These little beach balls are the perfect way to use up fabric scraps, to coordinate fabrics, or for a gorgeous handmade gift. I've made them for both of my babies to play with (stuffed with polyfill and a little bell), and smaller versions hung over their change tables as a mobile.

They couldn't be easier to make, although I'm the first to admit that it can be a bit fiddly. If you're more patient than I am (wouldn't be hard!) you'll find these a cinch to make.

WHAT YOU'LL NEED:

- pattern

- fabric

- needle and coordinating thread

- sewing machine

- stuffing (e.g. polyfill)

HOW YOU DO IT:

Draw yourself a pattern in the following shape:

Don't stress too much about the shape; just be prepared to be a bit flexible when you muck around with measurements etc. If the middle is "fatter" you balls will be rounder. The general shape should work irrespective.

As an example, to make the tiny beach balls for a baby mobile, my dimensions are 17cm long, and 4cm wide. Making them to play with, my dimensions are 26cm x 7cm.

Cut 8 pieces. I don't allow a seam allowance. You might like to use pinking shears if you have them (the zig-zag scissors) just to help prevent fraying. I don't tend to zig-zag or overlock the little ones because they don't get handled, but if you're making a bigger beach ball, it might be a good idea to zig zag the edges to help prevent fraying.

Place 2 pieces together, right sides together. Sew down the side. Repeat, until you have four "pairs".

Repeat the process, until you have two halves.

Sew one half together, and half sew the other. Turn the ball inside out, check that all your seams are adequately stitched.

Fill your beach ball with polystuffing (or whatever you're using), then hand stitch the opening closed.

Unless you're a super-duper patient sewer (unlike me), you'll probably find that the ends don't match "perfectly". To be honest, it doesn't worry me, but you can always cut a tiny little circle of coordinating fabric, and glue or hand stitch it over each end to cover any uneven stitching.

I dare you, try not to sing along!

This is much harder to come up with than you might think... Have a go, and let us know what your Mix Tape looks like! xo

Childhood

STEVIE WONDER: Isn't She Lovely

I'll be honest, I had a pretty charmed childhood (#humblebrag). I was raised by two loving parents, with my younger sister who, as per the job description, drove me mad. I was raised to believe I could be anything I want to be, and that who I am, just as I am, is just right. Looking back, it's possibly a bit lucky that I was a fairly good kid; my Dad and Grandad thought that I was the bees knees, so I probably could have gotten away with a lot, if I'd been that way inclined...

Age 13

JOURNEY: Don't Stop Believin'

The golden-haired, cherubic looking child I was grew into an awkward, sport-crazy tomboy, with braces, acne, mousy fluffy hair and Coke-bottle glasses. Go on, take a minute to get the visual. Not awesome, but that's ok. I was loved, and yeah, teenage years suck big fat hairy ones, but there's an awesome thing that happens: they end. WOOHOO! PS - I wasn't actually listening to Journey in these years. My actual Mix Tape was home to classics like Everybody (Backstreet's Back!) and MMMBop. Unforgettable. Happiness in a three-minute package.

AGE 16

BRITNEY SPEARS: Baby One More Time.

This THING happened. It was like magic. I turned 16, and my skin cleared up (thanks Doc), my braces came off, I got contact lenses, a hair straightener, found fake tan and buckets of confidence. I was practically Britney Spears, y'all. All blonde hair, cute skirts and dancing with my girlfriends in the hallways. That's a picture of me on the right. Just kidding, it's Britney Spears, but if you squint hard and look slightly upwards it's hard to tell the difference.

AGE 18

GEORGE MICHAEL: Freedom

OK, despite coming over all Britney Spears-esque, I was actually a good girl. (Pretty much) no sneaking out or underage drinking. I usually listened to my parents. I handed in all my schoolwork, did my homework, went to netball training. I was a good teenager, really (read: boring. Although I hope my kids are like me - please!)

And then there was 18. The wonderful thing about being raised in Australia is that EVERYTHING good happens at once: you finish school, you get your license and you can legally buy alcohol. Ermahgerd. Can you say FREEEEE-DOMMMMM???

As a side note, I've never listened to George Michael. He just never really took my fancy. But Freedom is definitely apt for this period in my life. In reality, I was listening to The Ketchup Song, Eminem (pretending to be a bit darker and more emo than I really was) and Dirrty, which by the way, still gets me up on the d-floor! And yes, I'm perfectly aware that my use of the term 'd-floor' shows me as a has-been. I'm happy here in the Beyond-Cool pile; I have an excuse to wear tracky pants in pubic and say silly things.

AGE 22

KELLY CLARKSON: Miss Independent

I knew everything at 22. I was the person I was meant to be, and yeah, life wasn't perfect, but since when is life easy? I didn't need YOU or YOU or YOU telling me, ok? I'm an adult now, so... thanks anyway!

Miss independent Miss self-sufficient Miss keep your distance Miss unafraid Miss out of my way

AGE 26

THE BEATLES: With a Little Help from My Friends

Well yeah, career-wise I was rocketing... And I was meant to be getting married, but something didn't feel right. Maybe... just maybe I did need a bit of help sometimes.

I left my fiancé, left our crappy one-sided relationship and decided to start again... With a little help from my friends.

We were totally just like the Beatles. Oh wait, but my friends and I never had horrible bowl cuts. Oh, and we never had bank accounts like theirs, either. So um, I guess we weren't really like the Beatles at all, except that after a few wines we thought we were pretty musically awesome...

AGE 27

J.LO: On The Floor

The Renaissance period! I was reborn... Like my 16 year old self, full of a new awareness of myself but with a much better Bullshit-Radar. May or may not have indulged in a few too many luxuries - holidays, clothes, designer goodies. Oh yeah, and a few too many late nights out with the girls. It was this age when I discovered the true meaning of a "hangover."

If you go hard you gotta get on the floor If you're a party freak then step on the floor If you're an animal then tear up the floor Break a sweat on the floor Yeah we work on the floor Don’t stop keep it moving Put your drinks up

AGE 30

TAYLOR SWIFT: Love Story

Ohhhhh didn't life change. I'd been in such a rush in my early 20s, wanting to be grown up and everything I thought that entailed. As soon as I relaxed and let that go (see "Age 27") wouldn't you know it, I met the man of my dreams. When I turned 30, I was happily married, with a precious baby in my arms, and a heart full of love.

The Movember Foundation is a global charity committed to men living happier, healthier, longer lives. Since 2003, millions have joined the men’s health movement, raising $685 million and funding over 1,000 projects focusing on prostate cancer, testicular cancer, poor mental health and physical inactivity.

From humble beginnings in Australia in 2003, the Movember movement has grown to be a truly global one, inspiring support from over 5 million Mo Bros and Mo Sistas around the world.

Movember's success can largely be attributed to the strength of the global community. Regardless of the city in which we live, we're part of something bigger, united by a commitment to help change the face of men’s health.

October 28, 2016

‘Day for Daniel’ is a National Day of Action to raise awareness about child safety and protection. Parents, carers and guardians are asked to start a conversation about personal safety in the real world and in an online environment.

Wear Red and Educate

The objectives of ‘Day for Daniel’ are:

• To raise awareness about child safety and protection and to promote a safer community for children. • To educate children regarding their personal safety and empower them to RECOGNISE, REACT and REPORT.

• To provide FREE safety and educational material. • To honour the memory of Daniel Morcombe.

‘Day for Daniel’ is an opportunity for Australians to make a statement that crimes against children are not acceptable in modern Australia. It aims to help empower our children to RECOGNISE, REACT and REPORT if they feel something is not right.

What does RECOGNISE, REACT and REPORT mean?

How can I help?

For more information about ‘Day for Daniel’, the ‘Daniel Morcombe Child Safety Curriculum’, the ‘Keeping Kids Safe’ Resource Kit and what you can do to help, visit our website.

Our first daughter, Lucy, was born by an emergency caesarean section after hours and hours of labour. At the time, I was so damn worried about her wellbeing, that I didn't care how she came into the world, as long as it was safely. Unfortunately, that's not the same mindset as many people. Strangely enough, I've found that it's other women (mostly other mothers) who tend to be more judgemental about the whole "natural vs caesar" birth.

(Side-note: I really hate the idea that a vaginal birth is 'natural'. It seems to stand to reason that if a vaginal birth is 'natural' then it's 'opposite', the caesar, is 'unnatural'. Quite a horrible concept to come to terms with.)

By the time we came to having baby number 2, a frank discussion with our obstetrician led us to make the decision that an elective caesarean was the safest way to bring our second daughter into the world. This decision wasn't taken lightly, and to be honest, took me a long time to come to, and even longer to be 'okay' with. And my main concern? What will people think?

Obviously, that shouldn't be a mother's primary concern. However the reality of the situation, of the Mother's Group society, is that people will pass judgement without knowing the full details. Which is really quite outrageous, given how deeply personal the process of bringing a child into the world is.

So anyway. I spent most of my 'preparation time' mentally getting ready for the caesarean, and then when I came to 36 weeks, I realised that I actually had to go through with it. Oh, I'd sort of forgotten about that. I spent so long coming to terms with 'failing' to deliver 'naturally' that I panicked a bit about the practicalities of a second caesar. OMG, the spinal! Oh my even bigger goodness: I'll have to take the dressing off at some stage! OW!

Most of the blogs and boards I read said that the mums in a similar situation - i.e. elective caesar following an emergency caesar - found the elective process a whole lot more calming and less stressful. This is true; there's less concern about the wellbeing of your child; less hustle and bustle; less of that "calm but concern bubbling under the surface" from the staff. But it still doesn't make it an easy process, by any stretch of the imagination.

One of the ways I cope better with stress, is to focus on facts and practicalities. So if you're in the same boat, here's a couple of things to keep in mind when preparing for a caesarean:

1) Wax. Your best friend will be wax.

Of all the things that are not-so-great about a caesar (the surgery, the spinal, the pain, the recovery, not being able to drive / sneeze / cough / laugh... Shall I continue?) by far my worst experience with my first caesar was removing the wound dressing. Yep, removing the dressing is what mad my toes curl. Before you laugh, if you haven't had a caesar before, you need to Google where the incision is usually made. Then think about the logistics of at-home hair removal when you can't see anything beyond your belly.... Uh huh, you're getting there, hey? I wasn't expecting a caesar first time around, so in the theatre they gave me a rough shave. A couple of days later, when the wound dressing had to be removed, the hair had started to grow back. Imagine a wax in the same area as a raw surgical wound... On your lady parts. And try not to pass out!

2) Fat maternity pads. Your second best friend.

So, every "What to Pack for Hospital" list ever invented tells you to pack maternity pads. If you're preparing for a caesar, definitely chuck an extra packet in there, to use as protection between your wound and the elastic in your pants / pyjamas. You're going to be wearing loose fitting clothes over your wound for a while, but you'll definitely want to have something to act as a buffer, especially after the surgical dressing comes off, but before the wound fully heals.

3) Cushions. Your third best friend.

Friend coming over for a chat? You'll need a cushion to hold against your wound in case you laugh. Have to drive somewhere (passenger of course)? You'll want a small cushion to pad the wound from the seatbelt. Got a bit of a cold, and need to cough? Hold that cushion against your belly, baby! Oh, and your first bowel movement? A cushion ain't gonna help, but you'll feel more comfortable with something to hold against your belly. You'll thank me later.

4) Granny knickers.

Mmm-mmmm. Hot. Believe me, when your every waking thought revolves around your newborn, you're not going to care how sexy your knickers are. We're aiming for comfort, not style at this stage, ladies. Buy some cheapies from Kmart, two sizes larger than you'd normally buy, in the "full brief" variety. Don't forget that your tummy will be bigger than normal still, and you might be wanting to protect your wound with a maternity pad, so you definitely want some extra space, and you definitely want them to sit up much higher than your wound. If you don't spend a lot, you can chuck them out once you're feeling more like yourself and able to get back into your hot pants (or whatever takes your fancy).

5) Licorice and dried apricots. Prunes. Juice. Anything fibrous!

All righty, this is a biggie. That first visit to the toilet after having a baby is no cakewalk, whatever your mode of childbirth. With a caesar wound though, you're definitely going to want to get some high fibre foods into you. Don't forget that your abdominal muscles are compromised, as is your uterus (until the wounds heal) so you need to be a bit gentle with your body. I recommend making it as easy for yourself as possible.

So there you have my 'Caesar Prep List'. I'm obviously not a medical practitioner of any kind, so if you are expecting a caesar, talk to your care provider to make sure that your questions are answered. And most importantly, good luck and enjoy your baby!!

Listen up, social media users! In particular, Facebookers. That damn "SHARE" button is too easy to use, and should come with a disclaimer: ONLY FOR USE BY PEOPLE WITH INDEPENDENT THOUGHTS. Or maybe there should be periodic IQ tests mandatory for all social media users. And if you don't meet the standard, then you can't share anything that bags out other religions, races, genders, sexualities, cultures, choices, mothers or... whatever else gets vilified on social media on a regular basis.

My sister and I are 'friends' on Facebook with a number of our parents' friends. Like many FB relationships, this is irrespective of whether we have a lot to do with them in real life. It's kind of a sign of respect to our parents and their mates.

