Things to know about midwives part 2

4- We are not just the doctors’ hand maidens.

 Yes, most of us are nurses too, and we do follow doctors instructions and medical orders, but we work more as a team, and it’s not ALL we do. In Australia, many people that come into contact with a midwife for the first time are surprised at how much we actually do. Not only do we deliver babies, we do antenatal care, education, intrapartum (during labour) care, assessing the wellbeing of the fetus, interpreting CTGs, postnatal care, assisting with breastfeeding and mothercrafting. We can take bloods, cannulate, take Pap smears and suture. Assess a deteriorating patient, liase with doctors, physios, clinical psychologists, dieticians, social work all in the name of helping and advocating for our patients.

5- We are not every mans’ fantasy

Sorry guys. We don’t wear the sexy figure hugging , short, white dresses with stockings and a white cap. That was the uniform of yesteryear. No, more often than not, we wear scrubs and comfortable shoes. It’s really like wearing your pyjamas and slippers to work, unfortunately, not wearing bras to work is generally frowned upon, especially as we occasionally have to run. As to footwear, there’s about a 50:50 split between runners and Birkenstock or. Croc clogs. As you can probably gather, comfort, is a prevailing feature in our clothing. We do generally try to spice things up by buying brightly coloured shoes, in my case I have blue Birkenstock shoes, with the front of a sausage dog on one and the back on the other. Although they are a little worn, I get at least 2 comments a night about my shoes. I know they’re not sexy, but they make my patients smile. 

Australian wildlife

Contrary to popular belief, in Australia we don’t ride kangaroos to school, or have them or koalas for pets and we don’t wrestle crocodiles for fun on the weekends.
I’m sorry to say, but we have cats and dogs and the occasional budgie for pets, just like the rest of the world and we drive cars or catch public transport to and from work. 
In the urban centres of Australia we are generally not concerned with being bitten by snakes, being attacked by crocodiles or having dingoes take our babies. 
In saying this, we have had in recent times the occasional shark attack or two. But nothing to be too concerned about when you consider the amount of people who swim at the beach every year, and how few of them are actually nibbled on by sharks.
What I’m most scared of, what keeps me looking over my shoulder at every turn, is a vicious bird, with remarkable swooping abilities and a veracious appetite for cyclists and pedestrians alike. The Australians would guess straight away, yes, that’s right, the MAGPIE. It may look like a harmless bird, but its beak is as sharp as the edge of a tin can, it can draw blood with every swoop. I’m sure they remember me and can smell my fear. I’ve had to give up riding my bike during the spring months due to a particularly terrifying experience a few years back. I was trying to improve my fitness, and at the time, I thought to myself, why not ride to work? Riding to work was fine, it was the dreaded ride home where things took a turn for the worse. I had ridden the majority of the way and was doing the last 5km, I was relaxed, enjoying the scenery around the lake near home. Then….. suddenly, out of the blue, there was an explosion of noise in my head, I was confused, it was only when I saw the magpie coming back for round two, that I realised I had been swooped and it’d hit me straight in the helmet. I started yelling, the magpie didn’t flinch, hit me on the shoulder, then hovered and continued trying to peck my eyes out. It was at this point, that to an onlooker, I turned into a maniacal women attempting to ride a bike, whilst simultaneously flailing my arms and legs about and screaming loudly (perhaps with a profanity or two, thrown in for good luck) This performance continued for what seemed like an eternity. In reality, it probably only lasted a minute, but it was one of the most terrifying, life defining minutes of my life. 

