The Surgical Dilemma

 

Dear Diary,

I’m thinking a lot today about the things people don't say out loud.

When you tell people you have Stage 4 Endometriosis, they often say, "Can't you just have a hysterectomy?" They think it’s like taking out a faulty part in a car. I wish it were that simple.

For me, the damage is so extensive that it’s connected everything. It’s in my bowel, it’s wrapped around my pelvis, and it radiates through my back until I can’t tell where the CP pain ends and the Endo begins.

My doctors and I have had the hard conversations. Because the Endo has caused so much tethering, surgery is a massive risk. We aren't just talking about a recovery period; we are talking about the fact that I could wake up with a stoma because the organs are so fused together.

It’s a choice between the "devil and the deep blue sea." Do I live with the daily pain and the bowel issues, or do I risk a surgery that could change my life in a way I’m not ready for?

Living with Stage 4 means managing a "frozen" reality. It’s not just "bad periods." It’s a full-body management job every single day.

I’m staying in the recliner today. My back is screaming, my bowel is playing up, and I'm just trying to keep the "Manager" in me from feeling overwhelmed by it all.

love 😍 

---

Support Groups

• Endometriosis UK: Leading charity in the UK. Helpline: 0808 808 2227.

• The Endometriosis Network (UK): Specialised support for complex decisions.

• Scope & CP Sport (UK): Advice on managing disability and health.

Note to international readers: Please look for support groups in your own countries. I can’t be certain of every single one, but you don't have to manage this alone.

Stickability and Strength: A Review of Matt Stabb’s 'Keep on Keeping On

 Dear Diary,

It’s Wednesday, and I am finally sharing my thoughts on Matt Stabb’s biography. Reading his book is like sitting down for a coffee and a chat; it’s ad-hoc and honest, just like life.

What struck me most were our "Mirror Moments." We were born in the same decade, both living with Cerebral Palsy, yet our paths were so different. In 1983, while Matt was navigating special schools and colleges, I was part of that first batch of children integrated into mainstream education. While he was being told to sit in the guards' van on trains, I was sitting in the carriage.

It makes you realise that the "disabled community" isn't one single story.

Matt talks a lot about "Stickability." He had to fight for his own bungalow, manage his own care, and prove to everyone—including the Duke of Edinburgh assessors—that he could do it. That "stickability" is exactly what I’m focusing on for Book 5. It’s not about being perfect; it’s about having the grit to "Keep on Keeping On," even when the world wants to put you in a guard van.

❤ 

The Invisible Flare

 

 

Dear Diary,

It’s officially CP Awareness Month. The world is turning green to support people like me, and I’m proud to share that part of my life. But today, my diary entry isn't about the green ribbon; it’s about the silent war.

I have Stage 4 Endometriosis.

Most people see the CP—the way I move and the physical effort of my gait. But they don't know what Stage 4 does behind the scenes. It’s the "Double Whammy."

When the Endo flare hits, it’s like a chain reaction. The internal pain triggers the spasticity in my legs, and suddenly, my CP is ten times harder to manage. My muscles lock up because they don’t know how to handle the deep, internal "grrr" of the Endo.

I have to be the Manager of two different wars at once. One is visible to everyone who walks past, and the other is a silent, deep battle with scar tissue and pain.

Today, the heat pack is my best friend. I’m sitting in my recliner, just trying to breathe through it and balance the needs of two very different conditions.

People ask how I do it. I don’t have a fancy answer. I just do it because I have to. One breath, one poem, and one day at a time.

---

Support Groups

• Endometriosis UK: Leading charity in the UK. Helpline: 0808 808 2227.

• The Endometriosis Network (UK): Specialised support for complex decisions.

• Scope & CP Sport (UK): Advice on managing disability and health.

Note to international readers: Please look for support groups in your own countries. I can’t be certain of every single one, but you don't have to manage this alone.

