As well as being a co-presenter for a breakfast radio show, I also earn my crust as a writer. Part of this job involves writing features, part of it involves writing commercial copy and part of it involves blogging.
I rarely put any of my work-related writing here because this is my personal space. But I wanted to share my most recent post for one of my clients, because it’s something that I could easily have written right here.
It’s 10 o’clock at night and I’ve had a difficult day. I’m tired and emotional and a bit overwhelmed.
We’ve been at the hospital, you see. My daughter, now approaching 22 months old, is still not walking. The doctors think there may be a problem with her hips. Continue reading
I’ve always prided myself on having a “live and let live” attitude. Until someone does something which I find extremely annoying / questionable / offensive. And then “let live” goes out the window and I decide everyone should live along my code of life. Because I am always right, clearly.
When I became a mum I was shocked at how this attitude took itself to the next level. Mums who let their babies cry in the night – why? Mums who didn’t choose Baby-led Weaning – why not? Mums who were all competitive about their baby’s milestones – what’s the point? Continue reading
I’m guest posting over on The Netmums blog today, as I help them launch their campaign for United Kindmums. This post is all about a random act of kindness I’ll never forget, which helped me through a difficult day of early motherhood.
It’s a dark, chilly October morning. I’m cold and feeling very low. My baby is crying because she’s tired and has the sniffles. I’m crying because I’m tired and have the sniffles. We both want to sleep.
The newborn bubble has well and truly burst. My beautiful daughter has reached four months and, while I love her so fiercely it makes my heart physically ache, I am exhausted. I feel spent and alone. My husband is at work all day and my friends haven’t yet got children. The hours until bedtime stretch ahead like a dark, sleepless void. I cry again.
I feel like I’ve failed my daughter somehow, because I’m not feeling bubbly and happy today. I feel like I’ve failed at motherhood somehow, because I’m not enjoying it this morning. Continue reading
With wine on a Friday night.
It starts with a whisper at around midday. I can hear it humming softly from the fridge in all its cold, fresh, delicious glory.
The call gets steadily louder as the afternoon wears on. With each tantrum from my beautiful, highly-strung 20 month old daughter, the wine positively sings from the bottle stacked lovingly in its cosy white home in the corner of the kitchen. Continue reading
For the past couple of months I have been asked one question time and time again, in various different forms.
It goes something like this, “I just don’t know how you do it”. Or, “I couldn’t do it, I don’t know how you do”. Or, “You should really take care – I mean, I just don’t know how you manage it”.
In each situation, the person is talking about my work. Continue reading
…is that they precede a Saturday morning.
Usually, this should be a cause for joy, signalling a lie-in and a leisurely cup of tea. But, recently, Saturday mornings (and Sundays come to think of it) have meant something altogether different.
You see, from Monday to Friday, I am long gone by the time Frog wakes up. I leave the house at 4.15am for work, which means the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine plays the role of Gok Wan in the morning, dressing our 20 month old non-toddling toddler and negotiating all the relevant tantrums. Continue reading
A year ago – almost to the day – I went for a walk in the woods.
With Frog strapped firmly to my chest I donned my new wellies and went splashing in puddles with my friend and her little boy, Arthur. We chased after Boots, the beautiful black Labrador, and built piles of sticks next to a hollow log.
At the time, Arthur was two and a half. Throughout the walk he was in a world of his own. One minute he was driving a train, the next he was boarding a bus, then he was tooting the horn, then he was taking passengers’ tickets. It was the first time he had ever completely lost himself in his own imagination and, as a new mum with all this to look forward to, it was thrilling to see. Continue reading
Hands up. I admit it. I haven’t had my roots done since last August and I’m not always regular in the leg-shaving department. I get most of my clothes handed down to me by my younger sister and nearly ever pair of pants I own comes from Primark.
I’m far from glamorous.
But I’m about to bring you a prize that has glam written all over it. Continue reading
It’s been dawning on me for a while now. There’s something missing in my approach to motherhood.
I will never be perfect mother material. And when I say perfect, I mean perfect.
I’m not on about the obvious stuff, like regularly forgetting to make Frog brush her teeth, or occasionally letting her smear ketchup over her vegetables.
No, I’m on about something altogether different.
It’s a quality that starts for many women during pregnancy. These women are natural mothers. They are good at motherhood before their offspring are even born. The calm descends and they sit, zen-like, in a beautiful state of blooming fertility.
And as their child grows within them, they metamorphose into a Butlins Red Coat. Continue reading