On International Women's Day

March 8, 2017

I rather like International Women's Day. 

Today I've seen a whole heap of inter-girl respect and appreciation shared on social media and it's awesome. Whenever I hear another woman say

'Oh, I don't get on with other girls.' or 'Other girls just don't like me.', I inwardly cringe and immediately want to run as far away from that sea-witch as I can.
Because girls are flipping brilliant. Anyone who has been in a nightclub toilet at 3am looking to borrow a hairbrush or crying over a bloke will know that. 

 

I come from a family of strong men and women; women who have faced trials and tribulations and overcome them with utter tenacity, ferocity and a little bit of glamour at the same time. I have female friends who fill me with sheer joy, inspirational writers whose works I always keep close by for an off day and a midwife who is sunshine in human form. Wipe any notions of 1960's matrons barking at you, that woman is like a female Santa Claus. 
These women are badass. 

 

Some of the internet trolls might not get it, but celebrating International Women's Day doesn't mean that I hate all men, in the same way that celebrating my birthday doesn't mean that everyone else can bore off for the day. Today is supposed to be inspirational and spread a little positivity. 

 

I started this blog because it was cathartic. I've wanted to keep it honest from the beginning, because I read a number of blogs that just seemed... well, smug really. Lovely, beautifully designed blogs that I'd read on the train into London with a bag of dry pretzels in my bag to keep the sickness at bay and growing cramps in my stomach, and I felt utterly alienated from women who were supposed to be going through the same thing. 

If any of my friends, or friends of friends or if there are girls who don't particularly like me (even then, I'm sure they'd warm up after a slice of my chicken pie and a big glass of wine...) but love a good hate-stalk end up reading this blog, pregnant or not, and take just a tiny bit of solace in the fact that someone else has had some really embarrassing shit happen to them, I'll feel like I've done a little bit of girl-to-girl service. 

 

And I've found myself in some really uncomfortable positions during the last seven months, and that's before we even get to the undignified finish... I'm not even talking cute 'awkward' moments of mild blushing as I pop a little tub of ice-cream on the check-out before pointing to the neat bump under my shirt by way of explanation.
No, I had arms FULL of snacks which I dropped onto the counter, before running back to grab another jumbo bag of Doritos as the queue formed behind me. I didn't even have a big enough bump to show off as an excuse. 

 

I'm not giving you girls back-handed 'honesty' that's actually edited to make me sound good, I'll happily tell you about the time I threw up into my scarf because I had no other vomit vessel to hand, retching then folding like some kind of demented origami enthusiast and frantically trying not to run out of fabric. OH, and that was on an airport shuttle bus in front of thirty people at 7am in the morning. 

 

Aside from the unbecoming situations in which I've found my pregnant self over the last few months, it's actually quite empowering to be able to grow a person. It's empowering to have a platform to speak about it on and it's empowering that other girls, even those sans baby right now, are starting, slowly! to recognise this blog as a little bit of down-to-earth, frank friendliness that says 'Hey, you're not the only one who feels like that.'. 

And that, nestled in a long, long list, is just another little thing that I'm grateful for and celebrating today. 

Happy International Women's Day. x

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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