R U OK? I wasn’t.

*Trigger warning: This post may raise issues for readers who have experience with self-harm, depression or suicide.*

This is the most difficult post I have written on my blog. It is a side of myself that I keep very private. What I am writing about will come as a surprise to most people I know, including some very close friends.  And that is kind of the point. Mental illness is not black and white. It is not always obvious. It can be very dangerous. It is possible to survive it though, and come out the other side stronger.

September 13th is R U OK? Day. A day to encourage people to ask friends, family and colleagues ‘Are you OK?’  Not just on this one day, but regularly, to open the channels of communication around depression, anxiety, suicide.R U OK? Day 2013

People often assume that they know what depression looks like. People like to think that they would notice if something was wrong, really wrong, with someone they are close to. That they don’t need to ask “Are you OK?” because surely a friend would tell them if they weren’t.

 

A few years ago, I was so far from OK that I thought I’d never be OK again.

I have always been honest and upfront about my depression on this blog. Regular readers are aware of my ups and downs, my battles with the Black Dog.

What I have never shared though, what I have been too ashamed to share, is that for three years, I was a self harmer. I regularly cut myself. I was not a teenager, an ‘emo’, or outwardly depressed or morbid. I was in my mid twenties, and worked as a coordinator. I would walk around the office, smiling and joking with my colleagues, with bandages on my thighs, hidden by tights and long skirts. I had close friends who I would regularly see during this time, go out to dinner, movies, have D&M’s about relationships. They still don’t know that I was a ‘cutter’.

The first time I cut was a few days after I left my first husband. I felt so sad, so lost, so out of control, I just didn’t know what to do. There was so much pain inside of me that I felt like I was being consumed. I don’t know what thought process occurred that night when I picked up a knife and cut my upper arm, over and over again until it bled. To this day, I can’t tell you why, just that I felt better after it. It was almost like a release, to see that blood, to feel the tangible pain of cutting, as opposed to the conceptual pain inside that ate away at me.

It became my coping mechanism. It was a way I could control my pain, on my own terms. I became smarter about it. I cut my upper thighs, which could be easily hidden. Once I finished, once I felt that release, I was taken over by the most incredible sense of calm. I would clean myself up, wash away the blood. I would apply antiseptic cream, to avoid infection, and would tightly bandage my legs up, to stop the bleeding. The next day I would replace the bloody bandages, and get dressed for work. If someone watched me very closely, they may have noticed I walked a little more slowly, perhaps more stiffly. They may have noticed a slight wince cross my face as I sat down and stood up. They would have thought I’d probably gone for a run the night before. Maybe to the gym.

I cut myself, on and off, for about three years. Sometimes I felt like I was watching myself from a distance. I was horrified at what I was doing. This was crazy. I was crazy. Who does this to themselves? It was dangerous. Sometimes the cuts were deep, and it was hard to stop the bleeding. I used to think to myself, “Is this what you want? To die like this, and everyone to find out how insane you are?”  but I didn’t know how to stop. I hated myself, I was disgusted by myself. A voice inside my head would tell me over and over ‘you are so fucked up’. I felt damaged beyond repair.

I was leading a double life. On the outside, I was so ‘normal’. There are people probably reading this right now, who knew me during that time, and I imagine they will be pretty shocked. The only outward difference was that I stopped wearing short skirts and shorts, stopped wearing bathers and started wearing long board shorts. Certainly nothing that would raise any alarm bells. There were a few people that I told at the time. I don’t think they knew what to say, how to help, understandably. Self harm is not something that is spoken about, or if it is, there seems to be a perception that it’s something teenage girls do for attention.

Did I do it for attention? I don’t know. I didn’t think so at the time, but maybe it was a cry for help? A scream for help? Looking back at that time of my life, I feel like I was balancing on the edge of insanity. On the one side there was the part of me that understood how crazy this was, how stupid, how dangerous. And on the other side was the part of me that had given up. That had decided that this was my life, this was all I was worth. That things would never get better, and it would always hurt this much, just to exist.

