stoppedclickingmyheels

[stoppedclickingmyheels]

On feeling left out

When you’re on maternity leave, you’re entitled to the same rights as any old regular employee, for example a company wide pay rise, a new benefit, healthcare if available and most importantly staff events and training.

It was therefore more than a little upsetting to learn of my staff Christmas party from Instagram. Regardless of the fact that I probably wouldn’t have gone, it still would have been nice to have been invited. Of course a new mum is probably going to say no, but still I should have been asked.

I’m actually only going back as a freelance in January but y’know, not everyone knows that yet. As far as they’re concerned, I’m due back in a month, more than close enough for in jokes and chat to still be about the party.

I can’t lie. It was really gutting.

It’s hard not to feel left out enough with social things, it’s ofte up to me to arrange a night out or I normally have to suggest something. There are a precious few who contact me and say ‘hey let’s do this’ but let’s be honest, most people have forgotten me already.

And that’s okay. But I can’t help but feel this is an HR thing, make us feel valued, make us feel welcome and most importantly at a time when we’re planning to leave the most important person in our world for nine hours a day, make damned sure we want to come back.

[stoppedclickingmyheels]

On Losing Your Identity

This is going to be a long one.

Until a few years back, I worked as a performer who went by another name. I’m used to living two lives, especially one glamourous and one more subtle.

When I left performing, I struggled to define myself to people. Having always been my work, when meeting new people I’d falter, the old conversation failsafe of ‘touring showgirl but let’s hear about you...’ no longer usable.

I did well for awhile. Talked about what I used to do and was honest, that this was a new identity that I was still testing. But after one catch up with friends who were still in the cabaret world who gently teased me about how they didn’t understand my new job, I fell apart. I felt stupid, pathetic, that I’d given up and becoming boring. I’m no believer in ‘sold out’ because ‘sold out’ means holiday and sick pay and that shit is golden, but I definitely felt like maybe I should have worked to make it work.

The reasons why I left performing are multiple and not for this article. For awhile, those reasons kept me tethered to my decision, happy and content.

And I was. I really was.

I would only be sad around those who were still doing what I thought I missed. So I tried to dip in. And remembered what I hated. I lept back out and instead tried to foster friendships with performers I had toured with. This had mixed results, some excellent and some heartbreaking. Eventually, life took over and I made new friends in my new industry and for awhile I started to get better.

About a year later, I started to think about

STUPID PEOPLE IN THE CAFE STOPPING ME FROM THINKING

•postnatal identity

•what do I talk about

•what do I bring to a relationship anymore

[stoppedclickingmyheels]

Downtime

There’s a huge pressure to ‘have some time without the baby, time to yourself. Treat yourself’ when you’ve got about six months into being a parent.

But then there’s a huge amount of pressure to make that time special. So much so that it actually ruins the time you have. As if you’re suddenly able to magically transform into the person you were pre-baby, to instantly have a good and relaxing time as if that was something you did all the time anyway.

I usually plan my downtime but this morning was a surprise. Baby whisked off by dad and I’ve an hour or so free. Instantly, I start thinking:

How long have I got?

I have no idea why it isn’t enough to just lay on the sofa, staring at the ceiling but I always feel like I have to do something with this stolen time.

Like right now, I’m standing in the hallway typing this on my phone instead of going to the coffee shop. I have my shoes on, my sunglasses even. It’s dark in this hallway.

Hang on.

Right I’m actually in the coffee shop now. After bumping into husband and baby on the street natch so I managed thirty whole minutes baby free.

Prior to writing this, I decided I HAD TO USE MY ALONE TIME WISELY so thought to paint my nails. Except because I can’t do anything slowly anymore, despite having no need to leap up, I made a right mess, didn’t wait until they were dry to do my shoelaces then proceeded to get varnish on the curtain. On the white bit of a patterned curtain. Because of course.

Anyway, I’ve ended up removing all the varnish and wasting half of a precious hour. I’m scruffy-nailed, hot and bothered and still can’t relax.

Eventually, I’m here drinking a smoothie in a coffee shop. I think I’ve lowered my left shoulder blade by half an inch but I’m still not relaxing. I’m actually googling highchairs. Sometimes I really miss the days I’ve just mainline gossip sites waiting in train stations. 

You’ll be glad to know that I got a phonecall whilst typing this, managed to stop and actually stare out of the window for awhile before dragging myself home. I’ve just got back to a screaming baby who won’t settle, who’s nap is now an hour late and all my plans for this afternoon are literally out of the window. Utter disaster but I think I had a half-hour relax at least. Sort of.

