You've Got To Be You

Around this time last year I was at a charity quiz when another woman at the table scoffed at me for knowing the answer to a question about a reality television star. Scoffed, in fact, I feel is an understatement. She humiliated me in front of the entire team by making a huge deal about how I should be embarrassed to know the answer to that, that I should be spending my time on more worthwhile things so that I don't know the answer to such empty questions. She made me feel stupid and pointless, and that feeling stayed with me.

As it happens I don't know how I knew the answer to that question. I've never actually watched the show that she's from. Some things are just absorbed from life, I think. I always remember my tiny cousin picking up her pretend phone once and saying "no I just want to cancel my direct debit before it comes out on Tuesday." Perfect context. Perfect sense. From a three year old. Absorbed from life.

Similarly earlier in the year I had family over for a barbecue and we had a music channel on. At some point in the evening the music stopped and a show started. My dad asked what it was and three of us replied "Keeping Up with the Kardashians."

"Never seen it." He replied.

"Me neither," the three of us who had known what it was said. But somehow we all knew who each member of the family was and what was going on in their personal lives.

Anyway, the humiliating dressing down I got from that woman has stayed with me all year. How can I help what I know? If I don't know something that I definitely should then perhaps I need to start reading more or popping the news on every night. But how can I help what I do know?

I, like most people I imagine, am trying my best. I'm trying my best to be kind, intelligent and involved. To be the best I can be at being a friend and a sister, a daughter and a wife, at my job and- most recently- at being a mum. At spending my time wisely.

Then, of course, there are the wider issues. As I get older I have to be concerned not only about my world- about being good to the people I listed above, but I also have to worry about my effect on the environment, my stance and actions in making a difference toward those less privileged than I am, and about how my stance and actions as a woman affect the future of women.

And I'm trying my best.

 But in this big outburst about my knowledge of someone from TOWIE I suddenly felt that I wasn't doing well enough. Not at being intelligent, not at spending my time wisely, and most significantly- not at being the kind of woman that I am meant to be.

I'm the kind of person who always wants to do the right thing, who truly hates to be thought of as stupid, boring, or thoughtless and- again, like most people, I think- worries far too much about what others think. So I want to stand up for women. I want to fight for our rights. I want to be confident enough to take action when I know I'm being treated unfairly because I'm a woman. I want to be fully aware of how much easier I have it as a woman because of my background, and I want to be able to say and do the right things to action change for those it might not be as easy for.

Which I think is why I battle with any suggestion that I'm stupid. How am I supposed to do all of those things if I am?

I don't yet have the confidence to provide a quick and cutting reply to anyone who makes me feel stupid, but thanks to my friend Simba I made a fantastic discovery this year that means that I'm much further along the road in being able to.

A few months ago Simba introduced me to The Guilty Feminist. The Guilty Feminist is a podcast that- in their own words- explores our noble goals as twenty-first century feminists and the hypocrisies and insecurities which undermine them. In my words, they're incredible women discussing a wide range of topics whilst acknowledging the fact that real life every day feminists are not what they are often made out to be. Every podcast starts with 'I'm a feminist but...', which involves the presenters explaining the guilty non-feminist things they did/said/thought that week. Mine is usually something along the lines of 'I'm a feminist but...I listen to a podcast about feminism whilst I clean the house and my husband sits on his computer.'

And it's amazing. It turns out women all over the globe feel exactly the same as I do. They really do want to be incredible women who have the ability to change the world around them and beyond through their attitudes and actions, but sometimes it's not as straightforward as some media may have you believe. Sometimes, for example, who you are can hold you back from fulfilling the traditional picture of a feminist.

I've always been led to believe- by the kind of women who put other women down for being able to recognise a celebrity- that to be a feminist you have to look and act a particular way. I have always felt that I wasn't quite welcome in that club because I've always wanted to get married and have a baby. I spend money on make up and care how I look. I like pumpkin spice lattes and know every single episode of Friends off by heart and no matter how much I enjoy thrillers I would always rather be watching Bridget Jones. I love Disney and still know most of the Steps dance routines and have been known to tear up just thinking about an advert.

That girl can't be a feminist, right?

Then I started listening to this podcast. One week they started discussing the fact that anything traditionally liked by 14 year old girls is mocked, seen as a bit pathetic. One woman said she actually quite likes Justin Bieber, and that fact doesn't mean that she hasn't read To Kill a Mockingbird. Why shouldn't the same person be able to enjoy and partake in completely different things? Why should anything aimed at a teenage girl be a 'guilty pleasure'? Why can't it just be enjoyed? Why should I be ashamed of answering a charity quiz night question correctly? Does that undo any questions I answered correctly about politics? Of course it doesn't. But for some reason it took these impressive women discussing it for that to click into place for me.

A few weeks later they were discussing the idea of being 'fabulous' as a feminist. They discussed the fact that there can sometimes be a feeling in feminism that you have to be dowdy in appearance rather than feminine. They were saying that it's one thing to dress and make yourself up in a way that's forced because it's how somebody else looks or how you think you should look, but it's another to take an interest in clothes and make up and in a way that enables you to genuinely express yourself. That's all well and good, I thought, if you are a flamboyant person who expresses themselves with bright lipstick and a feather boa. Then it's clear you're expressing yourself. But what if your genuine, deep down, personal style is relatively boring like mine? 

And that's when a voice chimed in: 'Some people's self expression is expressed in a stereotypical feminine way, and that shouldn't be derided.' And another light bulb went on in my head. My appearance is self expression because I wouldn't feel like myself if I were to dress any other way. I've noticed recently that there are lots of girls in Chelmsford with messy high blonde pony tails and big thick rimmed glasses and that they all look gorgeous. But I wouldn't try and conform to that because I wouldn't feel like myself.

They went on to discuss the fact that it is still okay for little girls to choose to dress up at princesses, despite the general feeling at the moment that the mum whose daughter is a superhero has 'won feminism.' My memory of being little and my experience with children tells me that they dress up as something different every day- sometimes throughout the day. As an adult working with children I've been known to dress as a princess, a zombie, a dinosaur, a clown..so a girl in a superhero outfit may well- probably will, in fact- be a princess tomorrow and a dinosaur the next. Everyone's a winner. And that's my guilt at quite liking princesses banished.

What I have finally realised is the fact that I know what's comfortable for me and always style myself that way is my way of expressing myself. The fact that I know that I love American sitcoms and syrupy coffee and am excited to be a mum but also want to be a writer and see the world change for minorities and read about Irish history absolutely do not need to be contradictory.

I excitedly expressed all of this to a friend who replied "the whole POINT of feminism is that it is inclusive and nobody is lesser or more 'equal', whatever the hell that might mean. It's so much more feminist to like and love what you do and who you are than to live in judgement of others."

I've always felt this way- that I'm not quite in the feminist club because of my relatively feminine, and often predictable, nature, but what I have finally accepted is that that is inherently who I am- a feminine feminist, and no amount of judgement from others should change that. I also think that surely the most important thing of all for women to be in with a chance is for us to boost one another up, respect one another and shout about how wonderful the women around us are. Telling each other that we're not allowed in the Boosting Women Club because we dress or eat or spend our time a certain way is, of course, ridiculous.