Then one day, I stopped. I was in an emotional state where I would normally resort to cutting, and I remember, so clearly, just thinking ‘No. I don’t want to do this anymore.’ I lay my head down on the table, and I cried and cried. And without realising it at the time, I chose life. I got rid of all the knives and scissors in the house, and eventually the urge to cut faded away. (I don’t mean to simplify what I went through, I was seeing a psychologist on and off throughout this time, and worked on a lot of issues. I am just trying to be succinct and to the point for the purpose of this post, otherwise you would be reading for days!)

Fast forward a few years, and how my life has changed. I am married to a good, kind man, and a mother to an almost three year old child. That time of my life is like a nightmare, I can’t quite believe that it was real. Except I carry the scars on my body, to this day. I still can’t wear bathers. If I buy a dress or shorts, I have to test them sitting down first, to make sure they don’t ride up and reveal my scars. I wont get my legs waxed or spray tans, in case someone asks about them. One day I will have to explain to my daughter how I got them, just like I had to explain to my now husband, when we first started dating.

My scars remind me every day how far I have come. How close to the edge I was, and how lucky I am to be living the life I am now. Believe me when I tell you, I never thought I would be where I am today. I didn’t think I would make it.

You think that you know the people around you. The people you work with, the friends in your social circles. You think you would notice if someone was struggling with life. But maybe you wouldn’t. And that is why R U OK Day is so important. Not because that’s the day where you go around asking everyone “R U OK?” but because it raises awareness and encourages people to start talking, and more importantly to start listening.

You can learn more about R U OK Day here.

If you need urgent support, or are worried about someone you can contact the following agencies for help:

Lifeline
13 11 14 – 24/7 telephone crisis support, as well as online one-one-one crisis support (8pm-Midnight AEST)

Kids Helpline
1800 55 1800 – 24/7 telephone counseling for young people 5–25 years, as well as online and email counseling (check website for hours)

Suicide Call Back Service
1300 659 467 – 24/7 professional telephone crisis support for people at risk of suicide, carers and bereaved, as well as online resources and information

I am OK now. Are you OK?

I’m horrified. You should be too.

Warning- This post contains images that readers may find disturbing.

Something happened in the last week. Something shocking, horrifying, beyond comprehension.

If you were to read the newspapers, or watch mainstream news broadcasts, you may think I’m referring to the Essendon football club drug ‘scandal’. After all, that has been making headlines not just in the last week, but for months. Apparently a decision was made this week, normal TV programing was interrupted for breaking press conferences and special edition sports programs. It was the leading story on all news bulletins. Front page of the newspapers.

Or perhaps, if you had a quick look at social media, you may think I’m referring to Miley Cyrus’s performance at the VMA awards? That certainly got people talking; my news feed has been flooded with photos and video of her performance, everyone has an opinion on that particular ‘issue’.

If you are a regular reader of blogs, as I am, you may be wracking your brain, to try and think of what hot topics have been written about in the past week. The recent crop of posts doing the rounds have been debating the merits of posting make-up free ‘selfies’ on social media. Lots of discussion around that issue has been going on in the ‘blogosphere’.

Image credit- dailymail.co.uk
Image credit- dailymail.co.uk

Last week, in the early hours of the 21st of August, it was reported that rockets with toxic agents were launched at the Ghouta region of Syria, killing up to 1000 civilians, including many children. Syria has been in a state of civil war since 2011, and President Bashar al-Assad’s government forces has been accused of carrying out the attack, although this has yet to be confirmed.

So, to reiterate, up to  one thousand people; men, women and children, have been murdered by a chemical weapon attack, possibly carried out by their own government. There is footage of people dying. They are suffocating on poisonous gas, convulsing, foaming at the mouth and nose.

