the other day on Instagram and it said “Remember when you wanted what you currently have”. And it really struck a chord in me.

I suddenly realised that I have achieved most of what I wanted. 7 years ago I wanted to have a family, I wanted to buy a house, I wanted to get fit and healthy. And I wanted to run my own business. I wanted to get married, spend less time in the pub doing nothing and do more for charity. I wanted to be outdoors more.

I realised that now we are in our family house – I have completed that list.

So now, now I get to make a new list… make a new vision board. What’s next? What do I want for my business, what do I want for my job… how can I get involved in my new community, how will I keep fit now that I haven’t got my old training group (since we moved)? Will I help train others? Where will I go walking? How will I make new, local friends… and how will I keep in touch with my old lovely friends in Sydney? How will I save more? What will I show Little Miss and how will I make the best of my time with her every day?

Wow! All of a sudden there are a whole list of new possibilities, ideas, challenges to overcome. And I’m excited.

On top of that how lucky am I to be thinking not just about my own life but someone else’s… I’m excited to watch my daughter grow more, to plan her 2nd birthday and to see new things with her. Can’t wait to watch her reach milestones and try to help her get to them.

All in all there is plenty to be excited about for the new year. And I’m so grateful for all I have and all that I get to strive for. So yes, it’s new year. Just the same as it was 365 days ago. And yes it’s a lot of fuss over nothing.


On the other hand.

I’m alive, my family are here too and life is good. Moreover life is giving me the opportunity to set more goals. To achieve more new things.

Bring it on, 2018. Let’s do this!!


Making a big move

So guys, we moved house. 90km north of Sydney and just before we moved I started penning my feelings. Typically I didn’t finish it til now (almost 2 weeks since we moved). But here it is:

Last time I did something like this was the biggest decision I’ve ever made in my life. There is my life BA and AA – Before Australia and After Australia… although really it should be IA  – in Australia.

And yet here we are. I recognise the feelings. One minute so excited. The next minute thinking I must be mad. And in this last week the more I think of all the elements of it that make me anxious the more that I remember how all the stuff I pushed down deep inside of me when I moved to Australia has never really gone away. I pushed down my concerns of leaving my amazing group of friends. I pushed down my anxiety about being far from my family. I pushed down my sadness about leaving my flat – my own space, that I created and loved so much. My own friendship group that I had created with them… and loved so much. My family, who helped create me and whom I loved so much.

So, it is with trepidation that we move 90km up the coast.

Saying goodbye to our old home

But here are three things I need to keep reminding myself –

  1. You did it before you can do it again
  2. It’s not the other side of the world like last time.
  3. There are many wonderful reasons for choosing to do this.

With regards point 3 – I realise I should probably back up and explain what the heck is going on here. So currently (or for the next 24 hours or so) we own and live in an apartment that we bought in a suburb we love, on the beautiful Northern Beaches of Sydney. Both Mr OC and I have lived in this area since we moved from our respective motherlands. We have lived in this apartment since just before we married. When family came to stay it was difficult as they all had to stay in nearby accommodation – the houses we found for them were really awesome. But it niggled that we couldn’t accommodate more people. After all, most of our family lives overseas and so whenever they visit they’ll need a place to stay.

And when Little Miss Z arrived we quickly realised that our lovely little apartment was not going to cut it long term. But when we looked at what it cost to buy a house in Sydney we knew it would be just impossible for us to afford.

Which of course left us with only one option – to move out of Sydney. The only question was where. Should we move away completely and find new jobs or move far enough to allow us a rather long commute?

It was after a couple of trips up to see one of my best friend’s that we realised we really liked the Central Coast. It was near enough that even day trips back and forth to Sydney were do-able. Commuting was done by many and we could join them. It just allowed us to get a house – plenty of space and back yard.

But more than that we were over the traffic and hustle and bustle of life in Sydney. Like driving 20km up the road and it taking nearly an hour. We were ready to give up the conveniences (lots of choice of breakfast locations, a large range of UberEats and finding your way back from work socials in a taxi ride) and were instead excited by the small community feel, the quiet (apart from the cicada mating season) and the ease of getting from a to b.

And so we started planning. We got the usual warnings about how it’s not the same up there, how we’d be sooo far from everyone and so on. But we paid little attention. First up, the fact it’s not the same kind of people and same kind of environment that makes us want to live there. We have loved the lifestyle on the Beaches but it’s competitive, occasionally pretentious and materialistic and fast-paced. It is a lovely community in many ways and the way of life is infectious but it’s not the only beautiful place to live. People will always say bad things about the place they don’t live. And that’s ok. Most of those people have never tried living there and are judging it from a distance. And what suits one person or family is not going to suit another.