It was with this in mind, yesterday I decided I was going to befriend the magpies that live in the bushland in front of my house. I left them some food on a plate out the front. My parents have being doing this for the last few months with their magpie neighbours and it’s worked well. The maggies there, now come to the back door twice a day for meal time. No human attacks have been reported since the feedings have begun. 
I had some partial success, I saw a baby magpie early in the day having a bit to eat, but there was leftover food at the end of the day. So I decided to leave it there and check on the progress in the morning.
This morning I opened my front door, and I’m happy to report. That all the food was gone. The only problem is that the magpies didn’t get the food. I found another Australian animal resting with a full belly. It was a blue tongue lizard. I have no idea how it climbed the large limestone stairs. But I left it to bask in the sun. Thinking it would make its way back to the bushland. This afternoon it was still there, so it looks like not only do I have to continue to feed the magpies, but I’ve befriend a blue tongue that now calls my front garden home.

Off now, to do some research on what blue tongue lizards eat….. other than meat pie.  

What not to say to me in the supermarket

“I’m doing a public service, I’m doing a public service, I’m doing a public service” This is a little mantra I say to myself on regular basis when I go out shopping with my boys, along with the phrase “just breathe” and “keep your hands on the trolley”
As a Mum of a son with Autism, going out can sometimes be an ordeal. Adam doesn’t like big crowds or noisy places. But on the whole, he copes quite well. He loves to wear a hat and sunglasses everywhere we go, it blocks out some of the unwanted stimulus and helps him cope. He also like to have his iPad and earphones on hand. Although it appears the he doesn’t hear you, when he has the earphones in, he can hear everything, they just block out some of the white noise. 

When he was little it was fine, people accept kids behaving differently when they are little, they are cute, or it’s just put down to a toddler tantrum. But when my son, who is taller than me, goes out, wearing a hat, sunglasses and headphones indoors, whilst hand flapping, making funny noises, inter-dispersed with loud burps….that, that is generally frowned upon. 

I’ve lost count of the amount of stares, angry looks and mumbled disgruntled comments I’ve encountered. But generally (if I’m not sleep deprived), I can cope with those. It’s the comments to my face, usually made by elderly men, that I don’t cope with. Comments that Mothers (or fathers) should never have to hear, comments that should never be said out loud to be honest. They’re not all worded the same but go a little along the lines of…….”if he were my son, I would have drowned him at birth”

I have heard comments like this on a number of occasions, usually whilst I’m on holidays with the boys or whilst doing my weekly shop. 

I react in a number of different ways and never how I actually want to react. I want to say “thank God, he’s not your son then” or “why didn’t your parents drown you?” Or just punch them in the mouth. But usually I turn around and leave, generally on the verge of tears. Trying it to hold it together for my boys. 

Once I was in the shops and a man said the aforementioned comment, Dean my eldest heard it and saw the look on my face and told me to “keep moving mum” I white knuckled it to the next isle fuming. Adam wasn’t even being particularly noisy. But I immediately wanted to wave a magical wand over him to make him “not autistic” Unfortunately I seem to have misplaced my magic wand, so I shushed him through the shops. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.
My Mum, the amazing woman that she is, always has sage advice. She told me years ago, that taking Adam out is a public service, it educates people. 

Forty to fifty years ago, people with disabilities were locked away. Those relatives were never talked about. But today, with inclusive schooling and parents not giving their children up, people with disabilities are a lot more visible. Generally most people now knows someone with a disability. We now have to educate people, that it’s not okay to say to me that I should have aborted my child or drowned him at birth. It’s not okay for adults to stare or point. It is okay to say hello, or ask me if I need a hand, it is okay for you to explain to your children that my son’s brain works a little differently than theirs.

I’m not expecting for everyone to change overnight, but I can prevent one person from saying these things to another mother, it’s worth it.

Be nice to everyone people. You don’t know how your words can change someone’s day. xxx

Please don’t….

As a midwife and nurse in a women’s hospital, I see a lot of different people in a lot of different situations. I’ve learnt a few things along the way.

Here’s just a couple of things I’d like ALL women and their partners to know. Some are just plain common sense, others, well, I’ll let you decide. 

