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We’ve a photo somewhere of me standing next to a trailer, two recently shorn sheep within, baby George on ma hip. 

Being deeply immersed in first-time motherhood I don’t remember a thing about the acquisition of these beasts, my brain couldn’t cope with anything ‘extra.’ 

Where did they came from? Why didn’t we get small sheep? Why sheep at all? 

‘Extra’ was a regular occurrence at our place, extra chickens, extra dogs, extra poultry, extra planting, extra fencing, extra equipment, extra tools. 

All making my husband very happy me not so much. (Overwhelm comes to mind.)

I aim to live simple, he aims to live large.       

I’m Little House On The Prairie, he’s more Dallas.

I like to consider, he likes to decide.

I’m not a ‘things’ person, he loves his (numerous🙄)  accoutrements.

Moving in he was go, go, go, on speed, me needing weed, to cope! (Joking 😂)

I remember sitting on the new deck, looking out over our jungle, pile of Earth Garden magazines by my side, Jackie French book in my lap (remember her?) wishing I could instantly have her life, her gorgeous garden, wombats and all.

But reality had set in, Jackie’s garden was presumably her full-time job, the hippies in Earth Garden magazines too. We both had full-time jobs elsewhere, longish commutes, food to buy, food to cook, laundry to do, floors to sweep, kitchens and bathrooms to clean in this new big tree-house and this was all before the addition of bairns!                                   

As for our other fanciful notion at the time (young couples planning futures together, i recommend clarifying those vague notions!), the “aaaw let’s get a cow and milk it and make cheese. How niiice would that beeee” 🙄🙄         

Think I may have uttered those words. 

Who was going to go out every single morning to catch and milk Daisy or Bessie?? Who would deal with overflowing vats of milk every day, make it into edible cheese?     

I came to my senses.

So through the yin yang-ness 0f our relationship we’ve weathered many storms. After almost 40yrs together have our life-takes rubbed off on each other?  Maybe a little, kind of, not really. 🤨🧐😆

Anyway, back to the sheep. 

The iconic Australian Woolshed was right on our doorstep at the time, an Aussie tourist attraction visited by thousands. Flocks of sheep, cattle dogs rounding them up, breeds galore, singlet-clad blokes in akubras shearing  to 🎶Waltzing Matilda🎶  Must have had an influence for sure.

Mortgaged to the eyeballs (1997) no money for a ride-on, we needed a way of keeping the grass down. Goats were considered but their reputation of eating everything and busting through fences helped the decision so sheep it was, two big fat sheep.

Clive of the pretty face, Derek of the confused did their job without fuss, the opposite of dramatic, boring some might say. No running off just eating, staring and baa-ing quietly.

‘Old’ Bob the sheep-shearer, (probably my age) presumably from a real farm or sheep station somewhere , cheerfully did his rounds of the area to all the playing-at-farming types and expertly rid D&C of their fleeces. Still have one vac-packed away, planning to get it on the needles!

     Vets were rarely needed but remember calling one to look at the mysterious wounds regularly appearing on both their hindquarters, caused by wild dogs apparently so came home from work one day to Colditz Castle on our front lawn, a substantial barbed wire holding bay for the woolly boys right next to our front door, so for a while we looked like Medieval serfs with our nice but smelly sheep living on top of us. 

Nothing much else to say about D&C, both eventually, quietly succumbed to old age, never made a fuss, even in death. We were sad but not too sad, they were only sheep after all.                                 

So it was sheep oot, cows in.

Let’s be clear. Feminism is not about man-hating, merely “the advocating of social, political, legal and economic rights for women, equal to that of men.”

But is it needed in 2025? Wasn’t this sorted years ago? Surely women have equality?

I was born in 1965 on the Boomer/Gen X cusp, an old-school second -wave feminist since my early 20’s, I loved reading Germaine Greer, Marilyn French, Erica Jong, Gloria Steinem and as a midwifery student Sheila Kitzinger was a great influence as were the Association Of Radical Midwives, UK.

Seemed the fight for women’s rights wasn’t over especially in the world of pregnancy and birth, and it’s ongoing. And what about women who find it difficult or impossible to claim their rights, feel they don’t have a voice? It’s for them that feminism is so important.