Anyway, bearing this in mind, one of our mum's friends constantly shares sh*t. Like, not actual pictures of poop, but highly emotive memes and images that are low on factual relevance and high in social irresponsibility. You know the types - "Muslims are stealing our welfare!" and "Immigrants are taking our jobs!" Stuff about dole bludgers earning more on welfare than war veterans, and politicians stealing candy from babies.

True to form, mum's mate just shared a post about a shopping centre in Queensland where they'd "banned the sale of ANZAC badges" because the shopping centre owner is Middle Eastern and had forbidden business owners selling ANZAC-related things.

Come on, are you serious? The whole post REEKS of hoax! From the fabricated pictures, to the inconsistent wording in the accompanying explanation. And there's far too many explanation points to have been written by an educated person.

But, like many people, mum's mate fell for it. Not just fell for it, but it has ENRAGED her. She's added a 6-line rant about how disgusting this is, yadda-yadda, *insert racist monologue* about "the Arabs" and the death of Australian culture.

Being the socially-responsible person I like to think I am, a quick check with the shopping centre and Coles (who have been implicated in the hoax too) shows that no such ban was implemented at the shopping centre mentioned. In short, it's BS.

I can hear you saying "OK, there's a lot of crap on Facebook, no biggie, right?" Wrong.

Each time a trumped-up racist story like this gets shared, it gains exposure and credibility. The more shares a post gets, the more it seems to be truthful. Whoever writes this type of rubbish clearly has a narrow view of the world, and feels threatened by whatever impending doom they fear is about to crash down upon them (The Muslims! The Arabs! The loss of our national identity!)

These rubbish posts, rather than 'rally' us to the author's view, just divide communities. It creates discord, fear of what's different. It completely devalues the positive impact that - in this case - people of a Middle Eastern background have on our world. ALL Middle Easterners. How unfair is that? Sharing these dangerous lies is irresponsible, dangerous and damaging to any chance we have of being a cohesive community.

Here's a thought to finish this blog off:

There are bad eggs everywhere. You don't meet a Bad-Egg-middle-aged-woman and assume that all middle aged women are Bad Eggs, do you? (I certainly hope you don't). The same thinking should be applied across the board.

Next time you read a post on Facebook that attacks, picks on, or vilifies a group of people, check out the facts behind it before you share it. It's hard to undo the damage once it's been shared.

I saw this page when I was purchasing some fabric recently. I always struggle to work out how many packets of pre-cut fabric I need to buy when I'm sewing a quilt. It doesn't matter how many I sew, I always have to double- and triple-check!

Click on the image below to go to the full article:

Here's the basics:

These calculations are based on the following stats:

All seams measure ¼”.Crib = 36” x 60”, Twin = 63” x 87”, Full = 78” x 87”, Queen = 84” x 92”, King = 106” x 98” {more bedding dimensions}

To calculate how many charm squares to make a crib quilt, let’s start with the long side:

4½” Finished Size multiplied by No. of Charm Squares = 60″

No. of Charm Squares = 60″ divided by 4½”

No. of Charm Squares = 13.333 (round up to 14 or down to 13)

Using the same process for the short side, we get 8 charm squares. So our crib sized quilt will be 8 charm squares wide by 13 charm squares tall. 8 x 13 = 104 charm squares.

As there are 42 squares to a Charm Pack, you will need 3 Charm Packs to complete the quilt.

Hope that helps! Happy Quilting

The Pyjama Foundation was founded in 2004 to make a positive impact on the lives of our community’s most vulnerable children. Alarmed at the statistics highlighting the poor literacy and numeracy levels of children in care, and how this contributes to a lifetime of disadvantage, Founder Bronwyn Sheehan was determined to make a difference. Bronwyn developed a program to ease some of the pressures on foster carers and empower these children to achieve positive outcomes.

The Pyjama Foundation has a learning-based mentoring program called the Love of Learning Program, which involves matching one adult with one child. We screen and train our volunteers, called ‘Pyjama Angels’. Our Pyjama Angels are matched with a child in foster care, they visit the same child every week, for 1.5 hours to read books aloud, play educational games and work on their numeracy skills. The volunteers help children develop their learning skills and perhaps more importantly, demonstrate that the child is valued as an individual.

Since inception ten years ago, The Pyjama Foundation has inspired many members of our community nationally to become volunteer Pyjama Angels, transforming the lives of children in care through literacy, numeracy and mentoring. Currently, 1,128 children in care are involved in the Love of Learning Program. Some of my volunteers have been with their child for eight years. The relationship which forms is fantastic, the children are often waiting on the footpath for their Pyjama Angel to arrive.

Get involved here!

Friday August 26, 2016

This Daffodil Day, every daffodil, every donation, goes towards helping those who are affected by cancer. Donate to Daffodil Day to fund better cancer treatments and work towards a cancer-free future.

We've all heard them - and my mother in law swears by most of them. In fact, whenever I do something that contradicts some of these, she often sighs and gives me a look that says "Oh, you younger generation...!"

Although our grandmas might have gotten by with these, modern science has myth-busted these Old Wives Tales.

1) You have to wait half an hour after eating before you can safely go swimming.

We lived by this as kids, spending our summers by the beach in Lorne. That half hour after we had lunch was the longest part of the day. It seems that the idea is that swimming on a full stomach will cause you to suffer from severe cramping, and cause you to drown. It's true that digestion will divert some blood flow towards your gut, but it won't take enough blood from the rest of your muscles to cause a systemic body failure.

2) You need to burn first before you start to tan.

I heard this from my Nana, and my mother in law says this all the time. It makes me shudder. Sunburn is a burn. You know, like "Oh crap, I burnt the toast." Except it's your skin. There's no tossing it out and starting again.

Sunburn is a burn and not a prerequisite stage for a tan. Sunburn will result in skin damage, redness, and eventual peeling. Any amount of sun exposure poses a risk of skin cancer.

4) Dark-skinned people don't need sunscreen.

My mother in law's lovely olive, Slavic skin looks so outdoorsy and healthy all year round. Perhaps this myth started because that early pinkish blush of sun burn is harder to pick up on people with darker skin, than on my pale Irish skin. People with lighter skins have less melanin, the pigment that absorbs UV radiation and protects skin, than darker-skinned people. While light-skinned people will be very sensitive to the effects of UV rays from the sun, those with darker skins can still be affected by damaging UV radiation. Worldwide, recommendations are that everyone should use waterproof sunscreen with broad-spectrum protection, and SPF of 30 or greater.

5) If you eat fruit seeds, they'll germinate in your stomach.

In short, no they won't.

There is a very small risk of damage to the intestine (inflammation, obstruction, or a wound or tear in the bowel) from swallowing any small, sharp object such as a seed. A watermelon or other type of seed could potentially lodge inside the appendix and lead to appendicitis, but this is very unlikely to happen. The benefits of including fruit in your diet far outweigh any risks associated with swallowing seeds.

6) Chewing Gum Takes Seven Years to Digest

Rest assured—this decades-old bit of folklore, of unknown origin but almost universal renown, has little basis in fact. Thankfully the legend is false.

Chewing gum passes through the digestive system like any other food. Your body is able to break down some of the gum's components, such as sweeteners and oil derivatives, but the gum's rubber or latex base gets churned out in a matter of days.

7) Going out in the cold will make you sick

My husband and father still quote this to me. It drives me nuts - I mean, surely most of us know now that germs cause illness?

In terms of infectious diseases, germs make you sick, not the cold weather itself. You have to come in contact with rhinoviruses to come down with a cold and influenza virus to contract the flu. The rhinoviruses peak in spring and fall, and flu viruses in winter. Some studies have said that very cold temperatures can slightly slow down the immune system, and therefore perhaps decrease your likelihood of fighting off germs you come into contact with, but the cold weather itself won't make you sick!

8) You Don’t Need To Keep Hydrated While Swimming

Another one that my mother in law tells me... and also completely false! Being in the water is not the same as drinking it and we wouldn’t recommend drinking the pool or lake water either. You definitely won't absurd water through your skin to keep your body hydrated, so when you are headed for a swim, make sure to take a bottle of water or two with you to keep yourself hydrated.

9) Don't go outside with wet hair. You'll catch a cold.

Similar to number 7 - false. In one study reported in The New England Journal of Medicine, two groups of people were exposed to viruses that cause the common cold. One group was exposed to the germs in a chilly 5°C room; the other group, in a balmy 30°C room. The result? Both groups caught colds at about the same rate. Sorry, old wives.

10) Put some brandy on your baby's gums to help them with teething pain.

My mother still talks about her anger the day she walked in to my Nana's kitchen to see her giving me brandy to help me.

Forget that old wives' tale about dabbing brandy or whiskey on a baby's gums to alleviate teething pain. Even a very small amount of alcohol can be toxic to a baby.

So there you have it. My top 10 false Old Wives' Tales.

:-)

We all have those Mum friends on social media who fall into the predictability sphere... Everyone knows "The Mum Who..." on their Facebook or Twitter feed. (Some of us might even be guilty of blocking their posts because of it. I'm not admitting anything!)

Let's see if you can recognise some of these tongue-in-cheek Mums!

1. The Man-Basher Mum

This is the Mum who can take even the most well written, loving Father's Day post and make it all about why men suck and women are better off becoming asexual. Her typical post contains an unreasonable amount of male-directed obscenities and she talks mostly about her uterus, her heroic schedule and lack of child support. Bless, I reckon she’ll fall in love one day. Then things will change (see Category 2).

2. The "All About My Man" Mum

Whether it's her husband or her boyfriend of the week, her posts ooze with so much male praise it makes you want to write "Get a room!" This Mum is easy to spot, by the constant selfies of them together accompanied by extravagantly complimentary captions like "I am the luckiest woman in the world. I have the most amazing husband and father ever!" Even worse, she might refer to her partner as "Boo-Boo" or something equally queasy.

3. The Pinterest-Perfect Mum

Her profile is like a page from a magazine. From homemade Halloween costumes and gourmet meals to perfect report cards and Norman Rockwell-esque picnics, this Mum posts all things perfection, all the time and is apparently the most well-adjusted woman on the planet! Gotta love her, we know that it took exactly 78 photos to get that perfect shot of the kids smiling in front of the triple-story homemade fort. The Stepford Wives have nothing on Pinterest-Perfect Mum.

4. The Voice Of Experience Mum

These mums – somehow – have been there and seen it all. Whether they have one child or 20, there’s nothing they haven’t mastered. This mum rarely ever posts anything of her own, but she is a serial commenter and her go-to statement is "As a mother, I know ..."

5. The Keyboard Courage Mum

A picture is worth a thousand words, but this Mum doesn't have a way with words, so she simply communicates by posting a thousand pictures. Off-screen, she is the least talkative and most monotone person ever, but through the power of video, Instagram and hysterical e-cards, she becomes a full-on sociable stand-up comedian (from behind the safety of her laptop screen only).

6. The Tough Mum

Frankly, she scares the hell out of us, but we are too afraid to un-friend her, so we just post winky faces or LOLs at everything she says (which typically sounds something like "I'm gonna beat this kid's butt and then get a tattoo to tell the world I did it!"). We honestly hope she doesn't ever actually follow through on anything she says.

7. The Hippie Mum

Everything is beautiful and life is full of rainbows and kittens in this Mum's space. She posts Gandhi quotes, pictures of way-too-flexible people in way-too-outrageous yoga poses and articles about the dangers of anger on your body and the planet. A juicer, and raw food vegan who shares “inspirational” photos, like a piglet saying “Please don’t eat me” alongside a rainbow with “We are all doing the best we can, so let’s not judge” beneath it.

8. The Parenting Expert Non-Mum

This lady has solid opinions, and would never imagine making the same 'mistakes' her Mum friends do. Her future children will be adorable and well-behaved and practically perfect in every way ... as soon as she has them. But right now, she doesn't. She's free to give her non-Mum point of view, but until she's been projectile vomited on at 3:00 AM or has her normally easy-going toddler flip out on an airplane for four hours because of a raging ear infection, she should save her sage maternal advice for when she is actually a parent. And no, a fur baby doesn't count.

9. The Online Entrepreneur Mum

Our lives would be perfect, our wallets full, our passports worn and our bodies lean and clean if only we would buy every product from, host a party for, or join this Mum's team in her 'party plan of the month'. In an ideal world, she would be able to sell ice to the Eskimos, but whilst we all appreciate her love of life, we know her real mantra for the world is to "fake it 'til you make it." Go get 'em, tiger!

10. The "Just Had My First Baby" New Mum

This mum is about to fall into one of the other categories, but right now, she belongs in one all of her own. We'll simply let her bask in glow of the pudgie cheeks, full breasts and that new baby smell. And we'll look forward to her "minute by minute" updates of the bodily functions that occur after her child has just eaten or woken up from a nap or had a bath. And the full-blown panics and requests for paediatrician referrals when she's certain that there's something 'wrong' with her perfectly healthy baby. Bless.

