Looking in the mirror

(Today a wonderful Facebook group that I’m a part of hosted a five-minute writing challenge. The theme: the last time you looked in a mirror. I liked what I wrote, so I’m sharing it here, along with a couple of related stories.)

“Okay my dear, here you go”
As I pull pink flowery sleeves up to sweet chubby elbows, I catch a glimpse of a face that looks just like my mother’s. I see my messy bun. And I see my eyes rolling.

I realise that she, too, sees my eyes rolling.
She, too, sees through my false patience.
She, too, knows that her Mama feels overwhelmed by her big feelings and loud demands.

So I stop my eyes, mid-roll. I grab a big fluffy towel. “The towelosaurus is coming to get you! Rrrooooarrrr.”

Her giggles echo through the bathroom as I catch her into a big towelosaurus hug.

I’m not perfect, but we’re going to be okay.

Speaking of being imperfect, I’ve been finding the adjustment to our first winter for aaaaages quite difficult. I’m staying inside too much. Spending too much time online. And The Campground Kid is following my lead too much for my liking. She’s like a little mirror, and all too often she shines a light on all the habits that I’d rather keep in the dark.

So when my little homebody asked me to take her on a walk to the digger (we were having some work done on the park), of course I said yes.

She brought her teddy too.

We walked around the park. She climbed the digger. We ran down hills. I took photos.

It was simple and wonderful and exactly why we came home.


Sometimes her little toddler mirror shines on the things I don’t want to admit. Other times it lights up the things I didn’t know she had noticed.

A few months ago, in an effort to encourage The Campground Kid to talk about her day, we started a little dinnertime routine. We take turns talking about times that we were happy/sad/scared/frustrated/excited. It’s new, so mostly Campground Papa and I take turns and The Campground Kid just gives her stock “What did you do today?” answer of “Played inside and outside!”

But the other day, in the middle of dinner, she turned to Campground Papa, and with a quizzical little face she asked “What made you happy today, Papa?”

And after he answered, she turned to me and said “Nice curry. Thanks, Mama!”

We may not be perfect, but we’re going to be okay.

Keep It Kind Online

I’m lucky in so many ways; too many to name, really. But one of the ways I count myself lucky is that this blog is mostly read by my family and friends. You might think that doesn’t sound entirely lucky. Surely as a blogger, I want fame and fortune and lots of readers? Wellllll, I’ll admit there’s an element of truth to that. But the reason I consider my small audience to be something lucky? Everyone who reads my blog is kind to me. 

People don’t always agree with me. But if they tell me, they do so kindly. And they certainly don’t ever send me horrible abuse.

But many (most?) people who have a wider public platform aren’t so lucky.

In just the last week or so, I’ve seen that currently taking a stance on a controversial issue can earn you relentless bullying, your parents’ religion can earn you accusations of terrorism, and a simple request to a company can earn you comments that “you should be euthanised”. And these are just three of MANY examples this week, and every week.

And I don’t think that’s okay. So when an online acquaintance suggested we start a campaign for online kindness and respect, I jumped at the chance. And so, Keep It Kind Online was born.

Keep It Kind Online is a campaign for more considerate interactions online. We want to bring the humanity back to the internet and share the message that personal attacks and nastiness are not tolerated. We want to encourage people to challenge online attacks when they see them. We don’t want to wait for moderators to step in, we want to moderate ourselves.

So if you know that small acts of kindness can achieve great things. If you believe that debate and disagreement are great, but that personal attacks and abuse are just. not. okay. If you want to do your part to make the internet a better place, join us for the Keep It Kind Online campaign TODAY (Wednesday 7 June).

There are a few ways you can participate:

  1. Take the pledge by sharing in your status or social media updates:  “I pledge to comment with care and to challenge online unkindness when I see it.”
  2. Use our Facebook profile picture frames.
  3. Use the #keepitkindonline hashtag liberally on social media.
  4. Make an effort to make kind comments on blogs and other online platforms.
  5. Make an effort to challenge the unkind comments you see.


6. Share it with your friends!

Wouldn’t it be great if even those with a large online presence could find that everyone who reads their blog is kind to them? Let’s do our best to make it happen.


“Boy or girl?”

