Celebrate!!

‘Let’s throw a kids party’.

We were recovering from yet another fun filled, busy weekend. The Youth Charity Concert I helped to organise with the youth of our church had been a roaring success. But, as ever, my mind was looking for the next project. Feet exhausted from wearing fashion statement shoes, hubby desperately trying to catch up on the work my latest venture had distracted him from, this was hardly the time to start discussing the next big thing.

We’ve been married 4 exciting years. We’ve had our bumps in the road but no bumps in the belly. It seems as though from DAY 001 of Mr & Mrs’dom, there have been Baby Watch Patrollers, positioned at every public and private event, armed with enough questions to put CSI, FBI, Scotland Yard and the MET to shame. If you yawn or appear slightly under the weather, the Baby Watch Patrollers raise their eyebrow at a 45 degree angle; their lips are poised ready to ask,

‘Could it be?’

‘You just need to relax’, ‘Are you taking your folic acid?’, ‘What about the ovulation tests’... Oh that’s right! I forgot you graduated with honours from the school of medical science. At first it used to make me smile and I would kindly say ‘no’. As the months grew into years, the smile was flattened to a frown. My answers became less kind and more defensive. I would dodge all Baby Patrollers, all discussions of babies and busy myself in all kinds of activities.

The problem is my busyness is a tool. I often feel that if I stop, just for one minute, I’ll be forced to feel all that I don’t want to. I’ll just stop in the middle of this spinning earth and get consumed with the reality of my emotions.

Let me fill you in…

A short while ago, we attended our very first fertility specialist appointment. The journey to get there had been a long and sometimes misguided one. Google is great – very informative but, when it comes to making babies I have concluded that it can be totally useless. There are many ‘get pregnant fast’ schemes, fooling you into believing that there is some kind of universal trick to making your belly swell. The truth is it’s just Gods unexplainable celestial biology – a miracle. We as humans are just catching up to his science. He alone has graduated from gynaecology with the first of all first classes and we are in science class at primary school, writing out the learning objective. A view that our gynaecologist shared,

‘What we do here is not rocket science. All we need is one sperm, one egg and a place for them to meet’.

His humour and thick foreign accent (can’t quite figure out where he is from yet) was so soothing. He didn’t speak as if we were the reduced stock at the back of Tesco’s. His 25 years of baby creating experience, spoke volumes and we were instantly at peace. We’d found a doctor with a heart and not just a fancy title. Trust and believe that finding a decent doctor these days is as rare as finding a Torie politician supporting mass immigration. We have had doctors declaring things about my womb, one who made more eye contact with the laptop than with me and one who talked as though he’d been picked out of the kidadulthood move – yeah bruv?! So this, this was a major breakthrough.

Naturally, this called for a celebratory lunch with hubby. We had a clear plan outlined. We knew what steps we had to take and it felt great. Our TTC (slang for ‘trying to conceive’, lingo I’ve picked up on my googling missions) journey was getting closer to the goal. But, somehow on the journey home, the reality of it all started to play tricks with my mind. The good old fashioned ‘why’ game had come back with vengeance featuring me as the contestant and if I wasn’t careful, I was going to win a trip to ‘self pity’ lane.

‘Ok…honey, I thought the plan was to invite just three. Since when did it become a troop?’

I know my hubby couldn’t tell all that had been processed in my mind between my announcement and his question but, for me this kiddie party was just what we needed. Somehow, in the middle of my ‘why’ game, I had concluded that our TTC journey didn’t have to mean the absence of children. It didn’t just have to be a time of complicated ovulation tests and intrusive temperature gauges. Just because we don’t have our children yet, didn’t mean we didn’t have any children. We’ve named our children, have their first outfits bought and even started to map out their lives, yes, even their careers. We are just waiting for their arrival. We also have a whole brood of adopted children that we can borrow from time to time.

So I decided and my hubby lovingly went along with my crazy idea, to throw a party with all our future children’s big sisters and brothers. We had the works; musical statues with delighted winners and sore losers, mesmerised children chasing after balloons, awkwardly passionate dance steps, formula one races for the toilet, home made cake and party bags filled with all the toys parents love to hate. Even though, the day before I had a run in with the worlds worst GP, we decided to celebrate irrespective and pictured our mini me’s celebrating with us.

I am NOT Superwoman!!!

Tears ruining the perfect make up on my face and every muscle aching from too many late nights, I looked at my ‘to do’ list. It seemed to stretch the entirety of womanhood, from mundane activities like doing the laundry through to developing my business empire. On the sheets of paper in front of me seemed to be the tasks for 5 different people, the business woman, the wife, the children’s ministry member, the daughter, the friend, the sister, it didn’t seem to end.

‘I’m soo tired’ A shriek of frustration that came from the depths of my soul. ‘I just can’t take this anymore!’

