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
For me, this is the best thing about being a mum. It’s those moments of pure glee, when your child does something that makes you laugh, or accepts a cuddle willingly.
I have to remind myself of this fact today, after a difficult afternoon with a grumpy baby. Generally, I would be able to handle the tantrums, but they become a little more tricky when you’ve been up since 3.45am. Continue reading
Everything changes tomorrow. I’ll be ducking out of the early morning nappy battles and CBeebies sessions, swapping morning mum duties for getting behind a microphone. Tomorrow, I will become: Radio Mum.
Although the new show doesn’t actually start until the 9th of January, I have a few days to get Radio Mum down to a tee. In my head, Radio Mum swans into the studio looking all sleek, with a perfectly chosen outfit, manicured nails and glossy flowing Holly Willoughby-esque mane. Radio Mum is organised, having packed the baby’s change bag the night before, right before she laid out the baby’s clothes to save the husband a job in the morning. Radio Mum makes the tea as soon as she gets home from work at 1pm, ready to devote an entire afternoon to play with the baby and be Mum Extraordinaire. Continue reading
It’s been on my mind for a while now, this whole nudist thing. I mean, do we really need clothes? Really?
Ever since becoming a mum I’ve been veering more and more towards the No Clothes Camp. First of all, my favourite jeans refused to stretch with my newly wobbly belly. Then my tops refused to shrink with my newly shrivelled mammary glands. Then Every. Single. Pair of socks I owned got up and did a disappearing act.
So I’ve been spending my days since June 2010 dressed in a mixture of clothes borrowed from my sister and my husband, with the odd Primarni purchase thrown in for good measure. And no socks. Continue reading
On Saturday I had a photo shoot for my new job. In a nervous panic, with nothing to wear except a pair of milk-stained jeans and a T’shirt splattered with remnants of a particularly evil nappy, I rang Super Woman.
This Super Woman goes by the name of Lisa Talbot and happens to be a very fabulous stylist. Within ten minutes I knew of the perfect top – and exactly where to get it. This was, quite literally, the holy grail for a woman with a less-than-flat stomach and an out of practise shopping technique.
Because Lisa’s lovely like that, she agreed to write a guest post, revealing some of her secrets. So, without further ado, I bring to you the first ever guest post to feature on Mother’s Always Right…
No, I’m not pregnant.
But I will be experiencing excruciatingly early mornings very soon.
Because I’ve gone and got myself a new job. A new job that involves getting up at 4am. A new job that involves listening to lots of Take That. A new job that involves chatting. A new job that involves laughing – a lot. A new job that has “dream” written all over it (apart from the 4am alarm call, obviously). Continue reading
Before I became a mum I thought I was busy. I would be in work for 5am (I was a Breakfast Journalist at a large commercial radio station), work bloomin’ hard while I was there, and then go home to have a nap at some point in the afternoon.
Occasionally I’d do a load of washing – back when I only needed to wash a couple of loads a week – and collapse for the rest of the evening on the sofa.
I had no idea what busy was.
As a comparison, I’ve done a little exercise. This is what my life looked like yesterday: Continue reading
This time last week I was panicking about abandoning my child.
When I say “abandoning” I actually mean leaving her with a fully competent, registered and rather lovely childminder. But you know how I like to veer towards the drama, so I’ll stick with “abandon”.
As a freelance journalist I don’t do regular hours. Sometimes I do radio work (usually while Daddy Daycare’s around during the school holidays) and sometimes I work from home writing articles for various websites and magazines. Sometimes I sit around and eat biscuits all day and don’t do much of anything at all. But most of the time I juggle. With lots and lots of balls. Continue reading
OK, so technically she may not be much of a baby any more. At 14 months, Frog is learning to be an independent little creature, but seeing as that independence means a refusal to get up on her own two feet and walk I’m going to continue to call her a “baby” until she shows me otherwise.
So, leaving my baby. I hate it.
On Wednesday, for the first time ever, Frog will be left with someone she barely knows. Now, before you go thinking I’m being precious and sentimental, I’m not. The work situation and the cost of childcare means that it makes more sense to do radio shifts (where I have to put proper clothes on and leave the house) during school holiday time, when Daddy Daycare steps in. Continue reading
I’m experiencing some serious overcrowding problems at the moment.
We live in a two bedroom cottage, with a buggy and a million toys and baby paraphernalia stuffed into every nook and cranny. But that’s not the problem.
I feel as if my head is about to explode, as the pressure of a thousand thoughts builds to a worrying crescendo.
It’s the wedding. And work. And the baby. And those table plans. And articles. And meetings. And the radio work. And the accounts to keep on top of. And the copywriting project. And the childcare issues. And the never-ending pile of washing. And the emails – the bloody emails. They’re down to my ankles and up to my neck. Continue reading