When I was pregnant, the most common question I was asked was “how long to go?”, which was usually followed up with “Really?! That long?! You look like you’re about to pop?!” and an incredulous expression. But after the shock at my huge belly was out of the way, it was always “is it a boy or a girl?” I always answered honestly “I don’t know” and sometimes added “it doesn’t really matter to us.”‘

We didn’t find out the sex at our scans, because I didn’t want to have to lie when people asked me, and also because I wanted to extend the time before she was “encouraged” into gender norms and expectations for as long as possible. I wanted to let her just be a baby. I didn’t want to force her into a box of expectations based on her sex, and I definitely definitely didn’t want everyone else to do it for me.

And for a while, it was easy enough. We were at home or with good friends a lot, with relatively few outside influences. It was easy to get “gender-neutral” clothes in her size. She had short hair, and most people couldn’t tell if she was a boy or a girl. This meant that many of our interactions were missing that layer.

But it didn’t entirely stop the expectations. We still heard that we were lucky to have a girl, because they were “calm and easy” (despite the fact that in her first year of life she could easily have been voted “kid most likely to try to get into stuff” in most settings). We were still told we should put a headband on so that people could tell she was a girl. We still had people say that she loved her Papa because she was a girl (a “daddy’s girl” at that).

Things have shifted and changed, as things tend to do. Her hair has grown. There are fewer “gender-neutral” clothes in her size, and she rather enjoys the colour pink. We don’t hear “boy or girl?” so often when she’s there with us, because most people can guess based on appearance that she’s a girl.

But even if we don’t hear the question out loud so often anymore, we’re still hearing “boy or girl?” all the time, in so many ways. The message it sends is only getting louder. And The Campground Kid is hearing it too.

The Campground Kid

A couple of days ago, someone in one of my Facebook groups posted a fairly innocuous question to McDonald’s about why they ask “is it for a boy or a girl?” when they sell happy meals, rather than just offering a choice of toys: “do you want a ninja turtle or a beanie baby?”

I found out about the post, and made a quick supportive comment, expecting that there would be a few supportive comments, a couple of misinformed negative comments, and a cheerful but meaningless response from McDonald’s that they were “working on it”.

And in two out of three cases, I was correct. There were a few supportive comments and a fairly standard corporate response from McDonald’s. But there were not just a couple of misinformed negative comments. There were thousands. Literally thousands of people who thought she was a) making a big deal of something that was a non-issue, b) an overly precious lefty liberal caught up in the PC brigade, c) pathetic for being concerned about this when people are being killed in wars/can’t afford food/have real problems to worry about, d) a terrible mother who should be worrying more about feeding her toddler McDonald’s or maybe not raising kids at all, or e) all of the above.  Some of the comments were seriously nasty, she received private messages abusing her and her parenting, and they just kept coming and coming and coming.

I don’t necessarily want to give this one post more attention than it needs. McDonald’s have already taken the feedback on board, there’s been an article published on news websites, and I’m pretty sure the poster wasn’t expecting this level of attention. But posting and reading on the discussions has been eye-opening for me.

The Campground Kid

I am not surprised when I’m asked the question at McDonald’s;  I’m used to the casual but insidious gendering of our kids, which is perhaps why I’ve never thought to complain to them. But I was shocked at the level of disagreement on the post. I never realised just how much hate for progressive thinking was there beneath the surface, and how much people were clinging to gender roles as a bastion of “the good ol’ days”‘. (I know, I know, there were SO MANY clues, but this little issue just seemed like a no-brainer to me!)

The Campground Kid has the occasional Happy Meal from “‘Miss Donald’s” (her words). I ask what toys are available and let her choose, or choose the one that I think she would like the best (or the one that I think would be the least annoying, if I’m honest), and we get on with our days. The impact of this specific issue is minimal.

And, just so we’re crystal clear on that point, OF COURSE this isn’t the biggest worry in my life. I have plenty of other things to worry about, and I spend plenty of time worrying about them. But, we can worry about more than one thing at once. Trust me, I’m well versed in worrying.

And OF COURSE if I had the choice between “no children killed in wars” and “no gendering of the toys in McDonald’s” I would choose the former.

And OF COURSE I’m not going to win over many people in the comments section of a Facebook post.

But those things don’t mean it’s not a real issue. Because it’s not just about the Happy Meal. It’s easy to ask for a “boys toy” for my kid, if that’s what they want, but I think it’s important to question why we as a society even consider a truck or a ninja turtle or a superhero to be a “boys toy”, and how we influence our kids’ choices and “natural preferences” every day with the messages we give them.