Image credit- dailymail.co.uk
Image credit- dailymail.co.uk

UN weapons inspectors are currently investigating what exactly happened, and who was behind it. The USA, UK and France are considering a military strike against Syria. Russia and China are allies of Syria, and are strongly opposing any military action.

Image credit- dailymail.co.uk
Image credit- dailymail.co.uk

Why is no body talking about this? Why is this not headlining every news bulletin and on the front of every newspaper? When did sport become more newsworthy than crimes against humanity? Why is there more collective outrage about a pop star dirty dancing on stage then a government murdering its own citizens?

Truth be told, I am sickened. Not just by the horror that is happening over in Syria, but also the horror at our apathy towards these attacks, our apathy about the death of men, women and children; poisoned, allegedly by their own government. I’m sickened by our media, who think it’s more important to report on sport or entertainment. I’m sickened at the lack of social commentary on an issue of such grave importance.

It is time to start talking about this. It is time to demand that the media stop treating us like shallow, small minded simpletons. It is time to stop being outraged by TV performances, video clips, song lyrics, and be outraged about things that really matter, things that are affecting humanity, not just our precious sensibilities.

Please. It’s time to wake up and pay attention.

Abuse Doesn’t Always Leave A Mark.

Once upon a time, there was a fairytale wedding. The bride wore a beautiful long white dress, with a veil over face. She walked down the aisle of a quaint blue-stone church, and was married by a man of God.

practisewedding1

The wedding was celebrated with a grand reception in a heritage listed building, filled with candles and fairy lights. And the happy couple lived happily ever after.

Except they didn’t. practiseweddingThe bride had married a man who had emotionally and verbally abused her for many years. She married him because she thought that he was right; and that she was worthless, and deserved to be treated the way she was. She believed that no one else would ever ‘put up’ with her, and that she should be grateful that anyone wanted to be with her at all.

She left him ten months after the wedding, when she realised that no matter how badly she thought of herself, she could never bring a child into this environment, with this man.

And eventually, she did live happily ever after.

I have mentioned before my ‘first marriage’. I have never written about it, because, I guess I am scared. Scared that my ex husband will read it. Scared of the ramifications. Obviously it was a massive part of my life though, so it feels strange not to talk about it, when I talk about so much else.

I don’t know how to write about my first husband, so instead I will tell you all that is different about my husband now, my soul mate, the father of my daughter.

He does not tell me that I am stupid.

He does not tell me that I am too fat or too skinny.

He does not tell me that I am useless, that I can’t do anything.

He does not tell me what television shows I am allowed to watch. He does not say I can’t watch Sex and The City, because the women are too slutty. He does not tell me I’m not allowed to watch hospital dramas because his ex used to love them. He does not tell me I have to choose, either Home and Away or Neighbours.

I don’t have to ask his permission if I want to buy something. I am allowed to buy more than two magazines a month, if I want to.

I don’t have to check with him before I buy clothes, in case they are too ‘slutty’.

He has never called me a bitch, a slut, a scrag, a fucking cunt.

He doesn’t tell me what I must cook for him, and how I must cook it. He doesn’t care if I put the milk in mashed potato before the butter.

He doesn’t stop liking his friends, if they like me, because ‘what kind of person are they if they like someone like you?’

He doesn’t lose his temper in the supermarket if they are out of stock of something he likes. He doesn’t kick products off the shelves, and yell, and swear at the staff.

He doesn’t put me down in public. I don’t have to warn people before we go out, ‘Please don’t be offended, it’s just the way he is’.

He doesn’t hate all my friends, and get angry when I spend time with them, or talk to them on the phone.

He doesn’t scream in my face, throw things at me, punch holes in walls, up-end couches, coffee tables, heaters. He doesn’t smash things.

He doesn’t physically restrain me, and keep me locked in the bathroom, whilst his brother bangs on the door, telling him to let me out.

He doesn’t have secret bank accounts, where he hides thousands of dollars from me.

One of the first things he said to me after our wedding was not “Shut the fuck up”.

I am not scared of him.

