Prepare your body for an empowering pregnancy, a pain-free birth, and a fast recovery.

You're going to be a mum.

Pretty soon, a tiny person will be looking up at you with deep, loving eyes — quietly grunting, nuzzling you. The purest love there is. I'm so excited for you.

Your little miracle chose you. Nobody else. You know why? Because nobody on earth is better equipped to love that baby than you. You're perfect for each other.

Whether you join my program or not, I really want you to know — you are 100% capable, and you have everything you need to look after this baby from now right through to adulthood.

You and only you know what is best for your baby.

But people are so afraid you'll hurt your own baby that they convince you to do nothing — just sit at home and "eat for two." The problem is, your body still has to do the work when the time comes.

Three of my pregnancies, I told myself: "relax, you're eating for two." My baby liked doughnuts. Nearly every day. Then he came out — and I was still eating doughnuts. I stopped breastfeeding, and I was still eating doughnuts. It took me that long to realise that maybe it was just my fat ass that felt like eating doughnuts.

Back then, I hated my arse. In fact, I hated everything. My outlook on life was fat on every level there was.

I can remember my teenage son avoiding eye contact with me so I wouldn't go off at him. He avoided home. Julius's friend Aaron told him going home after work was scary — "like having a monster in the house." I laugh about it now. But that monster was me.

I blamed hormones. I blamed Julius. I blamed pregnancy. I blamed everything but myself, because I was the victim. I was the one this was happening to.

Then the babies were born, and the behaviour had become habitual. I blamed breastfeeding. Lack of sleep. Too many kids. Not enough money. And underneath all of it, the truth I couldn't admit:

And the behaviour continued. I got pregnant again. The cycle repeated for three pregnancies, and then one day I decided — enough. The house only ever saw joy when I was asleep. My husband didn't want to come near me. My children were scared of me. I hated myself down to the core.

How could this have happened? Was I always this much of a bitch?

I remembered being fun. Being fun. It was as if I'd forgotten how. And when I thought about having fun, I just felt sad. "You're a mum. You're pregnant again. You've got bills and stress. You need to take this seriously, Sharny."

And there it was. "Being a mother is serious."

I knew that to be good at anything, I had to take it seriously. But did I need to be so serious?

Athletes take their sport seriously. They also have fun. To be at their best, a professional athlete needs to have fun — being in the zone, feeling it. That state of perfection where magic happens requires more than "serious." It requires letting go, trusting your natural instincts, and having FUN.

The same way an athlete loves their sport, I needed to love being a mother. And that's what was missing from my life. What I had taken from my life.