Here’s to the dads.



(^ Oxytocin – the closest thing to magic that is produced by the human body)


Here’s to the dads whose faces light up when they first lay eyes upon their son or daughter as they arrive in this world.

Here’s to the dads who visibly marvel at the women who have grown and nurtured this baby with their own bodies.

Here’s to the dads who openly weep as their emotions find no words to carry them.

Here’s to the dads who worry that their own giddy state will cause them to lop off a child’s limb as you gently indicate where they can cut the umbilical cord.

Here’s to the dads who share in their partner’s joy at the wriggling, confused human before them.

Here’s to the dads who hold these children with equal parts love and strength and a commitment to never let harm come to them.

Here’s to the dads who ask you jovially: “What’s that in English?” as you tell them the weight of their child in grammes, so that they can share the news with impatiently waiting family and friends.

Here’s to the dads whose faces are nothing short of incredulous as you handle their baby confidently and carefully to check that there are all the bits there visibly should be, and none of the bits there shouldn’t.

Here’s to the dads who look at a nappy with the eyes of someone whose just been given a project with no instructions, or pattern to follow, but does it anyway and does a fine job

Here’s to the dads who hold baby aloft like Rafiki, only to hear that rumble of thunder from that clean nappy.

Here’s to the dads who apologise for every question that they think they should already know.

Here’s to the dads who all have the same face when those tiny fingers wrap themselves around his own, seemingly giant finger.

Here’s to the dads who don’t call looking after their own child “babysitting”

Here’s to the dads who don’t hunt down the teenager who breaks their son’s heart

Here’s to the dads who show their daughters that they deserve respect and equality

Here’s to the dads who teach their children about consent, and love.

Here’s to the dads who do the job of an absent mother

Here’s to the dads who are actually mums who stepped up

Here’s to the dads whom are there from their child’s first breath

Here’s to the dads who have to witness their child’s last breath

Here’s to the dads who stay silent in a birth room, like the heart beat of their child whom they’ve never met.

Here’s to the dads who don’t know what to say to the woman they love as she births this baby born sleeping with everything that she is

Here’s to the dads who only get to hold their babies for what seems like a nanosecond. A drop in the ocean compared with what should be a childhood of firsts

Here’s to the dads who will never get to hold their daughters hoping to heal their broken hearts

Here’s to the dads who will never get to read their sons a bedtime story

Here’s to the dads who would trade everything to hear their own child laugh

Here’s to the dads.

Here’s to all of you.


Thank you for letting me a part of your lives, even just for a short time. I mean it when I say it’s a privilege to have witnessed you becoming a father


MHJ xxx



Not about politics. Promise

Sup, followers / casual readers?


Apologies for the silence for the past couple of weeks, but I have been doing the do. aka being a midwife.

I know, I know, other midwives manage to blog and be amazing and change the world overnight – but I’m here feeling like I’ve won the day if I remember to take my work shoes to work.
Which I didn’t yesterday.

I’ve mentioned before that my new job is in a Trust which is not where I trained, and while the core principles are the same, subtle and savage differences have left me feeling like a 2nd year student on a couple of occasions.

The most reassuring thing is that I work with colleagues who pretty much tell me “Heather, same same, but different, but same!”. A crisis of confidence is causing this – I keep second guessing myself – I rattle off my plans to anyone who will listen and then look for someone who will cannulate (I can’t yet), set up IVs (I can’t yet), sort out the online prescribed drugs (awaiting IT thumbs up), descend like an angel to do an ARM through a woman’s 1-2cm dilated cervix (thank you, AO!).

Basically, I feel like a freaking burden in a lot of ways at the minute, and that vindictive voice in the back of my head (the one I have gagged for months and months by feeling like I’m winning a bit) has woken up with a fresh batch of disdain and vitriol at the ready.

Essentially, care of the woman is the same wherever you are, but there is no denying that correct and accurate record keeping, ANTT, and policy is essential.

I need to stop being so bloody hard on myself, but with no peers at the minute (everyone has at least 6 months more experience), it’s difficult to gauge my progress.

My Bishop’s score is approximately 2. And I need to get a fucking grip

Bleeping Edna…



MHJ xx