I'm just delighted that I had this sudden epiphany exactly one week before I went into labour with my daughter- who will now be brought up as a guilt-free guilty feminist. By day. And whichever superhero she wants by night. Even if it's Cinderella. Or a dinosaur.

Celebrate the Magic

On my very first day in Walt Disney World almost five years ago, my new friends and I ventured into Magic Kingdom to discover the night time spectacular Wishes. It was absolutely incredible, and had a genuine magic about it that made every single person watching it feel as though it was speaking directly to them. 

My favourite part, however, was the short projection show that was on in the build up to Wishes. Celebrate the Magic. It was, exactly as the name suggests, a ten minute celebration of everything Disney- from a wide range of characters and music with clever transitions from one world to another to quotes from Walt himself- it really did make the most wonderful watching, and it was a bittersweet night last year when Dale and I watched the last ever showing of it before it was replaced.

On the day that I saw it for the first time I was relatively emotional- you know, having just moved my life across the world to make my own dreams come true- and so let the tears stream all the way through both shows. 

But there was one line in it- a quote from Walt Disney- that sent tears dancing down my face every single time I watched it, and will never get old. 

I only hope that we never lose sight of one thing- that it was all started by a mouse. 

What a brilliant quote. 

The reminder that Walt Disney's idea to create a mouse as a character that day that then grew into all of those other characters, the parks, stores, music, shows, films, cruise ships- the list is endless- is filled with magic in itself. 

I am fascinated by the idea that at any given moment something could pop into your head or into your life and change your future forever. 

I heard a story yesterday about a couple who met in Hong Kong when the woman- an English midwife working abroad- was asked by a colleague to go with her on a date to accompany her new boyfriend's friend. And the rest is history. They have three children, who between them have seven children. That's a whole lot of humans that wouldn't exist if she hadn't gone on that date. 

Entire worlds changed because of that decision to go on that date. 

I often think about the time I was bored on New Year's Day in between films and turkey sandwiches and found a job in Disney World online and decided to apply on a whim. I genuinely didn't think anything of it. 

But when I got that first email inviting me to the first round of interviews I was overwhelmed with the feeling that my life might be about to change. Which of course it did. 

By the time I knew I was going to move to Orlando I knew that my life was about to change. 

But again, like the time I applied for the job, I often think about the time I had been living in Orlando and working in Disney World for almost four months when I'd had enough of one particularly irritating cast member. I stormed around the pub from where I was working on reception to where my friend Dumbo was working in quick service so that I could moan. I let rip, listing off the many annoying things he had done that day when Dumbo cleared her throat and said 'um...Rebecca. This is Dale. It's his first day of training.' 

I was mortified- I'm so rarely a moaner and now this poor lad was going to think I was terrible. 

What I didn't think was- the entire course of my life has just changed. Which again- of course it had. I had just met my future husband.  

Sara Bareilles has been writing songs that better express how I feel than I could ever write for my entire adult life, and as a result has written more or less the entire soundtrack to my relationship with Dale.

At every stage of our relationship one of her songs has made an appearance and beautifully summed up where we were.

Just to be clear they weren't all love songs- there's one song that I have quoted at him on many occasions because it so fantastically sums up why I've got my cross face out. 

In June I walked down the aisle to the song that I fell in love with around the same time as I realised that I was going to marry Dale (a couple of years before he proposed, I might add), and as time goes on Sara continues to write songs for me and sum up my feelings beautifully. 

So you can imagine my absolute joy when I discovered Everything Changes last week. 

The first line is: Today's a day like any other, but I am changed, I am a mother- in an instant.

Now I've been relatively emotionally stable since I went into labour. I didn't cry when my baby was born, I didn't cry on Infamous Day Three when the hormones normally kick in, I didn't cry the first time I heard her cry. 

But when, on day five, I heard that line 'in an instant'- everything finally hit me all at once. 

Once again, Sara Bareilles has said everything I want to express and can't. 

My friend Simba had asked me a couple of days before whether everything had changed or whether everything felt the same, and I had found it really difficult to answer. 

Generally before I gave birth Dale and I tended not to get up every three hours in the night, we didn't sleep at the foot of the bed, have a lounge filled with various brightly coloured items, or have around seven visitors a day. 

But we're still watching 24 and Strictly, still eating too much Ben and Jerry's and promising to be healthier tomorrow, still walking into town every day and still finding huge joy in a hot drink. We're still seeing friends, reading books (I am, anyway), and still writing (again, just me). 

Oh, and now we have a daughter. We're parents. We have a child. We're bringing up a human being. 

It doesn't matter how I say it, no words will give it the weight it deserves.

And it happened in an instant.

I found out I was pregnant particularly early in the pregnancy- I had only been pregnant for 12 days when I did a positive test- which means that we spent nine months knowing that we were having a baby. Nine months creating a nursery, buying a whole host of things we hadn't even known existed, arguing over names, washing teeny, tiny clothes, watching my bump grow. 

And then one day- without any warning- I went into labour. I woke up that morning, had breakfast, had a long chat with my mum, watched a film, spoke to my Grandma on the phone, did some ironing- had a regular day. Then at three in the afternoon my contractions started. I stayed quite calm. Didn't tell anyone. Had dinner. Watched a couple of Harry Potter films, It Takes Two (the Strictly spin off, not the Olsen twins film), some old recorded episodes of Would I Lie to You, some Gavin and Stacey, Friends. Had two baths. Still absolutely no acknowledgement from me that I was genuinely going to have a daughter soon. Then it was 1am. Dale got home from work. Let's pop to the hospital, just see what they think. 1.30am. Arrived at the hospital. 7.44am. Became a mother. In an instant. 

No amount of notice can prepare you for how instant it is. 

And Everything Changes. Of course it does. The entire world has just changed because the most gorgeous, immediately hilarious, perfectly formed human has just entered the world and she's yours. 

And who I was has disappeared, it doesn't matter now you're here. 

I like to think that I haven't (and won't!) have a personality transplant, but I remember Pumbaa's husband saying after their son was born that he genuinely didn't care what others thought since he had become a dad, and I like to think I understand exactly what he meant. 

And I swear I'll remember to say we were both born today. 

If you've recently- or ever, in fact- had a baby, listen to Everything Changes from the musical Waitress written by Sara Bareilles. It's like she was there.

Everything and nothing has changed. The entire world has just changed because the most incredible human grown by me has just entered it and I'm not sure I will ever get my head around it. But we will continue as we always have- celebrating the magic, spreading the joy. Enjoying our food, each other, The Apprentice, everything Disney. 

And now, Mia Sophie Harper Stark. Born 7.44am. 5lb13. 

Tuesday 10th October 2017. 

And I swear I'll remember to say we were both born today. 

I only hope that we never lose sight of one thing: that it was all started by a mouse.   

I'll Be There For You

I'm curled up on the floor of my living room in my comfiest clothes, watching a Netflix romantic comedy whilst one set of impossibly tiny clothes dries outside on the patio and another set flies about in the washing machine. I've just hung up the phone, having been chatting to a work friend for 40 minutes, and am waiting for the phone to ring again so that Dale can tell me he's free to pop out of work and meet me in Mothercare. I'm purposely ignoring the cries of the custard creams in the cupboard and telling myself I'll chop up some fruit in a minute.

It's a Thursday afternoon.

Welcome to maternity leave.