In the emergency department-

Please don’t….leave coming to the hospital till the last minute. If you’re not that sick, see your GP. If you’re really unwell, don’t wait until you’re on deaths door. Present early. If possible come in daylight hours. More staff, more doctors, more theatre availability, in a word …. MORE access to everything. 

Please don’t….bring all your family in. I know they are all worried, but having them sitting in the waiting room doesn’t help. They are stressed, and you’ll worry about them. You should be focussed on getting better, not concerned with everyone else waiting outside.

Please don’t….leave your medication at home. If you need it at home, you’ll need it in hospital. Being a women’s hospital we don’t always stock every mood stabiliser or antihypertensive available. It would be good if we did, but we don’t. We don’t want you missing essential medication, so please bring it with you. 

Now this is where things leave the realm of common sense….

When in the delivery suite-

Please don’t….treat your delivery room like your private boudoir. Its a delivery room, in a hospital. 99.9% of families treat it as such. But a very small portion, don’t. It is expected, that at some time during your child’s birth that we’ll see your vagina. That doesn’t mean we need or want to see your partner in various states of undress. I know a few midwives who have unknowingly walked in on partners, taking advantage of their wives being scantily clad…. not on people, NOT on!

My last, and maybe most important recommendation when at home, is as follows-

Please don’t….insert anything into your vagina, that was not made for that specific purpose. Ladies, it may sound like a good idea at the time, in the heat of the moment, but believe me, it’s not. Just take a moment and ask yourself “would I feel comfortable explaining to a health professional how that got stuck up there” If the answer is no, do not proceed. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. 

Vegetables are a no-no, as are deodorant cans, shampoo bottles and dare I say it….snooker balls. Yes, you heard correctly….snooker balls, plural.

And if for some strange reason you didn’t heed my advice, please make sure you bring in your partner, they deserve the walk of shame as much as you do.

I hope these little snippets of advice, might prevent unnecessary visits or….unnecessary embarrassment to you amazing women out there. xx

Nightshift, my bed and the irrational teary monster.

I love my bed, it’s nothing special, it certainly hasn’t seen any action since I bought it over 5 years ago. Other than me sleeping in it of course. But it’s seen me through some tough times and it’s always there waiting for me, when I finally get home from a night shift. No judgement, no whinging, no backchat, just peace and quiet covered in a pillow top, quality sheets, a wool doona and a latex pillow to rest my weary head. If that’s not a nightshifters’ version of heaven, I don’t know what is. 

I think all night shift workers would agree with me on this point. There’s nothing as good as crawling under the covers after hot shower once you get home from work. You can leave work behind and get a few hours of hopefully undisturbed sleep. 
People who’ve never done nightshift, don’t quite understand. (Mums to newborns also fit this criteria of nightshift workers!) I’ve often had people comment “you’re so lucky working nights, you’ve got all day to do stuff” Really?? When do you think we sleep? We are not vampires out of Twilight! We don’t sparkle in sunlight or have amazing strength. We need sleep. We don’t sleep at work, we actually….. work! Most of us also have to go home and get kids ready for school, and do school drop off and pick ups, organise dinner, wash uniforms and pack lunches as well. If, (and I emphasise IF), we are lucky, we get four and a half hours sleep. 
Full time nightshift workers who do it on a permanent basis, are a different breed. In a permanent state of sleep deprivation. I hate to admit it, but when I’m in a state of torturous sleep deprivation, it can take the smallest issue to send me into a teary mess. I remember a night where I was getting ready for work and I couldn’t find my hairbrush. That was it! Tipped over the edge by a misplaced, cheap Kmart hairbrush. It was the end of the world, I had to resort to using my sons’ comb! Can you imagine?? Unbelievable, I know. I cried all the way to work, for no good reason other than I couldn’t find my brush.
*It is here that I apologise to my friends, family and colleagues, that may have witnessed the aforementioned teary excuse for a human that I become without sleep. The treatment for said condition is sleep, food (mainly in the form of chocolate) and if either of those are unachievable, (probably because I actually have to work) distraction has been known to work. Keeping busy at work, making me laugh etc etc. Really…. it’s like I turn into a two year old that hasn’t had their afternoon nap. All the same tricks work. My eldest son knows this. On occasion he has been known to tell me to go back to sleep and he’ll sort dinner. Or when this wasn’t possible, he rode down to the nearest service station and spent his pocket money on a packet of Tim Tams. I know…..I’m very lucky.