The “boy or girl?” question is asked, both explicitly and covertly all. the. time.  And all the little instances build up.

They build up to a world where men are encouraged to be violent rather than showing any vulnerability and where women are considered “less than” if they don’t conform to arbitrary standards of beauty. They build up to a world where children drop their favourite hobbies because they’re “too girly” or “for boys only”.  They build up to a world where Donald Trump is the President of the United States. They build up to a world where a woman is shamed and ridiculed on the internet because she dares to question our entrenched ideas of gender.

That’s not the world I want for my child, and if that makes me an “overreacting special snowflake” in some people’s minds, then so be it.

I have more thoughts on this (SO MANY MORE). But my post is too long already, and there are people who’ve said it better, so I’m going to finish off with two recommendations.

First is Let Toys Be Toys, a volunteer organisation in the UK who advocate for removing gender-stereotyped advertising. They explain why it matters and have successfully lobbied several retailers. In the last few days, I’ve realised more and more how important their efforts are.

The second is this article about how we can very simply reduce our children’s tendency to stereotype, by speaking in specifics rather than generalisations.

And the third is a book, Delusions of Gender by Cordelia Fine.  I’m only part way through, but it is FASCINATING and important and engaging and everyone should read it.


The weather is quickly turning cold here. We had two frosts last week, and certainly made it into the negatives, temperature-wise. (And yes, I know that in a global scale of winter, this is not a big deal, but for two parents who haven’t had a winter since 2012, and one kid who hasn’t had a winter EVER, this is coooold.)


Frosty family

This means it’s time to get our winter uniforms at work. I haven’t actually seen them yet, and although I’m more than ready for something a bit warmer, I somehow doubt they’re going to be as popular with our guests as the summer ones.


Me and The Campground Kid in our summer uniforms

Seriously, you would not believe how often we get compliments on these shirts. Or maybe you would, I don’t know, but it has surprised me. I would say that on most days there is at least one person who comments, and 99% of the comments are positive.

But the reason I’m writing today is not about the specific uniforms, or about their relative popularity with our guests. It’s more just about the concept of wearing a uniform.

This job is the first time in over ten years that I’ve worn a uniform. If you’d asked me a few years back what I thought about wearing a uniform, it would have been a great big NOPE. I loved having a large wardrobe and creating fun outfits. I wouldn’t wear an outfit again if I’d worn it in the last few weeks. I had a serious amount of clothes, and I had fun with them.

But now that we’re here… I kinda love it.

I think there are a few things that have changed to change my mind on a uniform. 1) I became a mum. I have another person to dress in the morning. I have less mental energy, and I don’t really want to spend the energy I do have on choosing clothes. 2) I’m on my feet a lot. It’s way more important to me that my clothes, and particularly my shoes, are comfortable, so it’s just easier to have one casual outfit every day. And 3) I got fat. It’s not as easy to buy fun clothes, especially not cheaply. Clothes are less comfortable, and finding something that fits and looks good is just hard (I could say more, but availability of larger sizes and clothes made to fit fat bodies is a whole other post!)

Over summer, I even took to having a casual “uniform” that I wore most days: jogger pants (which I also wore to work), a comfortable t-shirt, and jandals or Birkenstocks. It was pretty much the same as what I wore to work, but with more jandals (flip flops) and less tie dye. It was easy, comfortable, and looked good enough.

But for winter, It’s proving more difficult. I don’t have good layering clothes. I don’t have any pants that go with tighter tops. I don’t have the right shoes/boots. I don’t have enough woolly socks. I don’t have the right jacket. Winter clothes are more expensive, and there aren’t any shops nearby. And don’t even get me started on what I can wear if I actually want to exercise! The whole thing is just annoying me.

So, I’ll be really glad to have that work uniform soon. Provided it works with skinny jeans and sneakers, I’ll be pretty much sorted for five days a week. And maybe the other two days, I’ll just hibernate and live in pyjamas. That’s what I did yesterday, and it was pretty great. Totally solid plan… right?



This morning I was flicking through Facebook, tidying up my Timeline (making it slightly more difficult for people to stalk me), and I came across a personality test. You know, those clickbaity, mostly pointless tests that I’m a total sucker for. I know they’re a bit silly, so if I’m forced to post something to see my results, I always post to ‘Only Me’, and then usually delete them as soon as I’ve seen the results.