I've been incredibly emotional about maternity leave- as I imagine most people are, since it only occurs when your hormones are completely out of control, your life is about to change, you're somewhere between vaguely uncomfortable and unbearable pain twenty four hours a day, and you keep being told that you're going to experience huge trauma followed by the most love you have ever felt any day now.

But also- I love my job.

My job is my current baby. I was lucky enough to launch the education centre I work in. The day I started it was an empty shell with a couple of desks and a single phone. I went in in my leggings and baggy jumpers and got covered in dust putting computers together. I unpacked boxes of office stuff and spent days organising and reorganising where we were going to keep books and stationery.

I went through the first CVs, hired the first team, signed up the first member.

(Just to be clear, this was all with two other managers. I'm not taking all the credit.)

When Minnie Mouse was in labour, the only thing that stopped me tearing my hair out was the distraction of interviewing new tutors to run our centre. When Dale and I were living in different counties and could only see each other every other weekend, hanging out with hilarious children and saving up their quotes to tell him kept me sane. When I was given the worst news I have ever been given, I spent the day teaching children maths and English- watching their little faces light up when they got something right, watching them visibly inflate when I praised them for their attitude- and was temporarily relieved of thinking about it all.

That's the job itself.

Then there's the part that makes or breaks every job: the people.

I am fortunate enough to have worked alongside incredible people: managers, tutors, parents, and of course, children.

When we got engaged, my colleagues were among the very first people I told. The tutors contributed far more than I'm sure they know to the planning of my wedding, and I can't imagine having made it through this pregnancy without the input of some of the parents.

I went through a phase of telling people I was pregnant and being met either with a reaction along the lines of 'I thought so, you've been looking ever so bloated', or 'wow, was it a shock?' Neither were reactions that I particularly appreciated, and it got to the stage that I had heard little else.

Then I saw a particular member. She's nine.

"Can I tell you a secret?" I asked. "I have a baby in my tummy."

She threw her arms in the air, squealed, and cried 'amazing news! Congratulations!'

It was honestly the most grown up and heartwarming response I had.

Some of my proudest moments happened in that centre. From the moment the first child came in to tell me he had passed the 11+, to the time an eight year old member finally spoke for the first time outside of his family home. From the small, daily triumphs like watching a nine year old finally make the connection between multiplying and dividing, to watching a tutor excel following their training and go on to become a qualified teacher.

Every day was filled with small triumphs and hilarious moments, and anyone who knows me will know that my favourite things about this and every other job I've had are a) the ridiculous sentences you say when you work with children b) all the brilliantly funny things you hear when you work with children.

I could write a novel filled with them, but here are my favourites from my last week...

1) "I don't want to alarm you but do you know that there's a flip flop in your hair?"

2) "I think I should try and write this more perfectly, it really doesn't make sense." A six year old boy after reading back his sentence.

3) "And were you concentrating or were you sticking pencils up your nose?"

4) "I went to have a drink of water but it made my ear hurt so I don't think I can do any more." A (different) six year old boy trying to get out of doing his maths.

5) "See if you can guess my favourite dinner." Five year old girl. "It's a type of meat."
"Okay...roast dinner? No? Steak? No? Sausage and mash? No? I give up."
"It's chocolate ice cream!"

6) "It was my sister's birthday last year." Five year old boy.
"Last year? Was it? Are you sure you mean last year?"
"Yep, definitely."
"He means yesterday." His ten year old sister.

7) "I went to London yesterday, to see the Eiffel Tower."

8) "Do you think you should be blowing raspberries or doing your work?"
"Blowing raspberries."
Oh right....

9) "Then I had to stand up on the train all the way back from London to England."

10) "Why is she crying?"
"She asked her sister to guess her favourite pizza toppings. She got them all right. She didn't want her to."


Of course it wasn't all laughing at children and chatting with parents; there were times when the pressure got too much, or expectations were too high; when people were rude or frustratingly unreasonable. But there was never, ever a time when there wasn't an amazing person beside me or on the phone to remind me that people are occasionally awful and that that's not my fault.

When I had been doing this job for a year I looked back over what I had achieved and, more importantly, what I had learnt, and was both impressed and proud (in a self-effacing, British way, mind you) at how much it had given me in such a short amount of time. I remember thinking 'imagine where I'll be in another year.'

A year after that I had been promoted and was facing a whole host of new challenges- equally frustrating, fun and full of self-development, and equally impossible without the amazing people I had around me.

A year after that and here I am. Spending my afternoons writing, watching Netflix and eating. (Just so you know in the time I've written this I've had two squares of chocolate, a peanut butter cup and a hot chocolate. The fruit continues to sit sadly in the bowl on the kitchen table.)

My last few weeks in my job were emotional, to say the least.

Most days I arrived struggling to breathe as my baby is squashing my innards and the rush into the centre didn't help. I've been suffering so much with heart burn that if this baby comes out with anything less than a thatch to rival my Grandad Derek's (he has the most incredible hair, even as he trots through his 70s) I'll be highly disappointed. And I'm so, so tired. Absolutely exhausted, all the time. Which means I spent a lot of time thinking that these blissful days off couldn't come soon enough.

But then one by one I'd realise it was my last shift with a tutor, or the last time I'd see a certain child, or their parents. Or a child would make me laugh so hard that I couldn't breathe for different reasons. Or one of the other managers would say something so relate-able, or would find something as funny as I did, and I'd just want to sob at the thought of leaving.

In the last month we had a fourth manager join us, so that when I left they would continue to be the necessary team of three.

We, as a group of four, had a magic about us, I like to think, in that we were all so different in so many ways, but so similar in all the important ways. We spent a lot of time finding the same things funny, and the same things infuriating, which brings people together in such a special way, doesn't it?

I had worked with one member of that team for two years, one for almost a year, and one for a month. And in all that time had spent the majority of it communicating in Friends quotes, and making sense of everything (as I always have done) through Friends comparisons.

Which is why, when I left work on my last day as a team of four, I emailed Jo Whiley.

The radio 2 listeners among you will know that it's incredibly rare that they provide the opportunity for the public to request songs, but every weekday evening on my drive home Jo Whiley runs a feature called Taxi Service. This involves listeners who are on the road contacting her with the song that they want to hear whilst they are playing taxi driver, and let her know what or who it is that they are taxiing.

I sent the following email:

Hi Jo! 

It's the end of an era. I am about to taxi myself and my unborn baby home from work for the last time after 3 years in the most wonderful job with the most genuinely fabulous team- feeling so emotional! 

We will, of course, stay in touch and continue to bond over Popmaster and taxi service from afar, but if you could play I'll be there for you by The Rembrandts after 3 years of communicating in Friends quotes I'm sure it would brighten all of our drives home!! 

Thank you so much, love your show always, 

Rebecca 

I listened intently to Taxi Service. She read out a series of texts and emails that weren't from me, and eventually played No Scrubs by TLC-which was an excellent choice- just not mine. 

She then played another few songs before the news. 

The news finished, a standard BBC radio ad went out, and then the opening chimes of I'll Be There For You burst onto the radio. I, having managed to keep my emotions in check all week, promptly burst into tears and sobbed all the way through the song, before Jo came on and read out my email and said she hadn't seen it in time for taxi service but couldn't let it just go by. 