From the Retreat Bubble to the Real World (And the Found Family in Between)

 Dear Diary,

Today is Sunday, and I’m feeling a little raw as I sit here "bouncing while flaring"—that strange mix of high energy and chronic pain we talk about so often. I’ve just put down Love Your Life by Sophie Kinsella, and it felt like a sanctuary, though a bittersweet one.

Knowing we lost Sophie in December adds such a layer of sadness to every joke. She truly was the queen of finding humour in the friction of life. At first, the book frustrated me—the transition from the perfect "Retreat Bubble" (where the characters fall in love without even knowing each other's names) to the messy "Real World" felt so jarring.

But then I realised... isn't that exactly what this life is?

One minute I’m in a "Retreat Day"—the pain is low, the house is quiet, and I’m writing—and then bang, I’m thrown back into the real world of flares, fatigue, and the physical limitations of CP and Endo. The contrast is always a slap in the face.

The part that actually made me cry was when the character Nell got sick. Seeing that mismatched group of friends pull together to look after her just broke me in the best way. It reminded me that "family" isn't always blood. It’s the people who show up when you can’t get out of bed. In my world, that found family is everything.

Thank you, Sophie, for the laughter and for the reminder to "love your life" even when the mending is messy.

The Logistics Of Love 😍

 Dearest Diary,

I’ve been looking back at those years when the twins were between 9 and 11, and it feels like a different lifetime. That was the era of the "Great Transition".

Back then, I was still learning how to move from being the Engine to being the Navigator.

My late 40s were spent in a frantic, beautiful blur of dance classes and competitions. I remember the intensity of one of the twins finding their wings on the stage—and even though I couldn't dance with them, being their emotional anchor was the most important job I ever had.

I look back at the "Logistics of Love" from those years and realise how much strategy was involved. I was writing and publishing three books in the quiet gaps between school runs and rehearsals. I didn't chase the limelight for those books then; I left them to stand on their own because my energy was needed on the dance floor and at home. They were my "quiet victories".

Now, from the perspective of my 50s in this house we worked so hard to plan and organise, I see that era for what it truly was: the birth of the Invisible Shift. 

I talk about the actual moves and how I dealt with the moves in previous posts. Such as a new place, a longer wait than I thought and more.

My disability taught my children empathy before they could even name it. It taught them that "I can't" isn't a dead end—it's just an invitation to find a different way. I wasn't "less" of a mum because I sat on the sofa; I was more of a strategist.

The series of being a "Twin Mum" ends in the next one.🌙✨

Love 

Sunday Reflection: Reclaiming My Name through 'Nobody's Girl'"

 Dear Diary,

It is Sunday, and I’m finally sitting down to find my rhythm after a week of navigating the usual "brick walls." I’ve spent the morning thinking about Nobody’s Girl by Virginia Giuffre. It’s one of those books that stays with you, especially when your own body is screaming for a "Red Light" day.

This book feels like a series of "Mirror Moments" for me. Virginia talks about the "Invisible Cage"—that feeling of being trapped not just by circumstances, but by the systemic betrayal of people who should have protected you. Seeing the "receipts" of her father's actions while she was fighting for her own name... It’s a heavy reminder of why I’m so focused on my own Evidence of Success. When the world tries to take your name, you have to be the one to reclaim it.

The part that really hit my bandwidth was her battle with the physical cost. She writes about Fibromyalgia, depression, and severe neck pain. It’s a perfect example of "The Body Keeps the Score." Her body was trying to carry the weight of the world, and it eventually gave out. As someone living with Stage 4 Endometriosis and CP, I felt that in my soul.

She achieved so much for "the newer ones," but the cost was so high. It’s a tragic reality that we can find our way out of the Cage and into the Sanctuary, but we still carry the scars of the battle.

The Verdict: Virginia is the ultimate warrior. She reclaimed her legacy for her children even when her body was failing her. It’s given me a lot of "stickability" fuel for Book 5. We aren't defined by the cage; we are determined by the strength it took to break out of it.