[stoppedclickingmyheels]

On anniversaries

It’s 3am on the morning after our second anniversary. Last year, we were in a beautiful Cornish hotel, pregnant, sleepy from paddling in the sea and giddy with talking about the wedding. The year before, we were sitting at the top of the Shard, watching the city in our wedding outfits, sat on the floor eating chips and drinking gin.

Right now, I’m sat in a 30 degree hotel room with a sleeping husband, a wriggly baby and a breast pump attached to me. It’s a different set up for sure.

I was worried about our anniversary this year, that it wouldn’t be ‘special’ enough. We were attending a friend’s wedding in the South of England and the journey here yesterday had been a bit frantic. Getting across London on the day England play in the World Cup is not easy, especially with a kid, two cases and a cancelled overground d train.

I’d also tried to pack a bit more whimsically. A bit more ‘oh we won’t need that’ after my overpacking for our holiday in June. This has obviously resorted in me forgetting pretty much everything for the adults including enough underwear for me.

The baby is fine though. The baby has two cardigans, casual and smart despite the heat not dropping below 30 degrees all weekend.

Which brings me onto THE FEAR.

It’s 31 degrees in our hotel room. We have two fans on and the window open and I cannot get the room any cooler. Granted the UK is on the midst of a heatwave but I think this hotel room is most cruelly located next to a boiler or possibly just the gateway to hell because dear god this is horrific. Obviously, I’m terrified the baby will get sick as it’s hard to keep him hydrated. He’s sleeping in his nappy, I’ve just woken him to take some water but the look of disgust on his face (one I wasn’t expecting to see until we start him on solids) has been enough to convince me maybe he doesn’t need it.

But I keep checking his breathing regardless. He’s been asleep since 7pm, even in a different place he’s such a good kid and sticks roughly to his routine. He’s been a dream recently, happy and smiley in his waking hours, sleeping peacefully and calmly otherwise. The recent changes to his routine we made seem to be working, as we tweak the timings to suit him and his daily wake up call.

But back to tonight’s anniversary. We didn’t get to the fancy restaurant, I didn’t even really want to. Instead, we ordered room service and sat next to our sleeping boy, listening to our first dance and talking about our beautiful wedding. I couldn’t have wished for anything better. This feels perfect.

Edited to add.

Moments later, after feeding the baby, I noticed a GIANT spider on our countrywide hotel room ceiling. Husband woke up and immediately got him with a glass and hotel menu. Then got on a chair to get the second one I’d spotted whilst he was hurling the first down the stairs. My hero.

[stoppedclickingmyheels]

On Changing Routine

We’re about to mess everything up.

We have a baby that has slept since he was born, quite nicely in fact. Cosily, deeply, anywhere and normally wakes up at 7am, singing to himself.

We are very lucky.

However, we also have a baby that since he was born, has been fed every four hours like clockwork and well, this needs to change. I’m not sure it does, but my husband is convincing me otherwise. I think he just wants to sleep through the night, which as I’m expressing, I can’t do. 3-5am being the mammary mega-mix time for milk production.

So this week, aforementioned sleepy baby went through what is known as the 4 month sleep regression. We’ve been dreading it.

Babies REM sleep cycle changes around this time and they start to notice where, how and why they went to sleep. And they want it when they wake up. So a baby that was rocked to sleep, will wake up and scream because they aren’t being rocked. A baby that was cuddled to sleep etc etc.

This baby is a good sleeper but for his morning nap, he does need to be swaddled since about two months old as he got too obsessed with chewing on his hands to sleep. We’re going to have to wean him off swaddles when he can roll but for now, into the swaddle, head goes down and boom sleep.

This week however, he’s been waking inbetween sleep cycles and not ‘linking his naps’ as they (they?!) say. He needs to learn this and it’s taken me allllll week and a lot of early mornings to gently sooth him back to sleep, whilst he learns to self-settle and whilst he gets used to me not being there when he wakes.

Should probably mention, this is his third week of sleeping in a room away from us during naps. I’m not enjoying it.

ANYWAY

Back to the big change, I’m terrified of changing this set-up of four hour feeds because he’s so rarely hungry, he’s a little clockwork baby and he’s so happy with this food and whilst a skinny little thing, never wants more and never seems to get upset with hunger.

Tonight, we’re going to see if he can sleep through.