As for the being so far from everyone – this was basically a moot point too. We had both moved very far from our family (and friends) in the past. I couldn’t get much further from mine. And I already knew that I was good at going up and down the coast to visit the people who matter in my life. I could do it the other way round too. And besides, I’d still be commuting.

So, over the course of this year we have weighed up our options, made a decision, put our flat on the market, sold it, found our beloved house… and then at the start of December came the time to move.

I had been so excited until the week before we left. And then all of a sudden it became too reminiscent of the underlying sadness I felt in leaving the UK. It was in the saying farewells to friends and little Miss Z finishing her daycare which we had all loved so much. In the last swimming lesson with her beloved teacher Jade. In the ‘see ya’ drinks with our mates who lived around the corner. And finally, in walking out the flat and closing the door for the very last time.

Which even now brings a lump to my throat. Mr OC shed a tear too.

Leaving… moving on… is never straightforward. You can be very excited about what’s ahead but still feel anxiety, trepidation and sadness as well.

And yet…

And yet.

When we finally got the keys for our house, our home – during the middle of a huge hail storm – it was 4.30pm and Little Miss was getting tired and hungry and we had an entire truck to move into the house, let alone find everything we needed.

And yet.

I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face. I literally couldn’t stop smiling as I ran back and forth to the truck in the pouring rain. Every time I entered our house I was happy again.

But I don’t want to move again for another 100 years.


The importance of goals even when you’re “mumming”

So, a couple of months back my beautiful baby girl turned one. It was a momentous occasion as it is for most parents – even she to an extent, knew that something exciting was happening and she seemed to have a lovely time with visiting family, lots of friends around and new toys galore! This moment was milestone and when we looked back at her first year on this earth it was wonderful to remember all the ways she has developed.

It was a reminder of what we have been through in her first year. From looking after a newborn and dealing with a body that had completely changed; from being a full time mum to going back to work; from dealing with hot summer nights and teething to cold winter and a jet lagged, sleep-regressed 4 month old; from not being able to put her down for one second to not being able to stop her crawling into all kinds of mischief. It’s a roller coaster ride. And the only reason parents don’t need an award is because we have one – our gorgeous children. And I couldn’t be more proud of Miss Z.

The funny thing is, as My Little Miss approaches 15 months old I am so proud of who I am too. I don’t say that boastfully. I say it humbly. The things that matter are different and the challenges to overcome are different. And they’re not just about Miss Z. Although undoubtedly she is the changing factor in most of them.

When I went back to work I felt bad that in some ways I was actually excited. I have made no bones about the fact that my mum style is not the mum who wants to be with my child 24/7. And I certainly don’t believe it did me any harm that I went to childcare from a young age because my mum also HAD to work. Don’t get me wrong if I could alter that balance I would. If work less than I do and have Z with me more than I do. But she’s happy, we are happy and I honestly don’t know how I could do my job in any less hours.

And this is one of the other major things I’ve come to terms with and had to adjust to in this last 7 or 8 months.

Since coming back to work, my targets have increased, my KPIs are tighter and the need to achieve higher productivity is unavoidable. So it comes as no surprise I’m doing more work in less hours. And if my workload is heavier I don’t have the option to come in earlier. Unless I want to miss kissing my daughter goodnight or never help my hubby out with her dinner and bath, then I can’t stay past 5.30pm. It would solve a lot of problems if I could. Work problems.

But where would it leave me feeling as a mum and part of my family?

And at times this year I’ve doubted myself at work because of it. When I’m not hitting my targets I start freaking out. When I’m not seeing the numbers I need to see I start berating myself – “I need to work harder, do more, sacrifice some mum time “. It was with totally mixed feelings I agreed to a regional meeting in Singapore later this month. I don’t want to miss it but at the same time I feel gutted that my husband has never spent a night away from our daughter…. and yet I have. And will do yet more.

And it is not just the concerns about showing willing and capable, there is the usual office politics to deal with to. Gaining support when you need it, often comes about just by showing willing and being present. Going the extra mile and achieving good results will win praise but support is won by trust and certainty – and that means showing up. Literally. Even when it means hiring a nanny.

Work wise this year I have been proud to see some return on the investment I feel I’ve made in my work (and therefore in the business I work for), both in the efforts I made prior to having a baby and since, by being given budget to grow my team and attain an award for hitting my KPIs.