For those family or friends of night shift workers who want to prevent the onset of the previously mentioned teary/angry/irrational monster, here’s a few guidelines you can take note of:
Don’t call us in the middle of the day……ever! Early mornings or evenings are best. Even better, text or Facebook message, that way we can get back to you when we are awake and not rushing around after the kids.
Partners, (now I’m only going from previous experience…. a lifetime ago, I no longer share my bed with ANYONE!) don’t and I repeat, DON’T attempt to get back into bed when we are trying to sleep. We only have a few hours, we reserve the right to have the bed to ourselves. I mean, you had it all night, it’s out turn. Nothing other than sleep is happening. No extracurricular activities will be happening. Any attempt to pursue these activities in the boudoir will earn you, at the very least, demerit points. More likely, you’ll receive a whack, a scowl and a ban from….. well, let’s just say, intimate relations, for a indeterminate period of time. 
Now I f you want to earn credits, make dinner, sort the kids out, let us have a sleep in, don’t call us in the middle of the day. You’ll find, we will be very, VERY grateful. 

I’ll never be cool

Apparently when you become a Mum, you lose any ability to ever be cool again.

Is it just me? Surely I’m not the only parent out there with the uncool status.

I know my English and grammar have never been great, but does every sentence of the youth of today need to be completed with phrases such as- “That’s legit” and “totes” and finished off with a dance move known as a dab???? WTF?? I was just getting used to the whipping and naynay-ing. I can’t keep up. If I even attempt to copy what my eldest does, I get the look of disgust and the comment “don’t even try mum, you’re not cool”

This is the look I mean.

Why am I not cool? I wasn’t even cool when I went to school. I have no hope of being cool now. I wasn’t in the “in” crowd, I didn’t wag school, I didn’t go to parties, I didn’t try alcohol or smoke, I never got in trouble ……..and boys, I don’t think they even knew I existed. I don’t understand teenagers. I didn’t understand them when I was one, let alone now. Doesn’t anyone converse face to face now? My eldest son seems to be constantly on Facebook and snapchat. I don’t think he has a twitter account, but who knows??? I’m completely out of the loop. Within minutes of leaving school, he’s messaging his mates, people that he’s spent the entire day with. I must seem so old and out of touch when I say “haven’t you just seen these friends, sat next to them in class, eaten with them at recess and lunch? What could you possibly need to discuss, that you couldn’t do face to face, 2 minutes ago?” Once again, I get the look…..I’m sooo uncool. What would I know??

I should be cool, I do cool stuff with my boys, I go paintballing, I ride the roller coasters at Adventure world. I even wear cool shoes. Adidas superstars! Now come on, they are super cool. But apparently they lose all coolness as soon as they touch my feet. Same can be said whenever I wear my Doc Martens. The cool properties drain away when the come in contact with Mum skin. 

To tell the truth, I don’t really care if I’m cool. I just don’t want to be seen as one of those parents that you never want your friends to meet. That parent that embarrasses you just by breathing. I don’t think I’m that parent, I have met some of my boys’ friends, I’ve even exchanged a few words with some of them!

Mind you, if I wasn’t embarrassing before, I probably am now, with some of the blogs I’ve just written. Oh well, better get used to it , I’ll never be cool and just to put the final nail in the coffin…………. I love you Dean and Adam 


Things to know about midwives. Part 1

I’ve compiled a little list of things to know about midwives. Here’s part 1.

Caution, it may gross some people out!