Usually, we’d wake him at midnight and four am for a feed. Apparently this is weird. I can’t find anything of anyone’s experience of this and despite being breastfed, since this was the routine we needed to do when he was sick in the hospital, this is what we’ve continued since. And argh we do need to see if he can sleep through because we’re starting to think he’s waking out of habit.

We’re going to feed him at 11:30, a bigger feed than usual then see how long he can last, husband reckons 6am, I reckon 5am. My issue is that if he wakes, how will we know if it’s hunger or sleep regression?

It’s always something new.

Always

[stoppedclickingmyheels]

On Filling Your Days

Being on maternity leave, it’s hard to feel you are doing anything. Obviously you’re looking after a baby but, lets put it this way...

Currently, I have drag race on in the background, the baby is napping in his sleepyhead next to me. I’m writing but I’ve no idea how long I’ve got until my little pal wakes up and if he’ll be in a good or terrible mood. It’s like waiting for a buzzer to go off in the Crystal Maze, you’re always on edge and that in itself is exhausting.

It’s getting better, the baby’s cues are getting easier to read so I can begin the NAPPING PROCEDURE earlier and hopefully avoid the MELTDOWN. However, woe betide I miss a cue or accidentally over-stimulate with one too many rounds of ‘Row Row Row Your Boat’ then we have a knock-on effect on the rest of the day. We’re experiencing a fight with the late afternoon nap at the moment and the struggle is REAL so I’ve come back to writing this three or four times in the last ten minutes. I’ve also put on laundry and started supper so yeah BUT everything has to dash really quickly in case he wakes up.

So then, when you try to tell people what you HAVE done the week before, you can’t tell anyone because you’ve essentially been in a limbo-land, working whilst someone sleeps, creeping around completing the essentials. And mainlining cookies when you can. And wiping the crumbs from their little tiny heads...

[stoppedclickingmyheels]

On Support

When your baby arrives, there’s a closing in of the circles - family come to help out where they can or exist, friends pop around with food not just gifts for the baby but most importantly they’ll hold the baby whilst you shower or simply paint your nails.

The books (damn those books) tell you the first three months are too early to establish a routine so just enjoy your baby. But also ensure they know the difference between night and day, work out a feeding pattern, play games without over tiring and risking that all important mid-afternoon nap.

So you end up spending that 4th trimester in a haze, learning what you can about what this new friend likes (and hates, sometimes changing on a daily basis) mixing afternoons cluster feeding on the sofa with the occasional baby group and stolen quiet coffee during a nap.

Then all of a sudden week 11 creeps up on you and damn, now you’re wondering about the routine. How do you establish it? What should it be? Do you really need to bath this kid EVERYNIGHT?

The answer is, well whatever you want really. You can follow the baby books, go for really intense parent led scheduling or baby led responsive actions. We’re going for ‘looks like he sleeps around 10am so let’s try that’ and the age old bath, bottle, book and bed for the evening. Worked perfectly all of last week. Until last night when we had a staring contest until 1am because damn that baby doesn’t blink.

However this is really when I need the support and whilst it’s there if I ask (need to rewrite this it’s awful)

[stoppedclickingmyheels]

The time does fly by

Here I am, 10 weeks post partum trying to edit my previous posts into something I don’t mind being publicly available. In fact, something I’m going to actively try and promote. Not for any gain but for what I’ve been saying since I realised it, we don’t talk about pregnancy or birth properly. Or even babies.

Currently, I’m experiencing a huge amount of ‘mum guilt.’ It’s mainly based around not being able to afford to do external activities with Ben every day. I’m also horrifically looking at our finances and wondering if I might need to go back to work earlier than I’d hoped.

I’d imagine the activity guilt is a common one. Of course I can sit and do baby yoga with my child, there’s 100 online lessons I could follow. Or we could go smell the flowers in the park (although after this weekend’s bee encounter, maybe I don’t have the nerves for that) but there is something wonderful about a TIME and a PLACE and a TEACHER that makes it seem more of an achievement.

If I make baby class on time, if we can get to the place and if we can engage with the teacher then I feel like I’ve made that day a success. That I’ve done my best for the baby and we’ve had A Lovely Time. On a different level, it’s something nice for Instagram that isn’t just the playmat or his toes. Damned cute toes but still.

I don’t know if this pressure exists outside of London. Probably as it seems half of baby-rearing is just PRESSURE but most mums I meet have a very strict schedule. Yoga on Friday, Dance on Tuesday, Sensory on Thursday etc etc. I don’t want to be that person but I’m pretty sure my mom didn’t take me to any classes and I’ve grown up to work in a creative field so...

