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So, today it is my husband’s 45th birthday. Tom has just finished making painted tiles in frames with handprints on them to hang on the wall. We shall give them to Daddy this afternoon at his birthday party. We’re having a private family party with just the two of us and the kids. I’ve bought balloons and matching table decorations and a cake and I’m making sandwiches and I have crisps (chips to you yanks.. heh) and little cocktail sticks with cheese and pickled onions on them… lol. Should be fun!!

I thought I’d start a blog because I generally don’t keep note of the little things that happen in my life, and I think I should. My mother said to me today that she wished she could remember some of the things we used to say as a child that made her chuckle, and so I start this blog. I actually think I’ll buy a hardback journal and print out my blog and make a ‘hard copy’ of it also, for posperity.

So, today on one of the birth boards I frequent there was a thread started to share our post-baby bellies. Oh yikes! The horror! Haha! It was actually done to share with one lady who’s fiance ‘hates’ her belly and has been putting her down about it (it’s a longer story than that, but that shall suffice for here). So, I posted my belly pic in support of all mother’s who feel ashamed about it and for no need. I also discovered a site called ‘The Shape of a Mother’ from one of the other ladies on the board and it was just brilliant. It’s nice to know that it’s normal for your belly to never be the same again. What is it about the world that this is not common knowledge and women’s bodies POST baby aren’t considered to be as beautiful or MORE so than they were before we brought new life into the world?

One of the posts had a lovely prose which I want to share here… because it made me cry. (Don’t read too much into that as post-Baby everything makes me cry… but that’s a whole other story… lol)

A mark for every breath you took, every blink, every sleepy yawn. One for every time you sucked your thumb, waved hello, closed your eyes and slept in the most perfect darkness. One for every time you had the hiccups. One for every dream you dreamed within me.

It isn’t very pretty anymore. Some may even think it ugly. That’s OK. It was your home. It’s where I first grew to love you, where I lay my hand as I dreamed about who you were and who you would be. It held you until my arms could, and for that, I will always find something beautiful in it.