Life Gives You a Code Brown... Win or Learn.

Dear Diary

Today feels like a mix of chaos and clarity. They say never work with children or animals, but Graeme Parker (The Hoof GP) works with half-ton cows that can kick you into next week. He does it with a smile, usually while his team—Craig and Cameraman Graham—are taking the mick out of him in the background.

I’ve just finished reading Code Brown (and his first book), and what struck me wasn’t just the farming. It was the electricity. Graeme is open about his Bipolar and ADHD, and you can feel that energy in everything he does.

Today, my own body is doing what I call "bouncing while flaring." My Endometriosis is shouting, but my brain is running at a hundred miles an hour. It’s a chaotic mix of high energy and chronic pain, and it made me realise I’m operating on the same philosophy Graeme lives by: Win or Learn.

The Accent that Changed Everything

One of the stories that stuck with me most wasn't about a cow at all. It was about the RAF. Graeme passed the physicals, passed the tests, and was ready to serve—only to be failed because of his accent.

It was an "embarrassing" rejection. It was unfair. But instead of letting that define him, he took it as a lesson. If he had joined the RAF, there would be no Hoof GP. No YouTube channel. No millions of views. It’s the ultimate example of a "Code Brown" moment turning into fertilizer for something better.

The "Have a Go" Hero

We live in a world that loves to over-plan (and over-worry). But when it came to rescuing Fiona, "The Loneliest Sheep," Graeme didn't wait for a safety assessment or a TV crew’s schedule. While the media were busy planning the perfect shot, he and his friends just went up the mountain and got her.

It reminds me of how we have to advocate for ourselves with disability. Sometimes, you can’t wait for permission. You just have to "have a go." Whether that is standing your ground against activists who don't understand the reality of the job, or standing up to a medical system that doesn't understand your pain.

The Real Cost of Grit

But let's not romanticize it. The job is brutal. Just before Christmas, Graeme nearly lost the use of two fingers from a cow kick. That isn't in the book—that is real life happening right now. It is a reminder that even when you are an expert, the risks are real.

The Verdict

Reading Code Brown felt like looking in a mirror—not because I want to trim cow hooves (definitely not!), but because of the resilience. It’s about showing up when you’re tired. It’s about laughing when things go wrong. And mostly, it’s about accepting that life is messy.

So, if you are having a "Code Brown" kind of day—whether it’s a flare-up, a bad meeting, or just a mess you can't clean up yet—remember the Hoof GP philosophy:

You don't lose. You either win, or you learn.

love

The Invisible Shift

Dear Diary,

I was looking at an old photo today from when the twins were seven. It’s strange how the 'chaos' changed back then. We had survived the nappies and the toddler meltdowns, but suddenly my calendar was filling up with things I couldn't physically control.

I call it the 'Invisible Shift.' 

It was the era of the school run, the constant buzz of birthday parties, and those long afternoons at the dance studio. On the outside, I was just another mum waiting for her kids, but on the inside, I was constantly calculating my bandwidth—measuring exactly how many steps I had left before my body gave out.

This was when I really learned that my 'maintenance' wasn't a luxury—it was my armour. 

Here is what those years really looked like behind the 'I'm fine' smile..." The nature of the struggle changed as they hit seven. We moved from the physical 'doing' to the mental 'managing.' This was the era where they really started to gain independence. They could find their own snacks and, more importantly, they started to see my physical needs without me saying a word. They became my 'little helpers,' naturally closing the gaps because they’d grown up watching me navigate the world differently.

But their social and extracurricular lives exploded.

Every week was a cycle of dance classes, rehearsals, and the high-pressure buildup to exams. I remember the physical challenge of those long waits—sitting on hard plastic chairs in drafty halls, my neck and pelvis screaming for the recliner, while I watched them perfect their steps. The pride of seeing them succeed in those exams was immense, but the 'invisible cost' to my body was real.

