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Brad, Alfie’s Bear, Archibald, Ada and Claire In 2014, Adelaide mother Claire Foord experienced the heartbreak of losing her first child, Alfie to stillbirth. Determined to help prevent other families suffering the same tragedy, Claire is now the founder and CEO of stillbirth awareness charity, Still Aware. Her tireless efforts saw her awarded South Australia’s Local Hero in the 2016 Australian of the Year Awards. She tells her story to KIDDO… —————————————————————————————————————— It was my first pregnancy. I had covered off every single base. I had private health care, a private hospital, an obstetrician, a midwife, an acupuncturist, a hypnobirthing instructor and a yoga teacher. You would think one of these health care practitioners would have said something throughout my pregnancy about stillbirth? I had a textbook pregnancy which is a really rubbish term. It’s so false. There is no one size fits all model. It suggests every pregnant mother gets this one guide. I knew Alfie well. I knew what made her move. I knew what music she liked and that she loved listening to me reading a book as she would move around when I read. I didn’t realise I was keeping an eye on her safety at the same time. The last weeks of my pregnancy, the movements had drastically changed but slowly. Every day she got a little bit slower and less responsive to the things that would normally make her move. I naively thought because of the information I was fed through the community and clinicians that a baby slows down before it’s born. Which again, is false information. The baby actually gets stronger and the movements will intensify. The night before she was born was the time that she died. I had intense frantic amount of movement. I turned to my husband and said, ‘This baby wants out’ but then I thought of the information I’d been given about moving slower and then thought she wasn’t ready to come out yet. I didn’t realise that was going to be the last large amount of movement I felt from her. Then at 2am I felt a sudden jolt and I realised that was her taking her last movement and taking her last breath. She not longer tried to live. She had given me all these signs to keep her safe but I wasn’t given the tools to know I needed to report any of those changes. It’s stranger that you can be treated during pregnancy as if you have no say, or that you are a passenger in this journey. I asked for information with the intention of keeping my baby safe, wanting to bring her home. I didn’t realise I needed to search adverse outcomes of pregnancy. I didn’t know I needed to have the right words to ask my obstetrician so he would truly give me the right answers. I trusted these experts in the pregnancy field I had not one of them told me that they had come across stillbirth before and it was a possibility in this day and age. Like me, most pregnant women are not given information about how important it is to get to know your baby before in utero. I just got asked, is your baby moving, to which I said yes, until at 40 weeks, I said no. When I expected to go into labour and bring my baby home safely, I instead went into labour and Alfie died and I didn’t get to bring her home. Alfie was a healthy baby. The autopsy showed not only was she healthy, with no genetic illness or abnormality. Her death was like SIDS but in utero. A fatal accident, so to speak. One moment she was alive, the next she was dead. The difference is there were signs she was in distress. Had Alfie been born earlier, she would be here. In 60% of all third trimester stillbirths, there is nothing wrong with the baby and there is no reason for their death, which means they are also preventable. I wanted to create Still Aware days after Alfie was born. When she was stillborn I was told by the midwife how rare it is and that I was just very unlucky. That led to me to wonder, ‘What did I do wrong, how did I miss this?’ What could I have done to prevent it? I started doing research and actual deaths, trying to make sense of it all. I thought rare meant one in several hundred thousand. When I counted and realised it was six a day, I thought that couldn’t be right? When I dug deeper and confirmed that the right statistic was six a day I couldn’t fathom how in my pregnancy I couldn’t be made aware of the risks given it happens that often. 2,500 babies a year who die from stillbirth is not rare at all yet no one was talking about it. There are organisations doing this overseas and it has led to a reduction in deaths but Australia’s not done enough to help prevent it. I wasn’t told that it was a possibility. I was saddened to find that Alfie’s death was quite preventable because of the things that I had been feeling throughout my pregnancy and had I been given the tools to communicate them, or given information, she would likely be here today. So I couldn’t sit back and let that happen to anyone else. That’s why I started it. Amid my grief, I forced myself to write something I was thankful for because she didn’t get the chance to breathe life and how could I not live it for her? It took a long time before I was okay being around others. When I was ready, I always wanted people to talk about her. There is no right or wrong way to grieve but something is always better than nothing. So it’s always better to validate and speak up rather than be silent. Alfie is our butterfly. She is always with us, whether it’s Ada wearing a butterfly dress, or my butterfly brooch. I