I do not wish that he would just hit me. I don’t scream in my head ‘JUST HIT ME. HIT ME AND THEN I CAN LEAVE.’ Because if he hit me, well that is abuse. It’s OK to leave someone if they abuse you.

It’s OK to leave them if they leave a mark on your body. Because no one can see the marks they leave on your soul. No one can see how tiny and worthless and nothing they make you feel. How tiny and worthless and nothing HE made ME feel.

 

We went to marriage counseling, once, my ex husband and I. We never went back, as at the end of the first session, the counselor handed me a leaflet about a support group for abused women. He was furious, and naturally thought she was an idiot. I was confused. I wasn’t an abused woman? Was I?

The man I am married to now, loves me. Adores me. He has never called me a name. Never put me down. He respects me. I don’t have to ask his permission to do anything. We are equals. I am not afraid of him.

I am not afraid of him. Maybe abuse doesn’t have to leave a mark? A bruise, a cut, evidence. I was in a relationship with my ex husband for seven years, and I can’t remember ever not being afraid of him. I am still afraid of him.

On the 26th of November, 2011, I married my soul mate, my best friend, the best father of our child I could ever ask for.

And we lived happily ever after.

Diabetes Denial.

It was Melbourne Cup Day, 1989. I sat on the bed in the Drs surgery, swinging my legs, waiting, whilst the Dr rang the local hospital to let them know I would be coming in. I was nine years old, and our GP had just given me a finger prick test and diagnosed me with Insulin Dependent Diabetes. (Also known at Type One Diabetes or Juvenile Diabetes) I had no idea that my life would never be the same again.

Several hours later, I lay in a hospital bed for the first time in my life. My parents had just left, and I was sobbing, that hiccupping crying, where you can’t get any words out. Two nurses walked into my room. The younger nurse told me not to worry, that she would hold my hand whilst I had an injection of insulin. The older, scarier nurse told her, “No you won’t. Jane is going to give it to herself”. I hated her in that moment, but after I had successfully given myself my first injection, I stopped crying. I was so proud of myself, I skipped down the hall to excitedly call my mum, and tell her that I’d done it all by myself. What a bittersweet phone call that must have been for my mother. Her nine year old daughter so excited and proud that she had given herself an injection. The first injection of Insulin, which would be needed every day, several times a day, for the rest of her life.

That nurse did me a huge service that day. From that moment on, I never let anyone else do my injections. It actually afforded me much more freedom than other children diagnosed at that age, who had to rely on their parents to inject them. I took charge of my disease right from the start. I was responsible for checking my own blood glucose levels, pricking my finger several times a day. I would count carbohydrates, to make sure I was eating the correct amount of food, for the amount of insulin I was taking. At the start I had two injections a day, which increased to four once I switched from syringes to a ‘pen’ system, already preloaded with insulin.

diabetes

I used to think that it was a blessing to be diagnosed so young, I adjusted quickly, and can barely remember life before Diabetes. The problem was though, at that age, long term complications are a difficult concept to grasp. As I moved into my teenage years, I wanted to ‘fit in’. I wanted to eat the same food as everyone else. I didn’t want to be the ‘sick’ kid who needed injections to live. I couldn’t be bothered doing blood tests, and would often lie to my parents about my sugar levels, as I would have secretly eaten chocolate or lollies, or skipped an insulin injection, sending my readings sky high.

I wish I could say that as I got older, I matured, and started taking better care of my Diabetes, but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. I started smoking, and in my later teens, drinking. Drs would still try and tell me about the risk of long term complications, but I chose to live, somewhat, in a state of denial. Once I moved out of home, I essentially stopped testing my sugars altogether. With no one to ride me about it, I basically lived like I wasn’t a Diabetic. I would still have my insulin injections, but often at the wrong times, just when I could squeeze them in around whatever else I was doing. I ate what I wanted. By the time I was in my 20’s, my life was in such a spiral of dysfunction, having Diabetes seemed like the least of my problems.