But one of them must have slipped through the deleting stage, and today it caught my eye. The test I forgot to delete was one of those spider-web types, with different personality traits rated on each ‘arm’, making a weird wonky shape of your personality. It caught my eye because it was shared with the highest rated personality trait and its percentage rating. And mine read…

Anxiety 92%

While somewhat accurate, it was also somewhat jarring to see it pop up on my Facebook feed (which, while honest, is generally more focused on what I see as positive). I think it was also jarring, because even though I know full well that I’m a person who holds a lot of anxiety, that personality trait doesn’t exist in isolation. I’m anxious, but I’m not ONLY anxious.

So I looked at the other traits that stuck out on that little webby chart that was claiming to sum me up and the top four were Anxiety, Complexity, Warmth, and Sensitivity. 

(I feel the need at this point to mention that I have training in psychometric testing, and I know that it’s hard and complicated and the best tests are rigorously tested, and even then have biases and issues. And I also know that this link on Facebook was definitely not rigorously tested,and that it’s fairly meaningless as a result.)

But even with aaaaaallllll the disclaimers, I quite liked this (totally simplistic) little description of me.

I like it because the individual components aren’t necessarily entirely positive, but as a whole it seems kinda balanced. I like it because it’s accurate without being overly complicated. I like it because it just kinda fits.

This isn’t life-changing, or a revelation to me (quite the opposite, really), and I don’t entirely know why I felt compelled to share it, which makes this post a bit difficult to finish off.  But recently I’ve been working on unlearning perfectionism (which is where a lot of that anxiety comes from), and as part of that, I want to share more of those elements of me that do not feel entirely positive. And I also want to write more, even if I can’t find the perfectly wise or funny or clever ending to a post.

So here, I am, ending a weird post about a silly thing I found on Facebook with an entirely unrelated picture, and calling it a day.

Picture of The Campground Kid running in the frost, just because I love it.



The grey-middle

I am both an At Home Parent and a Working Parent. This sounds impossible, right? And if our tendency towards black and white labelling of people and situations was to be trusted, it would be. But from my vantage point in the grey-middle, it’s easy to see that things are not nearly as simple as we’d like to believe.


I work 50+ hours a week, as does Campground Papa. The Campground Kid is awake for maybe 85 hours a week, and she is at daycare for about 21 of those hours. She comes to work with us for about 25 hours a week (our work is at our house, so the line is a bit fuzzy on this one. Our work also has a playground, so it’s not as boring for her as it first sounds).  We are all at home and off work for 2 days a week, and Campground Papa and I have about 2 hours to ourselves between finishing work for the week and picking her up from daycare.

Within each day, we flex around. We alternate pick ups and drop offs at daycare; we swap around bedtimes and sleep-ins; we take turns cooking. The Campground Kid “helps” Campground Papa on his work tasks; I take her for walks; we both take breaks to play tea-set or marble-run; I watch Dinosaur Train with her; Campground Papa sets her up with magnatiles and then does chores; we both try to keep her entertained in the office and laundry; we both frequently fail. When it’s quiet at work, the juggle is relatively easy; when work is busy, it’s not easy at all; when The Campground Kid is out of sorts or overtired, it sometimes feels impossible. But we muddle through it together.

I don’t entirely know what the point of posting this is, but I do know that when I was an At Home Parent, I used to think the life of a Working Parent was hugely different to my own. I didn’t necessarily see it as harder, or as less hard, but I did think it was an almost fundamentally different experience.

2016-10-09 15.16.08

Now, I don’t see it that way. I see a lot of different experiences. I see different levels of juggling and different levels of time away from kids. I see different levels of monotony and different levels of satisfaction. I see different levels of calm and different levels of stress. But none of these levels correspond neatly to “At Home Parents” or “Working Parents”; they vary with hundreds of individual circumstances and personalities and experiences. I see those black and white extremes blurring into the grey-middle, and I think that grey-middle contains most of the interesting stuff.

2017-05-10 09.59.59

And I think this is true of many other labels that we place on parents too. Sure, some people exclusively breastfeed or exclusively formula feed. But many (most?) people do a bit of both, and I think how much they do of each is never the most important thing about their relationship with their baby. Some people sleep train and some people co-sleep, but some people do both (that would be us!) or neither or just whatever works in the moment to get everyone some sleep. Some people are natural birth advocates and had c-sections; some people want all the drugs and arrive at the hospital too late for any pain-medication at all. I am infertile AND a mother. (etc. etc.)