And in my own personal development I’ve managed to watch my own business grow. The only down side to that being that my time is even more stretched – but I’m lucky to do what I enjoy and by having my own clients that I can extend my skills to, it means I get to lay good foundations for whatever the future might bring.

It also keeps my brain really active and me on my toes.

Speaking of bodily parts, something else I’m proud of this year is the body and fitness journey I’ve been on. Let me level with you here – when I was pregnant I put on 20 kilos.

I’ll let you just take that on board.

And for someone with an extremely healthy BMI that is quite substantial, people.

When I started back at training in April I had lost more than half of that just by not eating anything I felt like at any time and not being pregnant. I was walking a lot with Miss Z even before I went back to training and work. And in the first weeks back at training I lost 5kg and a lot of body fat. I think that was over 12 weeks.

And during that time I felt so much better about myself. But I had struggles – I struggled with going from being at the front of the pack to the back, with my body not being able to do what it could before, with the long road ahead. Some days I thought about quitting – and everyone says that, but I really did. Yet the desire to get to my goals was so much stronger than the doubts I had.

And doubts weren’t the only struggle. Life wasn’t what it was when I was training before. I couldn’t just roll out of bed and go to training as many days as I felt like it. I couldn’t just stick my finger in the air and pick a class. I have to plan to the detail when I could get there around Mr OC’s availability and my schedule. And sometimes, because… well… kids… that schedule is constantly subject to last minute changes! I remember when I started back I was so envious of all these fit young girls with no babies relying on them – they were doing ‘unlimited’ training packages allowing them to go to as many sessions as they had energy for in a week. And there was me planning my two sessions down to the finest detail. And more often than I’d like, missing it due to Miss Z being sick or hubby needing to work.

Facing that made me wonder how long the journey was going to be to get my body and fitness where I wanted. And it made me feel scared that if it was going to be too hard I’d end up giving up.

Not to mention the doubts and anxieties that come with turning up to class and having to retrain your brain, not just your body. It’s hard getting used to your old friends no longer being around – as they’ve moved away or had babies themselves. New people, new training, new kind of body. I constantly felt like I was too uncoordinated – I felt like I would be the last person anyone would want to partner with in boxing. And I’m sure sometimes I was.

And now, now I find my technique is suddenly coming together. My kicks are actually not too bad at all. My fitness is good. And all of a sudden the next set of clothes that I had to buy or the ones I finally dragged back out of storage from pre-pregnancy… well, even some of those are feeling a bit baggy. I feel good about myself. I feel like my body can do more, and my mind is capable of coming along for the ride too.

This is not about image, although what I see in the mirror does have a part to play. What I see in the mirror is just a part of the much larger picture. I have overcome doubts, fears, and challenges – when I’ve honestly considering giving up I’ve gone twice or three times as hard. When I’ve felt like the journey was too long I’ve just decided to keep trying.

And this is not just about my fitness journey. The pictures below are a visual representation of the journey I’ve been on this year. They show not just how my body has changed because my mindset did, but how if I can start smashing my goals in the physical world, I can do it in my working world too. And I surround myself with people who inspire me – friends who are motivated and encouraging, but also friends who are real and let me express my doubts and fears, and help me overcome them. And then there is my trainer and the girls I train with – ZC Fitness is an amazing place to be. Full of strong, inspiring women – all trying to work to their goals. And at the helm is Zanna – she has been my friend for many years now and she inspires me with her work and training ethic. Nothing holds her back or down! Without her yelling at me to keep going I simply wouldn’t! And I simply wouldn’t have these results.


The point is… Miss Z marks milestones for me. She creates happiness and contentment in my life and she grows in front of me. But, I’m growing too. I’m reaching my own milestones. And I am proud of where I’ve got to – I’ve surprised myself and I’m going to keep aiming to surprise myself by reaching more goals and dreams even when it feels like I can’t.

I feel good that I’m not only able to be mum to this gorgeous little girl but that I’m also achieving other things for myself that make me an even better person for her.

The chaos

So I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t like it when there isn’t order and control in my life. Sure, I cope – I’m adaptable and pretty resilient – but as I’ve grown older I have built order and organisation into my life and I appreciate how it sets me up to think clearly and act with efficiency. For example, when I go to my desk and find the paperwork I need and don’t have to climb through mountains of filing that I haven’t had the time or inclination to sort. And that keeps growing bigger.

Or if I get up in the morning and realise that we haven’t washed up Miss Z’s bottle and cup for kindy. Oh, and now she’s awake and crying. And the cats are under my feet and the bird is squawking and I haven’t even made it into the shower yet, so how am I going to make breakfast and get her ready, and me ready… and get out the door on time?!