So actually am I proving my own point there? Why do I feel I need to take him to classes? Is it actually more about something for me to do than for him? Because what do you do with a ten week old baby?

One from the archive.

These are thoughts and posts that were too raw or personally exposing to publish at the time but posts that I feel might be helpful to someone in the same position. The whole purpose of this blog was to provide a voice for things I couldn’t find for myself and as always is just in my experience. I hope it helps.

[stoppedclickingmyheels]

Do I miss being pregnant?

I’ve just got into the bath. Three weeks post partum and I’m back up to fairly hot baths but still too scared to use any products with either citrus or menthol. I haven’t written about my birth story yet but I guess that’s a good indicator of how it went.

Pregnant, I’d inch into the bath, worried the baby wouldn’t like it or that it would be too hot. I’d convinced myself that it sent him to sleep, that maybe it wasn’t good for him, what if I slipped. All those crazy thoughts that result from nine months of incubating a tiny person alongside a world of responsibility.

But now I know, on the outside that he loves baths. As long as he stays cosy and doesn’t get chilly during his wash down, he lovvvves them. Utterly baffled by them but there’s definitely enjoyment there. And by that at 3 weeks, I mean he doesn’t cry during them. That’s essentially the royal seal of approval.

He doesn’t cry that much actually. He’s doing something new where he wakes up ten minutes before he’s due a feed, wailing as if it were the end of the world. I don’t really know what to do about this, if anything really because apart from that, he’s pretty much a dream baby.

OH except for the ‘holding breath until he turns into a tomato’ trick that he’s done since birth. I hate it and wish he wouldn’t. I need to ask the health visitor about it actually. Oh and his sniffling. Grunting. Raised stomach when sleeping.

So many things to worry about.

[stoppedclickingmyheels]

3 days post partum

The women around me have babies that don’t wake up the whole ward, who can leave their tiny new offspring to get a fresh bottle but I’ve got a tiny but

—

My husband is snoring and I’m trying to wake him up. The baby is snuggling and I’m trying to keep him asleep

[stoppedclickingmyheels]

40 weeks today. Stir crazy

I get it now. I get why everyone gets so grouchy towards the end and why it’s so utterly unfair. You can’t whine because someone will say at least you can have babies, you can’t complain because someone will say at least you got to full term. And you CANNOT cry and demand a c-section because someone will say something about how you’re not giving the best for the baby.

Regardless of how you feel.

It doesn’t matter how you feel.

I think what I’m most upset about is the prospect of not going into labour. It’s happened to a lot of pregnant friends and I just obviously wanted it to be different. And it’s not anything to do with being about the natural crap or wanting a ‘normal’ birth because actually amongst my cohort, intervention is normal.

It’s about saying goodbye to the little presence in my tummy for the last nine months. It’s about moving him from my responsibility and only mine to letting the rest of the world in. From him being my little lump, little beachball who wakes me up with uterus punches and makes me worry when he doesn’t move and the body-filling relief when he does. Even if it’s another punch to the uterus because howay man ow.

I’m so sad to be losing this experience and whilst I’m excited about this next bit, pregnancy will remain one of the most special things I have ever experienced. I have a better relationship with my body, even when it lets me down and I’m still amazed it’s taken a baby to full term.

And maybe I should be proud of that. Instead of worrying about when he’ll be here, maybe I should be more happy that we made it this long. He’ll be a little chunk when he does get here and I’m worried about him being too big for his newborn clothes but if he is, then he is. It means I grew him good and that’s all that matters. That he’s healthy and happy.

But then that’s the other worry. Because over 40 weeks means my placenta starts to slow down and what if he isn’t getting enough and isn’t healthy?

I have a midwife appt tomorrow and a promise of a sweep if everything is okay. Husband is coming with me because it’ll hurt and also I’m terrified something might be wrong. I can feel this little guy rumbling around me but he has slowed his chill. Probably due to space but what if it isn’t?

God, I can barely write this. I am so so frightened. It can’t go wrong at this stage, please don’t go wrong.

[stoppedclickingmyheels]

Come on little one

I’ve had three texts this morning to ask if the baby has arrived. Lovely, well meaning and kind texts. They’ve no idea that I’ve been experiencing stop-start labour since last Tuesday and I’m so exhausted and my body in pain, I’m on the verge of tears at any moment.

And I’m so very very bored.