1-We don’t always like being told we must have the “best job” in the world.
Don’t get me wrong, yes, most of us love our jobs, but those who think we have the best job don’t see all the stressful things we deal with. We see the miracle of birth, women and their families on the happiest days of their lives, but we also see people on their worst days. Woman having miscarriages, women having babies born sleeping (stillborn) and women having traumatic deliveries. Abusive patients, abusive families, it’s all part of the job. 

We also have to deal with a lot of women who are sleep deprived and more often than not, in pain. Not a good combo. (And that’s just the other midwives!)

We’ve been spat on, hit, kicked, sworn at, threatened, been covered in other women’s bodily fluids, had babies wee and poo on us. It’s not all cute babies, hugs, flowers and chocolates. As a matter of fact I forget the last time I was given a box of chocolates for caring for a woman and her baby. The only chocolates most mere midwives see, are the fundraising ones that are a permanent fixture on most wards. The Freddo frogs call out to us at 2am, begging to be eaten. Midwives must almost buy enough fundraising chocolate to fund an entire 3rd world country for a year. 
2-We aren’t all quiet and caring. 

We are caring , yes, but we cope with stress in different ways. We have to deal with some traumatic and sometimes well, pretty gross situations, all while woman are shouting some of the worst expletives known to man at us. How do we cope? With a very dark sense of humour. 

We also see more vaginas than most male porn stars do in their lifetime. Couple that with the dark sense of humour as a coping strategy and you’ve got a group of women with a vocabulary worse than a sailors and a sense of humour darker than anything you’ve ever heard. It’s very hard to offend a midwife with a dirty joke…. we’ve heard (and sometime seen) it all.

For all those partners, friends and family of midwives, as you know, mealtimes can be interesting. Never expect to eat a meal with a group of us and not hear some story that would turn the staunchest man off their food. From cutting episiotomies, explaining 3rd degree tears, stories of being soaked to the underwear in some woman’s amniotic fluid, to describing the treatment of a cord prolapse and demonstrating how far their hand was inside a woman’s vagina. All the while, we keep shovelling our food in our gobs, without batting an eye. 
3- Bodily fluids don’t bother us

Blood, sweat, amniotic fluid, urine, vomit, breast milk…..we’ve seen it all and at some time in our careers, been covered in it. If you want someone calm in an emergency, that’s us. Unless it’s more than 500ml of blood on the floor, we’re not too concerned. 

We can take blood, cannulate (put a drip in) and suture. Mind you, I don’t know how I’d go stitching up anything other than a perineum. But at a pinch I’d give it a red hot go. 

Just a note, if you ever see us in our uniforms, I wouldn’t give us a hug, or have any bodily contact with us at all. Wait until we’ve showered and scrubbed all our work away. 

A Mum raising boys on your own.

Sometimes I wish there was a manual, some sort of guide that comes with your baby home from hospital. A book you can turn to when they don’t stop screaming for hours on end, or when they’re having a meltdown because you cut their toast the wrong way. A book with all the answers. But there’s not, well not one with the answers I needed. 

My boys are teenagers now, I think I’ve done alright. Well, they’re still alive, so that’s a start. 

Along with the usual problems of raising “normal” (I use that phrase loosely) my youngest son has autism. There is a huge spectrum when it comes to autism. Adam’s somewhere in the middle. He can’t talk and generally refuses to use a communication device at home. He doesn’t always understand verbal commands, which can be frustrating for both parties. I’m lucky though, because he has a very cheeky sense of humour and generally gets along with most people. (As long as they don’t interrupt his iPad viewing)

I feel as parents you’re expected to be perfect. Be a Mum and take care of the kids, whilst balancing work, exercise and all of our other responsibilities. Be the parent  that organise play dates, invites the whole class to Birthday parties, enrol the kids in after school sports, be the mum that cuts oranges for the team etc. (if you are, fantastic) but I’m not that mum. Having shared care of the kids, both parents working shift work and having a child with autism has put constraints on what I can and can’t do. I felt guilty about that for a long time. But since I’ve seen what well adjusted young men my boys are turning into, I don’t feel bad anymore. They’ve survived, are respectful and are kind and caring. What more could I want?