The Big Chill Recently Mummy needed a little break to recharge her batteries. When Mummy starts speaking in the third person it is a sure sign she needs a holiday. So in a minor miracle of leave scheduling and securing of cheap flights – and before my husband could change his mind – a four day break to Bali was booked with two girlfriends in similar dire need of tropical vacay. And no children. I repeat, no children. Child-free holidays can be calculated like dog years. The relaxation quota in four child-free days would take 28 days to accrue on a holiday with children (This is my own formula and in no way scientifically tested). It’s okay, my daughters are far from neglected in the holiday department. We have taken them on several wonderful Bali trips. Only after you have travelled with children can you truly value the luxury and freedom of occasionally travelling without them. There was no being held captive on the beach for hours while the kids had their hair braided and were convinced they also needed to take home bracelets for all of the girls in their class. In its place were massages and facials in an attempt to prepare my mind, body and complexion for the year ahead. There was no lining up for the waterslides behind Aussies with sunburn in the shape of Bintang singlets at Waterbom Park. Instead, were cocktails and Gado Gado at a series of beach clubs. Travelling solo means only needing to re-apply my own sunscreen, packing just one beach bag and reading a book without one paranoid eye trained on counting heads in the water.   Someone else was making breakfast, and more importantly cleaning up after breakfast. Cocktail o’clock is midday right? And dinner can be eaten after six? Then there was sleeeeep, blissful, uninterrupted diagonal-across-a-king-sized-bed in crisp white sheets sleep. The red-eye flight home, while still horrendous, is slightly more bearable when you don’t have to find a patch of carpet at Denpasar International Airport for your children to nap before boarding, upon which they will sprawl across you for the next five hours therefore erasing most of your precious holiday zen. But please don’t lump me in the ungrateful, selfish mother category because I snuck out of the country for four days without my offspring. I love holidaying with my children. Some of our happiest family memories have been made on trips to Bali. I missed them. I looked for children’s meals on the menu out of habit, I scouted all the sunnies, bags and toys that were on their souvenir wish lists and I pictured their wonder at the sights, sounds and smells of returning to Bali. But parents are entitled to an occasional break if they are lucky enough to be able to swing one. Missing your children and having them miss you is important if you’re not to be constantly taken for granted. Now I’m recharged and ready for the school year and the madness of March. Happy, relaxed Mummy equals happy, relaxed kids. You can tell your husband and your travel agent that while you’re planning your own girls’ trip. (Also, just quietly, cocktail o’clock is actually 11am!) Twitter: @RebeccaMorse10

Chris Kontos & Alana Tiller A Golden Team Goldie + Ace is the brainchild of fashion retail buyer Alana Tiller (Adairs) and fashion designer Chris Kontos (Creative Director of Adelaide Fashion Festival). This collaboration is bringing back the innocence and pure imagination in kids fashion. With images of celebrity children dressed up as parent mini-me’s flood the Internet, a tide has definitely changed in the kids fashion world. Social media is flooded with the likes of Kim Kardashian’s 4 year old in Baby Balmain and Dj Khaled’s son repping a $100k Frank Muller watch for his first birthday. The world of child fashion sometimes neglects child innocence. Seeing the need for kids to play and run in clothing that reflects their age and imaginations rather than an adult trend,  Chris and Alana Tiller have teamed up to fill this gap in the market through exceptional quality threads with a cool whimsical vibe. ‘We wanted to create something so cute that would let kids be kids, rather than looking like adults,’ says Alana of the debut collection.   