Every weekend was a birthday party in a soft-play centre or a house that wasn’t designed for me.

This is where my bandwidth was truly tested. The sensory overload from the parties and the loud music of the dance studios was immense.

I remember leaning heavily into my £20 coffee budget during these years. It wasn't just about the drink; it was the twenty minutes of stillness I needed to reset my nervous system after a chaotic party or a long afternoon at the dance school. I had to learn that saying 'no' to some social things was the only way to say 'yes' to my own health. We found our rhythm in the middle ground—less lifting, more coordinating.

love

Sunday Thoughts: The Art of Sitting Still (When the Mind is Running)

 

Dear diary,

It’s a new normal Sunday for me.

Usually, the world tells you that Sundays are for resetting, for planning the week ahead, or for going out on big family adventures. But if you’ve been following this blog for a while—or if you live with a disability or chronic illness yourself—you know that our calendars don't always look like everyone else's.

Today, my calendar just says: Rest.

I’m sitting here with a cup of tea (the third one? possibly the fourth), listening to the hum of the house. The washing machine is doing its thing in the background—a sound that always grounds me—, and I am trying, really trying, to listen to my body.

Living with Cerebral Palsy (CP) is a constant negotiation. It’s a daily board meeting between what my brain wants to do and what my body is actually willing to permit. Lately, the physical side of things has been loud. There have been twinges in my neck, pain in my foot, and that heavy, familiar fatigue that feels like wearing a coat made of lead.

In the past, I would have fought this. I would have sat here feeling guilty, looking at the dust motes dancing in the light, thinking about all the things I should be doing. I would have worried that I wasn’t being consistent enough, or loud enough, or "productive" enough.

But I’m learning that there is a difference between being "productive" and being "creative."

Because even though I am physically sitting still—because the CP demands it today—my mind is travelling at a hundred miles an hour. That is the strange, beautiful contradiction of this life. The body might be parked in the slow lane, but the imagination is racing down the motorway.

That’s actually how my latest book came to be.

You might have seen that Book 4 is finally out in the wild. It’s on Amazon now, sitting there with its shiny cover, available for anyone to read. It feels strange to say it’s "done." For months, those poems were my constant companions. They were the scribbles made in waiting rooms, the notes typed out on my phone in the middle of the night when sleep wouldn't come, and the thoughts that kept me company when I was stuck in a chair, unable to move much else.

Now that it’s out, the standard advice is to push it. Market it. Shout about it. Post about it every hour.

But that’s not really the "Sweetestmoondust" way, is it?

The book is out there. It exists. It is a branch of this tree, but it isn’t the whole tree. The tree is this—the reality of a Sunday where the biggest achievement is managing the pain levels and keeping the peace.

And besides, my brain has already moved on.

Even as I sit here nursing this tea, guarding my energy, I can feel the spark of something new starting to catch. It’s the "writer’s curse"—you finish one project, and before the ink is even dry, the next idea starts tapping on your shoulder. I’m already plotting the next thing. I won’t say too much yet (mostly because it’s still a chaotic mess of notes and daydreams), but it’s there.

It reminds me that resilience isn't always about fighting the current. Sometimes, resilience is just floating.

So, if you are reading this and feeling guilty because you aren’t "hustling" today, or because your body has forced you to stop when you wanted to go—please, take a breath with me.

You are allowed to just be. You are allowed to let the washing machine provide the soundtrack to your day. You are allowed to let your creative work be a quiet stream rather than a flood.

I am going to finish this tea. I am going to rest my neck. And I am going to let the new ideas bubble away quietly in the background while I do absolutely nothing else.

Thank you for being here, and for reading the branches of my story.

With love (and plenty of tea),

💓

The Foundation Years

Dear Diary,

Its been a long time in the coming. I have finally got my fourth book out. ""The Foundation Years" . After so many years of anxiety, waiting and so much change since the last book that was published back in 2016. 