Boys are so different from girls, and for that I’m thankful. Not nearly as moody, I don’t have to hear them whinge about what this girl said or what that girl did. It’s gone a lot smoother than I thought it would. But I honestly wasn’t prepared for  how smelly teenage boys get. I mean, what’s with that? Not only do they go through that pimply awkward looking stage, but they smell so bad no girl would go near them! I struggled with it, no amount of lynx can fix that. My house is littered with cans of glen 20 and smelly candles and still the stench permeates everything. I’m embarrassed to admit that I can be often heard yelling at the boys as we leave the house “have you put deodorant on?” I’ve also resorted to keeping air freshener in the car, for those hotter days and when my charming boys decide to hotbox their Mother in the car!

I’ve come to accept that I’m not the conventional Mum (if such a thing exists)

My eldest is always telling me, “Mum, you’re more like a Dad”. At first I was offended, and got him to explain. Apparently not many mums do mud obstacle events, go camping, and go paintballing and wrestling to the death matches. So now I wear the title of being like a Dad,  like a badge of honour. 

So what I’m trying to say in a rambling fashion, is that there is no guide. The rules change all the time and not every child is the same. Not every situation is the same. Don’t be too hard on yourself. If you’re raising boys on your own, as long as their fed and watered and kept active, you’ll do alright.

AND stock up on air freshener for those teenage years. 

The World of Online Dating

Online dating…..It’s the new and almost only way to meet someone when you’re nearing 40, and as a single parent, work unsociable hours on a full-time basis. Now I’m no expert, but after a year of trying to navigate my way through the online dating world I’ve given up. I have some friends that say you’ve got to keep trying and others that think I’ve done amazingly well lasting as long as I had done. But I’ve had enough, if the right guy is out there waiting, I’m not going to find him on the plethora of sites and apps that are out there.

Now I’m sure I’m not the only one, I’m decent enough catch. Sure, I’m no Megan Fox, but I’m a well-educated woman, with a job,  my own house and car, I don’t use drugs and I’m fairly liberal minded. So why is it,  that only get messages from guys wanting a one night stand, guys over the age of 55 or guys that I’m sure are serial killers? How many dick pics does one have to endure before you find true love? I mean really? Is that what the modern woman wants to see? Am I alone, or am I the only one out there that actually wants to get to know someone before I see their genitals?

I’m not looking for Mr perfect, a runway model who earns a billion dollars. I just want a normal guy, that wants to spend time with another adult, who has a job and on their spare time wants to catch up, go out for dinner and if it all works out, go on holidays etc. As my boys are getting older, I don’t have to spend all my time caring for them, I can go out, do something for myself….. occasionally. There will be a point that they won’t need me anymore. Is there any men in the same boat? Surely there is, but alas, they don’t contact me. I’m not looking for marriage, or to move in together, I don’t want to be a ball and chain. I’ve done that, and for me, it wasn’t he happiest arrangement.

I have been on a few dates, they survived my screening process of being within 10 years of my age, can converse easily, (can string a sentence together), doesn’t smoke and doesn’t send me a dick pic. Those few that managed to get to the date stage, have been memorable experiences.

One, I went to the movies and the poor guy was very nervous and awkward. His leg twitched the entire movie, making it almost impossible to concentrate on the movie. The coffee afterwards was just as uncomfortable, he couldn’t make eye contact and most of the conversation was around his cats. Needless to say, I thanked him for the date, paid my way and exited quietly stage left.

