My first gig when I was over the advised 12 weeks safe period in which to tell people (although be warned if you have an elderly mother like me - she had me at 43 - then they just write it in every Christmas card they send at three weeks anyway) I didn't mention it on stage and it just felt wrong.
As I sit typing amongst an army of plastic fantastic (the majority of which I might add I have actually paid good money for) I realise the extent to which our stylish pad has become a giant toy box of garish monstrosity.
Adoption is a good thing, it gives children a second chance of experiencing enduring family relationships when birth parents cannot care for them and no other reasonable options are available in the wider family.
Fatherhood brings many challenges: dirty nappies, a depleted social life and a messy house to name just a few. But two of the toughest challenges a father will have to deal with is their lack of sleep and high stress levels.
I hope that this information going public has made someone's life that little bit easier now. Someone who does struggle to buy medicine for their children as there will be people out there who do need this help.
As they grow, there are good runs and bad runs. Over winter it doesn't end, this relay of broken nights. They begin with sickness and end with sickness, the washing machine spins constantly, the soundtrack to dark.
Although I work from home I regularly travel and meet people in London and elsewhere. But despite meticulous planning and a lot of (expensive) childcare it doesn't always go smoothly. Here are just 10 things that nearly stopped me from getting to work today:
Do we really want that bodycon dress, that we'd never have even looked at pre-bump because it's hot maternity fashion property thanks to Abbey Clancey, or go dotty for Kate Middleton's polka dots because the media went mad for their maternity style?
Before children - a traditional holiday haunt in the pre-children days. I don't know why, but a lazy pub lunch and a few cheeky vinos, enjoyed in the company of good friends, always seemed to taste better on a Sunday / Monday afternoon when you'd traditionally be at work.
When I was a kid there were two options. 1) you had a party at home. Non of the parents stayed. Overjoyed at two hours away from their children. You played crap games. Expected to get crap gifts and the party bags consisted of a balloon and a bit of squashed cake or 2) you had a McDonalds party. That. Was. It.
You have to apply your own shoes to your own feet before you leave the house. Poking one toe in one shoe and then proclaiming that you can't do it, DOES NOT COUNT as a good effort.
You can prepare for nearly everything these days. You can revise, plan, organise, the lot. Only, annoyingly, one of the things you can't prepare for is, oh... just one of the biggest moments of your life.
My youngest daughter Georgina could not read properly until she was eight, and fortunately, she went to a school where she was not pressured to. So we took it nice and easy. Her father read to her every night, because though she could not read, she loved stories.
I did not believe I had PND. My perception of the illness was based largely on the front page news stories about mothers harming themselves or their children and TV dramas that showed women with PND pushing their pram into the road.
Now my poor second daughter is, almost literally, banging on the door and ready to come into this world, and the billions of worldwide examples just can't stem my growing anxiety that I simply don't have enough love.
Life with anorexia nervosa is not just a diet gone wrong. Anorexia becomes a prison built up out of self-hatred and shame. Elena's disorder isolated her from friends and family, controlled her actions, and severely damaged her health.