But it's now January 2026 and "The Foundation Years " has been out for 2 weeks.

Looking back, it’s hard to believe the last one was published way back in 2016. 

So much has happened in those ten years—so much anxiety, so much waiting, and changes I never could have predicted.

Between the lockdowns and the moves, there were times when life didn’t feel safe. We had to leave the "original" home behind to find a place where we could all just be.

For a long time, I was just "planning" and waiting for the time to be right. I was carrying decades of what was never said, spending time and money on masks that just didn’t fit.

But sitting here today, I realize the "growth" I was waiting for was happening inside all along.

My home is finally clean and secure. We are safe and sound. And while I’m seeing the changes in my body as I get older, I’m finding that mentally, I’m getting so much bolder. 

The noise from what others once made is finally beginning to fade. I can join my past to my future and finally be who I want to be.

"The Foundation Years" is out. The weight is lifted. And now, I’m ready to start writing the next chapter.

Love 

🌙✨

The Rigid Years: Navigating the School Bell with CP

 

Dear diary 

It's now January 2026, and I'm looking at my calendar for this January, with all the medical appointments and 'face maintenance,' I can’t help but think back to when the little ones were five. Back then, a calendar this full felt like a battlefield.

​Ages five to seven were the 'Rigid Years.' Everything revolved around that school bell. For a mum with CP, that bell isn't just a sound; it’s a high-stakes deadline. I remember the anxiety of the school gate—standing there (or sitting in my scooter) and feeling the 'able-bodied' gaze. You wonder if the other parents see the effort it took just to get out the door with book bags and PE kits, while your own body is screaming for a rest.

​My arthritis, especially in my neck, really started to flare during this time. I wasn't changing nappies anymore, but I was constantly bending for stubborn zips and laces.

I had to be a 'Logistics Queen.' If I didn't plan the morning with precision, I’d be spent by 10 AM. I remember 'Floor Time'—wanting to be down there playing, but knowing that once I was down, getting back up was a mountain to climb. I learned to use my 3-Fold Breath on the mobility scooter after drop-off just to survive the morning. I wasn't the 'active' mum, but I was the present one." Saying yes and no, and you'll have to wait until the time is right.

While also ensuring I tried to space things out so I didn't have to go to bed too early and could have grown-up time.

Love 

Breaking the Silence: Depression, Anxiety, and My Absence

 Dearest Diary,

Please forgive my extended absence. Life has been… a lot lately. It feels like the waves have been crashing down relentlessly, and I've been struggling to keep my head above water. The truth is, both my mental and physical health have taken a significant hit these past few weeks (or has it been months? Time feels so distorted). Anxiety has become a constant companion, whispering doubts and fears that drain my energy and cloud my focus. My physical health hasn’t been much kinder, leaving me feeling like I’m running on empty most days.

I recently had my annual physiotherapy review, which is always an important milestone for me. It’s a reminder of the progress I’ve made and the challenges I continue to face. I’ll share more about it soon, but for now, I’m still processing the experience and what it means for my journey.

There have been days when simply getting out of bed felt like an insurmountable task. The thought of writing—of pouring my thoughts and feelings onto paper (or screen)—felt utterly overwhelming. The words just wouldn’t come, and when they did, they were tangled and heavy with negativity.

I know how important it is to prioritise self-care, but even that has felt difficult. Some days, I’ve managed a short walk using my walker, which always helps a little. 

The fresh air and movement remind me that I’m still capable, even when I feel fragile. Other days, I’ve curled up with a comforting book or watched a feel-good movie, seeking solace in stories that transport me away from my struggles.