And all of a sudden our little Miss is a real attitude girl. Toddler years are looming. She understands so much but chooses what she wants to listen to. She is fussy about food. She won’t be fed. She takes forever to eat and throws the majority on the floor. She doesn’t want to be picked up. She wants to be picked up NOW. She wants to climb, touch, throw… chase the cats and be chased.

No, mummy isn’t playing the chasing game, mummy is trying to put your jacket on so we can get out the door.

One of the things I didn’t like about newborn weeks were the lack of order. Well, there was order if you’re talking about how few sleeps you can get. Or how often you’re sat back down in a chair feeding, burping, mopping up milk spew…. precious bubby, and so much love were large themes of that period of time too, but I was a mother dying for some semblance of normality. Of control. Of order and balance.

And then you get the fussy periods of growth and development. Crying when you put them down. Crying when they should be sleeping. Crying. For no known reason. Through those moments I longed for the days when I could reason with her and distract her with a toy or food. And finally those days came.

But now…. now she knows her own mind! Oh man.

Watch out world.

And don’t even get me started about the fights we are having currently. Not only does she no longer want to stay still to get changed, but to add to the drama little Miss currently has a cold and is full of phlegm. This means she needs her puffer (ventolin) so she fights that. And she needs snot extraction… have you ever tried getting a 14 month old to stay still long enough to poke a small device up their nostril? She fights so hard that I’ve nearly accidentally extracted things from her eyeball instead of her nostril.

And she yells and screams and acts like she’s being murdered. She also needs special cream on her face due to the copious amounts of dribble and snot which have caused her to get a bit of eczema. She wriggles and fights and then when we are finally finished she rubs it all in her eyes and mouth.

Then there’s teeth cleaning – no more am I allowed to move the toothbrush around her 6 teeth. Nope. I must give up the toothbrush to her or woe betide me. Then she pops it in her mouth…. and sucks on it. Great. Excellent teeth cleaning going on there then.

Mornings like this morning, when I’ve been listening out through every coughing fit in the night to ensure she’s not dying, I just want to have a massive hissy fit too.

I too want to throw my food on the floor. I want to wriggle my way out of getting dressed, and instead run away out the door. Just like my little girl.

So, my chatty, strong-willed, determined little girl, you test me (and I know you’re going to continue to) but I get it. And I love you more for it. Just let’s maybe get a good night’s sleep tonight, before we do it all again tomorrow, hey?

A day in my mum life – work day 

So any parent will know that no day is the same – except to say that it involves running around like a mad idiot, hoping that you’ve remembered everything, and collapsing into bed at the end of the day, wondering how you’re going to recuperate enough energy for the next day.

Nevertheless I thought I’d pen my two types of days – my ‘working’ day and my ‘home’ day. With a strict disclaimer that both types of day involve hard work!! This first blog is my “working day”!

5.45am: Mr OC kisses me bye and leaves for work.

6am: Alarm goes off and I try not to hit snooze and sneak in the shower while Little Miss is still asleep.

6.30am: Little Miss usually wakes up at this time unless she is sick or had a very big day the day before. I go into her room where she will be sitting in her cot chatting away and maybe playing with a toy. She says “heyy” – which is kind of like “haigh” now as her greeting and is very cute and bubbly. I change her nappy and sometimes we sing a song  – favourites include Pat-a-Cake (she does the clapping) or Twinkle Twinkle (she does the hand gesture for the stars) and recently we’ve added jelly on the plate to the repertoire as she likes to wobble the change table (which is a fold away one with fabric top to it, so very easy for her to wobble about in).

6.45am: It’s time for a bottle for bubba and tea (Proper Strong Yorkshire Tea) for mumma. At 12 months old she has just started saying bobble for bottle… but it’s also interchangeable with bubble for the bubbles we blow with the bubble wand. I’m not sure which she loves more. Probably the bottle as she cries if it’s not served within an instance of her getting up.

While she’s having her bottle and a little play with her toys, I race around making the bed and my breakfast (which goes with me to work). I make sure her kindy bag is all ready and mine too. Usually both are done the night before but I still sterilise her bottle and cup (especially with all the bugs at daycare), so often I have to pop them in her bag last minute.

7am: I join in for a quick playtime if I have time and then we head back to her room to get Little Lady dressed for the day. I usually wait until then in case of any milk spills and also because sometimes a poopy nappy change is required. Some mornings she now has breakfast at home too, depending on if I have an early meeting or busy day. She can usually feed herself now so I can still do jobs around her while she eats. If she doesn’t get breakfast at home she might have a baby meal pouch in the stroller because she usually complains she’s hungry. This is a new thing – she used to just wait until she got to kindergarten and have morning tea at 8.30am.