Catering to sizes zero up to four, the collection features stunning hand-illustrated prints by local artists of sloths and llamas. Each animal print has a character description, adding a uniquely fun touch to every piece. The label also has T-shirts, one piece rompers, pants, super soft terry sweaters and wraps, and it promises the designs will not shrink, stretch, fade or pull (or bobble). The range is predominantly made of pure cotton with some baby pieces in ultra fine Merino wool knits. Goldie + Ace is also manufactured by Oeko Tex certified skilled artisans, meaning no harmful substances are used in the production. ‘Our philosophy is one of quality over quantity, buy less, wear it more and pass it on,” Chris says.’ Meet Palmer: Palmer isn’t your average llama, she prides herself on standing out from the crowd. She is a passionate animal rights activist who also happens to be a bow tie connoisseur, an aspiring poet, and great cook. Palmer loves entertaining for her friends and hopes to somehow change the world, even just a tiny bit. She secretly dreams of becoming an award-winning travel writer, adventuring to far off places. Beautifully hand illustrated Palmer is printed on a soft cotton slub jersey. This is Eddie: You probably couldn’t meet a more relaxed, easy going sloth than Eddie. He is fine with the fact his bins go out more than he does and loves nothing more than a night in on the couch with UberEATS and the Kardashians. His kind, peaceful nature infuses into those around him and he is pretty much always smiling. He dreams of one day getting fit and creating his own social media fitness empire, if only he didn’t sleep so much…. In the mean-time, he’s pretty stoked to be featured in Goldie + Ace’s debut collection. Beautifully hand illustrated Eddie is printed on a soft cotton slub jersey. Say Hello to Ronald: Ronald loves a good scarf. He also loves a good haircut, and is never seen sporting anything but a fantastic coif and a fabulous outfit. Being extremely well put together is all part of Ronald’s job as an in-demand fashion stylist and aspiring socialite. One day he hopes to start his own fashion label made completely with certified ethical and environmentally sustainable Mongolian cashmere. In the meantime, he’s thrilled to be featured in Goldie + Ace’s first collection. Beautifully hand illustrated Ronald is printed on a soft cotton terry. The Goldie + Ace debut collection is available exclusively online at goldieandace.com Instagram: @goldieandace Facebook: goldieandace

Dave Thornton is bringing his new show So What Now? to the 2018 Adelaide Fringe Festival, 27 February – 4 March! Best known for his whip-smart and damn funny stand up comedy, Dave recently hung up the headphones after four years of breakfast radio. He was looking forward to not setting his alarm for 5am and trading sales meeting for regular trips to the local pool. He soon realised you don’t need an alarm to be woken up at the crack of dawn, a one-year-old will do the trick just fine. After enough nights of rocking an infant at 3am you will start seeing things that aren’t there so like a comedy Hendrix, he’s hoping that he writes his best material when he’s hallucinating. This will be an upside down take on an upside down year – he’s thrown in the security of a regular pay check to head back on the road at precisely the time in life that he should be taking life seriously. Luckily, Dave has never been able to take anything too seriously. He mightn’t have slept but that will make it all the funnier when he breaks his 3km radius cordon to bring his brand new show to Adelaide, but first Dave tells us five things he’s learnt from being a dad. 5 things I’ve learnt from being a Dad I’ve been a Dad now for 16 months and counting. Here are 5 things I never realized would happen, but now know that they do. White t-shirts are a no go. Let’s be honest it always takes a confident man to wear white anyway (hello sweat patches!) but with a kid you’ll get the entire food pyramid smeared on to your crisp whitey guaranteed. The good thing is after a while you’ll give in to it and people will just think you’re bringing Hypercolour T’s back thanks to the tie dye imprint of Avocado, Vegemite and Spag Bol your child has smeared all over you. Congrats- you’re now a walking hand towel! Organic fruit and vegetables are far too expensive. Of course, you have to buy them organic vegetables because they need the best in life. No one likes pesticides!!