1.3.2017 | Filippa Mae | 1

To my darling baby girl,

Today you’re no longer a baby anymore. I know that young people, like you, always want to be older and wiser. How 10 sounds like magic when you’re 4 or 30 sounds like serious shit when you’re 10. I know. But I am way over that 30’s now and I can tell you that growing up is nothing fancy. It’s normal. It’s something that just happens because life is made that way. So please, don’t hurry. I know you want to run after your sister and play along with her or tell us how you feel with thousand words or drink wine and eat spicy food. And you will. In a while. But for now, you’re still my baby. With cheeks to die for, eyes so gentle and kind and the best wet openmouthed kisses. Your smell is my guilty pleasure, your body weight is my workout and your you is my luck. And we’ll celebrate that today. Big time. Happy first birthday baby girl!

Love! Mama

PS. How one year with you looked like…

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My perfect not so perfect life

my perfect not so perfect life

Lately, when I stroll trough blogland (well, waddle at the moment), I always feel some sort of obstacle for blogging myself. Because of social media, this blog world changed. Not better, not worse, different.

Most people that still blog really have something to say, they educate us in their way of living, their values. About essential oils, minimalistic living, styling, motherhood etc.
So after looking at the most stunning images, perfectly styled homes and people, and reading all these intelligent, beautifully articulated blog posts that make you think, I usually end up closing my computer.

Why? Because I have nothing to teach, nothing important to share, I’m not that photographer. I’m just me living my sweet and not so perfect but perfect to me life. With too much stuff, too much mess and too much Nutella.

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Dear Filippa Mae


1.3.2016 at 7:09am she turned our world upside down. She made us a family of four. Filippa Mae. There’s no introduction that can express how I feel right now. Remember how I tried my stinking best to make myself feel a little more pink and glowy during pregnancy? Well, I’m afraid people have to hurt me to get me back to normal nowadays. Damn it’s pink up here. I even love staying up at night with only her. And I can’t be happier when J stumbles into our bed at 4am. I just lay there and have my heart eyes stare at my new family until I hear the birds sing. Yeah, I know, it’s cheesy and corny and extremely annoying. And it gets worse. The other night I was up nursing her and I wrote her a letter. A welcome letter to my newborn daughter. I’m going to share it, because I don’t want it to stay on my phone forever, only read by me. No, it’s hers (and yours, if you continue reading). Something with making her memories.

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Making their memories


When people ask me why I blog and show parts of my life on Instagram I quickly cut off the discussion with “because I like to”. I’m afraid all the answers that get out of my mouth sound cliché. And stupid. So this is the easiest way to get them off my shoulders. And they do. Except for B. Once in a while he asks again. Or our conversations just get to that point where I start thinking about it again.

And I think I found my answer. Again. An answer that shows more than my ignorance or stubbornness. An answer made by hormones (sometimes they’re helpful). An answer to complete the answer I found before.

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Zara brothers and sisters: the end


All good things come to an end. And that’s a good thing, otherwise you get used to it  and it becomes a normal thing.

This week our third edit for the “ brothers and sisters”  campaign of Zara went online (I wrote about one and two here). We had so much fun picking out clothes, searching fun places to go so S and R could just play and be themselves and shooting. It pushed me to get better, to learn and even  to let go.

Thank you all for your sweet and encouraging comments. They mean so much to me!

Therefore: welcome to outtake heaven for one last time! I love my little family.


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Just the two of us (and some free advice)


When I was pregnant with Sylvester I thought I knew it all. I was 32, lived, traveled and partied and was ready to settle down and be a loving mom (with wooden toys and no sugar).

All the well-intentioned advice from parents was sweet, but I didn’t need it. So I smiled and gave them the “please shut up” look. I read about it and I had common sense. The tip: “Enjoy these last moments being just the two of you” was the most frequent and annoying.

We were ready for this baby, for this new exciting phase in our lives together.

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