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7.20am: and I put my make up on and try to sort out my hair. This might also involve breaking off to chase little miss away from opening drawers or playing with buttons on the recliner chair etc.

7.30am I’m ready, Z’s ready now just for a couple of last minute chores – depending on time these involve putting last night’s dishes away, emptying the kitty litter and putting a load of washing on. Sometimes all 3 depending on how dire things are!

7.45am: TIME TO GO! I check to make sure Z’s bottle and cup are in her bag (usually I sort this the night before for speed. I load my lunch, book, glasses etc into my bag and grab our coats. Pop Z’s coat on, pop her kindy bag on my back, sling my bag over my shoulder grab her and head down our apartment block stairs to the hallway to pop her in the stroller. During the leaving she always waves by to our cats and bird – Max, Beau and Zazu.

7.50am: Little Z has fun making loud echo voices in the acoustics of the hallway while I strap her in. And at last we are off. Up the HUGE steep driveway – butt workout anyone? I don’t know how I pushed a pram up there when I was only a few weeks past my c-section!


8am: Having walked to daycare, looking out for dogs, pigeons and bush turkeys – “Ooh!” – we arrive and Z likes to push the lift button. We negotiate the many doors and gates and I get her out the buggy. As we get to the door of her year’s room she often gives a little squeak of excitement. And when we walk in she might or play pretend shy but she’ll happily reach out to be taken by her educators. She’s so very adaptable and happy to spend some time with other people. She still loves to come home with Daddy at the end of the day but it makes it a lot easier to do the drop off when she’s happy. And 98% of the time she is. So I’m grateful for that.

8.10am: After I’ve put her bag in her drawer, signed her in and let the educators know of any issues or ailments etc “yes that bump is from the bathroom cupboard this morning”, “she’s got this tooth coming through” etc I kiss her goodbye and make a hasty exit. My instincts say to turn around and wave but I know better than to prolong it and induce any tears. From either of us!! I dash out the door and back onto the street as city buses whizz by I hope I’ll catch one at the nearest stop. Once on the bus I’m either blogging, doing my day job or reading my bookclub book. It’s good me time when I can get things done – order Father’s Day gifts etc and I don’t know where I’d be if I had to drive myself!

9am: Land in the city centre and make my way through the crowds and traffic to my desk to begin a day of non stop deadlines and office politics.

Throughout the day I might find myself looking at little videos of Miss Z. No day is ever long enough to get all that I need to done, but it’s also a long time to be away from my baby girl and I look forward to walking in the door every night at about 6pm when I can scoop her up in my arms and give her a cuddle.

6pm: Walk in the front door and get a huge smile from a usually very tired little bubba. I’ve normally missed her bath time but I like to make some time for cuddles before she goes to bed. Unless Mr OC has finished work early enough to have done dinner… as well as pick Miss Z up and give her dinner, bath and bottle, plus feed the animals (cats and bird) and tidy up dishes and get in laundry from the morning… I usually do dinner. Some nights I make two lots of dinner so I don’t have to do it the next night. Especially if I have something on the following evening – e.g. bookclub or training.

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6.30pm: Miss Z has a favourite programme… well, actually she has a couple. one of them is Hey Duggee and the other is In the Night Garden. The latter has become a big part of our evening routine and most nights she will watch an episode before bed. Some nights we read a book but she is not the best at sitting still to read – though she has her favourite books that she will sit quietly for and engage in. When she watches In the Night Garden she giggles and dances – she loves Iggle Piggle the best and she now has a couple of Iggle Piggle toys. One of our favourite bed time books to read is Good Night, Sleep Tight by Mem Fox. It’s lots of fun without getting too crazy before bed.

7pm: By this time Little Lady is asleep and we are usually eating dinner if we haven’t managed to squeeze it in already. She goes down well most nights – she goes into her sleeping bag and looks at the fairy lights in her room, then we switch the lights off and leave her nightlight on (which is an owl). She can self settle pretty well by rocking herself and only usually requires our help if she has a bad dream or isn’t very well.

7.30pm: Me time. I either have blog work to do, or I can sit on the sofa and relax with hubby and the cats. All the chores are done and I’ve got 1-2 hours before the tiredness is going to kick in! We love to watch The Walking Dead or Game of Thrones and occasionally watch a film – although, usually we do that on the weekends. I do look forward to this down time and enjoy it – it’s funny how being a parent can make you appreciate the little things in life!