11. The "In Denial About Being A Mum" Mum

Oh darlin' you know who you are (and so do we, because all we ever see on your page is you!) Those lovely duck-lipped selfies, sexy girlfriend shots, club shots, shot shots and shoe shots interrupted only by the occasional post about your suffering social life because of your "kid." The only real pics of your kid are the ones you took while you were pregnant so you could be in them or accidental spottings of half your child's face in the review mirror of your "I'm in the car about to do something AH-MAY-ZING" selfie.

12. The “Best Friend” Mum

Toddlers of this mum are usually the ones at the party who are stealing all the toys from the kids, throwing tantrums, and generally behaving like a pain in the butt. This mum speaks to the naughty child in that annoying fake soothing voice, “Don’t worry darling, we’ll get you another one,” before ripping the contested toy from another child. We all know that the kid just needs a stern word and some boundaries. This Mum writes on Facebook about the horrible experience they had at Music Class / Gym / Dance Class because the horrible teacher was “soooo strict” and they “just don’t understand my baby! Never going back again!”

13. The Badass-Working Mum

This Mum is always posting about how busy she is, how tired she is, how hard she works, how guilty she feels. She posts adorable photos of her kids, accompanied by captions like, “Everything I do is for these two!” Bless her, she’s one day of overtime away from a complete meltdown.

14. The “I can’t afford a therapist” Mum

There’s nothing wrong with this poor Mum that a couple of sessions with a therapist wouldn’t help. She posts things like, “When will things start to go my way?” and follows up concerned "Are you OKs?" with comments like “Fine, don't worry.” She’s the Mum you know needs a bit of love and attention, but geez it would be nice to block her posts from your feed.

This blog was inspired by these funny lists: here and here and here.

We all joke about it, but how many of us actually participate in Dry July?

Dry July is the fundraiser that challenges you to go booze-free for a month to support adults living with cancer. It helps you get healthy and clear your head while also raising funds for an important cause. Dry July improves the wellbeing of adult cancer patients by providing funds to create better services and environments for them and their families.

Click hereto see what your fundraising does for adults living with cancer.

Interested in giving it a crack this year? It's not too late - click HERE to get involved.

I'm sure you all remember wearing those irritating plastic red noses at school on Red Nose Day. These days there's no need to look ridiculous (unless that's your thing), but the cause remains just as important.

Friday June 24th is this year's Red Nose Day in support of SIDS and KIDS.

Here's why you should care:

SIDS and Kids is dedicated to saving the lives of babies and children during pregnancy, birth, infancy and childhood and supporting bereaved families.They are a not-for-profit organisation that was created in 1977 to support families who had experienced the death of a baby from sudden infant death syndrome (SIDS).Over the years their services have been broadened beyond SIDS to support all families who have experienced the sudden and unexpected death of a baby or child regardless of the cause.They have a successful history in delivering a safe sleeping health promotion program for babies that has been largely responsible for an 80% reduction in sudden infant deaths in Australia.

Red Nose Day is the main fundraiser for SIDS and Kids.

Want to donate to Red Nose Day? Click here.

For more information about safe sleeping practices, and the work that SIDS and Kids so, head to their website.

There's nothing more frustrating than having an awesome idea for a project... But not knowing which fabrics to choose. Which colours should I use? What about shade? What if I put in all the hard work, and the effect is wrong?

Never fear! Big Boss Baby is here to help.

Here's a few basic principles to think about when choosing your fabric colour combos:

1) Which colours will work well together?

2) Warm vs Cool colour effects

3) Colour meaning

1) Which colours will work well together?

There are whole bodies of work dedicated to the Psychology of Colour. Pop that phrase into Google, and you'll see a whole heap of information about what colours do, and mean. Even better, if you're a visual person like me, click the "images" tab - there's a veritable feast of information available.

Monochromatic:

Love yellow? Pink? Green?

Why don't you pick a range of shades from the same colour. Think of paint swatches and go from there.

Analogous:

Google "colour wheel" and pick three colours that fall next to each other. These colours are analogous and will create a lovely, harmonious effect.

Complementary:

creates visual interest and stimulation for the brain.

Similarly, for even more interest, go for a split-complementary colour palette; start with one colour, then pick the two colours either side of it's opposite colour.

2) Warm vs Cool

Colours have an impact on mental and emotional reactions, so it's important to consider what type of effect you're wanting to draw out with your project. For example, you may want a child's toy to have bright, vibrant, active colours, but bedding for a baby's nursery may be better in soothing, calming tones.

Cool colours:

These colors have a calming effect and represent comfort and nurturing. Most cool colors will appear smaller than warm colors. Since these cool colors tend to recede, using them in the background of a design works well.

Warm colours:

Warm colours catch your attention; they're energetic, and great for places where there's lots of movement, activity and motion. Warm colours approach you visually, and feel larger. This means that they can make a space feel smaller, so take that into account if you're planning to use a lot of warmth in a small room.

3) Colour Meaning

You might be working on a project that requires a bit more symbolism, or perhaps you're looking to inject some extra meaning into a special piece you're putting together. Looking at the colour meaning may not make the importance immediately clear to everyone, but you will always know just what the colours mean to you.

The following information was sourced from ArtTherapyBlog - check out the full blog for more info (http://www.arttherapyblog.com/online/color-meanings-symbolism/#.Vw8d58dIeDA)

WHITE

purityinnocencecleanlinesssense of spaceneutralitymourning (in some cultures/societies

BLACK

authoritypowerstrengthevilintelligencethinning / slimmingdeath or mourning

GRAY

neutraltimelesspractical

RED

loveromancegentlewarmthcomfortenergyexcitementintensitylifebloodgood luck (Chinese / Indian culture)revolution (Communism

ORANGE

happyenergeticexcitemententhusiasmwarmthwealth prosperitysophisticationchangetreasonstimulationHalloweenhumility, renunciation, desirelessness (Buddhism)love, happiness, plenitude (China & Japan)

YELLOW

happinesslaughtercheerywarmthoptimismhungerintensityfrustrationangerattention-gettinghappiness, prosperity (Egypt)Imperial worship (China)

GREEN

naturalcoolgrowthmoneyhealthenvytranquilityharmonycalmnessfertility

BLUE

calmnessserenitycolduncaringwisdomloyaltytruthfocusedun-appetizingVirgin Mary, God Father (Catholicism)Mosque decorations (Islam)peace, cooperation (UN)mercy (India)holiness (Judaism)

PURPLE / VIOLET

royaltywealthsophisticationwisdomexoticspiritualprosperityrespectmysterywealth (ancient cultures) contrition, penitence, Lent (Catholicism)

BROWN

reliabilitystabilityfriendshipsadnesswarmthcomfortsecuritynaturalorganicmourning (in some cultures/societies)

PINK

romancelovegentlecalmingagitation

We're nearly there!!!!! Big Boss Baby 2 is due in a month, and I've managed to get the nursery more or less ready. A couple of months ago you might remember me writing about my craft block. I spoke about feeling like I wanted to create some new nursery decor for the new baby, but I wasn't quite sure what I was going to do. We didn't know whether Lucy would be a "Lucy" or a "Luka", so her nursery was "circus" themed; purple, yellow, red, orange. Very cool! She had a lovely quilt, mobile, wall hangings, bunting, burp cloths, nappy wallet, nappy stacker, ceiling decorations, wraps, toys... The works.

I'll be honest, I haven't been able to go as crazy as I wanted to (I've been on modified bed rest for part of this pregnancy), but I've managed to put together a few bits and pieces to totally change the feel of the nursery for this baby. It's only fair - different rooms for different babies! (Even if both of our girls are clearly too young to notice... or care!)

So here's the update. I thought I'd let you know what I've managed to put together. I'm really keen on doing a few extra bits and pieces (maybe a pram blanket? A foot muff?), but the reality is that it probably won't happen. This tiny little love in my tummy has threatened to make a couple of early appearances, and I've been quite unwell throughout, so I think I've actually done quite well to get this far.

If you love the fabric as much as I do - It's "Lil' Red" by Stacy Iest Hsu for Moda Fabrics.

What do you think? What have you made for your kids? I'd love to hear your ideas and see your pics!

X

This is a bit of a change up from my last few posts. But I feel the need to get this out there... I recently read this article when I was going through a tough time. I was feeling pretty scarred about our experience with Lucy's CDH diagnosis, and how I'd deal if it happened again with baby number 2. A dear friend had also recently given birth to a stillborn baby, so perfect and beautiful.

This little article helped me to get some perspective. I'm not saying it will change your life, but next time you're in a bad place - somewhere you didn't expect to be - try to take a breath and look around. Remember that Holland has tulips and Rembrandts, and they're pretty cool too.

WELCOME TO HOLLAND

by Emily Perl Kingsley.

c1987 by Emily Perl Kingsley. All rights reserved

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. Michelangelo's David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met. It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned." And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.

Like lots of mums, I've been grateful for a dummy on hand at different times, and conversely, been frustrated at my inability to locate a dummy that's fallen out of the pram / trolley / car / cot and is needed RIGHT NOW.

I started making dummy clips for my daughter Lucy, and later offered them for sale through Big Boss Baby. Dummy Clips are a funny one to sell though; there's a range of regulations you need to adhere to if you're going to sell them, and they often change. Doesn't mean that they're not popular though - or handy!

So if you're keen on a dummy clip (or ten) for your little one, here's the simplified Big Boss Baby 3-step tutorial for making dummy clips:

WHAT YOU NEED:

22cm of 7/8inch grosgrain ribbon (per clip made)

Lighter (some kind of gentle flame) for heat-sealing ribbon ends

Heavy-duty clasps (I recommend plastic to ensure there's no nasty nickel or lead)**

Washable snap closures (resin are a good place to start)**

Scissors

Sewing machine

Coordinating thread

** See note at the end re: sourcing these

HOW YOU DO IT:

1) Measure out your ribbon, cutting 22cm lengths. Hold the lighter slightly away from the cut ends of the ribbon, and one end at a time, gently melt the cut ribbon tips so that they won't fray.

2) Following the manufacturer's instructions, attach a snap closure approximately one centimetre from one end of the ribbon. Attach the matching snap (on the other side of the ribbon, so that they close properly) about 2 centimetres further down from your first snap. This is where you'll attach the dummy clip to the dummy, so you won't need a lot of ribbon here. If your dummies are quite thin in the handle, adjust the measurements accordingly.

3) Slide the clasp onto the ribbon, and fold the end underneath. Using a short stitch length, sew the clasp at least three times, to ensure strength and permanency.

And you're done!

Some tips:

Use Google to get hold of the clasps and snap closures. If you're looking at making small quantities for yourself, there's no point buying commercial quantities of fancy closures that require special equipment to use. Everything else you should be able to find in the bottom of your sewing box, or your local craft store.

Don't attach any "bling". If your tiny love manages to pull your bling loose, it can be a choking hazard.

WARNING: This item is not a toy. Inspect before each use and throw away if any part of the clip is worn or not securely attached. Do not use the clip at nap or nighttime and never use in a cot, portacot or bed, or any time you are unable to supervise the child. Never lengthen the ribbon or attach it to cords, ribbons or loose clothing as this may pose a strangulation hazard. Do not insert the clip ribbon through dummy’s ventilation holes.

To all the mums from me - Happy Mother's Day.

Especially my mum... Cos she's the best xox

Friday 6th May is Hot Chocolate Day!

For more information about how you can get involved contact the Barwon Health Foundation on 4215 8900 or visit www.barwonhealthfoundation.org.au

Southern Victorians - this event is the perfect way to indulge your sweet tooth whilst supporting an important cause.

To get involved simply visit a participating cafe on Friday 6th of May and enjoy a delicious hot chocolate or sign up to host a get together with your friends, workplace or school. To sign up your school or workplace, please click here.

Massive thanks, and a shout out to the drive-thru coffee gurus Bean Squeeze for again sponsoring Hot Chocolate Day.

All funds raised will support #ProjectLove

- the redevelopment of the Chemotherapy Day Ward and Oncology Pharmacy at Barwon Health's Andrew Love Cancer Centre.

"War may sometimes be a necessary evil. But no matter how necessary, it is always an evil, never a good. We will not learn how to live together in peace by killing each other's children."

Jimmy Carter - 2002

You may have noticed, that I've been quiet on the crafting front. It's been a while. I'm not even sure what happened. One minute, I was crafting like a mo-fo, then nek minnit... Nothing. I went from appliquéd custom clothing, dummy clips, bibs, quilts, burp cloths and soft toys to a giant mess of half-completed projects. My husband has been pulling his hair out - all that money, wasted! All that space, gone! All those hours, for nothing! AAARGHHHH!

It was serious: I even packed up my sewing room, and made it into a spare room. I know, right? Call me crazy, but that's a serious craft-block Anyway, with about 3 months til this second little munchkin joins our family, we've started to get things organised. The spare room is now Lucy's room; Lucy's room is again "The Nursery" and the sewing room is now the spare room. All my beautiful fabrics, trims, embellishments, my machines, my accessories... All in the wardrobe. Doors closed, like they never even existed.

But then I was looking around what was Lucy's nursery, and realised that it's still decorated in "gender-neutral" circus colours. Red, yellow, green, blue, orange - that kind of thing (we didn't know whether she would be a "Lucy" or a "Luca"). Looks awesome. I handmade all the accessories to coordinate with the gorgeous fabric boxes that I use as her wardrobe. There's the bunting, mobile, wall hangings, "Big Top" ceiling decorations, and Lucy even has a patchwork quilt to match. Cuuuute as!

