I’ve managed to survive 22. For most people that likely isn’t a massive achievement, 22 is generally a rather nondescript year, without major party or celebration. For me though, I’m looking back and thinking “Wow, what a year”.

In the last year there have been major ups and downs. For the first six months I was pregnant; which was an adventure in itself. I was involved in a road traffic accident which left me out of work for a bit, and in physio (not fun). I was told I was expecting a girl who then turned out to be a boy. I had pre-eclampsia so spent a fair chunk of time living in CUMH, eating diabolical hospital food. After a 35 hour induction and labour, I gave birth to a very tiny little man who I’ve spent the last six months watching grow up into a proper little person. I started this blog; which became much bigger of a thing than I’d ever thought it would. And now I’m about to head back to work, leaving my baby behind for those hours a day, and deal with the general public once more.

My 22nd birthday was spent in work, followed by a surprise dinner cooked by the lovely man friend, who invited my best friends around. It was wonderful, there was non-alcoholic wine (Schloer is amazing for pregnos!), and I felt very, very loved.

My 23rd birthday started at 3am, and 3.30, and 4, and 4.30… and I got vomited on at 6.30am. I spent most of the day with a demanding tyrant who isn’t much of a conversationalist, from 3am, who refused to let me sleep. And yet even just that, before the beautiful flowers and lovely evening I had after the man friend came home, made me feel loved, in a different way. I look down at that little hand on mine, and up at that cheeky sideways smile, and regardless of the fact that he’s holding sleep hostage and leaking all kinds of fluids onto me, and none of it matters.


22 was a stressful, eventful year. When I fill out the Holmes and Rahe Stress scale, it has me off the charts. In the end though, I wouldn’t have traded it for the world. It’s been an experience, I can certainly say that. I’m a different person for sure. One who can cope on less sleep, less coffee and less adult conversation. And ready for whatever 23 brings.


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