Another date, we met at the casino, we had been chatting for a few weeks and had spoken on the phone. I thought we got along well. We met at the casino, we chatted like we’d been friends for years, I thought it went swimmingly. The time flew by, after nearly 6 hours he put me in my cab to go home. He messaged me on my trip home to tell me that I wasn’t what he was looking for. I was at a loss, to this day I don’t know what he was looking for.

My most memorable experience was when I started chatting to this FIFO worker. When I first saw his picture, I thought… NO WAY! He looked like Tony Soprano and he was a smoker. We had nothing in common….. but he could chat. He messaged me one morning and I had just finished work. Talking to him was so easy, he could make me laugh and we had more in common than I previously thought. He was looking for someone to share his life with, Nearly grownup kids, worked shift work, own house etc etc. Our first date went well, no awkward silences and he played the gentleman. After a few weeks we were chatting every day and catching up when we could. I liked him, things were gong well…. or so I thought. I thought things were going well, I knew he wasn’t the boyfriend type and didn’t like be introduced as such. That should have been a red flag, But once again, I’m fairly naive. I met all his friends and family. I thought this might be it. After spending 8 years on my own, I wasn’t any more.

Then came the chat….the one we all dread. (It came on the worst possible day, I’d just been given some bad news about my health and I was going to his for dinner). It the chat where they say … ” it’s not you it’s me”…. “I’m not looking for a relationship”…..”I hope we can still be friends”

For fuck sake!!!  If you’re not looking for relationship why the fuck are you on a dating site????? I can not understand it and never will.  I didn’t let it deter me, I went back on the site for a few months, back to the dick pics and messages from serial killers, who want to marry me after  one night of texts. So I’m done. Done with the fake profiles of people professing to want to find love. Done with the guys just wanting a root and done with the dick pics.

On a positive note, I’m still friends with the guys that’s not looking for a relationship. He’s actually my best friend. Heavens knows why, he’s a dick, he’s still on the dating site, going on dates. But, he makes me laugh, he never judges and he knows me better than anyone. Not what I was looking for, but better than what I had.

Hello world!

Well, although I’m not a very good writer, I’m going to give this blog writing a crack. I’m 39 and heading towards the dreaded 40 at the speed of light. I hadn’t thought turning 40 was a big deal until I saw it rapidly getting closer. What have I achieved in my life? Am I where I thought I’d be? Well, no. When I graduated high school, I had a loose plan on how life would turn out. I’d meet the man of my dreams, have two or three children. Work part time as a nurse and live happily ever after, in a nice house, near the beach and going on family holidays twice a year. The Aussie dream. How naïve was I?  Here I am a single, overweight, greying 39 year old, with 2 teenage boys living with me week about, working full time night shift as a midwife, living in a small house, (not in my ideal suburb) and will be paying a mortgage until I im 70! What happened??

Well, I know I am very lucky. I have a roof over my head, have 2 fairly well behaved teenage boys and I have a job. I have an amazing family and a few fantastic friends, that really know me. But where is my loving partner? My nice house by the sea and my twice yearly family holidays? Fucked if I know….. not on the cards it appears. But as the name of my blog suggests, an ordinary life isn’t all that bad. It’s just not what I had expected. So when I turn 40 in the next two weeks, I’ll be celebrating my ordinary life. Not with a huge party, not with a holiday away, but I’ll be celebrating this major milestone with 2 mates that I’ve only just met in the last year. One guy I met on RSVP (a story for another time) and his best mate. Two guys that know me better than anyone else I know. They know that this demure, quietly spoken, caring nurse and midwife, really has a mouth like a sailor and a mind that is often in the gutter. I’m not a girly girl, I probably think more like a guy.  But I can be myself with these two. They’ve seen me at my worst in a teary mess and been there at my happiest, sometimes in the same night! They don’t judge, they just make me laugh. What more could I want in life? 

So in my blog, I’ll tell my tales of being a parent, being a nurse and midwife, online dating and anything else that comes to mind. 

The Ordinary Life of a Single Mum, navigating parenthood, working full time and attempting to have a social life.


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