A new everything

I remember the final day in hospital with my first. So tired, but the freshest I’d been in days, following the first hair wash post birth. You couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. She was perfect to us. Things could not have felt more perfect either. And as we walked through the hospital doors into the world with her on our own, we were very much on our own too.

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Beady eyes

I needed to pop into the supermarket. I was wearing my “I hope I don’t see anyone” attire. My matted hair was hidden under a cap, my sunglasses remained on for as long as possible and my milk stained top from breastfeeding in the front seat was disguised by a sweatshirt I found in the boot. I felt distressed at the thought of someone seeing me. But I had to go. I needed baby wipes. Why’s it always baby wipes?

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