Safe to say all of us cried at the sound of that song that evening. One of the girls said that when it first started she thought 'it's a divine intervention, what are the chances?!' And then she immediately thought 'wait, I bet Rebecca's been in contact with them somehow.' And then she cried. 

It really was the perfect ending to my three magical years, and was made even better when, on my actual last day (for which only two of us were in), the other two managers, plus a manager from a different centre, turned up to surprise me with cake and presents and love. 

And now here I am, two weeks later, feeling wonderful for just having spoken to them again. 

So yes, I took so much from this job. Leadership and credibility and assertiveness and business sense.

But the biggest thing that I will hold onto from this job is that there are such incredible people out there. Children, who are hilarious, inquisitive, wise, kind and naturally thoughtful. Teenagers, desperate to make a difference in the world and full of life and enthusiasm for starting out their adult lives as role models for children. Twenty-somethings, still discovering who they are and changing and improving every day and being understanding, kind, hilarious and curious as they do so. Parents, comfortable enough to share their life stories with me and thoughtful enough to want to help me. Parents, who just want the absolute best for these little humans they've created, and who will fight tooth and nail for them to have the best.

I often tell my Grandma stories from work and she will say 'gosh you do meet all sorts working there, don't you?'

Yes I do.

There is very little that will surprise me about humans now.

But what I do know is that whilst there are scary things happening in the world, and whilst the media may be insisting that adults are greedy and selfish and cruel, and children no longer have any manners or respect, I can confirm that for the most part, this is not true.

I have met all sorts in my job, and whilst they are all different, they are all wonderful, and ultimately are just trying to do the right thing by the people around them. There are exceptions, of course. But they are exceptions.

And so as I pulled the shutters across for the last time on what had been an empty shell with a few desks and a single phone, and was now a fully functioning education centre filled with incredible people, stories and memories, I kept the tears at bay and let my heart fill up instead. 

I will continue to use all that wisdom from all those incredible people for this next adventure.

My actual baby. 

In the mean time, I'll be here for you.

Eating, mostly.

Almost There

I could probably have written a post on pregnancy every month of this year, but a) I was aware of slipping into the trap of becoming a motherhood blogger and more prominently b) when I haven't been at work I've been asleep.

But there's so much to say that I absolutely cannot let this pregnancy go by without managing at least one post on the magical adventure that is growing a child.

I've found myself adding a preface to everything I say recently, and this is no exception.

Just so you know: I do know how lucky I am. And I'm not complaining in any way. Merely observing the trials and tribulations that come with pregnancy. Sort of in the same way I loved to moan about my ridiculous guests in Disney or the other people around the pool in Majorca. I'm not saying I wish I wasn't going through it, I just love a little moan.

In fact, I am so aware of how lucky I am that I spent the first half of my pregnancy in absolute disbelief. At my first four appointments when I was asked 'do you have any questions?' I answered 'are you sure I'm pregnant?'

Fun Fact About Pregnancy I Didn't Know Number 1: Nobody checks you're pregnant for TWELVE WEEKS. Everyone just takes your word for it that you've done a positive test, and there's no such thing as a false positive. I mean I'm not totally sure why you'd tell a lie for the sake of having to fill in endless forms, answer insane questions like 'and is your husband also your blood relative?' and have all kinds of needles poked into you, but even so.

Every time I asked whether I was definitely pregnant I was met with the same reaction. A laugh and an exasperated nod. But I'm sure everyone must go through that in those first weeks.

I had around three days during my first trimester that I didn't throw up, and for those three days I convinced myself that I had invented the entire pregnancy in my head and vowed never to moan about morning sickness again (Fun Fact About Pregnancy I Didn't Know Number 2: morning sickness is absolutely not limited to the morning).

Those days aside, I did throw up more or less every day between four and fourteen weeks though- and my love of Friends and various other tv shows means that I was more or less ready for that. What I wasn't ready for was just how hard it is to keep your pregnancy a secret in that time. I knew that people tend not to announce anything until they've had their twelve week scan, and I have always thought that I hope I don't find out I'm pregnant until as close to twelve weeks as possible to save me having to keep such a big secret. (I found out at three weeks.)

But what I hadn't considered is this....

1) You're really tired in that time. I mean, like a kind of tired I have never experienced before. And whilst a couple of irritating people have told me to 'wait until the baby's here if you think you're tired now', every other mother I have spoken to has said it's a different kind of tired. A special kind of tired reserved exclusively for pregnancy. A few people have told me that's how they've known they're pregnant- that awful, overwhelming, un-fightable exhaustion.

2) You lose your mind. Seriously. The reason I did the test the day that I did it was that I walked around 15 seconds across the education centre I work in to say something to a mum dropping off her son. As soon as I got there I had to apologise that I couldn't remember what I was there for. I followed it with 'I don't know if this is my age or something but this keeps happening to me and I've never had this before.' She leaned in and said  'perhaps you're pregnant', smiled, and walked away.

3) You're not just sick at 7am. You're sick all.day.long. I was sick if I got too hungry, which meant I had to eat regularly (not very easily done in my job), and was sometimes just sick out of the blue. I was sick outside a school, in the middle of a meeting with my manager, during a conversation with someone I manage, and at my mum's hen weekend seconds before a whole group of family friends walked into the bathroom.

All of this means that you're fairly useless during this time, which means that a) people guess (I had two mums from work guess and ask me outright during those first twelve weeks and it was so awkward), b) you want sympathy. You want twelve weeks off work and lots of sympathy, please, and c) you want everyone to know that you're actually not completely useless, it's just a phase. (Hopefully, anyway.)

Then on top of all that, it's really exciting! We were so excited- I've mentioned in a post before that I had to stop Dale buying the baby a bubble machine back in March. And when people mention babies/pregnancy/time off work/anything even remotely related to babies, you want to shout about it and keeping it quiet is SO HARD.

But we made it through that thanks to a combination of each other, a constant supply of custard creams, and my cousin Hannah (Fun Fact About Pregnancy I Didn't Know Number 3: It cannot be done without having an incredible cousin who happens to be an amazing midwife. She's the first person we told and the reason that we made it through that first trimester without going crazy. Honestly. She knows everything and I don't know how anyone does it without her), and then we were able to announce it. And that's when the real fun began.

The most striking question that I was asked- and I was asked by a surprising number of people- mostly (though with a couple of exceptions) people who absolutely do not know me well enough to ask, when we announced it was- "was it a shock?"

Well, no Barbara, because there's quite a specific process for getting pregnant and I've followed all the steps. Of course it wasn't a shock, but thanks for implying that this absolute miracle might have been.

The other one is "are you finding out what you're having?"

This is a trick question. 

If you're doing what that person would do, you're fine (though you will have to endure a ten minute lecture on why what you're doing is the right thing), if you're not, oh my goodness, strap yourself in for a long and tedious journey through Why Your Decision Is A Mistake.

Does it really matter to you, guest at my mum's wedding that I'm meeting for the first time today, whether I find out the sex of my baby before its birth?

(Fun Fact About Pregnancy I Didn't Know Number 4: Everything you decide about your baby seems to matter to everyone. For a couple of weeks I made the mistake of actually answering people when they asked me whether I had any names I like. People are brutal. Also naming a human is hard. There's too much to consider.)

And it only continues from there.

Because that's when the experts come in.