Sleep has been both a refuge and a challenge. It’s one of my favourite things to do when I’m feeling low, but it’s also a reminder of how much my body needs rest to recover. Balancing this with the demands of running a family has been a delicate dance—one that often leaves me feeling like I’m falling short, even when I know I’m doing my best. But here’s the thing: resilience isn’t about never falling. It’s about finding the strength to get back up, even when the weight of the world feels unbearable. It’s about taking small steps forward, even when the path ahead is unclear. I’m hoping that by starting again, even if it’s just a few lines at a time, I can begin to find my way back to myself. Writing has always been a source of healing for me—a way to untangle the knots in my mind and rediscover the light within.

Reflections:

This journey has reminded me that life isn’t always sunshine and rainbows. There are storms, and it’s okay to take shelter and wait for them to pass. It’s OK to feel vulnerable, to rest, and to ask for help when you need it. Self-care isn’t always glamorous. Sometimes, it’s as simple as taking a deep breath, sipping a warm cup of tea, or allowing yourself to pause and just be. It’s about listening to your body and honouring what it needs, even when the world demands more.

Balancing family life with chronic health challenges is never easy, but it’s also a testament to the strength and love that binds us together. My family has been my anchor, reminding me that I’m not alone in this journey. To anyone reading this who feels like they’re struggling: know that you’re not alone. It’s okay to take things one step at a time, to celebrate the small wins, and to give yourself grace on the harder days. Thank you for listening, even when I’ve been silent. Your support means more than words can express, and I’m grateful to have this space to share my journey.

"This is just the beginning of some new changes here. I’m keeping things simple for now, but I look forward to growing and sharing more with you all in the New Year. Stay tuned!"

With love,

The beginning of the family

Dear Diary,

Today marked the beautiful beginning of our family of four! As I sat there, my heart overflowed with love and excitement. Becoming a new mum was an incredible journey, and with cerebral palsy, it added a unique layer of challenges and triumphs.

Embracing My Role as a New Mum

I had always dreamt of having a family, and welcoming our twins into the world felt magical. My training as a nursery assistant armed me with a treasure trove of childcare knowledge, which was invaluable in those early days of motherhood. Yet, cerebral palsy meant I needed a little extra help with certain tasks, like carrying the twins and managing some household chores.

Building Our Support Network

The beginning of our family of four could have been overwhelming without our incredible support network. I was so grateful for the national charity, Home-Start. They had been a pillar of strength, providing guidance and practical help. With their support, I could focus on nurturing our little ones. Plus, the help from local college trainees had been a game-changer. Their energy and enthusiasm were both reassuring and inspiring.

Juggling Life with Twins

Life with twins was a delightful mix of chaos and joy. Each day brought new adventures and lessons about them—and myself. Our daily routine looked something like this:

• Morning: We started with feeding, diaper changes, and cherished morning cuddles.

• Afternoon: Playtime was a highlight, filled with giggles and exploration.

• Evening: With our support team, we managed dinner prep and bedtime routines smoothly.

Looking to the Future

As I embraced this new chapter, I was filled with hope and determination. The journey wasn't always easy, but the love and support around us made every challenge worthwhile.

Questions to Ponder:

• How can communities better support families with unique needs?

• What role does empathy play in building inclusive support networks?

• How can individuals with disabilities advocate for themselves in parenting roles?

Reflecting on these questions, I was grateful for the foundation we built and excited for the adventures ahead. Our family was just beginning, and I couldn't wait to see where this journey took us.

Love

Sweetestmoondust

Diary of My third Trimester: Welcoming Twins with Cerebral Palsy

Preparing for the Arrival: The Final Trimester

Years later, as I reflect on those months with the scent of freshly laundered baby clothes still vivid in my memory, I remember the roller coaster journey through the third trimester of my pregnancy. As someone with cerebral palsy, my partner and I faced unique challenges while preparing to welcome our twins into the world.

During that trimester, the twins grew rapidly, and as they took up more room inside me, my mobility became increasingly limited. I found myself relying more on my wheelchair and leaning heavily on my partner for support. Simple tasks became monumental, but my determination never wavered.