And yep, it's perfect for a baby. But it was Lucy's, and I kind of feel like this baby deserves just as much effort to go into personalising it's nursery. So I've pulled out my pink fabrics, placed an order for some more (cos you never know, right?) and I'm planning, planning, planning. Yet to pull the machine out, but as we all know, a successful craft project is all in the preparation. So I'm looking at some adorable pinks - of course, a quilt. Wall art, maybe a nappy stacker. What do you think? What should I be making for this adorable little bundle??? Send me through your ideas and your inspo - I'm recovering from a serious case of Craft-Block, and need all the help I can get <3

I drive my social media connections nuts with all my CDH Awarenss-raising. I don't know how often I post something with the hashtag "#CDHAwareness" but it's frequent enough that I sometimes feel bad about it.

(For about half a second, and then I move on.)

I know I've posted about our CDH journey already, but having just been to Sunflower Sunday, CDH Australia's nationwide day of celebration and awareness, I think it's high time I share some CDH facts with you.

What is Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia (CDH)?

The diaphragm is a muscle that separates your tummy contents from your chest contents. It also helps your lungs to breathe. CDH is a defect in the diaphragm - sometimes it's the absence of a diaphragm, or a 'hole' in the diaphragm.In 80% of cases, it occurs on the left-side of the chest. When a baby is born with a diaphragmatic defect, organs that normally live in your tummy can push up through the diaphragm, into your chest cavity. When this happens, the baby's lungs don't develop properly. The heart is often impacted, and the baby usually suffers from pulmonary hypertension. Although often an isolated condition, CDH can occur with other congenital anomalies. The determinants of survival include the degree of underdevelopment/undergrowth of the lung and the supplying blood vessels with associated pulmonary hypertension, as well as the gestation of the baby.

Worldwide, CDH has a mortality rate of around 50%.

Crazy, hey? Know what else is weird? Before you started reading my blog, you'd probably never heard of it. Not surprising; CDH is classified in Australia as a "rare disease", being that it occurs in approximately 1:2500 live births. (That's not even counting the CDH babies who pass away before 20 weeks gestation.) But know what else occurs with that type of frequency? Cystic fibrosis. Betcha you've heard of that one.

So here's my thing. I want CDH to raise in awareness to the point where as many people know of CDH as know of CF.

There's a famous fetal medicine specialist named Professor Nicolaides. I recently read an article, and he said “Unless you have research, you cannot progress.” How true is that? Whether you're scholarly minded or not, it makes sense. If we don't spend time thinking about and planning what we're going to do, we're really just fumbling around in the dark.

Research costs money though. Who do you think gets the biggest slice of the research-funding pie? I'll give you a hint: it's not the little known condition killing 50% of the babies it affects. (I won't tell you who it is - I don't want anyone to think that I'm undermining other worthwhile causes.)

So how do we get more funding?

Answer: we got more well-known. The community are going to be more proactive, and more supportive of research grants and government funding going to a cause close to 'the people's hearts' than to a cause they've never heard of.

So let's get talking.

Share this blog; share the post I wrote about Lucy's welcome to the world. Read the Sunflower Sunday blog, and tell your friends about the amazing journies CDH families go on.

Pop the CDH Australia website onto your Facebook status for an hour (www.cdh.org.au).

Whatever it takes - let's get CDH out there.

And in case you were wondering, here's a bit about CDH Australia:

"CDH Australia is an organisation run solely by volunteers, all of whom have been affected by Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia (CDH) and who understand the issues families face in their CDH journey. Although everyone’s experience is different, the common thread that ties us together – CDH – allows us to support each other with compassion and empathy." - www.CDH.org.au

In my humble opinion, the lovely people at CDHA are pretty damn awesome. They offer phone and email support; online support groups, an information-packed updated website, support booklets, information sheets, newsletters and hold an annual forum - in addition to Sunflower Sunday. Pretty awesome service for a volunteer-run charity organisation, huh? #WithoutAwarenessNothingCanChange #CDHAustralia #CDH #ResearchForACure #DreamingOfABrighterFuture

This weekend marks CDH Australia’s annual Sunflower Sunday celebrations. It is a day to reflect on the struggles and triumphs that families face dealing with Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia, and a day to celebrate the friendships that have blossomed through the support provided through the CDHA community, as well as raise awareness amongst the general public.

As you know, I raise awareness of CDH, and the wonderful people at CDHA, because of our daughter Lucy. Lucy survived an undiagnosed right-sided hernia, and continues to amaze us with her resilience and general awesomeness. (I’m feeling the love for her – she’s just turned 2, and I’ve been reflecting on the amazing medical journey she’s been on.)

But almost as importantly, CDHA has introduced us to some amazing families. It’s amazing how powerful the support of a stranger can be, when you’re facing a stressful unknown. The amazing families in CDHA have walked our journey with us, and us with them. We’ve been blessed to physically meet with a number of families through CDHA events, and to have become close friends with some families.

These families, like us, have faced CDH, but every journey is different. With their permission, I’d like to share some of their stories with you.

Sofia’s Story: As told by her Mummy, Carine.

Sofia was diagnosed with Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia in utero at 19 weeks. She was born with her intestine, bowel, liver and stomach in her chest cavity and her heart was pushed out of place.

Sofia had lifesaving surgery to repair the muscle in her diaphragm and put her organs down in to her abdomen at 2 days old.

At 3 months old Sofia’s diaphragm tore again; all of her organs had moved back up into her chest and she was admitted to ICU where she had another surgery, this time with a patch used for the repair.

Sofia is now a determined little adventurer and doesn’t let anything get in her way.

At 5 days old Sofia got her first cuddle with MumAt 9 days old Sofia was able to breathe with no oxygenAt 12 days old Sofia had her first attempt at feeding orallyAt 22 days old Sofia had was able to go home on no oxygen, no medications and fully breast fed

Noah’s Story: As told by his Mummy, Chantelle

On November 5th 2013, we went for our 20-week routine ultrasound. Already having 3 boys, most people would ask us, “Hoping for a girl? “. We would give the typical response of “as long as it is healthy we don’t care”. How quickly that sentence was no longer just a passing a comment.

We were told that day that our unborn son had a hole in his diaphragm, his stomach wasn’t where it should be, and his heart had been displaced to the right. A doctor came in and informed us our baby would need to be born in Melbourne (we live in regional Victoria) and would require surgery once born. No name of the condition was given.

Over the next week and half, before we got to meet doctors in Melbourne to find out more information about what we were actually dealing with, we did what every parent does, and Googled. The only thing which came up about holes in diaphragms was information on Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernias (CDH). The information we read was beyond scary, and horrifying.

Once we met with doctors in Melbourne, we started to learn that what we were reading was in fact what we were facing with our unborn son. We would start 4-weekly ultrasounds in Melbourne, meet with neonatologists, neonatal surgeons, have a foetal MRI, tour the NICU of RCH in Melbourne, have an amniocentesis, and begin what would be the most gut-wrenching, heart-breaking roller-coaster, life could throw us.

Noah was originally given a 75% survival chance from initial scanning, but as the pregnancy progressed and after his MRI, we were to be told more organs than thought were up in his chest cavity. Noah’s chances dropped to 50% just prior to his birth, with his stomach, bowel, spleen and left lobe of liver now in his chest cavity. Thankfully, despite the heart being shunted to the right, it looked fundamentally ok with no other issues. Noah’s left lung was severely affected, and as a result was extremely little, hardly existent. His right lung was also affected, growth-wise as a result of the heart being in the way, but it was an ok size where it would be enough to keep him alive. IF his lungs were made of the right tissue, and the organs in the chest cavity didn’t damage that tissue too severely.

Noah was induced on Tuesday March 11, 2014 at the Royal Women’s in Melbourne. After what we thought would be a quick labour, things turned bad about 9.5hrs after the induction. Noah became distressed during the labour, and was born via emergency caesarean section at 11:03pm. Noah was stabilised, and at about 4hrs old, he was transferred to the Royal Children’s Hospital, where he would literally fight to survive.

Initially Noah had issues with his blood pressure, and was fighting his ventilation machines so he had to be heavily sedated. Noah put up a good fight and at just 3 days the Doctors felt it was the best time to operate on our tiny little fighter. Noah was in surgery for about 2.5hrs. Thankfully Noah was able to avoid an artificial patch, and our amazing surgeon Dr Joe Crameri, was able to stretch Noah’s diaphragm muscle enough to repair the hole. It was only after the surgery, we were able to be told what lung he did have, looked to be “ok” tissue, but time would tell.

Noah was on multiple medications for pain control, pulmonary hypertension, sedation, nutrients and infections. Our tiny boy was covered in medication lines, intubation tubes and monitoring leads. It was both calming to know they were all helping him, but heart-breaking to look at.

Noah did well over the next week, whilst they had to fiddle a little with his heart meds, his lungs were responding well, and the ventilations and nictric were able to start to be weaned off. At 8 days old, we got to watch Noah finally open his eyes to look at us. At 10 days old, our beautiful boy was able to be extubated, and placed on to CPAP (another form of breathing support), but the CPAP meant Noah had to do more work himself. On day 12, mummy got her very first cuddle of our beautiful boy. Daddy then got his first cuddle on day 14.

Over the coming days, medications were able to start being weaned down; we would see heart meds stopped, morphine turned down and begin to watch our boy finally move and respond to us. At 17 days old, Noah came off all breathing support and was able to breathe on his own. At 3 weeks old, Noah would now be able to experience his first bath, finally wear his first clothes, and eventually start his breast milk feeds via his NG (nasogastric) tube. He was upgraded to a cot from his NICU bed, and shifted to the special care wing of the NICU ward. This was the first time we truly could tell ourselves our son would be coming home with us.

Noah spent a week in Special Care, learning how to feed, helping him through morphine withdrawals, getting on top of his reflux issues and trying to get him to gain weight.

At 27 days old, we would have a very bittersweet day. One of Noah’s CDH friends who was also at RCH, lost his fight, at 3 months old. This would also be the day we would get to spend our very first night with Noah at the hospital in the ‘Care by Parent’ ward. Knowing we were holding our baby, whilst another mum and dad were farewelling theirs, did not seem fair. But sadly, that is the reality of CDH.

On day 28, Noah had his second day in a row of weight gain, a mere 15g, but it meant after 4 long unknown weeks, our baby boy would be heading home that day. Feeling excited was an understatement, but yet we were so scared of leaving the security of the hospital and the doctors behind.

Since being home, Noah has had multiple specialist check –ups including his neonatologist, cardiologist, hearing test, surgical check-ups, increased health nurse visits to monitor his low weight gain. Noah still has issues with gaining big amounts of weight, and is currently still on medication to help him cope with his reflux issues. Noah has experienced multiple sicknesses e.g bronchiolitis, tonsillitis, UTI’s, viral infections, and was readmitted to hospital in Bendigo and transferred to RCH again, for an acute bowel obstruction, which was a result of the adhesions from his original surgery. This would see Noah having his second surgery to remove as many adhesions as possible from the bowel area. During this surgery, due to the extent of adhesions, Noah also had his appendix removed, and it was found he also had an incisional hernia and weakened muscle to be repaired, which were results of his original CDH surgery. Noah spent another 12 days in hospital this time.

During Noah’s initial stay, whilst sedated and intubated, we could only touch him by placing a hand on his head or leg, or holding his hand. The smallest stimulation could cause him to become unstable. We just had to sit next to our little boy and watch him fight. Every night for the 4 weeks, we would have to walk out of the room, off the ward, and through the hospital doors, knowing our son was still inside, still fighting to be with us. Mummy spent all her days and evenings sitting by Noah’s side, whilst Daddy was at the Ronald McDonald House with Noah’s big brothers. Every night we would go to bed and think, ‘Please don’t call us tonight to tell us our little boy’s fight is over.’

We could call during the night for up-dates when Mummy would wake to express milk that we hoped our son could soon drink. Every morning when walking on to the ward, we would walk in and hope that wouldn’t be the morning we would see Noah’s room full of doctors and be told the worst news.

For the duration of Noah’s stay at RCH, family life was hard. We rarely had time with us all together, and when we did, it was brief. Our 3 boys had to sit by and watch and hope their baby brother would come home with us. They rarely saw their Mummy every day, and were confined to a small space with each other.

Parenting whilst you have a child in NICU is near impossible. You function off minimal sleep, you have no patience, you are constantly worried and stressed, you can’t think outside what is happening in the hospital, and yet you still need to be there to help your other children through something that is so terrifying and so hard to understand at their ages. Our family was tested in so many ways, and amazingly all our children coped as best they could and got through it all. We couldn’t be any prouder of all 4 of our boys.

Since coming home from his latest surgery, Noah has slowly started to put weight back on, increased his appetite, and is going back to the happy beautiful boy he was, prior to this. As a result of the type of surgery he had, he will always be at risk of bowel obstructions happening again. Noah has had some mild delays physically, but is catching up.