And by the experts I mean everyone in the world. 

If my amazing, experienced midwife cousin Hannah doesn't know, she'll tell me. So one of our conversations went like this:

"Hannah, do you think my wedding dress will still fit me in June?"

"I'm really sorry but there's absolutely no way of knowing. Every single person is different and sometimes the same person is completely different with different babies, so there really is no way of predicting it at all. Sorry that's not more helpful."

Hannah needn't have worried though, because all the office workers, cashiers, estate agents and teachers of the world were able to tell me with confidence. I had everything, from "there's no way you'll be able to hide it, you're so tiny, you'll be all bump" to "26 weeks? My sister's best friend's brother's wife didn't even know herself until she was 37 weeks, you'll definitely be able to hide it at 26 weeks."

And it is not just there that the experts stopped with their wisdom either....oh no....

1) Midwife: You really should monitor your intake of fish, as you could eat too much mercury and poison the baby.

Expert: Don't be ridiculous, what about in countries where they live by the sea and their entire diet is made up of seafood?

Excellent point, man who works as a driving instructor, but even so, I don't live off an entire diet of seafood and the advice provided based on the most up to date research and provided by the experts is to monitor it, so I'll be sticking to my eggs on toast today, thank you.

2) Midwife: Everything's looking really healthy, your bump is on the 90th centile so as long as you continue to grow along that line you'll remain low risk.

Expert: You're ever so small. That bump's barely there. Actually even my husband mentioned the other day that he thought you were a bit small for thirty weeks.

Even your husband? Even? You say that as though he's an expert, Deborah, but doesn't he work on the cheese counter in Morrisons? I don't really care what he thinks. Good to know you discuss my figure at home though.

3) Sonographer: Hm I've been looking at this screen for about fifteen minutes now and there is just no way of telling whether it's a girl or a boy. The baby has its legs crossed so there's just no way for me to tell, sorry.

Expert number 1: It's definitely a girl. I can tell.

Expert number 2: It's a boy. Definitely. I've never been wrong.

And then there are the just plain hilarious comments....

1) "So sorry but I have to ask. IS that a bump? Only I can't work out if you've just had a big lunch and I won't be able to stop staring until you've told me." From a teacher that I met for 2 minutes before I presented a certificate in assembly and left.

2) "Oh Rebecca is pregnant? I did notice but I didn't like to say anything because I know she likes a creme egg...."

3) "Ooh you are pregnant? I thought I saw a bump the other day but then I thought maybe you'd just put on a few pounds. I didn't want to upset you so I didn't say anything." Great job.

4) "You're pregnant? Yeah I thought so. You've been looking a bit bloated lately."

5) "Oh that makes so much sense. I thought you'd just eaten too many carbs."

6) "I know exactly how you feel. I've done it three times." That's really sweet, Man In Sainsbury's, but don't let your wife hear you claim that if you don't want a sharp object shoved somewhere intimate.

Whilst I text these ridiculous conversations to my mum and best pals, roll my inside eyes and learn to let it all roll over me like water off a duck's back (best piece of advice I've been given so far was from Minnie Mouse to use pregnancy to practise ignoring people because- I'm assured- they'll all be a million times worse once the baby is here), I have also been absolutely blown away by how kind people are.

I've been inundated with endless thoughtful gifts from everyone from my friends to my colleagues, the tutors I manage to the families I work with, Dale's friends to members of our own families. Strangers make sure I get a seat and will go without if it means I'm comfortable, everyone asks how I am with a little head tilt and genuine care in their eyes, and I cannot tell you how well a 'you look lovely' goes down when you feel horrendous. I had a text from a friend after a picture went on Facebook when I was 20 weeks saying 'look at your bump in that picture! You look beautiful.' I could have cried. Probably did, in fact. (Fun Fact About Pregnancy I Didn't Know Number 5: all you need is to tell a pregnant woman she looks nice. Save your pennies. Spend your words wisely.)

And so with just over 7 weeks to go I will continue to sidestep name questions, duck underneath nonsense comments about my size, take on (and feel free to ignore) everyone's well meaning advice, and enjoy this incredibly magical time with Dale.

I mentioned in the post about our engagement that every day felt a bit like Christmas Eve- knowing the best was yet to come, and actually being pregnant is exactly the same. Before every amazing thing that I have been lucky enough to experience I've had doubts that it will ever really happen. Just before I moved to Florida I remember thinking: I know I will one day be jealous of this version of myself- of the girl who is about to go and have the time of her life. Just enjoy the anticipation, and know that wonderful things are about to happen.

I keep reminding myself of the same thing.

Yes, it's hard, with the comments and the exhaustion and the worry and still working full time and getting everything ready, and the ridiculous cravings for Bold 2 in 1 Lavender and Camomile washing tablets, and yes, the baby being born is only going to introduce a load of new challenges that I hope to one day have the energy to write about.

But ultimately this special time is so short, as will the next adventure be, and before we know it we'll be facing a load of new challenges as we pack our little cherub off to school.

So I'm doing my absolute best to embrace every magical bit of it.

The bits I'm awake for, anyway.

The Pursuit of Happiness

At my mum's wedding in April my cousin Katie used my favourite sentence of the year. She looked across at the table beside us and said:

"My ultimate aim in life is always to be as happy as Auntie Nick's happy friend Joy." 

We all laughed out loud. My mum's friend Joy and her husband Dug have always been the happiest people I know. For as long as I can remember they have filled every room with their joy- their smiles genuinely lighting up every occasion and their laughter always heard. This occasion was no different- it was their table that was laughing the loudest- and it both tickled and warmed me that my cousin had noticed their happiness throughout her life as well. 

I don't get to see Joy and Dug very often now that I'm an adult, but a lot of the things that they said around me when I was little have stayed with me, and I spent the rest of the wedding observing and chatting to them with interest. 

My cousin's aim to be as happy as them was an excellent one, I thought, and I was suddenly fascinated by all that they said. 

I was recently on a training course with work which involved looking at the life mission statements of famously successful people. They ranged from Richard Branson and Oprah to a successful American Headteacher and the founder of a soup company. The idea was that we looked at their ultimate aims in life and completed a series of activities in order to eventually be able to write our own. 

I had a fortunate head start here, as I had been on a different training course when I worked for a different company, which involved selecting one of many, many pictures to reflect what we wanted from life. 

I had selected the 'contentment' picture. That was in 2011 and it's stayed with me ever since.

So I wrote my mission statement and I won't go into too much detail but, as you can imagine, it involves lots about happiness. 

The conversations I had at my mum's wedding and over the next few days have stayed with me, internalised themselves along with those magical comments that Joy and Dug made around me as a child, and between those observations and observations of others around me during and since that training, I've come up with a few theories that may well be completely wrong as far as Joy and Dug are concerned, but that I have decided I think might be useful in the pursuit of happiness. 

The main thing is- and I truly do hate to sound like a preacher and/or cliche- you have to take responsibility for your own happiness...

1) Let the little annoying things go.

There seems to be a real culture of blaming everybody else for everything- as though every single move that every other person makes should be with your happiness in mind. 

Now I am- as I hope those who know me will already know- such an advocate of spreading the joy and taking action to bring happiness to those around you.

But I am also very much an advocate of making your own happiness. 

