It’s something I could never have prepared for, a family dynamic I never imagined would be mine. A constant contrast between love and hate – forever searching for the middle ground. I’ve found it to be one of the hardest things I’ve experienced to date. I know some people who co-parent are best-friends say it wasn’t without it’s battles, it’s a struggle, it’s a process and an ongoing challenge. Becoming best friends from a state thought of as irreparable is undoubtedly a process, a process I’m regularly questioning the reality of.



Dear beautiful Maliq… First of all, let me tell you how deeply in love I am with you! The moment I found out I was pregnant I sat on my bed bawling… not because I wasn’t happy but because I was in complete shock. 

I was scared, but I knew I was destined to be your mother, I had no choice but to give you life.

Continue reading LETTER TO MALIQ


I’ve heard turning 30 can be a strange feeling of mixed emotions, though I won’t pretend I know what it feels like because I really don’t ha. However, if there’s one thing I do know about turning 30, is that it is definitely a milestone in ones life and should be celebrated in style.

I knew from a long while ago that whatever I chose to do for your birthday, it had to be ‘dope’ as you would say. Not merely because of the fact you were turning 30 but because I felt you truly deserved to be appreciated, recognised and praised for the man, the father, the partner, the son and the friend you are, which is nothing short of amazing.

Not many people are aware of how our relationship began and I’m sure one day I’ll write about it. But for now, let’s just say, My biggest fear wasn’t telling my parents I was having a baby, my biggest fear was telling Scott. Fearing it was something he never wanted, fearing he didn’t want to be with me and fearing he wouldn’t have wanted to be apart of the babies life. Whilst having heart palpitations when I told you because I didn’t know what you were going to say, you then gave me even bigger palpitations when you held my hand because I didn’t anticipate anything close to that. To then hear you say that we were going to do this together and the night we met you felt I could be the one. I quite literally could not believe what you were saying yet everyday since you have proved time and time again that they were not empty words.

Continue reading HAPPY BIG THREE-OHH


You don’t get a manual when your baby is born, however you’ll still get told all the do’s and don’ts of motherhood. Once Myla was born, without delay, family, friends, midwifes, fellow mothers insisted I breastfed her, “formula doesn’t have the nutrients and healthy stuff that your breastmilk has so you can’t take that away from her”. I tried, i really did. Truth is recovering from a C-section and learning how to breastfeed became way too challenging. So I stopped. I knew I would be judged, I knew of others who were able to breastfeed for a lot longer than I did and I knew breastmilk was the best for my baby. So inevitably guilt grew within me and it was merely unbearable.

As a mum when unable to do something you ‘should’ be doing or do differently to others, that’s when comparison can drive you insane; because I start to question if I’m doing a good job, I start to think they are doing better than me, I start feeling guilty for something and I start to fear being judged. The crazy thing is, there will always be something. Should I give her a dummy or not? So and so does or so and so doesn’t. Should I not be rocking her to sleep? Should she be sleeping on her own by now? How did that mum’s body recover so fast? How does that mum look good all the time? and How does that mum juggle everything so well?



Myla Rosanna Saunders, the name we fell in love with instantaneously. Early on in my pregnancy, Scott and I agreed this would be her name if it was a girl and to our incredible surprise, baby girl it was.

8 pounds, 9 ounces she weighed when she was born and a tiny segment of my body felt a brief sense of relief that I didn’t have her ‘naturally’. She would of annihilated me. As big as she was for a baby, in our eyes, she was teeny. Myla, an extension of us each, who stole our hearts forever, also resembled a wrinkly, aged, senior citizen. Though, during those precious moments, she couldn’t have been more dazzling. Love is beautiful, love is blind. Her first 24hours of life had Scott and I completely hypnotized by her existence. Her crinkled face, her minuscule hands and feet, her smooth skin, her plumped lips, her buttoned nose, her slightly curled eyelashes, her hamster like cheeks, her gunky hair and her baby smell became our obsession.