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I attempted to board my flight to Sydney yesterday and the attendant stopped me, asked how many weeks pregnant I was, snatched my doctor’s certificate, and studied it suspiciously. “Wait here,” she said, while passengers politely sidestepped me and disappeared down the jetway.

Every airline has different regulations for flying while pregnant so even if you think you know, double check. Then check again.

At 31 weeks, it’s my last trip for the foreseeable future.

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Four nights in a room to myself (practically), someone bringing me meals, checking on me, giving me medication and nurturing. All expenses paid (except for the epidural).

All I have to do to earn that little vay-cay is give birth.

Wait a second- what?

Yup. Giving birth is the ultimate excuse to stop. doing. all. the. things.

Is this sad, hilarious, or just insane?

I think what this means is,

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I’ve got one cracked nipple, one leaky boob, barf on my shirt, and haven’t showered in three days. It’s 2:00PM and just spend 45 minutes trying to settle my baby before army rolling out of her nursery like a ninja so I could go slam a bowl of cereal for lunch, only to notice I’m out of milk.

Hi, you might know me. I’m a new Mother.

In order to stay alive for the next few days,

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A Healthy Apple Crisp.

Apples are in season here in Australia and comfort food is on the menu- that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it!

I swear this pregnancy is making me crave desserts like there’s no tomorrow (because in three more months there won’t be- all the days will run together).

In the spirit of comfort and hibernation, I pulled out a recipe my Mom wrote down for me and I think it originally came from my late Grandmother.

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Brought to you by Starting Blocks

Have you ever gotten in trouble with a Kindergarten teacher? What about as an adult? I have. Teachers are incredible but discipline is part of their job and they take it seriously when you don’t do your homework.

Let me introduce you to Starting Blocks so you won’t end up in the naughty corner.

I got a panicked text message from my friend Jackie one afternoon;

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Is a second pregnancy really THAT different?

“All pregnancies are different,” They said.

I didn’t believe them

My current condition brings along a colourful cast of unfamiliar symptoms; bad skin, stray neck hairs, and worst of all, the dreaded all-day-nausea. I was unprepared for this but I’m learning how to deal. These are my tips on how to have a better second pregnancy.

My first pregnancy was a breeze for which I’ve always been grateful.

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I’m an expat, which doesn’t help the situation, but parenthood is a foreign land to anyone who hasn’t been there before so I’d say we are all in the same, unfamiliar boat. Here are five ways for new Mums to stay social.

Modern Mummyhood

There are many reasons Mothers today are more isolated today than ever; moving away from family, demanding careers, cultural pressure to do it all, and living more of our lives online.

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This month my photography assignment is to take a portrait without a face. Challenge! Starting to get into some more abstract concepts which starts the brain churning.

It’s been a productive and busy month, my husband is changing jobs, we found out we are having another little girl and I’ve gone and dyed my hair gray. Lot’s of change.

For my self-portrait, I decided to show my new gray hair. I love that it makes me slightly uncomfortable.

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Brought to you by Maternity Sale.

Pregnancy is not only hard on the body, it’s painful to the wardrobe. Here, I’ll show you six ways to style a simple black maternity dress so you can save money, brain power, and aggravation.

As a pregnant woman, I want to feel confident, stay comfortable, and save skrilla on clothes that I can only wear for a few months.

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Some Women regret Motherhood and I can see why. So much of it is tangled up in our identity whether we like it or not. I’ll explain what I mean.

Motherhood and Identity

My daughter gave me an identity but not How you Might Think.

Yes, she made me a Mother, the instant shift which occurs with a child’s birth, but that’s not what I’m talking about. When ‘Mother’ landed on-top of my identity totem pole (wife,

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