I'm not sure if this is the way the world has always been or whether it's a recent thing- I actually think the internet has a lot to do with the totally unjustified sense of entitlement everyone seems to have but perhaps that's a point to make another time. 

I recently heard a lady genuinely complaining to Sainsbury's customer service because the man who was filling the fruit crates up 'wasn't smiling.' 

Yes he was at work and perhaps that lady would have appreciated a grin flashed her way. But for goodness sake. Even when people are at work they are human beings. Perhaps he'd had bad news. Perhaps he had a tummy ache. Perhaps he was tired. Perhaps he was thinking about what he was going to have for lunch and was so deep in thought he forgot to smile at every single one of the hundreds of shoppers that would have passed by him that day. Perhaps his job is not to bring you joy on your Thursday morning shop, but to make sure the fruit crates are full. 

A few days later I popped to the bank on Chelmsford City High Street at 11am on a Saturday. 

Guess what? 

It was busy. 

Do you know whose fault it was? 

Nobody's. 

It's just the way of the world. Banks are busy on a Saturday morning because it's when the working folk of Chelmsford do their banking. 

Despite that, there was a man who stood behind me for no more than ten minutes before he was served, complaining. Loudly. For the first seven minutes he was moaning noisily to his wife- in front of his daughter who is learning how to behave from her parents, which is reassuring- that it was 'a bloody joke', 'absolutely ridiculous', he was going to 'move banks after this wait.' I'll let you pop in some particularly foul language wherever you think it might make sense. In fact, to imagine exactly what he was saying, pop some foul language in places it doesn't make sense, then you'll have a clear idea of what we were all listening to. 

For the final three minutes he stood in the middle of the bank declaring- so that absolutely everybody could hear- that he was leaving Natwest because it was such a joke and taking his banking business elsewhere. 

Firstly- if he thought that was anything but a relief for those members of staff who had to deal with him then he's even more naive than he originally seemed, and secondly- I wish him lots of luck finding a bank in a city centre without a ten minute wait on a Saturday morning. 

I'm not saying I'm immune to this, by the way. Just that I've noticed it's a concerning trait in society and something I'm working on not being a part of. A few weeks ago I went for a blood test at 7am (yes, it was just as fun as it sounds) and the lady who took my blood was grumpy to say the least. She said a maximum of four words to me in the time that I was there, just giving one word commands and raising her eyebrows at me. 

I started to voice this to Dale and then heard myself back and rolled my eyes. "I suppose it's not exactly her job to bring me happiness is it? Her job was to take my blood and she did that brilliantly. Barely a mark there now." 

"Yep," Dale nodded, "she's at work taking people's blood at seven am. I think we can forgive her for being less than cheerful." 

He's right. We can. 

There are parts of life and of people that can be frustrating but I don't think the answer is always to solve it. Sometimes the answer might be to just let it go.

2) Try to understand another point of view. If you can't see it, have faith that it's there.

I could probably write a novel on this topic alone: Being Offended. 

Honestly, you can barely order a coffee without offending someone. It's a minefield! But I think that the truth is that in the real world- i.e. not on the internet where people actually choose to spend their time offending people on purpose- very few people set out intending to upset anyone. I think that what people say tends to be a reflection of their own experiences/thoughts/that moment and very little to do with you. 

How often have you walked away and thought 'why did I say that? What an idiot!' Chances are others do that a lot as well. 

I've been keeping track of the ridiculous things that people have said to me in pregnancy. I am going to write a blog post on them at some point. I tell them to Dale, and to Jiminy Cricket and my mum. 

Then the other day I saw a video that another pregnant woman had made about the comments you get during pregnancy, and people were commenting funny things that have been said to them. Then somebody commented 'oh stop taking offence at everything, people have good intentions when they say these things.'

At which point I was mortified. 

Of course they have good intentions. With one genuinely nasty exception I haven't taken offence at any of the comments I've had! They're funny. It's fun to laugh at human nature. Humans are fascinating creatures and great joy can be derived from observing and commenting on them. The majority of successful stand up comedians are commenting on human nature. They're not offended by it, but they've observed it and are discussing it and it's funny. 

All of the comments that I've had I imagine are either a) the things that they wanted to be said when they were pregnant/imagine they would want to be said if they were pregnant or b) nonsense that comes out because they feel that they should probably make some comment about the fact that I'm pregnant but aren't really sure what to say. 

I can't imagine that any of them thought 'what can I say to upset Rebecca?' or 'I'm going to tell Rebecca what I truly think of her size today, she needs to know'. Of course not, they're humans with their own lives to think about and their comments to me are just fillers. It just so happens that my days are filled with fillers now because everyone feels they need to say something about the bump, and so I have a little collection of hilarious comments that have been made. 

In the same way that people have different opinions from me have those different opinions because they have led different lives, have different view points and different priorities. 

The day after mum's wedding I found myself speaking to Dug about a bird sanctuary. He was explaining that one person had been tirelessly fighting for the birds to be fed more expensive, organic food. It would stop them from pecking each other so much, and calm them down throughout the day so that they would have a better quality of life. 

When he explained it like that I totally agreed with him. That's exactly how it should be, I said. 

But then he said that the other person involved had been tirelessly fighting back because this food is so much more expensive that if they were to provide that they would have to house fewer birds. They'd have to get rid of some of the birds, and not be able to save any more. And so the balance was that they were fed this food that provided them with what they absolutely needed but was affordable enough, and were thus able to save more wildlife. 

This is a genuine story he was telling me, but what an excellent fable to remind us that the people who disagree with us have their own reasons, and that there might be an excellent reason that we can't see behind somebody's seemingly wrong or even evil decision. 

I spoke to Dug about a few similar scenarios- he also told me stories about people being angry, upset and offended by him (primarily at work). Between these conversations I came to the conclusion that he and Joy remain happy through their ability to understand and remember that everybody has their own reasons for their decisions, and also to remember that just because somebody is angry, upset or offended doesn't make them right. Plenty of people are angry, upset and offended when they really shouldn't be, and the person who has angered, upset or offended them shouldn't necessarily feel any sense of responsibility at all.

That's the part I'm working on now.

3) Turning the little things into big, heartwarming things.

Observe people. Take great joy in eating. Find the silly. Appreciate everything that everyone does for you that is kind. I am blown away by one kind thing that I witness every day, whether it's my friends offering to drive all the way home behind me so that they can empty my car and save me heavy lifting when I get home, or a seven year old girl bringing me a Maoam in the office and telling me it's because I've 'been working so hard.' I hold onto those moments and won't forget them for a long time. 

And so I will continue to strive to make my own happiness- by letting the little negative things go (car parked too close to mine, man not smiling putting his fruit out, receptionists being grumpy), turning the little positive things into big, heartwarming things (a kid saying he didn't go abroad, he just went to America, having a Dairy Milk with lunch, getting a video of my best friend's baby saying cheese cake) and, of course, by both spreading the joy to others and forgiving myself and others for not being a perfect human in every situation. 

And I'm good at being happy, I like to think. I'm definitely able to turn the little positive things into big heart warming things (I am particularly talented at taking pure happiness from my lunch), I'm improving at letting the little annoying things go, and am very much working on not automatically blaming myself and tearing myself apart over every second of everybody else's happiness. 

And I'm happy. Of course I am. 

