I don’t need sympathyΒ 

I need change. 

People always wondered why I was a book worm.. Never made any sense why out of all of my siblings I would choose a book over playing outside or watching a movie. Everybody has a story and everybody is the way they are because of something they’re enduring or have already overcome. Reading for me was an escape, fictional novels to be precise. Give me a book light and I would not sleep until that book was done… Tearing up as I write this because I fell in love with reading for all the WRONG reasons. It makes sense now why I enjoy taking Zayn to the library, reading him books at night, going on imaginative journeys together.. My hope is when he grows older he’ll pick up a book because he WANTS to not because he HAS to. 

My mother was amazing,heck that word isn’t enough.. She sung every nursery rhyme under the sun, would buy me new picture books and ask me to draw my own conclusions or tell her the story from my point of view then she’d begin to read it.. I remember staring at her in awe, as if she were performing magic, creating characters, changing voices when along she was just reading. That’s the beauty of innocence when your young, you don’t know much.. 

As I got older it became more obvious, as beautiful as she was.. She was somehow being punished.. The yelling, the shoving, glass breaking – tears, lots and lots of tears. There I was a ten year old, rushing to my bedroom, opening the drawer “read read read” I’d whisper to myself almost as if I was in a rush, come to think of it I was.. I wanted to escape, I wanted it to be over, he usually went for 15 minutes but I’d cry as I’d begin to read, and before I knew it there I was riding a dragon in my favourite book ‘Eragon’. It didn’t matter to me that an hour went by, I was away, I was happy – he was done.

Domestic Violence is real, it happens.. To all the women that say “I’m staying for my kids” RUN! Your kids shouldn’t have to escape life in their own home, their safe place.. Your children shouldn’t have to fall asleep quietly sobbing wondering why you woke up with eyes so swollen from all the tears.. Your children shouldn’t have to hide in their bedroom and cover their younger brothers ears as he yells and hits you while they endure the psychological trauma.. Your children need a HAPPY home. That’s not to say my parents didn’t have happy days, when those days happened I would get all excited and try to enjoy them, but when those days turned into weeks I’d worry, because it wouldn’t have been long before he’d decide to have another pointless fit.

My point is whether your single or married, make your goal as a couple to be the best of friends, show love and compassion.. Kiss each other infront of your kids, giggle and give endless cuddles, children Are not children for long and as they get older they’ll be able to recognise love and instantly feel at home. They shouldn’t have to escape reality but rather live in the moment, full of happiness and joyful experiences.

Mum I am so proud of you, proud of the guts it took to stand on your own two feet. And when my children grow older and they need a story of inspiration I can tell you now it won’t begin with ‘once upon a time’. πŸ’š

Disclaimer –  you want to argue ? Bite your tongue and say “bed time”. Children shouldn’t witness an intense arguement between their parents, that can happen while they’re snoozing away dreaming of Peter Pan. No bed time routine ? Text.. Emojis make arguements so much more fun 😊




Nikki Gemell. A woman, a Mum, an Author. Do your research.

It’s obvious I abandoned blogging for a period of time, some of that time was to to take care of my health both mentally and physically. Recovering from a miscarriage is daunting, especially going through one the way I did.. But laying here tonight her words echo through my mind again and again.. How I was ever so blessed with her reading my blog posts is beyond me .. She said “keep writing strong”..  Never understood why she even clicked on my link, hell I’ve said it before, blogging is my way of venting, seems like I can communicate better in writing that in a social setting *sigh*.

I have to secretly admit I still log in sometimes just to check stats, seems like there are few people checking in every day or so which is cute.. I mean you probably want to kill me but I know the love is there πŸ˜‰

I should stick to what I do best and that is writing ( maybe not so good with grammatical errors ) but aslong as you get my flow I’m good ) 

Nikki, you are an inspiration.. This post is for you.

Back again! ( for nowπŸ˜‚πŸ™Š)




That’s exactly how I feel. In limbo. Maybe that word best describes it. 9 weeks pregnant with my third, it took a while to wrap my head around the fact that it was actually happening.. That somehow as a 22 year old, I was capable of being a mother to THREE children. I never was truly content, and I think that’s where the problem was, that’s what my body knew and rejected it. 