Not a day goes by that we don’t look at our boy and thank our lucky stars he is with us. The heartache of what we watched our son live through to be with us will be something that never leaves us. Every day, we think of all CDH babies who grew their angel wings, well before their time, and pray that one day, there will be a cure or at the very least answers on why our beautiful babies are born with such a horrible condition. A condition we had never heard of before Noah, but yet a condition that has changed our lives.

Arabella’s Story: As told by her Mummy, Carmel

I remember the day so well, it feels like just yesterday. Friday 31st October 2014 and I was 13 weeks 5 days pregnant. I was still only just in the timeframe to have the nuchal scan and the receptionist had only just managed to squeeze me in for this appointment a few days prior. There was no reason for me to have the nuchal scan but the midwife at my 12w appointment suggested it and I was eager to see our beautiful baby.

The sonographer did the scan, printed off a couple of photos, told me the thickness that they measure at the back of the neck looked fine but said she saw something else that concerned her. She said that someone else would need to talk to me and to wait back in the waiting room until I was called.

I don’t recall much of the conversation except the words congenital diaphragmatic hernia. I could hardly pronounce it let alone know what it meant. These words changed our lives forever. Everything the Dr was telling me all sounded positive, she kept talking of the best possible outcome until I asked her what was worst case scenario and she told me that if could be life shortening. I burst into tears. How could this be happening to me? I already had had 1 healthy baby so what went wrong this time? Was it something I did? The Dr went on to reassure me that it was nothing I did that caused this.

The next few days I turned to Dr Google. I read everything I possibly could and then some. During this week I also made contact with the family liaison contact from CDH Australia. I was added to the private Facebook support group and introduced myself almost immediately. This group has been an absolute godsend throughout this journey and I honestly don’t know how I would have coped without them. Friends and family support as much as they can but unless you have been through this, you can’t completely understand what it feels like.

The following months consisted of many trips backwards and forwards from our home in Toowoomba, to Brisbane for regular scans. This became our life. Our 16 week appointment brought some concerns for bubs’ kidneys and whether or not they were functioning but the following appointment all was fine. FETO (experimental in-utero surgery) was also raised and we were introduced to our case manager. She spoke to us about having to relocate to Brisbane closer to my due date but noted that she would help organise all of that for us and there would be financial assistance via the Patient Travel Subsidy Scheme (PTSS). This was another weight lifted from my shoulders.

There were days where I struggled a lot. I was following so many other stories of CDH babies. I remember one day just falling apart after reading of another baby who lost his fight with CDH. It gutted me to the core. This was the reality we were facing. After that breakdown I stayed mostly off those sites and instead just talked to everyone in the CDHA support group.

April 22nd, 38 weeks and 3 days pregnant, saw us at a very last scan. Arabella was estimated to be approximately 8lb 9oz. She put on a brilliant acrobatic show for us and was practicing lots of breathing. Unfortunately with the shift of organs they were also seeing kidneys and liver lobe in the chest cavity. Her heart rate was also quite low so the Dr requested a CTG be done. If her heartrate didn’t stabilise they would bring the induction forward. After an hour or more of being hooked up to the CTG, the Dr’s were happy with Arabella’s heart rate and we were allowed to leave. The weeks in Brisbane, before Arabella was born, passed fairly quickly.

Well the time had come, our bags were packed, there was no going back now. My elder son, Lucas, was staying at his Uncle’s place and we headed up to the hospital to start the induction process. I had so many emotions running through my body.

At 3.23pm on April 27, 2015 Arabella Jade Chesterfield-Kneen entered the world ready to start her fight. My partner Daniel was able to cut the umbilical cord before they took her from the birth suite into the adjoining resus room to intubate and get her ready to transfer up to the NICU. Having her taken straight from me was heart-wrenching. I just wanted to hold my little girl. As we had previously decided, Daniel went with Arabella. Once she was intubated and before they moved her up to the NICU to start putting lines in and make her comfortable, Daniel came back to me to tell me she was ok and that she had even opened her eyes. This helped me to remain calm as he then left me again to travel up to the NICU.

Seeing Arabella for the first time was confronting, beautiful and amazing all rolled into one. She was so perfect. She was stable, only on conventional ventilation with 45% oxygen and remaining steady. I didn’t want to leave her but with some gentle persuasion from Daniel reminding me how exhausted he was from keeping everyone updated all day and the nurses reassuring me it was ok to leave, I reluctantly went back to the ward with Daniel.

Somehow I managed to fall asleep only to be woken at about 4am to the phone ringing. I was frozen, I couldn’t move, my heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. The dread and fear raced through my body, I couldn’t answer the phone. I somehow managed to wake Daniel and get him to take the call. He took the call and then mumbled something to me about her not doing too great and needing some sort of medication before rolling over and going back to sleep. Daniel still doesn’t recall taking that phone call. About an hour later the phone rang again, this time I managed to answer it. It was the Dr on duty and she wanted us down at the NICU before 8am to have a chat with us. That fear and dread was lurking nearby.

That first night after Arabella was born saw her have a serious crash. Her heartrate skyrocketed, her blood pressure dropped and she had mild pulmonary hypertension. When we saw her that morning she was heavily sedated and paralyzed. She had high temperatures, very poor kidney function and they suspected an infection as well. Her heart rate was reading at 212. I was speechless. How could this happen like this? How could she come out ok then just crash? Little did we know that this would be a regular occurrence over the next 19 days.

Wednesday night brought talk of her surgery possibly happening the following day. She had slowly stabilised since her crash that first night. Her kidneys had started working and they didn’t need to keep her paralyzed. Baby steps we kept reminding ourselves.

Arabella kept steady and stable most of the time. When she was handled though, it was a different story. Our baby girl was fighting so hard yet the smallest movements caused her so much stress. She was so fragile. We had literally just got back to our unit when the NICU called saying that her surgery was scheduled for the following afternoon.

Friday 1st May 2015. The day had arrived for Arabella’s surgery. It was a wet and miserable day in Brisbane. Lucas and Daniel went and visited Arabella while I rested up at the unit. I knew it was going to be an emotionally exhausting day. The surgery was to be performed at Lady Cilento Children’s Hospital so Arabella had to been transported across. Given how unstable she had been, they decided to transport her in her own bed rather than having to move her into the transport crib. The process of getting her ready to transport was like organised chaos. The surgeon and anesthetist had requested we accompany Arabella to LCCH so they could speak with us before the surgery. Shortly before 2pm we got the call that they were ready for her. Once the ward services men arrived we headed off. It is approximately a 10 minute walk through the connecting hospitals but it felt like an eternity. I remember standing in the elevator hoping and praying I wasn’t going to pass out. There were 2 wardens to push the crib, a Dr to bag Arabella as she wasn't connected to the ventilator, 2 nurses to accompany the crib and take over other items and another person to wheel the nitric over.

We finally got the call from the surgeon. I listened carefully to everything she said then hung up the phone. The surgery had gone ok. Her bowel, stomach, small intestine, large intestine and spleen were all in her chest cavity. The liver thankfully had remained down. She has a very small amount of left lung and it was barely functioning. The middle part of the diaphragm they managed to stitch back together but around the left side was completely destroyed so they had to use a patch to close the hole and sew the patch to her ribs. She was placed on the high frequency ventilator for the first time since she was born. Seeing her on this sort of ventilation was very full on at first, seeing her little body shaking/vibrating so vigorously took a bit of getting used to, but as the days passed I noticed it less and less. We were warned the next 24-48 hours she would be quite unwell given how much they had had to handle her bowel. We stayed with her for a few hours after her surgery until we felt comfortable enough to leave her. When we left her that night she was stable and resting but also on the nitric again to treat her pulmonary hypertension.

Saturday, the day after her surgery was a big day for us. They managed to wean Arabella completely off the nitric and her oxygen was down to 45%. She also woke up properly for the first time, showing mummy and daddy her beautiful eyes. Our beautiful girl was going great guns. Sunday saw her oxygen down to just 30%, one of her heart/blood pressure medications completely weaned and the Dr had been able to hear some bowel sounds, which was progress. She was still retaining a lot of fluid and bringing up large amounts of secretions from her gut. An x-ray showed her bowel was quite large but that was expected given the handling of it during surgery. They were doing 4-hourly blood gases with the results determining how and when they could wean her medications and oxygen. At that point her blood gases weren’t bad but they weren’t good either. The plan put in place was to take everything slow and steady and let Arabella call the shots.

Another week passed, and after many false starts, again doctors tried to wean Arabella’s medications and commence feeds. On an overall basis Arabella had plateaued since Wednesday but had made a little bit of progress that day. Her words to us were “she’s sick, but she’s stable sick”. Any positive was better than nothing at all. And we held on tightly to every little positive right until the very end.

Within 24 hours, we thought that Arabella was finally making headway. Following a blood transfusion, s She also began to finally start digesting her feeds. It was a good day and what we felt would finally be a turning point. Wrong again. Why was this happening? Why was she stable one minute then at maximum support the next? The emotional exhaustion was kicking in big time and taking its toll on me. She’d had another bad night. They were giving her lasics to increase her urine output to help reduce the amount of fluid she was retaining. Her hands and feet were so swollen, puffy and tight looking. I hated seeing my baby girl like this. She’d stopped digesting her feeds again and there was bile coming up from her gut again. They started her on an IV form of nitric since the oral form wasn’t being digested. It felt like we’d taken another huge dive and needed to start climbing again.

Hope is what got us to where we were so we weren’t about to give up. Seeing Arabella wiggling around more than normal renewed our strength and lifted our spirits.

Tuesday morning brought further bad news and I had to face it alone. Yet again Arabella had a bad night. The IV form of nitric wasn’t doing what they hoped and they had to stop all weaning. She was once again almost at maximum support. She was now small intestine, large intestine & spleen were all in her chest cavity. The liver thankfully had remained down. She has a very small amount of left lung & it was barely functioning. The middle part of the diaphragm they managed to stitch back together but around the left side was completely destroyed so they had to use a patch to close the hole & sew the patch to her ribsThere were 2 wardens to push the crib, a dr to bag Arabella as she wasn't connected to the ventilator, there was 2 nurses accompanying the crib & taking over other items & another person to wheel the nitric over. The nitric is just a back-up in case they need it. As we got to the entrance to the theater rooms we gowned up & headed in. We were able to wait in a little room outside of the theatre where both the surgeon & anesthesitist spoke with us. We then said our goodbyes as Arabella was taken into the theatre. She travelled over very well & was nice & stable when she was taken into surgery. There were 2 wardens to push the crib, a dr to bag Arabella as she wasn't connected to the ventilator, there was 2 nurses accompanying the crib & taking over other items & another person to wheel the nitric over. The nitric is just a back-up in case they need it. As we got to the entrance to the theater rooms we gowned up & headed in. We were able to wait in a little room outside of the theatre where both the surgeon & anesthesitist spoke with us. We then said our goodbyes as Arabella was taken into the theatre. She travelled over very well & was nice & stable when she was taken into surgery.There were 2 wardens to push the crib, a dr to bag Arabella as she wasn't connected to the ventilator, there was 2 nurses accompanying the crib & taking over other items & another person to wheel the nitric over. The nitric is just a back-up in case they need it. As we got to the entrance to the theater rooms we gowned up & headed in. We were able to wait in a little room outside of the theatre where both the surgeon & anesthesitist spoke with us. We then said our goodbyes as Arabella was taken into the theatre. She travelled over very well & was nice & stable when she was taken into surgery.11 days post-op and they had hoped there would have been more improvement then there had been. She was testing them but they still had options. The neonatologist had decided he was going to speak with the Drs over in PICU at LCCH about what else they could do for Arabella. ECMO was also mentioned as a last resort. I was gutted. I knew she was sick but this was hard to hear. They put a plan in place to keep her muscle relaxed/paralyzed for the next few days in hope that her body could get the rest it needed.

Wednesday morning I called the NICU for an update. There was nothing new to report except that the Dr had requested a meeting with us. I was worried. I didn’t rush to get ready that day. Subconsciously I think I was trying to put off the meeting with the Dr for as long as I could. There was no set time the Dr wanted to see us, they knew we spent a lot of time with Arabella so the nurse was happy to just give the Dr a call once we were up in the NICU. Just before midday we made the 5 minute trek up to the hospital. When the Dr came in to see us, he pulled up a chair as did Arabella’s nurse. Stay positive I told myself. I don’t recall much of that conversation. I don’t know if I ever will. I do remember asking the Dr about ECMO. She wasn’t a candidate. Why? I was so angry and bitter. Why mention this procedure to us as often as they had only to then turn around and say she wasn’t a candidate. As if we hadn’t been tormented enough already. The tears began to flow. We needed a miracle. Every day since Arabella was born I had a group of contacts in my phone to update on her progress. After this meeting with the Dr I had no idea what to tell them. I simply sent them a message saying Arabella was fighting hard but we were losing the fight. I also added she wasn’t eligible for ECMO and that we need a miracle to bring her home.

I spent most of Wednesday night researching CDH studies and ECMO studies. I needed to understand why Arabella wasn’t a candidate. In the short time we had been in Brisbane we felt like we were medical professionals in our own right. We had learnt so much medical terminology in just over 2 weeks. I was so thankful for this because as I sifted through various articles on the internet that night I found myself understanding so much of what I read. I came to the conclusion myself that Arabella wasn’t a candidate for ECMO and I felt at peace with everything.