It’s not that I think the black and white labels are useless. They have their place. It’s just that I think the individual stories in the grey-middle are a whole lot more interesting, if we take the time to listen and share.


Holiday thoughts

We took a holiday.

It was wonderful.

We (mostly) had great Autumn weather. Cool crisp mornings, followed by sunny days. My very favourite kind of weather.

Campground Papa and The Campground Kid and Lake Taupo

We saw lovely people in lovely places.

In our ten days, we stayed in five wonderful spots. We spent time with all of The Campground Kid’s grandparents, plus two of her second cousins, two of her first cousins once removed, and one of her second cousins once removed.

Our family and our favourite country were the killer combination that brought us home, and this holiday was all about them.

Family time on the Napier Waterfront

It was lovely.

But it was also hard.

It was hard to say goodbye again to people and places after such short visits. The goodbyes and the things we missed out on made it hard to keep the doubts from creeping in. Would we be happier somewhere different? Could we be doing something different? Should we be different?

It was logistically difficult too. Lots of driving, different food, different beds, different routines. They’re hard on us, and they’re even harder on The Campground Kid.

She coped remarkably. And seeing her outside her routine highlighted just how much she has grown and changed since we arrived in New Zealand seven months ago.  I’m pretty sure I’m biased, but I’m also pretty sure that she’s an amazing kid.

Windy walks on the Wellington Waterfront

It was a special time.

But it’s also quite a relief to be back.  Back home, back to work, back to our routines.

This morning, our first day back, we were a bit tired (thanks to a wild bedtime last night and a cold for Campground Papa), but we were actually happy to get back to work. And The Campground Kid was very happy to get back to her daycare.

We were even happier when work was quiet enough that we could have plenty of coffee breaks and fit in some unpacking and some laundry.

And, despite the doubts, I can’t help but think that a life we’re happy to be back to is a pretty good life.

Listen up: This is what helped me

This week is National Infertility Awareness Week, and the theme for 2017 is Listen Up! If you want to find out more or get involved, check out the stories, social media images, and events on the website.

It’s really hard to know what to say when someone you know is struggling. I’m not just talking infertility here, either. It’s hard to know what to say when someone in having a rough patch in a relationship, when someone is diagnosed with an illness, when someone is experiencing discrimination and harassment, when someone is dealing with loss, when someone is struggling with their mental health, when someone has had a traumatic experience, when someone hurting.

Emily MacDowell Empathy Card

Card by Emily McDowell

And the difficulty of finding the “right words” is one of the reasons that I really appreciate this year’s Infertility Awareness theme, because really the best advice really comes down to one word: listen.

But even though this advice is simple, it’s far from easy. And because one word doesn’t really cut it (or at least doesn’t make for much of an article), there are many people around who are telling us what NOT to say and what NOT to do. This advice absolutely has its place in raising awareness around many issues, and it can be very helpful. But it can also make interactions feel a little like a conversational minefield, where even though you’re trying your best you never know when you might accidentally offend.

Emily MacDowell Empathy Card

Card by Emily McDowell

If you’re supporting someone with infertility, the last thing you both need is to be second-guessing everything you say. So I thought I might share some of the things that have been helpful me to hear or read over the years.

Firstly, I want to reiterate that one-word advice, with a little addendum. Because, seriously, listening is the number one most important thing you can do. But for this to work, you need to also care about what you’re hearing and you need to listen to understand (it’s amazing how often we all listen to respond or to give advice or to correct or to judge – and I’m definitely including myself in that “we” too, this stuff is not easy!)

Emily MacDowell Empathy Card

Card by Emily McDowell

Secondly, I want to add two of my favourite articles. This first piece is about holding space. It focuses on the work of a wonderful palliative care nurse, but the advice holds up for so many areas, including the grief that can come with infertility. The second one is infertility-specific, and is a letter to family and friends of someone struggling with infertility. Not everyone will share the exact experiences of the author, but a lot of the feelings and advice she shares were very true for me and many others I’ve known in the same situation.

And finally, I wanted to give some credit to the amazing people who have supported me over the years by sharing some of the words and actions that have really stuck with me and eased the hurt of this hard situation.