I just hope I can take all of these observations and be as happy as Auntie Nick's friend Joy. And, of course, my cousin Katie. 

After Twenty Four Years of Planning....

I get married in two days.

Tonight is the last night before the night before my wedding.

I imagine that most of you who have had a wedding will have found that you have very little time alone in the weeks leading up to The Big Day. When I haven't been at work I've been in meetings with various people, and when I haven't been doing that I've been with Dale/my cousins/my brothers/my parents/my grandparents planning and organising.

Today we had brunch with Dale's dad who has come to visit from abroad for the wedding, met my Grandma and Mum for last minute shopping, headed straight for a spray tan and then back home where my Dad, his girlfriend, her son, Chip, Dale and I finished off the last of the favours whilst discussing the last final details of the day.

And then they left.

Dad, his girlfriend and her son went home. Chip went to the gym. Dale went out for dinner with his dad.

And I was left alone.

For the first time in what feels like weeks.

The sudden silence was too loud for me, so I put Pitch Battle on (fantastic Saturday night background tv, by the way), where I was almost immediately greeted with our First Dance song.

And finally, after what Dale thinks has been seven months but has actually been around twenty four years of planning my wedding, I felt overwhelmed.

Not with stress. Not with the ridiculousness of how many times seating plans need redoing, not with the outrageous prices provided at the word 'wedding', or the difficulty of being asked the question 'which flowers do you want in your buttonholes?' (Absolutely no idea about flowers. As I demonstrated with the florist when I commented that the plant on her table smelt incredible and asked what it was, only for her to tell me that they were unscented, artificial flowers.)

Instead I was overwhelmed with the fact that this is really happening.

I haven't always wanted a big wedding. We're not particularly having a big wedding. It's going to be a relaxed family affair- one flower girl, no best man, no hats, no hen/stag events, no videographer. I would have been happy popping to Orlando and doing it in a strappy summer dress.

But I've always wanted to get married.

And more than anything- I've always wanted to plan a wedding.

Not even necessarily mine. Anyone's.

When I was a kid I used to tell everyone that I was going to be a wedding planner when I grew up. It was always assumed- to my absolute horror- that it was because of the Jennifer Lopez film.

It wasn't.

It was because of the film Father of the Bride. It was and continues to be one of my absolute favourite films, and I know it almost word for word. I watched it on the plane on the way home from the holiday that we got engaged on, and I will be putting it on again as soon as Pitch Battle finishes.

And I cannot believe that it's finally me.

I'm Annie. Granted I'm six years older than Annie and not living in my parents' mansion in LA. But that, ladies and gents, is where the differences end.

Tonight, when everything finally went quiet and I had a rare few minutes to reflect, a few things suddenly hit me....

1) I am no longer going to be Rebecca Ann Lund.

Obvious right?

Not really.

I knew I was going to change my name when I got married, but it's seemed so far away for so long. Then this evening I was filling in the form for my spray tan and realised it was the last time I'll circle the 'Miss' option, the last time I'll fill in that last box with 'Lund'. My brothers are Lund. As is my Dad. My Grandad, my auntie and uncle. My blog is Lund. My degree. My name tag. My Boots loyalty card. Twenty eight years, twenty seven days, four hours, twenty nine minutes of my life as Miss Rebecca Ann Lund.

And suddenly it won't be me anymore?

 I voiced this to my dad's girlfriend, who lightened the mood by replying 'and will you be changing your Facebook name as you walk back up the aisle or will you be leaving it until after photos?'

This is why I'm pals with her.

2) My parents could rule the world.

Seriously. I am, as I am frequently told, fiercely independent. Which means that whilst I will regularly call my Mum and ask her opinion on topics as wide ranging as 'what shall I have for lunch?' to 'what shall we name our baby?' and will quite often call my dad to rant about something stupid that happened during my day so that he can also be outraged on my behalf, it's quite rare that I actually ask them to take any action for me.

I wouldn't have done during wedding planning, had I not put a Facebook status declaring that I had asked all of the sources I had at my disposal and couldn't seem to organise a microphone and speaker for the singer, and asking whether anyone would be able to help. People had started to comment when my Dad- who is in no way a singer or DJ and who it had not even crossed my mind to ask- commented 'I'll sort it', closely followed by 'sorted it.'

Bit embarrassing.

Similarly, every problem I've mentioned in passing in front of my mum, she's managed to fix. She bought my wedding planning book, she's providing baskets, a postbox, and jewellery, suggested the venue for me, she came to the first viewing and the final meeting, has solved guest list/table plan conundrums, and knows the best places to buy crafts.

How lucky I am.

3) On Monday I am going to be a bride.

I LOVE seeing a bride. Have done ever since I was old enough to know what a bride was. A friend and I used to take turns in walking down the middle of the lounge to 'Going to the Chapel' holding my mum's artificial flowers when we were about eight. When I lived in Rome I used to drive everyone crazy by gasping, pointing, and jumping up and down in excitement, leading them to think I'd seen a new incredible building only for it to be a bride. And now I get to be one? Seriously? I actually really don't love being the centre of attention (hence the desire for a smaller wedding), but I am so excited to be a bride.

4) I seriously have the best people around me.

My parents, grandparents, best friends, brothers, cousins (especially cousins, actually) aunties, uncles, Hayley (who I regularly refer to just as My Hayley as she isn't actually related but may as well be), colleagues, parents from work, and even friends on Facebook who I haven't seen for years have all  been INCREDIBLE in helping my dreams come true and I am blown away by the efforts some people will go to for other humans every day.

5) Most importantly of all...

On Monday I am going to become a wife.

Earlier on my Dad's girlfriend said 'you're going to have a husband!'

For just a second I felt really, really grown up. I am going to have a husband. I'm going to be wearing two rings on my left hand, and I'm going to be able to say 'my husband,' and soon after that 'our baby.'

Then I looked across the room and remembered I'm marrying Dale.

'My husband' sounds ever so grown up and serious.

Dale was playing Cotton Eyed Joe for my Dad telling him he's going to organise for that to be played as we walk back up the aisle instead of the song I painstakingly chose that means a lot to us.

I had a flash back to the excitement on his face when he pulled out the blow up electric guitar he had bought and jumped around the living room with last week.

Remembered that when I was only eight weeks pregnant and telling him we mustn't get too excited, he was looking at nappies, suggesting names, and asking if it was too soon to be buying the baby a bubble gun.

Thought of the time we spent Christmas in Disney and he was jumping on the bed on Christmas Eve in excitement.

Realised that agreeing to spend the rest of my life with this guy is not as huge and grown up as it seems.

It's what was always meant to happen, and what I knew I would one day do on the day I met him.

Suddenly leaving behind my name doesn't seem so serious, and instead it seems that the absolute honour, joy and excitement that comes with selecting that 'Mrs' box and typing in his last name will never wear off.

So I will blink away the overwhelmed tears before they drip down my face and wreck my spray tan, put Father of the Bride on, and practise walking down the aisle in my lounge one last time. Planning this wedding has been every bit as magical and exciting as I thought it would be, now I only hope the day is just as wonderful. And I know that the rest of my life as Mrs Stark will live up to expectations.

I do :)

The National Curriculum of Social Etiquette

I've read and heard a lot of comments from adults saying that they wish that at school instead of algebra and Pythagoras, they had been taught life skills such as budgeting and working out taxes.