I miscarried at 9 and a half weeks pregnant, in medical terms described as ‘blighted ovum’. I was gutted although a part of me was slightly, selfishly and shamefully relieved. I felt like a crappy mother the minute I fell pregnant, overwhelmed with emotion although a month before this DH and I were discussing having a third. I had a horrible week, and felt relieved that we had not delved into the idea, I was content with the life I had, and came to realise that having a third would be undue stress on myself, my children and my marriage.

However, God, the universe whatever higher power you believe in had other plans. I felt horrible and almost evil that I cried for 4 hours straight when I found out I was pregnant, don’t get it confused, I would never say that I didn’t want this pregnancy, I kept repeating, I don’t deserve this pregnancy. You see this little being that was being created inside of me deserved a loving Mummy, someone who had butterflies when she realised she was pregnant, someone who was anxious and filled with excitement at her first ultrasound, someone who just couldn’t wait till the day she’d meet him or her. Instead.. I was distraught, dreading the day where I’d be running after three little very dependant children.. Who would suffer? My three year old who I would come to overload with responsibilities beyond his capabilities ? Or will my marriage be sacrificed ? Maybe my sanity ? 

So I sat there, waiting for the synographer to call my name, it was the moment every Mother looks forward to.. Hearing the heart beat, excited to make sure everything is okay and baby is healthy… Except that wasn’t me.. And it hurt so much that I couldn’t fix me, fix my mind, fix my heart.. I just wasn’t excited and I hated myself for it. “Can’t see a baby”.. Hearing her say those words, I followed with a sigh of relief and then came the tears, how could I react this way ? Why was I feeling this way ? Why couldn’t I be grateful that I was able to carry another child while others struggle for years. I was selfish, but I could not control it, and I am sorry for it.

I am so so sorry for it.


Why the hate ???

Dear Miss/Mrs Anonymous, I thank you for leaving such a judgemental comment, please note that I own my website and do not feature on it πŸ˜‰. Secondly, I assume you’re the person refreshing my page 21 times a day ? Yes I get those notifications too 😳. Finally, I chose not to publish your comment, rather I will reply to it. 

You mentioned that I have no time for my kids because I study ? Okay, well.. Did you know I was one of the very first people to allocate my tutorial times ? This meant I chose the times most convenient for my children, not for me ! To clarify, my children have never been to a daycare ! I am not ashamed to say that they do, however, I have a great Mother, who encouraged me to keep on my studies, and who selflessly looks after them whenever I have to attend Uni. (She’s a whole other story, God love her !) 

Just because I do not post photos of my husband and I, gives you no reason to assume I have a failed marriage, or that I am a single parent. My husband, was and remains my biggest supporter, trying, wherever he can to help me achieve my goal of finishing my studies. Most selfless man I have ever met, none the less I still manage to cook and maintain our household, so thank you for your concern, but we’re okay. πŸ˜€

My mind cannot seem to wrap around the idea that a woman cannot do it all ? I am a mother, wife and student, not a god damn Martian ! This is not the 50’s, I am still able to maintain a social life, be present for my family, and still have aspirations. I am sorry, but I refuse to be the status quo, although some women are comfortable and satisfied, it is not me. I know this because I tried it. I was going to go insane, my mind needs to be nurtured, and for me, that means feeding it knowledge. That may seem a little odd to you, but just know the rest of your comment did not come from hate, it came from a sense of insecurity. I don’t know who you are, but by the sounds of it, you have a dream that you still haven’t strived or attempted to strive for. My advice ? Get out of your comfort zone ! You want it ? Do it ! 

Gosh, I am so sick of women pulling each other down, what every happened to support and optimism ?! 

P.s. I’m back, I’ve missed writing so much.. And with this semester finishing up.. I’ll have much more time.  β˜ΊοΈ


Yes.. Through the night !!

Finally ! I’ve achieved it.. Four month old sleeping through the night πŸ’ͺπŸ’ͺπŸ’ͺ

So remember that post about the whole sleep deprived, zombie look alike mama ? Say Aur revoir ( think that’s how you spell it ) cos Mama Bear is getting sleep! 

It’s true what they say about your first child being an experiment and all. Went through every process known to man kind when Zayn was a newborn, from Gina Fords method of diligent timing to the ” let them be babies, listen to their needs “. Well no. 

I did it my way and if it makes any sense.. Having Zayn made it abit easier. Bath times remained consistent.. I would bath Zayn first, read him a story then tuck him in bed followed by Miss E. Bath, dress then feed her a warm bottle – no play time just straight into her cot. 