A call to the NICU on Friday morning brought no changes. Arabella was on maximum support and they just altered her meds as needed. The Dr had requested another meeting with us that would be scheduled once we arrived at the NICU. Daniel and I were back on the same page about where things were headed. The walk to the hospital that day was hard. Walking into the NICU I felt like the walls were closing in on me. I could hardly breathe and I felt like I was going to be sick. We requested our social worker be with us for the meeting with the Dr. When the Dr arrived and we were taken to a quiet room. We all sat down and he just simply said to us that he assumed we knew why we were there and that unfortunately there was nothing further they could do for Arabella. They wanted to stop the paralytic so she could start to wake and that all the decisions from there were up to us. I remember saying how much this sucked and that it was my sister’s birthday the following day. Arabella couldn’t die that day. The Drs agreed we could keep her on the paralytic until the Saturday to buy us some time but also stressed the point that if she went downhill fast there was little they could do. How could we be forced to make such horrible decisions? How could we know when enough was enough? How could we let our little girl go?

After the Drs and nurses left it was just Daniel, our social worker and me. Tears were shed, laughs were had and plans were made about how things would go from here. We wanted heartfelt to come in and do photographs and we wanted castings of her fingerprints done so that later we could have it imprinted in jewellery. Our social worker set off to put our plans into action and we then started to make the dreaded phone calls. I rang my sister and told her she needed to get on a plane. Her first words were “no I don’t” before she burst into tears.

I knew mum was already on her way so I didn’t want to call her and upset her whilst driving. After another brief visit with Arabella and a chat with the lactation consultant about how to suppress my milk supply we headed back to our unit for some lunch. We ran into my brother on his way in to see us. We broke the news to him then. He was gutted. We were at the unit just going through things when we got a call from the NICU to say Arabella’s saturations were dropping quite low and they felt it best we head back over to the hospital. Was this it? Were we going to lose her this quickly? I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. As we raced back to the hospital my brother walked down to Mater childcare to pick Lucas up and bring him up to us at the hospital. Thankfully Arabella stabilised again and everyone that was on their way got up to the hospital to see her. Many tears were shed. Members from both mine and Daniel’s families were there. As the night went on everyone left us. Mum stayed in our unit with Lucas whilst the rest of my family went back to the Gold Coast. Heartfelt were booked for midday on the Saturday as was the lady who does the fingerprint jewellery. Our favourite nurse was back with us that night. When we first walked back into Arabella’s room she gave me the biggest hug ever. At least in such a horrible situation we had someone who knew Arabella well. Sitting by Arabella’s crib that night we decided it was time to turn of the paralytic. It was only Daniel’s Aunty and Uncle left to arrive and they would be arriving mid-morning Saturday. The paralytic would take some hours to wear off so we decided to head back to our unit to attempt some sleep. We were assured if anything looked like it was going downhill with Arabella then we would be phoned immediately. Somehow we managed a little bit of sleep that night and there were no phone calls from the NICU.

Saturday morning felt like we were getting ready for a big event. In a way we were. Daniel and I headed up the NICU once we were both showered and dressed. Heartfelt and the finger print lady would be arriving by midday and we wanted to spend some time with Arabella before they arrived.

Our original plan with Heartfelt was to have photos of Arabella with just myself, Daniel and Lucas but it didn’t turn out that way. The Heartfelt photographer spent just over 3 hours with us and our extended family. It was like our own little celebration, the family and friends drifting in and out during those 3 hours. As all this was happening Daniel and I were always consulting with the nurses and slowly turning off all her medications. Our plan was to be able to have our very first cuddles with her while Heartfelt was there to capture the memories. Given how unstable Arabella could be, we were advised that moving her from her bed could be too much for her body so we needed to be prepared that she could pass there and then. We decided that once she came out of her crib that she wouldn’t go back in and we would allow things to happen as they needed. Arabella was awake for over 2hrs, showing off her beautiful eyes to everyone and taking in everyone around her. There came a point when I could see she was tiring and Daniel and I decided it was time we held our beautiful girl.

As much as I didn’t want to say goodbye, I needed for Daniel and I to be alone with Arabella. I asked everyone to say goodbye and then asked the nurse to take Arabella off the ventilator so we could move to quiet room to be alone with her. Finally we could see just how beautiful Arabella was without any tubes connected to her face.

I told her how much we loved her, how proud of her we were and that she could go whenever she was ready. She took a few breaths, opened her eyes to look at us one last time, made a little peaceful sighing sound and then she was gone. The sound she made will stay with me forever. It was the only sound we ever heard her make.

That night, Saturday 16th May 2015, we spent our first and last night with Arabella. I cuddled her in my arms all night long. Daniel lay with us for quite some time, but given the bed was only a single, he eventually moved to the small couch near the window to sleep for the night. Daniel and I talked for hours with very little sleep had by either of us.

Our lives will never be the same again. There will always be something missing. I used to hear of stories of mother’s who lost their babies. I used to tell myself that wouldn’t be me. I used to think how could you survive a loss like that, how could you cope. I believed I would be the type of mother who would be hysterical and never leave my room, that my life wouldn’t be worth living anymore. The honest truth is that all of those assumptions were wrong. I am the mother who has lost a child yet I am still here, I am still standing and I am fighting. Arabella has given me a strength I never knew I had. Lucas gets me out of bed each and every morning. He wipes my tears when I cry and tells me that he misses Arabella too. The days where I can’t get out of bed, Daniel takes over. He gets Lucas off to daycare and brings me cups of tea and toast. My boys are my world and my little girl is my guardian angel.

Our journey is far from over and in a way it never will be. One thing I do know is that I have found a purpose and a drive I had forgotten I had. I will do whatever I can to make sure people know of CDH. I will donate, I will fundraise and I will support. CDH may have taken our little girl but it will not take our lives!

You know how people with kids would look at you kind of smugly before you had kids? "Oh. You'll understand once you've had your own," they'd say.

Then, once you've had a child, you'd look to those same friends for advice for your newborn who won't sleep/eat/poop, and they'd scoff and say, "Oh darling! Wait til they're a toddler!"

And then when you've got a two-year old, throwing themselves on the floor of the supermarket, and wailing, they laugh "You think that's bad?Honey, wait til they can talk back!"

Wait til they're a teenager, wait til they can drive, wait til they move out... There's a lot of waiting involved before you can be called a "Real Parent", isn't there? It's never as bad as what someone else is going through - just ask them!

My name is Courtney, and I have a confession.

I have a Terrible-Two-nager. And I want Parent Sympathy, dammit!

My usually well-behaved little girl has turned turd-burger. (In fact, I said to her the other day, "Stop behaving like a poo-head!" I'll probably curse the day she turns around and calls me a poo-head, but I think cudos to me for not swearing.)

Yes, yes, thanks Dr. Do-It-Yourself, and thanks to the myriad Mum's Groups online ("We're here to support YOU!") but it really doesn't help to know that "a toddler's tantrums are caused by their frustration at being unable to compete a task by themselves." No sh*t. I get annoyed when I have to ask for help too. But just quietly, that tidbit of smug information doesn't help when your angelic-looking toddler suddenly goes all Exorcist on you because you won't let them play with a knife. Or scissors. Or eat chocolate for breakfast.

(Although I secretly think the last one is a bit unreasonable myself... I mean, there are days when I just need that chocolate hit before 9am. Who's to say Lucy doesn't have those days too?) Have you seen those memes that go round every now and then - the ones where parents have stopped in the middle of a massive toddler-breakdown to take a picture of their child, and the hilarious reason that they are sobbing like their heart is broken?

"A fly landed near him."

"I told her she couldn't become a puppy."

"I told him that he can't marry his brother."

Makes my day!

I don't know what's better about these: the fact that they totally normalise what's going on in my house (and car, supermarket, doctor's surgery, cafe...) or how damn funny they are! I just lovethat these parents, who clearly have their crap together, can just go "right, stay there for a minute - I'm just going to grab the camera." It's like a bit of parental revenge: if you want to act like a Silly Billy, then I'm going to document it, so you can't deny it when you're older and more reasonable. Sometimes, I find these little pieces of Internet Junk Mail are far more supportive than other parents.

"Come on Johnny. No darling, you must wear pants. Otherwise everyone will see your bottom. Please Johnny! For Mummy?" Come on, as if Johnny cares who sees his bottom. It's much funnier if you just shrug your shoulders, laugh and take a picture. Johnny will be happy, mum will be happy, and all Johnny's mates will get a massive giggle at his 21st. That's what I call win-win!

*Please note that the contents of this blog may be upsetting for some readers*

I've been a bit of a Nervous Nancy of late. By this stage of my pregnancy with Lucy, I'd sewn half her wardrobe, made nappy bags and wallets, nappy stackers, buntings, flannel rugs and wraps. I'd made so much for our baby that I started making things for other people's babies (and TA-DA! Big Boss Baby was born). This time has been a bit different though. I just can't seem to relax into this pregnancy. Don't get me wrong, I've loved this child with all of my heart since I first knew 'it' was there. But I just can't allow myself the privilege of assuming that it will all be OK. I mentioned a couple of blogs ago that we're seeing a 'super-dooper' OB this time around. Part of the reason is the multiple miscarriages we've had (hola to the families who've been there), and part of it is because Lucy was born a very sick baby. I'd like to share with you the story of her first 18-months:

"Our first child, Lucy, was born on March 15, 2014 by emergency caesarean section. We’d done everything right throughout the pregnancy; eating healthily, pregnancy vitamins, all the tests. Our care team assured us that the big surprise of the birth would be “is it a boy or a girl?”

We were thoroughly unprepared for the Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia (CDH) diagnosis. Having had a long, rough labour, it was quite nerve-wracking, but also a relief, to be wheeled in to the operating theatre for the emergency c-section. The baby’s heartrate had been dipping quite low (and bottoming out) for a long time, and I was worried about it’s health. The baby “squawked” when it was born, and I relaxed. Once I heard it draw breath, I assumed everything was OK.

Denis was standing by ready to take pictures, but was pushed aside by what seemed like a flood of doctors and nurses. I caught sight of the baby's huge dark eyes as they lifted it out of me, but after that we saw, and heard nothing. The staff were so focussed on getting the baby breathing well that they didn’t even tell us she was a girl.

The nurses were lovely, and said that Lucy was having “a little bit of trouble breathing,” and that they were going to take her to Special Care Nursery to give her some help. Looking back, I now know that they knew something was very wrong. But it was all calm in theatre, so we weren’t overly concerned. Why would we be?

The three of us were split up and told nothing; Denis was put in a dark room somewhere between theatre and SCN, and I was in the recovery ward. After the longest one and a half hours, we were reunited in Special Care. I was wheeled in from recovery, flat on my back. All the time I had been in recovery, the nurses had been receiving calls from SCN. They initially joked and laughed with me about everything, but soon their faces grew grave, their voices hushed, and they stopped talking to me. I knew something was wrong, but nobody would tell me what. As I was wheeled around, I saw Denis leaning over Lucy, crying. It was then that I realised just how serious things were. Being flat on my back, I could only see and touch her tiny toes; before I could even catch my breath, the paediatrician told us that Lucy had a Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia. I went into shock, my body started shaking, and my mind went into disaster mode. My emotions shut down, and I just wanted facts and answers.

I imagined a little tummy bulge that would be easily corrected, with no problems. The doctors explained what CDH was; a defect in the diaphragm (the muscle that separates your chest from your belly), and that Lucy’s hernia, on the right hand side of her chest, was associated with “less positive” outcomes. Through the hernia, she had her liver, small intestines and large bowel in her chest cavity, where her right lung should have grown. Her heart was pushed over to the left, her oesophagus was half way to her armpit and she was struggling to be stabilised. Given all this, and that she was born with a raging infection after a long labour, she was given a 10% chance of survival – but only if. If she survived the transfer to the Royal Children’s Hospital, if she survived the night, if she survived corrective surgery – then she had that small chance. I asked them if she was going to die; I fully expected them to reassure me, but devastatingly, they did not say no.

It took the Neonatal Emergency Transport Service (NETS) team hours to stabilise her enough for travel. They wheeled her up to see me in my maternity room, where for the first time I saw her precious face. Although muscle relaxed and ventilated, she looked so perfect; I couldn’t understand how she could be so deathly ill. She wasn’t expected to make it, so they let her stay longer with me in the room than they’d allowed for on the incubator’s battery packs. All up, about 5 minutes. Just 5 minutes to say hello and goodbye to our precious bundle, who we’d so patiently waited to welcome to the world.

Seeing Lucy's face for the first time, on her way to Melbourne.

Because it had been such a long labour, and Lucy's stabilisation took so long, Denis and I had been awake for more than 48 hours. But Denis had no choice except to drive up to Melbourne to follow Lucy to the Royal Children's Hospital. Who knew what would await him there? Would Lucy even be alive? What would the specialist doctors and surgeons say after they admitted her? CDH babies are so unstable that simply touching their heads can be enough to cause major destabilisation; our baby had to be transported 80kms up the highway.