The problem with Diabetes is, if you ignore it, it won’t go away. It will kill you. Slowly. Those long term complications that the Drs kept banging on about include blindness, gangrene, organ failure.

When I found out I was pregnant in 2010, suddenly diabetes wasn’t just something in the background of my life. It became impossible to ignore once I realised the risk it posed to my unborn baby. Sadly, in a way, it took being responsible for another person’s body, for me to start looking after my own.  Blood testing became a priority; I would check my sugar levels nearly every hour. I was having up to seven insulin injection a day. I went back to counting carbs again, watching every single thing I ate.

At around five months pregnant, I was diagnosed as having developed Diabetic Retinopathy, an eye condition that lead to abnormal blood vessels growing in my eyes, then haemorrhaging. I could have gone blind. If I have another pregnancy, there is a very high risk I will go blind. My vision is so affected that I can no longer drive. Diabetic Retinopathy is a risk for all pregnant diabetic women. Was I more at risk because I didn’t look after my Diabetes properly before pregnancy? Maybe. Maybe not. It’s impossible to predict, but I assure you, I wish it was something I didn’t have to even consider.

My beautiful daughter was born safely, albeit, two months early. She is a blessing, and I am so lucky to have her. My body owed me nothing, after the way I had treated it for so many years.

Twenty four years after diagnosis, and I still have a complicated relationship with Diabetes. I lapsed a lot after Milla was born. Once I stopped expressing, I became less vigilant with blood tests again. I stopped seeing my endocrinologist (Diabetes specialist). I blame my Diabetes for not being able to drive, for not being able to safely attempt another pregnancy. I’m angry. It’s not fair. I feel all those emotions that I wasn’t capable of when I was diagnosed at nine years old.  The trouble is now, ‘long term complications’ are not some far away abstract concepts. They are on my door step.

 I am a mother and a wife, and I owe it to my family to take this disease seriously. I can’t change what I’ve done in the past, the damage that may already be done. I can change what I do from this moment on though. It’s time to start valuing my life as much as I value the lives of my loved ones.

*This post was brought to you in partnership with Accu-Chek blood glucose monitors*

The Rules.

There are a lot of rules in our house. Everything must be done in a certain way. Things must be in certain places, at certain times. Certain words must be used, or not used.

We don’t make the rules. Autism does. If we don’t follow the rules, it takes hold of our beautiful, intelligent, funny daughter, and reduces her to a screaming, crying, mess.

My husband and I walk around on egg shells, constantly on edge. We snap and argue at each other, because we can’t fight with Autism. I get frustrated and angry at Milla, then hate myself, because I know it’s not her fault.

I don’t know if I’m strong enough. I know I don’t have the patience. I make so many mistakes. Sometimes I hate this life, and I’m terrified that it will always be like this.

It feels like we are alone, the three of us. Trapped in this crazy world, with it’s crazy rules. With a ticking time bomb, just waiting for an excuse to explode and take us all down.

Strong Enough.

#My Love Made Visible

Instagram

I’ve always loved the idea of ‘photo a day’ challenges, unfortunately I usually only last a couple of weeks before I start missing days, then think ‘bugger it’ and chuck it in all together. So when one of my lovely friends suggested a 52 week photo challenge, my ears pricked up. Surely I could manage one photo a week?!

The premise is fairly simple- Each Sunday, upload to Instagram a portrait you have taken of your child/children that week, the objective being to capture how you see your child / an aspect of their personality. As the title suggests, the project will last for 52 weeks, resulting in a beautiful record of your child’s past year (without the commitment of having to remember to take a photo every day!)

The project starts this Sunday, 7th of July. You can follow me on Instagram at HesitantHWife  and my photos will be shared on my Facebook page. I’ll also do a monthly-ish post on the blog.

Would you like to join us in the challenge? The hash tag we will be using is #mylovemadevisable and photos are posted each Sunday. Leave your Instagram handle in the comments below so I can follow you.

