Dear Me, pre-motherhood, AKA 2013-me.
You may not believe this but in four years time you will be a mum to a
little shit boisterous free-spirited two year old mancub you named William.
Crazy right – they’ve just told you that you can’t conceive naturally, that you don’t ovulate. Continue reading “Dear Me, pre-motherhood, when my arse didn’t require its own postcode”