My mind started playing tricks on me. I jumped on the ‘I’m just not good enough’ emotional merry go round. It reeled off the mental record of things I should of, could of and would have done; like the unforgiving boss completing an internal appraisal of myself.

After I had bent the ear of everyone who cared to listen, I faced my internal mirror. I took a good look at my busyness and concluded that I was achieving very little. I came to the strange but very true conclusion that I am not Superwoman. I am not a fan of ‘I can’t’s but aren’t there only so many ‘I can’s one can have? I can try to relax my hair whilst making dinner and encouraging a sister on the phone. The reality is one of those tasks will suffer, that evening I could end up in A&E with blood pouring from my scalp, a cindered kitchen but a very encouraged sister. The realisation of my true identity as a forever newlywed and not superwoman threw up many issues.

We have been taught from the beginning of time that women are the greatest multi-taskers. We have been praised for our ability to juggle tasks like trained circus performers but, what if the learned psychologists were wrong? There are millions of women who can empathise with how I have been feeling; tired, worn out with a list of tasks long enough for the circumference of the earth. Of course, that idea does not settle too well with a busy body like me. I still agree with those learned people. It’s not that we cannot multitask; it’s that we grab at soo many tasks at one time. We snatch them as if they were the last pair of shoes at the Boxing Day sale. So quick to select the tasks that we don’t always weigh up the pros and cons of it. We don’t always ask questions like, what affect will this have on my time, is this time that I have to spare, how will this affect my resources? Surely a better understanding of each task will naturally lead to a better management of time, effort and energy. So instead of relaxing my hair whilst cooking, I could cook first whilst speaking to my sister and relax my hair on the weekend. Bad multitasking means that either little time is spent on each task or the attention given to each task is severely divided. Either way, the end result is an express trip to the Isle of Guilt.



A career or a business brings multitasking to a whole new dimension. Juggling a successful career or an expanding business whilst trying to build a happy home could prove challenging. Sometimes when I get home from the office (especially when I have programmed my mind to sleep upon arrival), the will to cook and the desire to pick up laundry that magically missed the basket, mysteriously disappears. The apron doesn’t look a good enough exchange for the supercareer cape woman I have so delicately wrapped round my shoulders.

In the workplace women now how have the pressure to perform just like superhero’s have to conquer their evil counterpart. Wives of old used to have ‘cook outs’ and ‘baking days’ but now with the world’s favourite kitchen appliance - the microwave - u can be ‘Miss Career’ and ‘Best Food Warmer’ all in one. I am by no means banishing us to a prison of nappies and Jamie Oliver re runs. The person writing this has dreams, aspirations, plans and objectives that are carefully conspiring for world domination. Believe it or not, there are women who place their businesses and careers far above their husband and their children. They love their family but continuously arrange their everyday tasks around their career and not around their family. Things like happily spending an extra hour in the office which means that you’re not able to spend that hour with your husband or children. We ought to strive for a life of balance.

Sometimes in the midst of our multitasking, we forget that we are part of a formidable team. We have husbands!! What an underestimated asset we have by our sides. I believe there are a number of tasks/projects we struggle with that we could work with our husbands to achieve. Granted not everyman might want to help your daughter make her costume for the ballet recital but he might be thrilled to give you direction for your business ideas. You might just discover untapped potential buried on the inside of him. I believe in every relationship there is a visionary and an implementer perhaps, you can see opportunities but lack the momentum to see that come to pass. Every superhero has some sort of side kick, someone that goes along with him on all his adventures. Batman has Robin and Superman has Lois Lane. As wives I think we are guilty at times of forgetting that we are the side kick. I say that not to cause offence but to make you realise, the superhero’s aren’t anything without their side kicks. If Clark Kent and Lois Lane really did exist in today’s society, Lois Lane would be the breadwinner in that household. Think about it! Clark Kent would forever be flying off to save the world from the many disasters, so what work would he achieve to bring money in?! I wonder if he would help her to cook and clean?! Every good prince needs a princess to save, imagine if Rapunzel decided to buy her freedom by creating lace wigs with her hair! They are no less a princess for needing rescuing, both characters make up the entire story.
I am getting my life in check. I have learnt that not every good idea needs to be executed now. The world will not end if I don’t send that email or arrange my clothes in colour and season order. I have come back to basics to even question what my purpose is on this earth. Sounds deep doesn’t it? The definition of that purpose ensures that I only do the tasks that are centred on that. My core purpose aside from being the female version of Richard Branson (in business style only as I don’t have an aspiration to set sail in a hot air balloon), is just to be a WIFE.
With the tissues and the tears packed away, my vision and focus returns to start a new to do list.

Number one: Pick up the forever newlywed apron and drop my flying solo superwoman cape.