I can’t wait get started, and look forward to seeing lots of gorgeous pics of everyone’s kidlets!!

Kmart Endless Days Of Play Giveaway

Last week I was invited to an event to celebrate the introduction of a new toy range from Kmart. The night before, I thought I’d have a look at Kmart’s new Facebook page. People were not happy. It seemed that Kmart had made the decision to no longer offer the mid year toy sales and six month Christmas layby. As what often happens via social media, people were whipped up in a frenzy. I was interested to see how it would be addressed the following day, and what the reasoning behind this decision would be.

KmartThe launch was hosted by Tracy Spicer, and featured the General Manager of Kmart, and the Kmart Head of Toys (coolest job EVER!)

There was a lot of discussion on the background of Kmart, the business, and changes that had been made to evolve with Australian consumers.

The important points that people want to know though, is why the change, and what’s in it for us (the consumers)?

  • Kmart conducted independent research with Australian consumers. 94% said they would prefer lower prices every day, rather than inflated prices year round to allow for half yearly sales.
  • Last year 30% of the Christmas 6 monthly laybys were returned by customers. Feedback was that children changed their minds in that six month period, and also that new toys were released in the months following the mid year toy sales.
  • Kmart has released a new range of quality toys, across all ages/developmental stages, that will remain at a fixed lower price than similar ranges from competitors, for the next six months.
  • Branded toys will still be available from Kmart, and if advertised at a cheaper price elsewhere, Kmart will match that price.
  • Kmart have committed to only working with factories that meet strict standards of safety and social compliance, and have signed The Accord on Fire and Building Safety in Bangladesh.

Personally, I am happy with the changes that Kmart made. The “Endless Days of Play” campaign suits our family. I want to be able to purchase quality toys at a lower rate all year. Milla’s birthday is in October and she has lots of little friends with birthdays in the next six months. I want to know that I can walk into a store and purchase toys at an affordable price, every day of the year. Call me lazy, (because I am a little!) but I really don’t have the time or energy to plan my shopping around several different department stores, months in advance.

Of course, the most important question ~ “What about the children? Is anyone thinking about the children??”   What will our kids think of this new range of toys?

After the Kmart presentation, the curtains opened to reveal every child’s dream; a virtual toy shop where they could touch and play with EVERYTHING!

KmartAnd play they did!

kmart3

Kmart

Kmart

Kmart

There is a huge range of toys, across all ages and interests.  The toys are made to compliment the big ‘branded’ toys, eg. The pink convertible car fits the Barbie brand doll, the building table fits the Leggo brand blocks etc. My personal favourites are the wooden toys. Gorgeous wooden doll houses, Noah’s Arc, train tables etc. To see the full range, you can view the Kmart Endless Days Of Play catalogue here.

Like what you see? Well, Kmart is giving you the opportunity to win a $150 voucher to celebrate the launch of the new range! To enter, please follow the prompts below, and comment on which toy from the Kmart Endless Days of Play catalogue you would have loved as a child.  Me? I would have loved the Roller Shoes. Why walk when you can skate right? (told you I was lazy!) 

Competition closes at midnight EST on Friday the 28th June. Good Luck!

*Disclaimer- I attended the launch of the Kmart Endless Days Of Play campaign/toy range, and Milla received a couple of toys from the new toy range as a gift. I was not requested, or under any obligation, to write a post, and all views, as always, are my own.*

Safety In Numbers.

Last week, I felt myself slide into the dark hole that is guarded by the Black Dog.

It had probably been coming for a little while. Sneaking up on me. I tend to ignore it, as if that will make a difference. Like if I can’t see it, it can’t see me.

Until I find myself lying in bed, crying my eyes out, and feeling just so desperately sad. It is staring me in the eyes, and I can’t look away.

But what the Black Dog doesn’t realise, is that there is safety in numbers. It can only take you down, and hold you there, when you are alone. And I am not alone.

