I remember writing a whole page of ‘I am’s when I was 15. I thought I was being deeply insightful, even though the phrase ‘black heart’ would have appeared on the page at least once. I know, I was totally hardcore, with a diamond encrusted exterior. Not because I liked to sparkle, but because diamond is impenetrable. Like my heart, yo.

I’ve since softened. It might have something to do with maturity, but I think it’s also because of a certain little girl who brings out the smooshy in me. Her name is Elliot and she is my daughter.

My counsellor tells me I’ve skipped a life stage. I’m 23. I went from being lazy uni student extrordinaire to mother of one. Partner/fiance of one. Both roles present a challenge. But both of these lovely beings allow me to poke fun to lighten the situation, so it’s all good. Anyway, now I’m trying to figure out who I am and be a parent at the same time, instead of doing the figuring out before the procreating. I don’t think this affects my ability to mother well, although I understand if you do (but if you tell me this, I’ll still whip my head from side to side in a crap Jerry Springer guest imitation and remind you that ‘you dun know me’).

Anyway, after little one made an appearance, the serious writing came. Well, not so much ‘came’. More ‘I ripped it from the deep recesses of my mind and forced it to do my bidding’. Here’s my attempt at documenting it, networking, doing all the cool things blogs do.

What’s up. I’m Hayley.


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