Grieve, we all do it differently.



No, the cold gloomy Johannesburg weather didn’t throw me into the pits of despair over the weekend…

The old saying goes that time heals all wounds, I tend do disagree. You see, today is my biological father’s 8th birthday, not on earth, a big one as he would have turned 50 today. As much as I was okay about it, when my sister phoned to tell me that she will be putting flowers on his grave today, I’m not that okay today. Maybe it was the horrible dreams about death I had the whole of last night or the unexpected message someone posted on Facebook. But today, I kind of miss him. Today my heart is really sore, and that’s when I realise that after eight years, the pain is still very much real and hurts just as much as the day you left us.

When my Father passed away, he left three woman with a mountain of unfinished business. A real business and lots and lots of unresolved issues and feelings behind. You see, a lot of water ran into the ocean leading up to my fathers passing , and wherever he is now, is probably for the better.

But I do miss him. I haven’t given him and his death any thought as that is how I grieve. Things are swept under the rug for another day, and I move on and get on with life. Crying wasn’t going to help me pass Matric, grieve sure as hell wasn’t going to put me through university. No, I moved on and “forgot” about it.

So on days like today, on his birthday, I miss him. I spare a thought of what could have been and little bit by little bit I deal with the sorrow and pain that still lingers in my heart over what happened and why he decided to leave.

Happy 50th Birthday to you!



On my third Mothersday


I am a member of a very popular Facebook Mommy group and yesterday made me so sad to even scroll through my newsfeed. The things I read was truly awful. I get that for a lot of women it is a platform to vent as most women can vouch that you lose a lot of friends when you fall pregnant.
Reading stories of husbands who won’t wish their own wives a Happy Mothersday but will walk up to their mom and wish them well. That’s crap and I feel deeply sorry for you, especially for a Mom who’s lost her own mom and it’s her first Mothersday without her mom. But as one lady aptly pointed out, Mothersday is supposed to be about colourful macaroni necklaces, handmade cards and tight hugs from your kids. If Mothersday is all about a gift for you, I think you’ve lost sight of what it really is about. You have birthdays and other occasions where the day is all about you.
Appreciate your children in that moment, the love and joy that they really bring you. Irrespective of the late nights of teething or aching tummies, the terrible tantrums. Because time flies, they won’t stay this small forever and then you’ll look back and regret that you sulked over a Mothersday present where you could have spent time making memories even if it was making French toast with your last four eggs and the cut offs from the loaf of bread in the cupboard.

I hope your Mothersday was spent with the people you love and that you truly felt appreciated.

The realisation

Like the most things in life, any invention or great discovery was sparked by an idea. My blog become just that, a thought the night our second baby was born.

You might think that this is a weird moment to decide to start blogging, but allow me to explain.

I have always been a creative. Not artsy fartsy creative, I never felt like I belonged with the creative’s at varsity. But I need something as a release in order to escape from the everyday.

The Easter 2015 long weekend started off with me and my bump off to the hospital for our weekly check-up. The plan was to go to church afterwards, but like most doctor’s appointments, the gynae was a bit behind schedule due to an emergency C-section.

So the Church plan fell through and we decided to have our fish lunch and I started unpacking boxes (yes, we moved into our new place two days prior). Unpacking boxes ended up me starting to nest and I could not sit still. But, do not for one moment think anything was ready for the arrival of our newest addition. No, her crib was still in a box, no clothes unpacked into the chest of drawers. NOTHING. On late Sunday afternoon we finally went to church. Well, my water broke after church. Good timing right? Not so much, but everything happens for a reason.

I was admitted to hospital on 5 April 2015, already dilated. I spent half the night alone in hospital, as much as I would have wanted my husband there, he had to go back home as our oldest was crying for him.

After spending another long lonely day in hospital filled with check-ups and walking up and down endless amounts of stairs. Nothing much exciting happened.

The gynae decided to give me magic tablets to quicken my labour and around 19:00 the nurses moved me to the delivery room. After one hour and fourty minutes of full on labour, our newest addition entered the world at 20:40. Naturally. No medication.

And this is where the idea was sparked. My body had just endured a lot. As I got out of the shower, I caught a glimpse of my “new” body.

It was far from the body I had as a 21 year old. It wasn’t firm anymore; in fact my tummy resembled cookie dough. Mushy and soft from stretching for 9 months. My breasts weren’t perky anymore. They had grown to the size of a small melon preparing to nourish my baby.

In that raw emotional state I thought to myself: “Your body might not look like that 21 year old anymore. But in your imperfections you are actually still perfect.”

My body had changed. My life had changed for a second time. I was a mother again.

And that’s when it really sank in.

Nothing will ever be the same again, and this journey is just going to become more interesting.

Image found here.