It’s not rocket science that babies don’t know the difference between night and day.. But babies are smart when it comes to what they expect.. For example every three hours they cry expecting a feed.. Don’t think for a second they aren’t smart little cookies. You see because I bath Elaina at the same time every day, her cry is different at 6pm, not just for a feed but for a bath aswell. Newborns are already overwhelmed coming into this world, nothing is known to them so I think consistency is key.. Knowing that they are going to get the same bath ” wind down ” every day makes them that little more relaxed and comfortable – by placing them straight into their cot/bassinet you’re teaching them the difference between night and day. So as each day passes they start to realise ” okay bath = sleepy time “. 

Getting her to sleep through the night began when she turned 4 months. I began feeding her puree once a day at around 5pm, an hour before her bath and bottle. Babies stomachs are very tiny, with puree and a full bottle of milk she should be able to hold her hunger till at least 5am given a 6pm bed time. So three nights in a row there were two or three random wake ups and each time I placed the dummy in her mouth ( I plan to stop the dummy when she’s 6 months ). Three nights passed of continuously waking up and then boom.. My little baby started waking at 5am then 5.30am and now amazingly at 6am. And no I’m not starving my baby to death, the fact that she’s been sleeping through the night for three weeks now means she’s happily full ..I’m not that harsh.

Many people won’t agree with my method and that’s fine you do what suits you. But in my case it works for me. I could not imagine myself waking 4 – 5 times a night, I just wasn’t myself those first couple of months not to mention not feeling positive. Routine doesn’t work for everyone, some people’s lives obliges them to have their babies work around their time and that’s fine, I’m just sharing what makes my life that little bit easier.

I can’t imagine my life without the R word πŸ™Š.. At the end of the day my two kids are tucked in bed by a certain time.. And you can guess who’s having their cup of coffee HOT & UNINTERRUPTED πŸ’πŸ’.



Did it work ?

For those who read a blog post that I had published before Elaina was born, this post is to follow up on that. 

Those who haven’t, a little break down: I had heard of a method to prepare toddlers (esp those under two) for another sibling by introducing stuffed animals as a means of getting them used to having a baby. In our household Zayn opted for a stuffed bunny whom we called “baby”. I’d pretend feed it when Zayn would eat, bath it when Zayn would, invite the bunny to play when Zayn and I would be playing legos or painting. Long story short it was to try and eliminate the jealousy that toddlers feel towards a new sibling most of the time.

Well I’m glad to scream ” IT WORKED! IT BLOODY WORKED!”. As soon as we brought Elaina home, he wanted to take care of her just as much as I did. Till this very day change time consists of him running into her room, handing me her nappy, dragging his little stepping stool to hop on and ” ELP”. Help isn’t the word, he has surpassed all the expectations I had in regards to his reaction to another sibling in the house. I see parents with children close in age trying to make the other feel good by saying things like ” baby yucky, so and so is niiiccceee “. That is not the way to go. I understand children get jealous and maybe I’m just one of the lucky few however encouraging those types of comments will only lead to one thing ‘ superiority ‘. 

Toddlers love to feel independent even though we don’t allow them to be most of the time they still try and tap into that side of them at every moment they get, so let them. The first thing I did when Zayn walked into the hospital room was hand Elaina over to him, yes a lot of people were and still are to this day sceptical of having a toddler carry a newborn ( with all eyes on them mind you ).. But not allowing them that right builds on the thoughts they might having going on in their little minds ” so only mum and dad can carry her, so she’s special, I can’t ” – these thoughts are there. So carry her he did, feed her he tried, played with her he failed but I never said no. Yes I approached them all with caution, but I wanted to paint a loud picture in his mind as subliminal as humanly possible -that she’s not all that special.

Big brother he has become, so stereotypical but yes he is protective. The moment he hears her cry in the morning, he’ll make sure her door is open only to bolt in and try to comfort her by saying ” laynaa ishh okaayy “. Once he realises that isn’t working, common sense kicks in and he screams ” MAMA LAYNNAAA WANNA EAAATT! ” 

So yes, it feels good to know that I stuck to something and succeeded! It was boring as hell, fake changing a bunny, bathing, feeding, playing with a bunny !! In the end though I came out winning and boy am I cheering now. 