Thank you, for the beautiful comments left here on the blog, and on the facebook page.

Thank you to my friends; who messaged me, text me, checked in on me.

Thank you to my always amazing husband, who understands and loves me, even when I don’t understand or love myself.

The darkness has receded. I can smile again, and mean it. That Black Dog is no match for me and my people.

Thank you.

Smile

That Damn Dog.

It starts with the tiredness. I wake exhausted. Does the exhaustion cause the depression or does the depression cause the exhaustion? Doesn’t matter, because by then it’s too late.

Next come the tears. I am on the edge of crying every moment of the day. If I stop for a minute, and just think, the tears start to well. I can’t tell you why. Or I can.

Because he’s back. The black dog. When the realisation hits that is what’s happening, I feel the fear. That familiar fear, I don’t want to do this again. I can’t.

But I can. I do. I will. I am stronger than him. I just need to lay low, ride it out. Just keep breathing. Remember that I have done this before, I will do it again.

He will not take me.

Squeaky Clean {Review and Giveaway}

*This post features products I was gifted for review. Also, an awesome giveaway at the end. And a picture of Milla pulling THE BEST duckface *

I have always been a huge fan of the Brauer Natural Medicine range. The Colic Relief and the Teething Relief drops were absolute lifesavers when Milla was a baby, and I still use the Cold and Flu natural medicine for her now.

I was thrilled when I learned that Brauer have released a new line of Natural Baby skincare products, and jumped at the chance to review them. The entire range consists of :

  • Shampoo
  • Sleepytime Bath
  • Bath and Body wash
  • Soft skin lotion
  • Nappy balm
  • Massage Oil

For the past week I have been using the shampoo, Sleepytime Bath, Bath and Body wash and the massage oil. I have one sweet smelling, squeaky clean girl!

b4

Brauer Natural Baby

Probably about six months ago, Milla broke out in nasty eczema over her body, so we started using bath wash and shampoo for sensitive skin. In the last few weeks we bought a bubble bath, and noticed her skin was becoming quite dry and flaky again.

We have been using the Brauer Bath and Body wash and the Sleepytime Bath, alternating each day, for a week, then rubbing the massage oil on Milla’s torso after her bath every night, and the dry skin has completely cleared up! Her skin feels smooth and soft, I am really impressed that it worked so quickly.

When it came to testing the shampoo, I was a little nervous. Milla has long, slightly curly hair, and it can get knotty very easily.

Brauer Natural Baby

We had been using a combined shampoo and conditioner, so I wasn’t sure whether the Brauer Baby Shampoo would be able to keep Milla’s hair as smooth.

b5

^^^Getting this shot was no easy feat ^^^

The Blooper Reel
The Blooper Reel

I needn’t have worried, after Milla’s bath, her hair neatly combed through, not a single knot!  Brauer Natural BabyOverall, I was very happy with all the products I trialled. They work really well, are gentle on Milla’s sensitive skin, and smell absolutely DIVINE! They are made from honey, shea butter and paw paw and contain no petrochemicals. They also come in super cute packaging, and each product comes with a bonus rubber ducky!

Brauer Nutural BabyI will definitely keep using the Brauer Natural Baby range, and am going to purchase the body lotion to try out too.  I’m pretty confident it will be as good as the rest of the range.

To find out more about Brauer products, you can visit their website at www.brauer.com.au and also visit their Facebook page.

If you would like to purchase some Brauer Natural products for yourself, I have a 20% discount coupon for every reader to use at Woolworths, valid until the 16th of June. Simply click on the link below to download your coupon:

20% Off Brauer Natural Baby Range From Woolworths

BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE!

No, not a set of free steak knives, even better, Brauer are giving away to one lucky reader, a $250 gift hamper! The hamper contains a range of products from the Baby & Child, Detox, Paw Paw, Arnicaeze, Stress and Sleep range.

To enter, simply follow the prompts below. Competition closes midnight on Friday the 7th of June 2013.

Good Luck!