Tuesday night, I went to bed with cramps which proceeded to tightenings then stopped around 3am. I have no idea what these were but much more intense than the BH I’ve experienced before.

Sunday, I had nearly nine hours of tightenings, menstruatal like cramps and eventually contractions, getting close enough to call the delivery suite for advice. They confirmed it sounds like early labour and told me to stay at home until I went to every three minutes for an hour. By the time I went to every six minutes, I then started to slow to twenty, thirty and eventually an hour. On Sunday it seemed like activity started to kick them off so once I stopped moving, they eventually stopped.

I was exhausted so went to sleep and went to preggo yoga on Monday.

Pretty carthartic to speak to the other moms about what had happened but as the grand old dame of the class couldn’t really get any actual advice. The practitioner agreed that this does happen and that I was definitely experiencing contractions but that evidently I wasn’t progressing.

Obviously this has got me worried about the prospect of a birth without intervention, I don’t understand why I’m not progressing and it’s so hard not to feel awful each time this happens. My poor wonderful husband gets so excited and then so tired, it’s interrupting his work and I feel like I’m letting him down. He’d never agree that I am but it’s a difficult feeling to shake.

Since Sunday’s symptoms were expedited by activity, we decided not to do anything to try and bring them on, baby isn’t even due for another six days so there was no point. So on Tuesday, when I woke up with very strong cramps under my bump that didn’t disappear when I moved or had a shower or stayed still, then I knew something might be happening.

10:24 I had my first actual proper ripple contraction and then started a three-hour pattern of the same every 12-14 minutes, varying in intensity.

At 1pm, I had a few that were only 3 minutes apart and knowing the hospital wouldn’t admit me until I’d had that for an hour, I settled down and into a pattern of two every ten minutes.

I then had a half hour gap.

Thirty whole minutes. Of nothing. From serious pain every three minutes to nothing followed by a wimpy contraction followed by a slightly stronger one five minutes later.

By 3pm I was exhausted and my husband wrapped me up on the sofa to have a nap. Fell asleep and whilst I was woken by a tiny little cramp, by the time I woke up properly at 4pm all my symptoms were gone. Nothing.

So. We thought okay, at least I get to rest. Baby won’t be here today but we can sleep and settle down, husband can get some work done and I can read.

4:46 they kicked back in again.

Every ten minutes.

I had a massive cry. I didn’t want to go through this again. I didn’t think I could go through it again.

Then the pattern knocked back to every twenty minutes and we could see where this was going again. Put the football on, had something to eat (interrupted by one contraction) but eventually after petering out at one every twenty minutes, at 8:30pm we called it.

No baby today.

Baby seems to be quite fine in itself, wriggling around, hiccuping, having a kick. I’m concerned that the hiccups feel a little higher than this previously head-down little pal should do and obviously worried about flipping but then again I’m so worried that anything has happened that it’s just crazy.

Things I’ve convinced myself are stopping progression:

Baby has moved breech

My cervix is scarred and won’t dilate (I have no proof)

I have an infection (again, no proof)

I’m not built to give birth naturally

My body hates me

It’s not time and I’m going to go through this for days and days

I’m doing something wrong

Something is wrong with the baby

Honestly, I’m just exhausted.

[stoppedclickingmyheels]

Leaving but not leaving

I have one day left before I go on holiday then ina fortnight I start my actual maternity leave.

I’m pretty much terrified. I don’t do time off very well and whilst in a month I’m sure I’ll be VERY busy, what do I do until then? What’s worse is that I haven’t saved up to do anything nice before then. I meant to go to matinees, for lunches for Day trips. I don’t think I’ll be able to do much of that to be honest. It’s quite overwhelming.

I don’t know who I’ll be in a year. I defined myself so closely to my job in the past, I don’t know what happens now.

I also don’t know if I’ll be able to care about it in a month. What if I don’t want to go back? What if I’m desperate to get back?

I’m drafting my out of office to ensure people don’t contact me but that’s not how I work, I’m always contacble, concerned, there is required. I’m going to need to be selfish for our little one and it’s going to take a major brain re-work

I’m also so very tired. And so ready to be off or at least not commuting for a bit. And napping whenever I want. So much napping.

[stoppedclickingmyheels]

Belated update

I also knew this would happen. I tend to write when I’m too stressed to process anything else and whilst I’m definitely still stressed, after a scary hospital visit at week 24, I’m now forced to be kinder to myself. Currently the most important thing is the little person I’m growing.