It was the most traumatic night of our lives, but the three of us were forced to spend it separately: Lucy in NICU at the Royal Children’s Hospital, Denis trying to get some shut-eye on the floor in a kitchenette of RCH, and me back in the hospital I'd delivered in.

Nobody gave me any updates, so I was completely in the dark until the next morning. Was she alive? Had Denis made it to the hospital with her? (I was terrified that he'd have a crash.) Was her prognosis still so dim? What were the doctors planning to do? It was only mid-morning that I knew that she was alive. Denis came back to Geelong and showed me some pictures of our little lady. She was the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen, even in an artificial coma and covered in tubes.

After her Saturday birth, I was finally allowed to be with her on the Monday. From then on, Denis and I sat by her cot, living moment to moment, hoping that her body would start to stabilise. We were told that she would need corrective surgery to survive, but that she would need to be strong enough to survive the surgery. Catch-22; the longer she went without surgery, the more her body weakened, but surgery before she was stable enough would surely kill her.

Meeting Lucy for the first time; our first time together as a family.

Multiple times in the first week we were prepared for the worst. We gave permission for blood transfusions and ECMO (extra-corporeal membrane oxygenation – basically heart-lung bypass). We were told that at one point, Lucy was about an hour from requiring ECMO (considered a last-gasp attempt at saving the baby’s life, but not without it’s own serious complications and risks). Thankfully, Lucy rallied (again) and on the Wednesday, the doctors decided that she was unlikely to get any stronger and operated on her hernia.

The day of her operation was probably the most difficult for me. Perhaps it was the regular post-birth hormones, perhaps it was the time it all became real. I’m not sure what it was, but I have very few clear memories of those early days and weeks, but I do remember crying as we had Lucy blessed by the RCH Chaplain before her surgery. We weren’t able to arrange a Christening quickly enough, and the Chaplain kindly came to pray over her. I clung to Denis and sobbed; I didn’t participate in the prayers because I couldn’t. I couldn't speak; I have never cried so hard, so fully and I hope to never do so again. I'm not a practising religious person, but I so badly wanted to pray out loud for our girl. I didn’t want to acknowledge that our baby girl might die, that we were having this ceremony because she might not live to be baptised. The overwhelming strength of my emotions that day still bring tears to my eyes. Despite having tried to many times, I can't explain those moments; what it was like to face your child's possible death, and to knowingly give permission for her to be cut open, despite knowing it could kill her. And that, without the surgery, she definitely would die.

Post-op at the Royal Children's Hospital's NICU

A neonatologist from the hospital once told me that CDH babies are usually the sickest in the NICU. At any one time, there are about 120 medical professionals involved in a newborn CDH baby’s care. They are so unstable and require such a high-level of life support that Lucy's surgery took place in her hospital room, as a transfer to theatre was too risky. Lucy’s surgeon was able to close the hole without a patch, which was positive, considering the large size of her hernia and the organs involved. We were warned that the “hard bit” was to come; the 24-hour post-surgery period would be critical for her survival, and that beyond that, nothing was guaranteed.

Paralysed, she had a central IV line, peripheral IV lines, nitric oxide, a naso-gastric tube and high-frequency oscillating ventilation. She was unable to move, unable to respond and being kept alive by machines. Her body was not able to tolerate food, touch or movement. It was completely shocking to be new parents unable to touch, hold and console our sick baby. It really gets you at your core – it goes against nature to not be able to “fix” it, or at least try and comfort your child. Even touching her tiny hand was enough to send her monitors off on a crazy, beeping-rampage. She was just so sick and unstable.

With medical options coming close to being maxed out, we were warned a couple of times that there were not a lot of options left, that she had to respond to this treatment, or that medicine. Lucy’s heart was still out of place and was straining, and she had sky-rocketing pulmonary blood pressure. Her heart rate was all over the place, and her respiration rates were problematic; she wasn’t able to clear carbon dioxide from her system, and wasn’t getting enough oxygen through her blood. She had no lung tissue on the herniated side, and on the “good” side, there wasn’t a full lung either.

She fought on, and got through that period, despite numerous “crashes”. Each crash saw our hearts in our mouths, wondering if this was it. Then the baby in the room next door to Lucy passed away. I hadn’t met him, or spoken to his family, but watched his progress through the glass door each day. When we realised what was happening, I sobbed. It was so real – the babies in here die - and seemingly without warning. How could we ever prepare for that? Each day, we sat by Lucy’s bedside, praying, bargaining, wishing and hoping for her survival. I felt so guilty – there’s no way I wanted to swap places with that family, but what was the difference between him and our child? What was it that kept her here?

Slowly Lucy began to strengthen. At 8 days of age, doctors challenged her, and reduced some of her sedation. She opened her eyes for the first time. We’d been continually prepared by the medical staff that she could “go either way.” Those navy eyes connecting with us seemed to say that everything would be OK. Over the next two weeks, her various support systems were lessened and weaned. Sometimes she responded well, sometimes we ended up with out hearts in our mouths, watching as she went 'backwards'. Like most CDH babies she faced a number of hurdles, and more often than not it was a case of ‘two steps forward, one step back.’

My nephew, Hayden, was born when Lucy was 12 days old. She was still on the oscillator at that stage, sedated, on pain-killers, heart medicines, anti-biotics, hypertension medicines, lung medicines, and we hadn't been able to hold her yet. We trooped off to meet Hayden, the spunkiest-looking newborn dude I'd ever met, and had the privilege of cuddling him. It didn't cross my mind at the time, but looking back I feel that I was robbed, having held my nephew before my own daughter. (That's a terribly hard thing to admit.)

Lucy was about three weeks old before we became more certain that she would survive – the longest three weeks of our lives. At three weeks, we moved to the NICU’s high dependency area. Each milestone was so exhilarating; when she was weaned off the nitric, when they weaned the morphine & midazolam; going onto conventional ventilation; being transferred to a regular cot instead of the resus bed; when the nitric machine was removed from the room (which meant that they didn't think she'd go backwards enough to require it)… All tiny steps towards home.

It was slow going, but after 4 weeks in the Royal Children’s Hospital, Lucy was considered well enough to transfer back to our local (level two) hospital. Ideally, she would have spent longer at RCH, but we were told that spots at our local hospital's SCN were hard to come by, so of course we jumped at the chance. As far as we were concerned, being at the local hospital was almost as good as being home. And for us, it meant no more living at Ronald McDonald House; we could sleep in our own bed, shower in our bathroom and didn't have to worry about communal washing machines, when the food court closed or who that was making that weird noise in room 23.

Trying to learn to suck feed at Geelong Hospital's SCN

milk protein allergy, and beginning to show the signs of significant reflux. I know most parents would be upset to hear those things, but my relief was such that I felt that I had lost 20 kilos. I was light as a feather, and felt like we were back on the right path.

With that diagnosis came the end of my expressing. It was clear that she would not be able to take any milk at all in the first 12 months, which was a huge disappointment for me (although I was relieved that I was no longer hooked up to the industrial breast-pump every 2-4 hours). With breastfeeding no longer a reality (and therefore no need to stay in hospital to monitor her progress with it), the upside was that we finally got to take our precious bundle home. I didn’t know how I’d cope without the security of the machines and monitoring. CDH babies often look quite well, so I had come to rely on her monitors to tell me what was really going on. We decided to jump straight in; with the support of her local paediatrician, we decided against a baby monitor, apnoea monitor and movement monitor, and even put her straight into her cot in her room, not a bassinet in our bedroom. Our theory was that she wouldn't be allowed home if she wasn't healthy enough to be there. Plus, with a myriad of follow-ups to juggle in Melbourne and locally (neonatologist, gastroenterologist, surgeon, cardiologist, audiologist, paediatrician, GP, maternal & child health nurse, special care nurses, and later a respiratory specialist), we really didn’t have a chance to relax and enjoy our baby. Not only that, but she required around 20 separate doses of medicines each day. Heart medicine, tummy medicine, medicines to combat the impact of other medicines. Special formula, expensive anti-colic, slow-drip bottle nipples. Nothing was simple, but she was home.

Since then, we found that everything has been slow-going with her. We were warned that a day spent in NICU was the equivalent of a week's developmental delay. We were also told that many of the medications she was on to save her life, could cause other complications. We have also been told to look out for signs of autism, scoliosis, oral aversions and asthma (amongst other things). Thankfully, Lucy was developed cognitively and emotionally 'normally', although has ongoing battles in her tummy. At 18-months she required further surgery; this has made a huge difference to her life, but was a really hard thing for us to go through, and for Lucy to go through. This time around, the surgery was not to correct a life-threatening problem, so it was particularly difficult to be back in the same hospital, with the same smells and sounds. Had we made the right decision? Were we putting us all through this for the right reasons? Was it going to be worth it? Lucy was also now old enough to understand and be uncertain, and to feel pain post-operatively (which was actually a bonus - she wasn't so sick that she required ongoing sedation). For us as parents, it threatened to bring up so many nasty memories and emotions. We're hoping that this is the last surgery that Lucy will have, but you never know what CDH will bring around the corner.

Lucy's reality is that re-herniation is always a threat; tummy adhesions, medical constipation, a return of the reflux, and breathing difficulties are all things that we have to keep an eye on. She doesn't handle regular bugs as well as other kids; I'm constantly trying to make sure she's not exposed to too many germs, without wrapping her in cotton wool. There's no handbook given out when you have a child, and there's certainly no rulebook when you're raising a child who's health could be readily compromised. I get quite upset when parents and grandparents say rather flippantly, "Oh don't worry if she picks up bugs - it'll strengthen her immune system!" Yep, that's true for most bubs, but for a CDH kid it could mean a trip to hospital, lung-scarring, surgery and even death.

Lucy has taught us so many positive lessons in her short life, and has faced more adversity than most adults. She’s an inspiration, a challenge, but most of all a delight. Most of us have hardships of some kind in our lives; my hope for Lucy is that she has passed her greatest hurdle in life already, and will live and long, happy and healthy life. Whatever is ahead of her, we know she will face it head-on and give it her all, just like she did with her initial battle against CDH. Lots of people tell us that she's obviously here for a reason, and will do great things in her life. I tend to think that, in surviving against the odds, she's already done great things and everything else is a bonus.

There’s not enough words to adequately express our gratitude towards family, friends, the online community and medical staff who have all played their part in getting us through this challenging period. It’s not something we’d like to relive, but, as the old cliché says, we’re stronger for the adversity we’ve faced."

I wrote this story to be published for a charity gala in support of CDH Australia, a not-for-profit organisation run by volunteers to support the families and medical personnel affected by CDH. If you'd like to learn more about CDH, and CDH Australia, please visit cdh.org.au

Our gorgeous girl; exceeding medical expectations everyday!

So there you have the main reason why I'm a bit of a Nervous Nancy this time around. Sadly, we have double the chance of having another CDH baby, and despite the signs being positive so far, our experiences with Lucy will never leave me and have coloured my experience of having a baby. The truth of the matter is that my experience of pregnancy has been death: miscarriage of two sets of twins and two singleton pregnancies, as well as Lucy's live birth then subsequent battle with death.

So I'd like to dedicate this post to the mummas and daddas out there who've looked death in the face. Some children are carried in their parent's hearts, and some in their arms. Sometimes we're a bit broken by our experiences, and sometimes were smashed to pieces. But we carry on, we smile and we live life. And we never forget. <3

#WithoutAwarenessNothingCanChange #CDHAustralia #CDH

Here's something I want to say:

I don't enjoy being pregnant.

Say what????

This is my fifth pregnancy, and with each pregnancy I've been sick the whole way through. Like, really sick. Not all my pregnancies have gotten out of the first trimester, but that's still a bloody long time when your every interaction with the world is slightly distracted by a little voice in your head saying "Do you think you're gonna spew?" (And let's be clear - with five pregnancies, that means I've been pregnant / recovering from a miscarriage / breastfeeding / living with a tiny baby for the best part of the last 3 years.)

#SorryNotSorry, TMI.

Here's the background:

I generally find it really hard to lose weight. I can exercise, reduce what I eat, only eat 'good foods', follow a diet, not follow a diet, sleep more, sleep less... Doesn't seem to matter, I find it hard to lose weight. In fact, I think I was at my heaviest (non-pregnant) weight when I got married. Like most brides, I'd been trying to lose weight beforehand, but I just really sucked at it.

But not when I'm pregnant!

I'm now over half way, and still a couple of KGs down on my pre-pregnancy weight. And yeah, there's a little voice that says "yesssssss!" when I step on the scales and see that. And no, I'm not doing it deliberately. (Please, let me just enjoy an upside to being pregnant.) For some reason, pregnant-me loses weight like a champ. Oh wait, it's not 'some reason', it's 'morning sickness.' And it's dear friend, "heartburn". Although not weight-related, heartburn is next door neighbours with "acne" and "severe headaches". And even though they claim not to be friends, they all seem to hang out with "pelvic girdle pain." Crazy kids.

I really don't like being pregnant.

I do wonder sometimes, is it karma? I used to love throwing around the phrase "Oh come on, she's pregnant, not ill!" (I'd heard it bandied about by seasoned mothers, so thought it was a safe one to use. My bad.) Now though, I can say with authority that I have never been sicker than when I am pregnant. It's like your worst gastro, all day everyday... For months.