Wouldn’t have labelled myself feminist back then (had a lot to learn) the word had such negative connotations. My community and the culture of 1980’s industrial West of Scotland encouraged women to be amenable and polite, respect authority, keep the peace. Good looks and a thin body helped too. Such lofty goals put upon us.

Feminists were those strident,bolshy, bra-burning types on the telly, ‘women’s libbers’ always making a fuss, what were they going on about?

I took for granted the hard-won rights they and their predecessors fought for, took for granted that I could vote, have my own bank account and credit card, have a mortgage on my own without a male guarantor (1984 here in Australia before that was possible. Beggars’ belief.)

Took for granted I wouldn’t be banished to a mother and baby home if accidentally pregnant, forced to adopt my baby, carry the trauma and shame. Took for granted the walk-in Family Planning clinic down the road dispensing the pill and condoms like lollies. Took for granted I wouldn’t be demonised for leaving a bad relationship.

And my job for more than 30 years has been caring for pregnant women before, during and after birth and in recent years for those dealing with the myriads of problems caused by female sex organs. Many of these women are vulnerable (another reason I’m so invested.) I’ve a particular perspective, you won’t believe some of the things nurse/midwives see in big city hospitals, and not in a good way.

The living-alone-frail-elderly needing in-home care, the intellectually disabled, the domestic violence victims, the floridly mentally unwell, schoolgirls having babies, refugees with security guards in-toe, incarcerated women with backgrounds of abuse and drug addiction.

And let’s not forget women in Afghanistan and Iran, or the women forced into prostitution (don’t get me started on the term ‘sex work’) or commercial surrogacy because of economic necessity, what about trafficked women or the ones forced into child marriage, or suffering the effects of female genital mutilation. All oppressed because of their biological sex.

Nothing is sorted for women unless ALL the women are ok.

Our biological functions and physical size are different from the male half of the population, make us vulnerable in certain situations, it’s not weakness, just the fact of having specific needs for privacy and protection different to the blokes.

I’m surrounded by the very best of men in my own life and see lovely ones in my workplace supporting their women, feeling their pain, worrying for them but unfortunately, not all men are lovely. I see them too. See their impact, see the results of coercive control and physical violence, see the emotional and verbal stuff in action.

We females can never rest on our laurels, we need to keep banging on about our unique needs.

At the end of the day, it’s not men who deal with the inconvenience of bleeding every month, the hormonal ups and downs. Don’t grow babies in their bodies, birth them, feed them. Don’t ever have to consider the physical implications of miscarriage, ectopic pregnancy, termination. Don’t deal with crazy-making fluctuating hormones in their 40’s and 50’s and the disruptions to their day-to-day life.

So, the option of single sex, female-only private spaces and female-only care providers (if requested) are a basic right for us, especially for intimate examinations or where we might need to undress for any reason. Toilets, changing rooms, hospital wards, clinics and gyms and shelters. And remember, unisex is not the same as female only.

We women can’t take our eyes off the ball, need to keep an eye on politics, on the law and modern trends.

In the name of inclusivity (which of course is important) modern language is changing, terms for woman pop up such as birthing people, chest-feeder, menstruator, ovulator, person with a cervix. If you’re hearing these for the first time, it’s true! Personally, my visceral, gut reaction is to find them dehumanising, describing women by their body parts. Do we do this to men? No! We already have words and language for our female sex, they don’t need to be tampered with.

1. ⭐️Be yourself, write truthfully with integrity and good intentions.

2. 🫣Try not to sound like too much of a w*#•er (tho some will think you are😆🤷‍♀️)

3. 🤐 Patient/woman’s privacy and confidentiality first and foremost. No one should recognise themselves or their situation.

4. ❌Write about hypothetical scenarios/patients or a blend of, not real-life stuff, nothing recent😱

5. ✍️Be fully informed of your hospital’s social media policy and professional organisation’s code of ethics & conduct.

6. 🫶Write about what you know and feel passionate about.

7. ❤️Always, always keep work buddies in mind, they’re your people. You can have different opinions but still like and respect each other.

8. 😇Write for the common good, maybe to help improve a situation, not to create outrage or worry.

9. 🧐Ask yourself why you feel the need to put it out there?

10. 💪🏻If you think you might impact even ONE person in a positive way, go on, do it, be brave

Arriving in Oz joined an agency needing a salary asap.

