A yoga teacher once told me that if you pretend to smile you will one day start believing you are actually happy.

What she failed to mention was that you have to smile all day, every day, until your mouth it about to fall off your face in order for it to work. 

I mean I looked like a wrecking ball. Cold, steely, and round, sweating as if I was a hippopotamus in the Sahara dessert. My chubby hands couldn’t even type the damn keyboard.  Pretend to smile…. 

Fuck that yoga teacher. 

I sat there at my work desk 10 months pregnant, my glass of water just out of reach. If I could lift my round puffy arm…..one.. inch…..further….I could just about get it. It was me and the glass. I stared that glass doooooowwwn. Grunting at myself. Why did I leave my cup so far away? WHY Meagan WHY?

In my hating-life-because-I-was-so-pregnant-glass moment, I looked down again but this time at my extremely round belly and thought, am I always going to be pregnant? 

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Seriously, I had this thought.

It wasn’t a forced thought like “Remember to pick up toilet paper on the way home,” it was more of a “brush by your shoulder I’m in a rush to get on the tube so I can get a seat” thought. It was there. I had it but not on purpose. 

After 10 months – yes, TEN months – of lugging around this awkwardly shaped suitcase of a belly, I came to accept that I would indeed always be pregnant. This little ball of alien goo did not want to come out. Don’t worry he DID eventually come out, but he was 2 and half weeks late and the doctors had to suck him out with a hoover.

My other thought was, is my career over? 

I was so angry at myself for even having such a thought. I doubt the boyf ever had this thought running through his mind. Psh. I doubt he had any thoughts for that matter, he was walking around all free and shit. ; )

I mean THIS thought should not have even entered my head, you know, women’s rights! RAWR.

And let’s not forget, I worked my ass off – in high school, then university and now with the corporate suits – to get to where I am today. I am not giving up now bitches. 

So I popped that baby out.

Okay that’s definitely an exaggeration, my body somehow squeezed the baby out over a 72 hour period with the help of drugs, pitocin and a ventuose suction cup. I wasn’t joking when I said they hoovered him out. 

It was gruesome. It was hard.


But it’s over and I am a new and improved woman.

During mat leave, I continued doing my post-graduate degree and started a blog. After five months I returned to work with a BANG…..and a cuddly blanket for lunchtime naps. 

I’m not going to lie, I struggled through the first six months back at work. Bear was not sleeping, ever. He was constantly ill, throwing up, fever, teething, more fevers, runny noses. I’m not exaggerating he was sick every week for two months straight. I blamed the nursery, took him out and hired a nanny. 

And also hired a sleep trainer. If I was religious, she would be my God. 

Hannah Love saved my life. She handed me the golden swan of youth. 

Finally, I was alive and I was ready to kick some ass, literally – like that girl from the film Kick Ass. 

The fire inside me blazing, I was coming in HOT. 

And then I had another thought, I miss Bear. 

WHAT? Where did that come from? My fire turned into a little wavy flame, the kind you get from those circular-shaped candles at Ikea.

I love working, I love having my own time, I love being successful with something that is my own. I know that my son is happy with the nanny and I am happy here, so why am I missing him YO? 

I wish I could really listen, and absooooorrb (getting those hippy mushy words on), what that damn yoga teacher is telling me. “Meditate once a day for ten minutes and  watch your thoughts pass by you as if they are clouds.”

But I couldn’t, the juggle of work and motherhood was down-right exhausting, I felt like I had two heads who met on a daily basis for Fight Club.

The first rule of Fight Club is, You do not talk about Fight Club.


The 7th rule was particularly relevant for me: Fights will go on as long as they have to. 

My fights used to last daaaaaays, son – I’m ghetto now. 


Fight Club is not worth my time anymore. I have moved on to bigger and better things, like going to war as a grizzly tank commander who has to make a tough decision as my crew and I cross Germany. 


But seriously, I’m quite grizzly.

Okay I digress….it’s so hard to say nice things about yourself….

I consider myself successful now. I am happy with where I am. My work. My family. My hobbies. Everything has fallen into place and I can see the light……………I’m starting to hear a soft melody in the background….nim–eee-ma—ngonyama—bagithi baba —me-manamana–…..

From the day we arrive on the planet….And, blinking, step into the sun……..

My life really has come full circle now and I am so glad that I birthed a gloriously energetic, beautiful dancer of a son and met a bearded mountain man of a “husband” as well as relish in a fantastically creative career. There aren’t enough words to describe how content I’m feeling. So I will end this post in song. 

Oh yeah, my yoga teacher can actually fuck off now. My smile is REAL.

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