I don't particularly wish that I had been taught budgeting and working out taxes, I've managed to navigate those on my own. 

There are, however, plenty of things I wish I had been taught. In fact, the further into my twenties I get, the longer my list becomes. Because my list is not made up of finance lessons, but of social etiquette classes. 

I really believe that social etiquette classes should become essential around the age of twenty five; the age that I, at least, was suddenly presented with a whole host of new social situations that I had no idea how to handle. 

So I, ladies and gents, have put together my own Social Etiquette Curriculum. If anyone is available to teach me classes on any of the following, please let me know...

1) The bride and groom have requested money for their honeymoon in their invitation. How much do I give them? 

I've asked so many people about this, and nobody seems to have a clear answer. It needs to be at least twenty, right? But then thirty also seems reasonable. But then thirty is quite a lot. Twenty five? Is it different for an evening guest? A family member? If I'm a bridesmaid? 

My wedding season began in September 2011 and hasn't really stopped since. I've been a bridesmaid, a reader, a day guest, an evening guest, a family member, a best friend, an old friend, a family friend, the friend of a family member, and the family member of a friend, and I still don't know. 

Help me. Please. 

2) Someone has just done something far kinder for me than our relationship really calls for. Do I accept? How do I ever thank them? 

This actually happens to me quite a lot- I have a lot of ridiculously nice people around me. As I was typing that last sentence I received a text from Dale saying that his sister has just done something so kind and thoughtful for us that again, I'm not sure how we will ever thank her. 

The example I was thinking of though- that I regularly cringe at- was when I told one of the mums at work that I loved her nail varnish and she said I could have it and she would bring it in for me. I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times and actually couldn't tell you what came out in the end because I just had no idea what to say. Should I have just said thanks, I look forward to it? Objected and said just telling me where she got it from would be enough? 

I think the reason I'm often so awkward in these situations is if it's so unnecessarily kind I fear I may have misheard. 

Imagine if I had said 'ooh yes please, that's so kind of you to offer to bring in your nail varnish for me to keep' and she had to say 'oh no, I was just saying it's from Avon and it's called hot pink.' Or worse, then felt she had to give it to me even though that's not what she'd said at all. 

Similarly when people do really lovely things for me I always feel like I have to do something really lovely for them, but then sometimes that would be weird. Like one of the dads at work once bought a coffee for every single member of the team that was in that day just because. It would be so strange if I just bought him a coffee. Or anything in return really. But then how do I make him realise how much that meant to us, and that none of us will ever forget that kind gesture? 

I try my best to be as kind as that, and to do things in turn for others who I think would appreciate it, but that doesn't make me any less awkward at accepting kind gestures.

As I said above, I'm surrounded by lots of outrageously kind people so this happens a lot. Any thoughts?  

3) I've just realised that I've put my foot in it. Do I acknowledge it, try backtracking, or just completely ignore it? 

Obviously what would be really great would be a lesson in how not to put my foot in it. But a far more realistic fix would be how to deal with it once I've realised what I've done. I've just been going on and on and on about how much I dislike the name Talia. That I think it's a stupid, ridiculous name and have no idea why anyone would do that to their child. (NB: I've purposely chosen Talia because everyone knows it's actually my favourite name. I mostly manage to avoid offending people when I'm writing because I have time to think. Mostly.) I've just got to the end of my rant and realised that the person I'm talking to is, in fact, Talia. She shortens it to Tilly so I had forgotten. 

Do I tell her I've just realised and I'm so, so sorry? Do I backtrack and say, of course, it's beautiful if you're blonde, and tall, live in Chelmsford, have a sister called Holly, work in a bank....other completely unrelated things about this particular Talia....

Do I just leave a horrible silence whilst we both think about what I just said? Or speak frantically about a totally different subject. "Anyway, tell me about your new haircut, ever so lovely..." 

4) What I've just said hasn't gone down the way I thought it would. How do I save it? 

I was actually on the other end of this recently. A poor lady commented on how teeny, tiny I looked. I think she was trying to compliment me. I have a personal dislike of people commenting on my size anyway (such a strange thing to comment on I think, but maybe that's because I'm socially awkward), and what she didn't know was that I was twelve weeks pregnant and had been sick every day for eight of them and was actually acutely aware of my weight, and slightly concerned about my baby for it. What she also didn't know was that it felt to me like she was eight hundredth person to comment on my size that week, and I had used up all of my polite responses and said 'well I haven't lost any weight' in a manner most unlike me. Fortunately this lady, unlike me, is a queen of social etiquette and didn't miss a beat. She smiled serenely and came back with a perfect response that immediately calmed me. 

A few days later I was on the other side of it, and had accidentally said something that didn't go down the way I thought it would. I like to think that I also replied with a smooth, calm reaction and fixed the situation, and was temporarily proud of myself. But then I spent the rest of the day cringing that I had said the wrong thing in the first place.

So really, my question is not so much how do I save the conversation, but how do I save myself from worrying about it forevermore? And does everyone do that all the time? 

5) I'm going to a friend's house for a lunch/dinner/barbecue/gathering. I've offered to take something (right at the last minute because I am the absolute worst at planning and don't think about anything until I'm doing it) and they say no thank you. Do I still take something? 

Really I suppose my question is: is there a trick to knowing when someone is being polite and when they actually mean what they're saying? 

How am I supposed to know if she really doesn't mind what restaurant we go to or if she's just too polite to say? How do I know if he really doesn't want a coffee or is just worried about me spending my money? 

And are you always meant to take something to someone's house? Where does it end? Dinner? Barbecue? Coffee? Dropping in a birthday card? 

Also what are you supposed to take? Flowers? Box of chocolates? Wine? Is there a rule for which gift for which situation? 

Who is meant to teach me this? How do other adults know? 

6) What makes a good house warming gift? 

I don't think I have ever bought anyone a good house warming gift. When we moved in we got some gorgeous gifts- but I was so open with our colour scheme and I am so easy going that I think I'm quite easy to buy for. But how am I supposed to buy a house warming gift for someone who has very specific taste but rarely talks about their home decor choices? 

It's so hard. Help me. 

7) My friend's had a baby. How often do I call/text/turn up? 

When someone's had a baby I take it completely for granted that everyone that they have ever met will want to see them. Perhaps because I love babies, or because I have a close family, or because most people I know love babies. So I just assume they'll be inundated with guests and won't need me getting in the way. And they won't want to be bombarded with messages from me when they're getting used to the madness of parenthood and dealing with all these visitors and getting over childbirth. So I'll pop in when invited but will otherwise leave them to it. 

But then I read something recently about new parents feeling let down and lonely when their friends don't call/text/turn up. 

But surely doing it all the time is just as much of a pain? 

Adulthood is a minefield, seriously. 

When am I supposed to learn this stuff, and who is supposed to teach me? 

I could actually write an entire novel on this topic. I haven't even got started on eating meat when your friends have forgotten you're vegetarian, talking comfortably about death and illness, how to deal with having a serious dislike of your friend's boyfriend, or what to do when you realise you haven't been listening and your pal is waiting for a response. So for the moment, I will continue trying to Do The Right Thing and Not Make A Complete Idiot of Myself, and will use all my ridiculous mistakes as writing material. But as soon as you start offering social etiquette lessons- sign me up.