Interestingly, I find men don't know how to respond when they find out you've been quite sick, and women tend to be quite critical. (See above). But think about it: when else in your life would you be sick, daily, for months on end and not have offers for your child to be cared for, your washing to be folded, your groceries to be bought, your dinner to be cooked? (Not that the dinner one matters to me, but it's the principle, dammit!)

When you announce a pregnancy, there are two questions you're asked without fail:

1) When are you due? (early July)

2) How have you been feeling? (Great, thanks! I love being pregnant *rubs belly lovingly*)

See what I did there? Yep, I lied. It's just so much easier! (And for the record - I love all the children I've carried. Even when I'm spewing my guts up / covering my pizza face / waddling with my painful pelvis, I've never begrudged the beautiful lives inside me... Just the crappy hormones.)

So peeps - that's it, the reason I'm not returning your calls, messages, requests to catch up. Oh yeah, I do want to have a social life, but it's just not possible at the moment. Oh no, don't get me wrong, I don't think I'm special (after all, being pregnant is a miracle, and I am pregnant, not ill)... But geez, 40 weeks is a bloody long time to be sick!

I've ummed and ahhed about wriitng this post. I doubt whether any personal good will come from it; in fact publicising my opinon could quite possibly see me facing disciplinary action (or worse) from my employer. But, I think it's an important topic, and the more discussion in the public arena, the better.

I'm talking about Victorian Police and Corrections Minister Wade Noonan publicly declaring that he is taking 3 months off work to deal with the effects of exposure to "unspeakable crimes and traumatic events".

I think it's a somewhat accepted fact that Aussie culture does not allow men to easily admit to less-than optimal mental health, and therefore men do not always feel supported to seek help. As such, it's wonderful that Mr Noonan has publicly acknowledged the trauma he's suffered in his role, and is seeking professional counselling to help him recover. Victorian Premier Daniel Andrews is said to be "rallying around" Mr Noonan, in a public show of high-level support and acknowledgement, that will hopefully help Mr Noonan to recover quickly and fully.

There's another aspect to this story that I'd like to highlight. It's a simple question: if Mr Noonan is suffering from what appears to be stress-related symptoms from hearing too many brutal-crime briefings, what do you think is happening to the workers who respond to the scenes? To the prosecutors, who know the details and photos inside and out? To the workers who have to counsel the criminals, or keep them safely away from society? To the staff who deal with the traumatised families?

We tend to think of police officers, corrections workers and child protection staff as 'super-human' types who don't get affected by the stuff they see. Ever had a conversation with a police officer, and said "Gee, I don't know how you do it. I know I couldn't!" If you haven't yourself, I'm sure you've heard someone else say it.

The fact is that those in society's 'helper' roles are just like anyone else. Outside work, they have hobbies, friends, a list of things to do around the house, and kids pulling on their pants-leg for attention. Those things sometimes fall by the wayside for society's helpers when they're knee-deep in a case - or a caseload of cases, as the reality is. Whilst society might be enraptured by the sensational coverage of the current unthinkable crime, for the workers dealing with it on the inside, it's likely to be just one of a number of cases competing for their attention. The comments we make as a society "Why wasn't more done!!!" cut the helpers deep. When they're missing their child's school play, or not sleeping as they toss over the details of this case or that, or arguing with the partner because they just don't seem to have the same level of resilience that they used to, there's probably a small part of the helper's brain that is asking that same question. But how much more have the helpers got to give? How much should they have to give?

When I commenced my career with the justice system, I had no idea what I was signing on for. I was attracted to the aspect of 'doing my part' for society, and 'helping' people in need. It didn't occur to me that there would be nights when I was afraid to walk to my car after work, when I'd dream about the obscene details of a new case, when a criminal I knew to fancy small children would come to say hello to my daughter and I in a shopping centre - just to try and get a rise out of me. I had no idea that I would need to remove my name, my parents and grandparents names from the electral roll, to give us some semblance of personal security.

Here's something I need to say: I love my job. I'm desperately passionate about it. We don't, and nor should we, lock criminals up for life. Therefore, 'someone' has to deal with them whilst they're in the community, or preparing to come back to the community. That's where my job comes in. Someone has to do it, and I'm one of those someones. Not many people know about the role that I, and my colleagues play, but I love it, and I love the role my job plays in keeping the community safe(r).

Like most jobs, the reality isn't quite what I imagined. Don't get me wrong - I still feel that I'm doing my part for society. However, I never imagined that I would be doing 'welfare checks' at serious criminal's homes, knowing that I could be walking in to a body, a drug-affected person or someone needing medical attention. I didn't realise I'd be prosecuting and giving evidence against some seriously scary people. I had no idea that I'd be expected to work in the homes and workplaces of some of Victoria's most notorious offenders. I didn't realise that a core requirement of my job would be to understand and explore (in depth) the details of some of Victoria's most dangerous and sickening offences, and the motivations and depravities of the offenders who commit them. (I don't think you can fully understand what that can do to a person until you undertake the work). Like thousands of others in similar fields, I've had to walk a fine line. When I signed on, I had no idea what I would be exposed to, and the impact that it might have on me long-term.

Those in my field, like many in similar roles, have access to counselling through employer-funded programs. However, having accessed this, I can say that the process can be a bit clunky. My experience has been that 'crime doesn't sleep', so even when I've been seeking help for work-related stress and trauma, my workload hasn't actually varied a great deal until I've reached breaking point. And even then, the reality is that if I can't do it, one of my colleagues has to. Nothing can be put off until tomorrow. I've been on both ends of that deal, and it's not good either way. With caseloads stretched, and never-ending policital and societal pressure, it's not a nice position to be in. I sometimes liken working with an entrenched criminal to trying to reason with an over-tired toddler. You know that there's only going to be one winner (here's a hint: it's not always you), and you're going to come out of it a whole lot more exhausted than when you started.

I want to conclude this post by reiterating that I am taking nothing away from Mr Noonan's actions. Some might even call him brave. It's hard to ask for help, and harder to admit to it publicly.

Taking nothing from Mr Noonan's struggles, however I think that it is vitally important to recognise the daily struggle that coalface workers have, in dealing with the same "unspeakable crimes and traumatic events" that have caused Mr Noonan's troubles. Unfortunately, many of those same workers don't have the support to take time away from their professional careers to seek help that Mr Noonan has. Sure, there are programs in place and many employers will cry foul - "Of course we look after our workers!" - but talk to many police members, corrections officers, child protection workers and the overwhelming message will be that mental health support is just not there for the workers on the ground. And maybe it never will be - maybe it can't be. Sadly, when you're dealing with crime day in, day out, the direct victims aren't the only ones impacted.

It's February. Again. Already! What happened? I was going to stick at this blogging business, once a fortnight AT LEAST. Nek minnit - 11 months have passed. By my calculations, that's roughly 22 blogs I owe you lovely people. Oh dear.

The last year has been incredibly busy for us; we've had our ups and downs, and inbetweeners. Weekends here and there, family occasions, camping. Lucy has gone from tap-tap-tapping her way across the lounge room, to kamikaze-style flying through the house. (Speaking of houses, we've also moved home - something I vow to never do again.) Lucy has had another surgery on her tummy; as distressing as it was to see her in pain post-operatively, her recovery has been amazing. The changes in her have been nothing short of remarkable. Her overall health has improved, and she's a lot more energetic and outgoing. No longer my little baby - we have toddler on our hands!

And on the topic of babies and toddlers, we've sadly had a number of miscarriages, but the real silver lining is that I'm currently 18 weeks pregnant with a healthy baby! I have to admite that I am still shocked when I catch sight of my belly - in shop windows as I walk past, in the mirror, or when I glance down. Even though we're nearly half way there, I'm really quite shocked at how 'pregnant' I am!

So there you have it: 11 months in a nutshell. Or, 2 short paragraphs, as it may be. I hope you're all well! I promise to be a bit more organised with my blogging... At least til the next baby comes ;-)

Is it just me, or have blogs popped up everywhere? I was reading the online news today and there was an article about a "travel blogger" who is now a celebrity in her own right. This lady actually makes a living by travelling the world and blogging about it. And there we have it, I finally know what I want to be when I grow up. Only took me 30 years to work out!

Anyway, I looked into this blogging business. I figured it was a good idea to look into it anyway, seeing as I'm now a blogger myself. (Kind of exciting. Do I put "Blogger" on my CV?) A lot of bloggers have agreements with other bloggers, businesses and web pages to do some "cross-pollination", as I call it.

Well, I don't have any such agreements as things stand, but now having first-hand experience of just how hard it is to get a business up and running, I'd like to give a shout-out to some of my favourites:

Salon Jenaire on the Waterfront (Geelong)

Jules and her team of talented hairdressers have been doing my hair for a long time now. I've tried everything with Jules - long, short, dark, light, red. Treatments, colours. Up-dos, blow-drys. Curls, sleek. If you're in Geelong or surrounding areas, give Salon Jenaire a call for your next hair appointment. They're located right on the Geelong Waterfont, so it's kind of like a relaxing coffe and a chat with the added bonus of salon-hair!

Two Birds Cake Designs (Geelong region)

Another ripping Geelong business, Melissa somehow manages to create any cake you find on Pinterest. Honestly! She has done special event cakes for us, just because cakes for us, our wedding cake, and is going to deliver Lucy's 1st birthday cake next weekend. As an added bonus, she gives me some of her mud cake off-cuts... but I promise that's not why she's on this list. She really is the cake maestro.

Kari Teagan Photography (Geelong region)

You know how you can get yourself all dolled up, make up done, hair looking good, and your skinny jeans on, then you smile for the camera and somehow look like you just crawled out of bed? Why does that happen???? You won't know what that's like once you've had Kari take some pics for you! Kari took some gorgeous photos of my family and I was so pleasantly surprised with the results. You only have to check out her website or Facebook page to see that our pics weren't a fluke - she's just that good!

tobi.em Make Up Artist (Geelong & Melbourne)

Combine Salon Jenaire with tobi.em and you're Kari Teagan ready! Tobi is my go-to girl for any event. I'm not someone who can express myself well with makeup, but I've never had an "oops" with Tobi. For family events, photo shoots, our wedding... Every time Tobi has nailed my look, and she'll nail yours too! Professionally-trained and very much in demand, you must check her work out!

I Crave Healthy Foods (Finley)

And here's a shout out to Finley, NSW! My cousin, Tabatha, has been sourcing and building relationships with local companies who make allergen-friendly foods and vegan, fair trade and organic products for the family and home...amongst other things. Tabatha is so passionate about this, and she hopes to share information on health, innovative recipes and products in store and soon to be online (website under development). Check out the page on FB and Twitter!

Fro Town (Perth)

Another enterprising cousin, Steve, has opened Fro Town in Southland Shopping Centre, Perth. Known for their delivious frozen yoghurt with a range of toppings and protein shakes there's something yummy (and healthy!) for everyone. Not only that, but a couple of the West Coast Eagles boys were in there the other day doing autograph signings... There's some motivation to get down to Fro Town!

Jump in, buckle up and enjoy the ride.

It's a very exciting time here in our household. The birth of Big Boss Baby (nearly) coincides with our baby's first birthday. In between logo design, product manufacture, fabric testing and printing trials we have a list for the birthday party, a list of food required, a list of places to visit for decorations... And so we've realised that perhaps we need a bigger house!

Oh dear.

You see, it actually all began around 22 years ago. I was about 8 when I was first allowed to sew - by myself - on mum's sewing machine. And perhaps a couple of weeks later, my aunt introduced me to the overlocker. I can still remember my first creations: technicolour scrunchies (hey, it was the 90s!) and a very cute patchwork cushion that ended up sitting on my bed until I was about 16. Around the same time, Nana taught me to knit, and mum taught me to bake. I don't knit anymore, and my husband will tell you that I don't bake enough, but the sewing endures.

It's very messy though!

I am one of those people who gets a spark of inspiration right when I least expect it (e.g. at 3am, or in the shower, or pulling weeds in the garden)... I tend to grab hold of an idea and run with it. Which means that I can often be found head-down, bum-up in one of my craft bins, looking for that perfect "thing" that would work really well with this "new idea". Messy.

And so we come to today.

Now that Big Boss Baby is here, and I have a legitimate reason to encourage my creativity, the mess level has gotten out of control. I remember the days when we had a couple of suede couches, and a beautiful glass-topped dining table in our living area. Looked great. I'm pretty sure they're still there, but it's been a while since I've seen them. Now. there's the printing station over in the dining room, the ironing station in the living room (in front of the TV, of course), and the sewing machine and overlocker set up on the breakfast bar, side-by-side. It's very convenient for me - our little lady can potter around in the living room with me whilst I'm getting my creative on, but of course it's put an end to family dinners, having guests over, and watching the TV without having to move the ironing board and piles of products that are ironed, folded and ready to go.

So we called the bank...

And we're heading off to a bunch of open for inspections this weekend to look at houses with a craft room for Big Boss Baby to take over. Yeah, it's a busy time. An exciting time - and I can't wait to share it with you all!