I’m going to run the risk of upsetting a few of my pre-kid friends with this, but hey, they have an abundance of kid-free time to get over it and being my friends, they hopefully know it’s sentiment is well meant. Well, kinda! I became a mum at 21, relatively young in this whole mum game – certainly as most of my friends were still globe-trotting or interning at various media hotbeds at the time. But no, not me – I was married, mortgaged and up-the-duff before 22 hit. I think because of this I had relatively little time to contemplate motherhood , what it would be like, what my child might look like, my birth et al. Fast forward 10 years, and my well-travelled friends have nabbed themselves their “keepers” and are now planning their brood – the difference being, they’ve had plenty of time to consider their dream life once they’ve done the deed. But as a well-worn, old cynic in this motherhood thang, I’m here to shatter a few illusions and have a little whinge – sorry, not sorry!

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