I’ve been having a bit of an identity crisis recently.
It’s a work thing. I’m a freelance journalist, see. This means that sometimes I am “Working Mum”, putting on my smart clothes and leaving the house to do a day’s work in radio. Other times I am “Work At Home Mum”, writing articles while wearing a dressing gown covered in half-chewed banana and crusty milk. Then, when I don’t have any bookings or commissions to finish, I am “Stay At Home Mum”. On these days, my uniform is a mouldy dressing gown followed by a pair of muddy jeans. And my main activity is playing. Continue reading
I’m feeling a bit smug this evening.
Why? Oh, you know – I JUST WORKED OUT HOW TO USE A PIECE OF TECHNOLOGY.
Sorry. But this is kind of a big deal for me.
Despite being a fully trained broadcast journalist, technical stuff really isn’t my strong point. I’m OK with it once I’ve been shown how it works and which plug fits where. But I’m not, well, a natural. Continue reading
6.43 am, 27th June 2010: the moment my life changed forever.
You are tiny, little Frog. Purple, you don’t even look human really. Your little feet are all crooked from where they’ve been scrunched up inside me so long. Your little hands make angry fists. Continue reading
This time a year ago I went into labour.
Don’t worry, this isn’t going to be one of those posts where I regale you with the gory details of Frog’s birth. I’m saving that for another day. No, what I really wanted to do was offer a word of advice to expectant fathers out there – or any other prospective birth partners.
You see, the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine shot into fatherhood with a bit of a bang – an “explosion” if you will. Continue reading
When my baby was born she wouldn’t sleep.
Well, she would, but not without me rocking her with her magic blanket (the magic blanket they sell in sets of two from Primark – who knew magic was so easy to get hold of). Fast-forward a few months and we’d gone past the rocking. She still needed the magic blanket and, on special occasions, the boob. But on the main she was happy to go into her cot, with the blanket of magical qualities, and fall to sleep. Continue reading
I am a woman on the edge.
It is Frog’s 1st birthday on Monday. Not such a big deal you might think. Well, you’d be wrong.
The thing is, it feels like just last week I was working out how to change a nappy without getting poo on my face, while simultaneously getting to grips with the babygrow’s complicated press-stud system.
And now, here we are. Organising Frog’s birthday party. Continue reading
Those are my three favourite words at the moment.
I say “favourite” – what I actually mean is “most used”.
Frog’s started moving, you see, opening up a whole world of trouble. After spending the last five months bemoaning the laziness of my child and her refusal to shift, I now realise I should have basked in her lack of mobility while I could. Continue reading
My life is complete. Seriously.
Forget the fact I have a beautiful daughter, am getting married to a wonderful man and do a job I love. None of that matters. Because I have interviewed Mr Tumble. Continue reading
Exactly a year ago, I was 6 days away from giving birth to Frog.
I spent hours walking up and down the stairs, hoovering and then bouncing up and down on a birthing ball. Hours. I was pretty fed up with being pregnant. Continue reading