  • One of the simplest has been just hearing “Ohh, that is so hard. Do you want to talk about it?” (and respecting if the answer is “no” or “not right now”).
  • And if this is followed up with a hefty dose of empathetic listening, and very little advice (unless explicitly requested), all the better.
  • I will always appreciate the heads-ups and private announcements I’ve received from friends before a public pregnancy announcement. When you’ve seen what feels like a million negative pregancy tests, a picture of a positive one can be a real punch in the gut. But with some preparation time, it’s always easier. A quick text or a little conversation aside let me process my sadness for myself before getting to the happiness for my friend.
  • And I also appreciated the addition of some rituals to the infertility process. Our society has many rituals that help us process sadness and celebrate happiness, but there aren’t really any that apply easily to the sadness of infertility. My husband and I had several little rituals with our “treatment days”that helped them to feel less terrifying, and even though the rituals were silly, they really helped. Another infertility ritual I’ve heard of (though it didn’t really work in my situation) is the “period party”, where every month that someone’s faced with the disappointment of yet another period, they drink wine and eat sushi (or similarly non-pregnancy approved options) with a close friend.  What a great way to add some fun to an otherwise shitty situation.
  • One of the only good things that came from my experience with infertility is that being open about it led others to share their stories. I was proud to bear witness to my friends’ struggles, and it was reassuring to know that I was far from alone. It’s easy to shy away from talking about things, but basically – don’t!
  • Everyone’s different on this one, but I loved to be included in kid-stuff when I didn’t have a kid (birthdays, baby showers etc.). When all your friends have kids, if you’re not included in the kid-stuff, it can feel like you’re not included in anything.
  • But equally, it’s great if not everything is kid stuff. I always loved having some time for a proper chat or some grown-up time. This is good for parents AND people struggling with infertility; win-win.
  • Overall, the message I most appreciated hearing was “you are strong and wonderful and important, and whatever happens here, you’ll still be a great person and I’ll still love you.”  I didn’t need a cheerleader – I was way too aware of the various possibilities to believe “don’t worry, it will happen one day!” and I just needed to know people were there. This is one of those things that I think we usually assume go without saying. But when you’re faced with judgement and sadness from so many sides, this is not something that goes without saying. I recommend saying it!
Emily McDowell Empathy Card

Card by Emily McDowell

And if all else fails, you really can’t go wrong with an Emily McDowell Empathy Card. (All images in this post are from her site). They’re pretty much great enough that I could have replaced this whole post with a link to her site. But that wouldn’t be much of a blog now, would it?

Listen Up!

This week is National Infertility Awareness Week, and the theme for 2017 is Listen Up! If you want to find out more or get involved, check out the stories, social media images, and events on the website.

Last time I wrote something for National Infertility Awareness Week, it was 2014. I was six months pregnant, equal parts excited and freaked out, and I very much felt like our whole messy infertility journey was behind us.

Three years later, I have come to realise just how wrong I was to think it was all over and done with. Because in the last three years I’ve learned a thing or two, and one of the big things I’ve learned is that infertility doesn’t end just because you get pregnant. Infertility doesn’t end with a healthy baby. Infertility doesn’t end when you have a toddler.  The effects of infertility may never end entirely.

And the thing is, I could have learned this earlier, if only I’d been willing to listen up.

I was in infertility groups with people parenting after infertility or suffering from secondary infertility. And despite everything they told me, despite me hearing their stories, despite seeing their sadness, my attitude was pretty much “Oh, piss off – I would give absolutely anything to be in your position. And you have the audacity to COMPLAIN about it?”

I understand why I couldn’t listen at that point. I was in the trenches, I was deeply sad, I was unable to see past my own grief.

But I was still wrong.  These people were struggling, and they deserved to have a place and a voice in the infertility community. They did not deserve to have their stories and experiences dismissed and ignored because of my perceived position in the “Pain Olympics”.  I can’t go back and change anything, but I can now add my voice to theirs (while also maintaining a whole lot of empathy for those who are unable to listen to me because of their own experiences).

So, if you’re in a place to listen to some stories and thoughts around parenting after infertility and secondary infertility, here goes. (If you’re not in that place, or you’re not comfortable reading or thinking about periods, this may be the time to bow out.)

In the early days of parenting, I had moved into a whole different trench. The endless slog of newborn life is hard. But the endless slog of newborn life while constantly thinking “this is everything I ever wanted, and everything we tried so long and hard for, I should be enjoying every moment” is even harder.