Navigating Challenges: Living with Cerebral Palsy

Living with cerebral palsy during pregnancy meant that each day brought new challenges. While I was barely able to walk, I focused on what I could do rather than what I couldn't. My partner's unwavering support was my pillar of strength, guiding me through the most difficult days.

Tips for Managing Pregnancy with Cerebral Palsy

1. Seek Support: Lean on your partner, family, and friends. It truly takes a village.

2. Prioritise Rest: Your body was working overtime. Rest was not a luxury; it was a necessity.

3. Consult Specialists: Regular consultations with obstetricians and specialists in cerebral palsy should help manage symptoms effectively.

4. Stay Informed: Knowledge about what to expect helped alleviate anxiety.

The Birth Experience: A C-Section at 37 Weeks and 5 Days

The day finally arrived when I was to meet my little ones. At 37 weeks and 5 days, my doctor recommended a cesarean section. The decision was made to ensure the safest delivery for both me and the babies.

As the medical team prepared me for surgery, a mix of emotions washed over me—excitement, nervousness, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude. When I heard the first cries of my twins, all the challenges of the past months faded away. They were here, healthy and beautiful, and that was all that mattered.

Reflecting on the Journey: A New Beginning

Welcoming the twins had been the greatest joy of our lives. Every late-night feeding and every gentle coo was a reminder of the incredible journey we had been on. Living with cerebral palsy presented unique challenges, but it also taught me resilience and the power of love and support.

Questions to Ponder

• How can we better support individuals with disabilities through major life events like pregnancy?

• What steps can society take to ensure accessibility and inclusivity for all parents?

• How do personal challenges shape our experiences and perspectives as parents?

This chapter of my life has been a testament to strength and love. As I embarked on this new journey with my twins, I was hopeful for the future. Years later, I remain grateful for the love and support that carried us through. Thank you for following along and sharing this incredible adventure with me.

Diary of a Twin Pregnancy: The Second Trimester

 

Week 14-16: The Journey Continues

As the second trimester unfolded, I found myself both excited and anxious. Having twins meant there were more frequent check-ins with my healthcare provider. Fortnightly scans became part of my routine, ensuring that both babies were growing as they should. It was a relief each time to see their tiny limbs and hear the rhythmic beating of their hearts.

During one of these scans, I discovered I was carrying one of each—a boy and a girl. This revelation filled me with joy and a sense of completeness. It also brought on a wave of planning and anticipation as I began to envision life with my little duo.

Cravings and Nesting

Pregnancy cravings are no joke! This trimester, I couldn't get enough fruit and custard. Whether I combined them or enjoyed them separately, they were my go-to snacks. Sometimes, I'd even find myself daydreaming about the perfect fruit salad topped with a generous dollop of creamy custard.

Simultaneously, the nesting instinct kicked in stronger than ever. I started planning and organising the nursery. Each piece of furniture and every colour choice was meticulously considered to create a warm and welcoming space for the twins. I even made a list of local businesses to visit for unique nursery decor, eager to support our community while preparing for our growing family.

Importance of Community Support

Planning for twins is no small feat, and I quickly realised the importance of leaning on family and friends' support. I was given odds and ends such as bassinets and cots ready for twins, as well as clothing, which helped me feel less alone on this journey.

Weeks 24-26: Reflecting and Looking Ahead

As I moved further into the second trimester, I reflected on how much had already changed. The twins were growing steadily, my cravings continued to shape my diet, and the nursery was coming together beautifully. I felt a profound connection not only to my unborn children but also to the community around me.

Questions to Ponder:

• What role do family and friends play in easing the journey of expectant parents, whether they have a close-knit family or not?

• How do personal experiences shape the way we prepare for major life changes?

This journey has taught me that the support of a community,  with the joy of preparing for new life, is invaluable. As the days pass and my anticipation grows, I am grateful for every moment and every helping hand along the way.