I Forgot.

Sounds stupid huh

I actually forgot labour was painful. I don’t know why but whilst being pregnant with Elaina I had reminisced about my labour experience with Zayn as a walk in the park, so magical πŸ‘€ < (don’t ask but that’s how I remembered and still remember it to be).

I dedicated a blog post following the birth of my first child a while back on the blog, even though I had forgotten the intricate details as I wrote it months after he was born. This time is no different, positive feedback from that post encouraged me to relive my labour experience with Elaina. 

Heads up to those expecting or not  – if you flinch at the mention of labour,I suggest you close this tab NOW. Lord knows I don’t want to be responsible for a spontaneous labour πŸ™ˆ.

It’s amazing how I carried two children, same body, same uterus, same bloody womb yet two complete different pregnancy experiences, so having a different labour experience wasn’t a complete shock. My due date was 28/01/15. If I’m being completely honest, my due date felt like it was 1/01/15, I convinced myself that I could not carry on any longer. Blame it on the exhaustion,stress or simply running after another child but I felt like a lost cause for that last month – scratch that a lost balloon more like it. It was a depressing month, not having the energy to go places, wearing shirts that could pass for crop tops – yep that glorious third trimester journey πŸ‘

At what would be my final hospital appointment which fell on a Thursday and had already been 7 days overdue , I had a stretch and sweep performed (no I will not explain it for those who do not know – Google it 😷). From all the experiences I read on the internet I was expecting to go into labour that night. 


Friday – 


Saturday – I’d had enough. That morning I jumped up and down renacting Peppa Pig, squatted a gazilion times, convinced myself to clean as much as I could. Visiting my inlaws that afternoon my mother inlaw convinced me to take a walk around the block 😩. Anyone who knows me personally would vouch for that fact that I wouldn’t walk if my life depended on it. Ask me to do 100 squats but do not ask me to walk. Something came over me that day though, that something was my stubbornness. I’d had enough, ready to pull her out myself I agreed and walked around the block I did. 

Sunday morning 8/02/15 – I think I was possessed. Waking at 4am to vigorously mop the floors, do the dusting, wash and hang all the clothes, I knew it was the day.

My experience with Zayn is what Drs refer to as a ” textbook style labour “. Waters broke, contractions followed then boom helloooooo baby. Boy was it different this time round. Contractions began at around 9am, wasn’t completey sure they were contractions after all I had been experiencing severe braxton hicks for the weeks leading up to that day. 

12pm – it was the real deal, 10 mins apart, before I knew it it was 3pm and 5 mins between each contraction. If I thought I was in pain then – I was blind as to what was in store.

Midwife examined me, quickly noticed that I was lucky enough to have had a speedy labour with my first and admitted me straight in. Pain was only getting stronger almost unbearable! I am a sucker when it comes to pain. I walk and moan when I contract, it’s how I deal with it,I do not want to be touched, I do not want to be talked to and hell I do not want to be asked if IM OKAY. Looking back I could only imagine how my poor husband was feeling, I probably resembled a scene straight out of paranormal activity πŸ™Š.Finally the midwife broke my waters to bring on the third stage of labour – before I knew it I just wanted her out. But oh wait this is where miss ” I want to go all natural ” decided to ask for the epidural – not a smart move seeing as the midwife declared I was 9cm and ready. Rejected and grateful I was. I pushed without permission, without buzzing I pushed. I was just a stubborn as I was with my first, I didn’t   wait for contractions – the second I started pushing I didn’t stop. 

6.20pm I began my third stage of labour ( pushing ), my baby girl arrived at 6.32pm weighing a healthy 3.6kg and 52cm tall. No surgical interference and no tearing. I’ve always been one to encourage natural labour. I’ve mentioned it before and will again – the woman’s body was built to be able to endure this experience, how everyone decides to experience it is up to them but truly appreciating the body I have happens during labour. It felt like my first labour was repeating itself, pushing and feeling every muscle in my body take on that command and pushing with me. 

This post isn’t just for me to document my personal experience, but also to possibly encourage the pregnant reader to just be open minded to a natural labour. The facts are there black and white. And to the reader that has already been strong enough to bring a child into this world, hats off to you. Whichever way you went about bringing them into this world, the pain is still very much present and real and for that you hold the greatest honour known amongst mankind- being a mother.