Motherhood is full of cliches.

I look back now on the hazy, romantic, uncomfortable and strange days spent growing a new life inside me and wonder, did I really realise I was pregnant?

Sure, my stomach – ankles, thighs, chins – were expanding daily.

Yes every spare inch in our house was slowly filling up with essential baby items.

My phone’s photo gallery was resembling a time lapse of my expanding stomach and fridge door turning into an ultrasound collage.

Without doubt, most conversations started and ended discussing the contents of my uterus.

So pregnant? Maybe? Yes.

But having a baby? No, not really.

An auntie to three gorgeous boys and the last amongst a lot of friends to have babies, I thought I knew what was coming my way. Those cliched comments about never again enjoying a lie in or kissing goodbye to peeing in peace, seemed to be just that, cliches. It’d be different for us right? We had this life thing sussed. Parenting was just the next phase.

How blind I was.

The good, the bad, the ugly.

The love, the joy, the obsession.

The frustration, the blame, the guilt.

I had no idea.

So this is my story. My unfiltered journey into motherhood. A story I expect telling will be some form of therapy. And sharing may give you some too.