10pm: And it’s sleep time if I’ve not crashed already. Getting ready to wake up and do it all again tomorrow!


Running up the down escalator

From over on my ‘professional’ site. Thought it might resonate with some of you following me here!

Polly O'Callaghan

The last week I have to admit I’ve asked myself if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. I’ve asked myself if I’m failing because I want to try to do more. And in wanting to do more I’m doing less in other areas of my life. Areas of my life that I should not be abandoning.

By Friday morning I was teary. I went to training down at the beach, and when I got home I did something I rarely do nowadays – I asked my husband for a hug. I heard the tremor in my voice when I asked for it too.

Because, here’s the thing…

I want to be in control. I want to run my own business, build my own little empire. I want to do what I love best. I want to succeed. I want to succeed in all areas of my life.


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When you know you’ve failed

Been meaning to write this blog for a few weeks. I started jotting it down when I was laden with guilt a few weeks back. I felt upset about something I had done, something I was responsible for, and I felt like the only way to find some kind resolution was to a) address what I did and b) tell my story in the hope that my honesty would go some way to remove some of these faux presentations of our lives on social media.

I have been thinking more and more about how much BS there is on social media – and by that I mean these pretty pictures we pose of our lives – our kids, our relationships, our buzzing social lives. It’s a glimpse into our lives behind which there is often a different story. I watched a video that really resonated with me, and kind of drove this niggling feeling home. This is the video:

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m sure many, MANY happy pictures are genuine. And I love that. It makes me happy! My heart is drawn to looking for the positives in our lives and I find a negative newsfeed weighs heavy on my heart. I can’t be the only one despairing at the number of videos I see of animal cruelty, child abuse and the ruining of our beautiful eco-system. And yet, it’s out there. Sometimes it weighs so heavy I just want to ban the internet from my life and live in ignorant bliss.

But that’s another story… another blog. The point I was trying to make is that while I believe being involved in negative conversations can be really damaging to our frame of mind and outlook on life, it can also be refreshing to have the freedom to say:

“You know what, I hate the world today. Irrationally I am grateful for nothing this morning. F*** the sunrise.”

Or, “Why the heck is my husband so bloody annoying? Why can he never take his boots off before he walks in the door, and why can’t he think for just two seconds that maybe I don’t want a pair of pyjamas for Mother’s Day.”

Sometimes, you have just got to let it out in an intimate setting with those friends who know the real you, and understand that you just need to vent. That you’re just human. That you’re flawed and you don’t wake up every day feeling grateful to see the sun and head-over-heels in love with your husband.


I hope so. Or you’re all just going to think I’m just a super ungrateful bitch. And sometimes I guess I am. I try to keep it to small moments but… it is what it is.

One thing I know is I really messed up the other week. So, yes… back to that…

Let’s be straight up – Mr OC and I are not the kind of couple who never argues. We are the kind of couple who probably bickers more than we should. We know that. There… I said it. We are both very argumentative people. We are also both very stubborn. And I never like to let anyone have the last word. I fought like heck with my mother as a youngster, and then with my best friend, and now I do the same with my hubby. I guess I’m just like that with the person I’m closest to – I don’t do confrontation in any other aspect of my life. If anything I avoid it. Go figure…

Anyhow… this one Thursday night a little bicker about something small and stupid (which it must have been because I cannot even remember what it was) escalated. I got super mad when Mr OC walked away from me while I was trying to explain something (to do with what we were fighting over), and it just blew up from there.

None of that really matters now – because the problem wasn’t what we were fighting over or how it escalated. The problem was that our voices got loud enough and I got upset enough that I suddenly looked at my baby girl and she was crying. I’d upset her by being so upset myself. I was so caught up in how I felt about the situation that I had inflicted insecurity onto her.

In my mind, it was the biggest failure I’ve ever made. How could I have failed her so badly? How could I have got so lost in that moment, been so selfish in wanting to get my point made and my feelings out that I couldn’t just let it go and think of how that might affect her? Was it really worth it to make my point? No. Not even slightly.

I mean, yes, I want her to know her mummy is human, but not at the detriment to her pysche. In my mind, there are NO excuses. I was sobbing and shaking with rage. And all I can hope to goodness is that my daughter is young enough that her brain somehow loses that memory completely and never troubles her with it again.

I don’t write this to cleanse myself. I write this, because I want to confess. I want to hold my hand up and say that behind closed doors we are NOT perfect. And I’m nervous about doing it.