Once we were past the intense early days, I got more comfortable with not always feeling grateful. But then my hormones had a major change (or something), and every month for 8 months straight, I thought “either my period is coming back or I’m pregnant”. The answer was actually c) neither of the above, and going through that mindfuck month after month was the last thing I needed while also parenting a very active toddler.

Eventually my period did come back. And it even gave some indication of being somewhat regular. I thought that I was lucky enough to be one of the people with PCOS for whom a pregnancy “resets” some hormonal balance. I started tracking my cycles, and I was hopeful every month that I might be pregnant. But any semblance of regularity was short lived, and my lack of period was unfortunately not because of pregnancy.

Pregnancy announcements started to sting again. First pregnancy announcements didn’t bother me anymore, but with a friend group mostly comprised of people with at least one child, there was no shortage of second and subsequent pregnancy announcements.

And the questions stung too. “When are you going to get on with it and give her a sibling?” was just as hard to hear as “when are you planning to have kids?”, and a lot more people were willing to ask it.

The first time around, I could always distract from the pain with some “at leasts”. “At least I get to sleep in…” “At least I can still travel and hike and go out at night…” “At least I can enjoy some time to myself…” “At least I don’t have to clean up bodily fluids all day…” “At least when I tidy my house, it stays that way…” The second time around, there weren’t so many of those.

The first time around, I had time and energy for self-care. I could avoid kids entirely. I got enough sleep. The second time, not so much.

But at the same time, I had a distraction. A busy, cute, amazing distraction, who I am truly truly grateful for. I didn’t have so much time to wallow, especially when we decided to take on a huge move and a major lifestyle shift. I had a whole lot of practice in how to deal with hard stuff that I didn’t have at first.

And, probably most importantly, this time around I’m just more comfortable with leaving it unresolved. The difference between 0 kids and 1 kid is bigger than the difference between 1 and 2 (or more). Or it seems that way to me, at least. And that smaller difference means that I don’t feel so much like I need to KNOW RIGHT NOW what my life will be like. I can accept where we are a bit more without endlessly trying to change it.

Because that’s where it remains for us right now: unresolved.  I don’t know if we’ll ever have another kid. I don’t know if there might be a time in the future that I’m willing to try treatment again. I don’t know if we might foster or adopt or get pregnant without treatment. I don’t know if we’ll take a year off and live in a van and be grateful to be a small family. I just don’t know what life will bring our way.

But I do know that as I try to make peace with the way things are (for now), I’m going to make the effort to speak out a little bit more. Because stories matter, and vulnerability is powerful. And as I speak out a little more, I’m going to listen up a lot more. Because ALL stories matter, and I don’t want to lose sight of that.







Sometimes I cook lots of vegetables and meals from scratch and new and interesting recipes and homemade bread.

Sometimes I make clothes and hats and art and cool projects.

Sometimes all our clothes are neatly folded and put away as soon as they’re washed and our laundry hamper is empty and our house doesn’t have any random piles of clothes and sheets floating around in various states of doneness waiting for the next step.

Sometimes I read wise books and clever articles and smart thinkers. And sometimes I even have smart thoughts and interesting conversations about them.

Sometimes our house is tidy and everything is put away and there are no toys strewn around the lounge.

Sometimes I stretch and practice yoga and do strength training exercises and take long walks.

Sometimes the dishes are all away and the benches are clean and shiny and the compost bin is emptied and the floor is mopped.

Sometimes I write, here or in my journal or on the mostly-abandoned novel that I still want to write. And sometimes what I write is actually good.

Sometimes our vegetable garden is weeded and tidy and the crops are harvested and used in our healthy dinners or blanched and frozen for later use.

Sometimes I write letters and organise thoughtful gifts well in advance of when they’re needed. 

Gratuitous picture of the sunrise from my sister’s deck.

But sometimes surviving a 12 hour work day (including stupid mistakes and interviewing two job candidates and ringing seemingly endless tour operators to arrange tours that then get cancelled) without shouting at anyone is enough.

Sometimes getting my kid to daycare with a packed lunch and picking her up on time is enough.

Sometimes a packet of soup for lunch and macaroni cheese for dinner is enough. 

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that these things are enough. 

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that I am enough. 

But, sure enough, I am.

And so are you. 

And sometimes we all need a little reminder of that.