When you know you’re done, children-wise.

I turned 38 the other day. Yes, the big THREE, EIGHT. Not quite the big FOUR, ZERO.

I thought my BFF’s lovely boy summed up the situation pretty well when he asked: ‘Mummy, is Auntie Sarah older than a dinosaur?’

Answer, probably! Even if just those plastic copies from the Natural History Museum.

Don’t worry this latest blog (rant!) isn’t another nostalgic look back to my ‘youth’ or further confessions of Eighties music addition, actually I’m feeling pretty happy in my own skin right now.

It might have something to do with the fact that 38 is just a nicer number than 37, or that my lovely friends and family really spoiled me this year, but a large part of it is about where we are with mini-me and blue-eyed boy (who by the way can now say ‘Ello Dada’, a huge achievement, even if it does come out with an accent somewhat like a Bond villain!)

I’ve probably mentioned it but blue-eyed boy will turn one in a matter of mere weeks. This means that our horrendous food bill should hopefully start going down as he leaves his formula days behind him and starts chomping on what we eat, but more importantly that he’s inching ever closer to being a little more independent.

Of course there are massive pros and cons to this, but as it’s a fact of life you can’t really do much but embrace it. A little like when they start opening the kitchen cupboards and pulling everything onto the floor.

Mini-me has been feisty, driven and carving her own path since the age of about five months so we really didn’t have any choice with her. While other children wept and clung to their parents as they were left with a child minder or at nursery, mini-me used to race off to play giving hubby and I barely a backwards glance.

By contrast blue-eyed boy is endearingly clingy. And he’s so cute that hearing him sob when I leave a room still hasn’t got frustrating, yet.

He’s also a much slower developer than mini-me was and isn’t crawling yet, just slowly shuffling, and dancing, on his bottom, happily playing with his toys or ‘exercising’ in the Jumperoo.

But while we have walking, running and then the terrible tantrums to come, he’s still much more self-sufficient now, can amuse himself for a time and loves to ‘chat’.

I think this is why I really love this age. By ten months, or so, babies tend to be really responsive, a joy to be around and also you can see the little person they are quickly turning into shining through.

Although I loved the constant cuddles of the very early days with him, I know I don’t want to go through all that pregnancy and breastfeeding malarkey again. And fortunately hubby agrees.

As he says a healthy and happy one of either sex is a pretty winning combination, and we were also both one of two ourselves.

That’s another reason I feel lucky I suppose. We see friends umming and ahhing over whether they’d like a third, but know absolutely that we’re done.

And that means starting to our get lives back a little, as blue-eyed boy hopefully starts sleeping through the night on a regular basis and I can turn my attention a shade more to building up my journalism and copywriting business.

Which, bringing things back to the recent birthday, is why this pressie from another BFF was so perfect.


Yes everything seems exciting, new and full of possibility at the start of my 38th year. Long may it continue!

*When did you know you were ‘done’? I’d love to hear any reader’s thoughts!

What’s in a baby name?

There are many little sparks that can light the tension touch paper when you’re expecting.

After all when you’re waddling around unable to see your feet anymore and coping with back ache, questionable digestion, zero alcohol and ankles the size of Christmas puddings of course any badly timed ‘helpful comments’ from the other half could cause you to blow.

Probably why so many couples end up falling out over which name to pick for their impending arrival then.

Do you opt for something ‘sensible’ or get more creative? Do you decide to take the path of least resistance and opt for a name that runs in the family? Do you accept the fact that as the woman is the one who is actually going to have to push a pot roast through her nostril, so to speak, she should get more say?

Yes selecting names is a controversial business. And according to hubby because he had to ‘put up with me moaning’ for nine months he had just as much say in the matter as yours truly. Fair enough I suppose.

The reason for these ramblings is that babcentre.co.uk has today revealed the most popular 100 baby names of 2014. And if you’re wondering Muhammed and Sophie are the ones topping the charts.

According to the ‘headlines’ Arabic names are on the up, Royal names are on the way down, Eric and Harper are on the rise thanks to Simon Cowell and Brand Beckham and no one wants to name their kid Miley now because of the Cyrus’ evil twerking behaviour.

Unusual names ‘en vogue’ this year include Wren, Genisis, King, Apollo and Braxton. Presumably the latter is reserved for those who’ve experienced phantom labour pains?!

When deciding what to call mini-me and blue-eyed boy, hubby and I weren’t exactly on the same page.

Ever practical, hubby liked to wax lyrical about choosing names that you wouldn’t have to go through life explaining and that you wouldn’t be bullied over. Plus, as he kept saying, in his opinion you don’t name a child on a whim of your own, you choose something they won’t be embarrassed by. One might imagine he’d take the same approach to choosing a fridge…

In fact if Which had customer reviews of names he could possibly have chosen on the basis of that.

I on the other hand made the very grave error of confiding in my mother which names I liked.

Not being backward in coming forward she professed strong opinions on both, said she ‘wasn’t sure’ which got me wobbling over the options, and then by the time I was due to pop said she’d ‘loved them from the start.’

Hmm, never EVER discuss baby name options with your mum.

In the end hubby and I opted for the only names we could actually agree on. At least there were two of them eh – and no we didn’t call our kid Braxton.