We love each other, we have some amazing moments, and each day I see something else beautiful in our family that I didn’t see the day before. My heart is full and I know we are a strong team. But honestly, there are flaws… imperfections – and some of them are pretty. But some are not. And so, I will learn from my mistakes and I will do better.


Feeling broody?? What the…?

Last week… no wait, over two weeks ago (omg) my little bubby turned 9 months. It felt like a very significant month to reach because of the whole nine months in the womb, nine months out of the womb thing.

At exactly the same time I also found myself doing several unexpected things.

I started fondly reminiscing about her being a tiny newborn. Anyone who knows me knows this is a little out of character. As much as I love my baby girl, and as ecstatically happy as I was when we finally got to meet her, I found those early weeks challenging. Challenging as any new mum would, but nonetheless I have certainly found more to enjoy as she’s grown. I guess having a newborn can be a shock to the system, a total lack of predicitability – and if you treasure sleep and routine like I did, it knocks you for six.

But… newborn days are precious and that tiny little being felt to me like the first baby ever made in the history of man – purely because it felt so miraculous and so profound that she had come to exist – this perfect, tiny bundle of part me, part her dad. 

I get so teary looking at photos or videos of babies being born. I think there are several things I would change second time around in labour and birth and one of them would be to have the moment baby comes into this world captured. There are some amazing pictures out there and with this first time I wasn’t sure I wanted a camera to be involved but now I know I want to look back and treasure that moment. So much changes so quickly and each day I realise, more and more, just how amazing it is that our daughter is with us. How lucky we are and how beautiful it is to watch her grow. 

Aside from feeling all soppy about Baby OC making her entrance into this world all of a sudden there was more than one post on my online mother’s group from mums who are now pregnant again. These are the ladies I went through my pregnancy with – and now they’re on the journey again. Which suddenly makes it more of a reality that I could be if I wanted too. 

Then there’s my timehop and Facebook memories – I was in my third trimester this time last year – her arrival was imminent and pregnancy felt so very all-consuming. And also exciting – we were on the final countdown and impatiently awaiting the arrival of our Jellybean. 

When I held my friend’s newborn daughter a few weeks ago she was so tiny, and so sleepy. 

And so un-put-downable! Remember those days? When babywearing was the life saver and the sofa had a butt-shaped imprint from where you were permanently attached to it?

Heck I do. And I also know there will be very little of sofa time second time round with another small human in the equation! Yikes. 

But we are not there yet. Don’t worry, no announcements…

Mr OC and I have both expressed we are keen to have a second but right now there are several reasons I won’t be joining the other pregnant mummas just yet.

Firstly, I had an emergency Caesarean Section and so I was told by the doctor that I shouldn’t get pregnant til 12-18 months post-surgery. Secondly, we want to upsize to a house before we extend our family. Finally, I wanted a calendar year where nothing major happened – in the last 4 years we have moved 3 times, bought our place, changed jobs, started our businesses, got married, had Mr OC’s eldest live with us, walked 100km, done home renovations, had Little Miss OC and so much more. It’s been a hectic few years and I wanted to just have this year to just ‘be’. I wanted to just watch our little girl grow and have the time and energy to enjoy that. I wanted to enjoy getting aspects of my old life back. 

And so far we are doing all of that and it feels good. 

Sometimes you need to just stand back and breathe life in. So broody or not, another baby OC is on hold for bit longer yet. 


An equal home

It’s Mother’s Day here in Australia (and in many parts of the world but not back in the UK) and it’s got me to thinking about what I do as a mum, what I don’t do, what value I add to our family, what I do that would be missed if I wasn’t around to do it.

I was thinking about what we do for my hubby on Father’s Day – what do we thank him for? He’s had a few more Fathers’ days than I’ve had Mothers’ Days and I have tried to do something (or many small things) for him on each of those days.

For me, before I was a mother, Mother’s Day (or Mothering Sunday in the UK) was about being present and thanking my mum for all the many things she has done for me: sacrifices she has made, hours she has worked, dinners she has cooked, discipline she has laid, the future she paved for me and so much more. And, of course, as I’ve become a mum that has not only underlined how important all those things that she did (and does still) are, but also it’s made me think of all the things that I didn’t even appreciate. Like just carrying my around in pregnancy, going through labour, putting her dreams on hold to care for me and make sure I was safe and loved.

And, back when I was little, it wasn’t commonplace for dads to share the load. And while my dad might have doted on me, I know he was not the most supportive partner to my mum. He did these amazing things like putting me to bed at night in the most creative and imaginative ways – Mickey and Minnie shows, songs with the guitar, reading Hobberdy Dick and The Chronicles of Narnia. And he picked me up from school, took me on bike rides, always came to find me, make me understand and say sorry to my mum when I had been playing up. But I also know that there were periods of time when mum was raising me alone, when she was doing her best for me when she probably was unhappy and stressed.