Not what someone else needs of me at work. And this is really against my programming. I’ve always gone above and beyond, often to the detriment of my health. I mentioned it in earlier posts but I’m not good at taking things easy. And now I have to.

Also, I wrote about what happened at 24 weeks and you know what, it was just too scary to process and I don’t think I’m ready to re-read it prior to publishing. So I probably won’t post it. Suffice to say, the NHS are incredible and everything is now fine with the baby. I have never been so scared in my life (and I’m sure I have more of these moments to come) but wow it was horrid.

Happily, now at 30 weeks, my midwife is very pleased with how things are going and we seem to be back on track.

I’m currently still trying to recruit for my replacement at work and bring in an external for the interim. It’s difficult as I’m not leaving but planning to come back so I really care about what’s happening in the next year but also so much of it is out of my hands. Another thing I need to be more chill about.

That’s it really. Baby is heavy, my hips don’t work, I’ve only put on a quarter of the expected weight but baby is the right size. I’ve developed a fancy waddle. Oh and the heartburn continues. I don’t know if it will ever stop. Baby hiccups a lot and movements aren’t as frantic as before and still terrify me when they aren’t there.

[stoppedclickingmyheels]

What to expect when you expect something better?

I feel like people are a little taken a back by how brutally honest I’m being about the pregnancy I’m having

They ask if I’m okay, I say yeah, last week I ended up in hospital for a few and didn’t know if my baby was going to survive. Today I had a totally stressful day at work and then spent the rest of the day worrying I’d hurt the baby by getting so worked up.

The thing is pregnancy is fucking lonely. I have the most supportive husband and can’t imagine what this is like to be actually alone but damn it feels like a responsibility only you can fulfill.

Everything I do has to be ‘for the good of the baby.’ Can I eat something ‘what’s best for the baby?’ Can I plan a trip somewhere ‘is that safe for the baby?’

When he’s here, I’ll be able to share that responsibility but right now it can be claustrophobic and terrifying. I want to do everything I can to keep this little guy safe but at times I’m so overwhelmed and confused. I feel like I’m making decisions all the time.

And that means sometimes if you ask me how I am I’ll tell you the truth. I don’t have the energy to lie and say ‘yeah it’s all going great...’ because it’s bloody hard. I’ve felt worse believing that other women sailed through their pregnancies only hearing now I’m part of the gang that actually they spent weeks in hospital, crying in the bathroom in fear, with complications and fears similar to my own.

I’m still unsure how much of this blog I’ll make public in the future but I want to speak out when I’m ready about the ‘magic of pregnancy’ that yes that’s what happens for some lucky women but mainly it’s scary and hard and not what any of us expected. We need to be more supportive of this. We need to respect our own needs.

[stoppedclickingmyheels]

Overwhelmed

I can't really explain right now except it comes in waves. I'll be working on something, perhaps in a meeting or talking about a project and it will just sweep over me. We're having a little boy There's a little boy growing inside me and so far he seems to be doing well. We've been so caught up in the worry of what being pregnant means that the actual enjoyment of it has taken me by surprise. It does make me faze out at work. It's such a large thing to think about. We've had some hugely tragic family news this week too so there's such a contrast between wonderful and terrible things, we've both struggled to process it all. We got an incredible scan of his face and I just can't stop staring at it. I was bad with staring at the last scan but this one looks like a cuddly baby and I just can't wait to hold him for real!

[stoppedclickingmyheels]

It was all glitter once

Remember when all I talked about was half naked showgirls, pancakes and world travel? It's incredible how a life and your needs can change. For me, I say I miss it all but I really don't. I used to tour internationally (you can read more elsewhere) and it was probably the loneliest I've been in my life. I missed everything, weddings, parties, christmases. I mean okay I still miss family Christmas but that's because otherwise I don't see my husband. But yeah it was lonely. I hated it at times. But it looked incredible from the outside. And I still look at those performing and posting spectacular things and I think 'god I miss that' but now I stop. In the early days of leaving a gin-soaked midnight world, I got jealous. Now I get excited for my friends, knowing that on most days there is nothing spectacular to post, just a toilet or an emergency exit where a suitcase and mirror is propped up. That most days, an Instagram would be of unanswered emails to promoters looking for work or chasing payment. It's a damned hard life and those that are making a success of it should be celebrated. They know how lucky they are and how much it's taken. How much sacrifice. I wanted other things but I will also be glad for those who hammer on. Who love it more than me. I have other things now, just as valid and I will be proud of them. Less instagrammable perhaps but they are my achievements. Or pancakes.