First shift, morning on the postnatal floor, large public hospital, old building, no AC, stinking hot 35-degree day, white dress and tights clinging, whir of multiple fans, sweat trickling down my back.

Women and babies familiar, nothing else, paperwork, language, jargon all different, midwives over-worked, unfriendly. “ain’t coming back here”

(*working agency, you’re either hated on sight or adored)

Full-time job offer from small private hospital, jumped at it, no idea what I was walking into. The private system a shock.

Orientation day, “women are our customers, so are the doctors”

Customers? Righto.

Midwives lovely (reason I stayed so long) Scottish accent and jargon a source of entertainment, the puzzled looks, what IS she talking about? Guthrie test? Pyrexia? Venflon? Viii … tamin K. Why are the women grand?

For me the Oz terminology, “jug’s”of IV fluids, “grab us a Kylie?” 😆”bub” for baby and instant promotion to “sister” title in the NHS for the nurse in charge.

Older doctors, white shorts and knee high socks looking like electricians. World away from the white coated, bow-tie wearing docs in Edinburgh.

Quirky staff, one midwife fostered baby possums often producing a wooly bag from the nether regions of her bra, teeny furry baby in situ, kid you not. 😆 Visions of one falling out on the bed along with a placenta! 😩

Calling DOCTOR’S to “deliver” women with spontaneous normal labour took some getting used to (never did, had to leave)

Glimmers of hope from newer young obstetrician … woman standing, leaning over the bed, baby imminent. Into the dimly lit room he came, he didn’t bat an eyelid or say anything, her membranes ruptured, (whoosh!!) he gamely caught baby as she stood, shoes and shirt soaked in liquor 😆

Consultant pediatricians, visiting daily, (expensively) reassuring for the mothers.

Epidural service excellent, no delays. One anaesthetist stood out, always cheerful even in the middle of the night, epidurals placed quicker than I’d seen before (or since)

Grabbed his own equipment, don’t THINK he held syringe and needle in his mouth like vets in a cow paddock (did he??) gave off a relaxed, done this a million times before vibe. “All done sis!” off he’d go on his cheery way back to bed, woman pain free, me scratching my head, gobsmacked.

As per Scotland, babies lined up in the ward nursery in rows, (casual separation from their mothers beggars belief) swaddled tight. No disposable nappies, adorned in bulky cloth held on with actual pins or three-pronged plastic grabbers.

Lots of nighttime baby cuddling here.

Most of the women were breastfeeding, amazing! (Breasts in Scotland primarily for the male gaze. FEEDING with them?? “Whit!! Naw! Embarrassing!”)

After a year, where could I go? Independent practice, home-birth midwifery? No kids of my own, energetic (changed days 😆) idealistic, wanting the best for women.

Interviewed with local independent midwife, could’ve walked into the role, no extra hoop-jumping (1996) thought long and hard (still have the contract!) sliding doors moment, followed my gut, couldn’t make the leap (shame)

Back in a big hospital, three-year pilot midwifery continuity of care team, wonderful. Women loved it (course they did) midwives too. It came crashing down eventually (long story) me too, 1999, had my own delightful first bub, living out at ‘the farm,’ rest is history!

23yrs ago today, 7am Rob and I hit rush hour traffic, me in full – on labour, waters having broken the night before, two weeks early!

Don’t remember much about the journey but singing Christmas carols loudly at the height of each contraction😆 and talking to my mum and dad in Scotland

Into the birth centre, midwife Karen already there, I paced and paced, didn’t want to be touched or massaged. Essential oils and calming music? Haha nope, way too late for any of that.

The wanting to vomit, the little catch in the throat, the unmistakeable urge to push, the realisation, omfg no one can do this but me😩

Into the pool, primal birthing woman activated no calm or control, screaming, swearing with each push then apologising mortified after each one (who was that crazy woman?) 😆

Then at 1058hrs exactly, out flew gorgeous water baby George, worth every single contraction 💕

Happy Birthday son and well done me! 💪🏻😉😆

P.S. Every woman who’s birthed a baby/babies should remember how awesome they were, no matter how that baby arrived in the world, the inductions, the premmies, the Caesar’s, the forceps, remember to congratulate yourself! 💪🏻😉😉