So, these days when I see the many, many articles out there on how dads need to do more for mum, and how a dad taking care of his child is not something impressive, it’s just ordinary – I completely agree with them. But when I read them I confess I realise I’m pretty damn lucky. Don’t get me wrong, I’m writing this on a day when I got given a Happy Birthday card instead of a Mother’s Day card, and when at 9am this morning we’d already had a fight about something silly. My life is not perfect – I didn’t get the perfect card and present, lunch wasn’t booked at my favourite place to eat and Little Miss DID vomit down the lovely outfit I picked for her today.

It doesn’t matter. Not really.

What matters is I never feel like I’m struggling without my husband’s help. And if I do  – it’s only for a short time before he realises and switches things up. I am never the only one getting up in the night (not now we’re both back at work). I am definitely not the only one doing the cleaning  – I think Mr OC vacuums nearly every day given half the chance. I do not have to worry about leaving him with her, because he shares the care. On Monday to Wednesday she goes to daycare, on Thursday she and I are home together, on Friday her and daddy are home together. Our home is an equal one.

And I know I’m one of the lucky ones. I know this isn’t the case for everyone. And I know there are times when I still have felt like I was weighed down with the magnitude of my responsibility. But these have always been finite periods of time and things always evened out.

So, today, when we are thankful for our mothers, I do hope to be thanked. I do want to be appreciated. But I also want to thank my husband, without whom I would have found motherhood even more challenging.

We all fall down…

Before Little Miss OC came along, Mr OC and I rarely got sick. At one time, Mr OC was a workaholic and I thought it was all going to catch up with him, but he kept powering through. And I used to have a record at work for having the least sick days, bar my boss.

Oh how times change.

When I first started back at work and Miss OC went to daycare I think I was sick everyday for about three weeks. It started off with the worst bout of gastro I’ve ever had (which involved vomiting into a bag on the bus home from work) and a pregnant lady (who should have been running a mile) collecting tissues from everyone for me to use and giving me her sick bag. Mr OC had to pick me up somewhere along my bus route as I was literally covered in my own sick. Since then, sick bags have never been left out of my handbag.

From there I got cold after cold… after cold – and so did Little Miss. It kind of sucked. I don’t like feeling unhealthy and I think I resented that another thing I was proud of from my old life had disappeared – my excellent health. I was still walking Miss OC to daycare every day and eating well. But it wasn’t a health regime like before, and with sleep deprivation (she was teething at the time, and also night feed weaning) to boot, I was struggling.

A work colleague recommended I take Floradix everyday for iron boost and, I have to say, it helped at the time to get me out of the cycle. I try to take vitamin c and zinc whenever I feel a cold coming and, usually I can keep it at bay.

And I’m now back at training which definitely helps boost my immunity. For me, strong body, strong immune system – they definitely go hand in hand.

But this past week we’ve literally all been struck down… one by one, dropping like flies. It’s been such a crappy week in some ways. When I came home from work on Friday, bubby was getting a cold. Snot everywhere. So I put the vaporiser on in her room and we battled through the weekend with broken sleep as she couldn’t breathe well, and developed a cough. By Monday I was feeling exhausted and decided to stay home and bub stayed with me. By Tuesday I went back to work and hubby stayed home with her – a trip to the doctors told us she had mild bronchitis and thanks to a Ventolin and a baby adaptor contraption thingammy (see pic) she has progressively got better.

Ventolin with small child adaptor

And then of course, I started feeling like rubbish too – glands swelling and nose like a leaky tap.

I had lots of hot lemon and honey, and early nights, and took solace in the fact that I was not alone (everyone seemed to miss book club on Tuesday for the same reason) and that at least I could recover at night as Little Miss was now sleeping through again.

Then this morning I woke up to the dulcet tones of a clogged up husband. As I type he is driving home from work early (it’s lunchtime) and I think he’s about ready to hit the hay.

I feel like I’ve fallen behind on work as I’ve been in the office just one day so far this week. Yesterday I struggled through trying to work from home – the same day bub decided that she was not keen to sleep and wanted to start throwing tantrums. It was just one of those days.

Today is my usual day off and I am seriously considering using nap time (bubby’s not mine) for some catch up. Having said that my house is filthy and there is a massive pile of clean laundry with my name on it… but I so can’t be bothered.