I don’t have kids, but that didn’t stop me from attending a concert tailored for toddlers. What I discovered was a scene equal to any rave or disco you fondly remember.
Burying one’s father is an exercise in change, your old self, your concept of time, and indeed, the merit of what remains all flies out the window.
Let me tell you about an unforgettable night I spent with my husband. It was he and I, sans trousers, sans inhibitions, sans stomach lining.
We mothers have a lot of opinions. However, it was the level of complaint aimed at the poor PR people of Huggies that makes me think we’re entirely lost the plot.
The UK has just recognised that new fathers are also subject to postnatal depression. Perhaps it’s time we follow their example, and start looking in our own backyards.