My golden rule has always been “never blame yourself, always blame the…” *insert scales/ favourite jeans/ weather/hair straighteners/ice-cream here. This is a mantra that has served me well.

Turns out a bit of positivity and self-preservation does indeed go a long way; I found out yesterday that actually I weigh ½ stone less than my scales say, so I was right to question them instead of myself. Although as a mummy there always seems to be some sort of guilt/self-doubt bubbling under the surface. At times it does feel a bit like the confidence you had pre-baby appears to have been taken away with the placenta.

Lyla possibly sensed this the other day when after a Tangled marathon I was told “you are NEVER leaving this tower, EVER again”. When I say told, I mean sternly reprimanded before being accosted with a hairbrush by a 3 year old in fits of giggles. Must say, she does a mean back-comb. If you have a high pain threshold.

Soon to be sporting hospital chic I’ve been stockpiling Tangfastics (always good when you feel a bit woozy) and buying leopard print sweatshirts (same). Had wondered what the doctor’s reaction would be to me telling him that the thought of at least 30 minutes solid sleep, general anaesthetic or no general anaesthetic, is super appealing. I doubt anything surprises them in the recovery ward; once after coming round from an op I thanked the nurse for an amazing and glam night out.

Bet even the most relaxed of establishments would frown upon a customer sporting a hideous, green open-backed gown with ‘hospital property’ emblazoned across it. May have found the exception to my rule, “never blame yourself, always blame the fact you’re wearing general surgery attire at a cocktail bar” doesn’t really work…