* (*NB: you secretly do because those bad boys keep the price of produce reasonable and without them a punnet of blueberries is the same cost as a house deposit for a 5 bedroom Sydney waterside mansion). I love it when I hear parents-to-be say ‘it won’t change my life’. Of course, it won’t! Keep your 2-door VW Golf GT- the kid can simply be ocky strapped to the roof! The little one will totally understand you’ve been out since 3 in the morn and will sit silently in their cot until you wake for your 11am brunch date! And they’ll definitely understand you have an important workday tomorrow so they won’t wake up teething 4 times in the night and make the following day a nightmarish blur! (Is there a font for sarcasm? Because this entire paragraph could use it) Daycare is harder to get into than the Illuminati. They have waiting lists. They are all full to the brim so get in early. And when I say early – I mean it. Ask around before they’re born. Get on the waiting list as soon as your partner has missed her period. Actually, even if you’re single just put their hypothetical name down and even if you don’t find someone in the interim sublet your space out to desperate parents who’ll pay anything for a day of relief. And lastly; I’ve never loved anything more than I love that little sh!t. That teething, giggling, dirty hands hugging, blue berry eating, not-always-sleeping-well gorgeous little stinker of mine. Instagram: @dave_thorno Website: Dave Thornton – So What Now Fringe Tickets 

Leandra Medine, or as the fashion world know her, the Man Repeller is an American author, blogger, and humour writer. Man Repeller is an independent fashion and lifestyle website, which Leandra summed up to the Daily Mail by saying “Good fashion is about pleasing women, not men, so as it happens, the trends that we love, men hate. And that is fantastic.” Last November Leandra announced that she was pregnant with twins, now in her latest article she uses 30 mirror selfies to discuss how pregnancy changed her style and questions what purpose her clothes serve both physically and mentally. Leandra writes ‘The common denominator among these occasions is that I needed the clothes to act as armour, which would mean that the definition of “the real me” is conflated because armour — a protective shield — can never get at the crux of who I really am, who any of us really are,’ Leandra also discusses the change in colour and accessories, ‘There is little colour, and they mostly exist as a function of limitations that I have tried to offset with a multitude of accessories and coats and shoes where I can. On most days, I don’t feel like I’m wearing my own clothes or my own style, but I don’t really care. Something far bigger than me and high-rise jeans and waist belts is in progress, and whatever sartorial malaise — the banality, the sameness — that this mass has ignited is helping me to find the energetic special sauce that I’ve previously used to define looking, feeling and therefore being better, elsewhere.’ The limitations of pregnancy simplified things in the sense that Leandra was forced to live within the capsule wardrobe she had romanticised about. Dressing became easy when the options were rotating between two pairs of pants and a handful of the same shirt. ‘It’s making me ask what I use my clothes to do for me and how I can do that for myself. Herein lies the difference between bandages (using clothes to look better) and stitches (solid self-talk to be better), surface-level medicating (a new blazer on a bad day) and cellular-level repair (getting to the heart of what is bothering me).’ All things aside Leandra admits that although this journey has been one of self discovery she knows herself and finishes with, ‘And once this is over, no matter how free I might feel right now, it’s back to the dungeon of maximalism. Maybe I’m a masochist, but man, I love a frivolous skirt’ Man Repeller Instagram: @manrepeller Personal Instagram: @leandramcohen Facebook: Manrepeller 

Meet Dannii O’Donnell, Mum to Edie, two years and Raffy, 13 weeks. When the kids are fast asleep Dannii she uses writing as her creative outlet. My Social Media Sabbatical – By Dannii O’Donnell I was deep in a newborn-induced social media abyss. I’m talking hours stuck on the couch underneath an insatiable, cluster-feeding baby. Nights up breastfeeding in bed, scrolling Instagram in a desperate attempt to keep my eyes open (and often failing, I might add, jolting awake with phone still in hand, thumb in scrolling position, bub still on boob). I would pat his milk-filled belly with one hand and update Facebook with the other. Just what exactly did the breastfeeding, sleep-deprived mother do before social media? I remember musing to myself. God forbid I get stuck beneath a sleeping baby, my phone out of reach. Oh the misery! And sure, it was a great way to kill the time and, yes, it (sometimes) helped me stay awake. But you know what? It was making me feel like shit. I came to this conclusion after a rather difficult day. Okay, a disastrous day. Two kids under two is enough to drive any Mum mad, and on this particular day I was exhausted, hormonal and a mess (not even a hot one). My little darlings had gotten the better of me and as I sat on my bed, breastfeeding the newest member of our tribe while scrolling Instagram, tears began to roll down my cheeks. I was only feeling worse and worse: The Fit Mums with the toned, tanned rigs and immaculate diets. The Fashionable Mums with wardrobes that mixed vintage and new oh-so effortlessly. The Creative Mums with the picture-perfect Instagram squares, consistent in colour palette and theme. Don’t even get me started on the DIY Mums, kids’ rooms styled as though they’d been lifted directly from a Pinterest board. They say ‘Comparison is the thief of joy.’ Well, I was making a lot of comparisons. Why don’t I look like that after having my babies? Why doesn’t my Instagram feed look like that? Why don’t I live in Byron Bay in a pristine beach house, dressed in kick-ass boho get-up? Yeah, zero joy. And in that moment, as I mentally tore shreds off myself, I decided enough was enough. No more Facebook, no more Instagram. I was going on a Social Media Sabbatical. I swiftly deleted the apps and felt an instant sense of relief. One month, I thought to myself. I will go one month without it and see how I feel. I instantly started to wonder what I would do with all my new spare time. My first thought? Read. I would read. And in a matter of minutes I had placed half a dozen books on hold at my local library. And do you know how many of those books I finished? Not one. Clearly I got a bit excited; I have a toddler and a new born for goodness sake! Nevertheless, the intention was there and I do intend to read those books when time permits. So I may not have read any books, but as the month passed by I noticed a few things: I was more present in conversations with my loved ones. I played with my kids more. I still took photos (with an actual camera) but without the pressure of finding the perfect filter or writing a witty caption. I shopped online less. I was there to enjoy life’s precious little moments, without the distraction of my phone. And biggest of all, I felt a hell of a lot better about myself. Now I’m not going to get up on my high horse and say that this Social Media Sabbatical has changed my life and that I’m quitting indefinitely. But I will say this: I am certainly more aware of the impact that social media platforms have on my own self-esteem and on my relationships, and I do intend to switch off every now and then to reset. So, if you’ve found yourself in a similar position to me and are considering a digital detox, give it a try. At worst, I can guarantee you’ll save some money. And at best, you might just discover the important things in life. @danii.odonnell 

Get over this idea of an expensive unused gym membership, Eenie Meenie Miney Mum aka Olivia Williams is back to help us with some more realistic New Year’s resolutions. ——————————————————————————————————————————————- So far, only a few days out from the end of 2017, my “don’t have an affair with Chris Hemsworth” resolution is going great! And if I could just manage to stop letting my children get in the way of me eating an entire tub of ice cream in one sitting then I may just realise my dream of being crowned the queen of cellulite. #soclose Truth be told though, I’m not really much of a new years resolution kind of person, I’m more of a “get really motivated to change my whole life at 2am on a random Thursday” person. So this year I’ve come up with some more realistic New Years resolutions that I might be able to actually keep. You know, things like, get a little bit older. Stand up a little bit more. Sit down a bit more. Breathe a lot. That type of thing. The type of things that, whilst physically and/or mentally demanding, are not completely impossible. It won’t be easy, but you CAN do this!!! 1. Drink more water. Water with coffee in it. 2. Be more spiritual. And by spiritual, I mean drunk. Well…Jesus did turn water into wine… 3. Don’t spend too much time wearing pants. 4. Something something fitness [pizza in my mouth]. 5. Don’t get mistaken for Miranda Kerr in public and on the beach [this one is going to be TRICKY but I’m not afraid of a challenge. Unless that challenge is burpees. In which case, no]. 6. Focus on the important things; Netflix and avoiding people. 7. Don’t be upsetti. Eat spaghetti. 8. Stop fucking swearing so fucking much. 9. Love myself like Kanye loves Kanye and believe in myself like Kanye believes in Kanye. 10. Pee without an audience, at least once, sometime, in the history of ever. 11. Wear work out clothes and, as such, be one step closer to actually working out. 12. Stay awake when I sit down on the couch. 13. Stop telling the postman too many details about my life. 14. Exercise [my right to eat] more [tacos] 15. Leave the house one Friday night this year. 16. Make a handful of people believe I’m normal before blindsiding them with my real personality. 17. Eat less fondu. #fondont 18. Watch less bananas die in the fruit bowl. 19. More grilled cheese. 20. Be less willing to look ugly in public. 21. Keep being cool as fuck. Oftentimes me being cool AF looks something like this 22. Give up learning new things because we’ll have google forever. 23. Accept myself for the person I pretend to be. 24. Remember to write 2018 instead of 2017. 25. Stop drinking orange juice after I’ve brushed my teeth. Beer before liquor, never sicker. Toothpaste before orange juice, dead.