Tag Archives: motherhood

A new chapter

I never meant to be a mummy blogger. I stumbled into it by accident when I set up this blog, which if I’m honest I only did to give myself something to tweet about. Before that point I’d never really even read blogs, apart from the odd post a friend might link to, and I was blown away by how many people were out there, so many windows into so many worlds.

Before long I found myself getting caught up in it. Joining in with endless linkies, modelling posts on ones I read elsewhere, feeling elated when the words I wrote seemed to strike a chord, feeling frustrated when I began to focus on the stats that lurked in the background betraying how relatively few readers I actually had.

So many people were doing it better – funnier, cleverer, prettier. They were making a living from pouring their hearts onto the screens, whilst I was just taking up time that in my mind I should have been dedicating to ‘proper’ writing, or at the very least hanging out with my son.

Of course that’s only part of the picture. Blogging has given me so much else: a voice when I felt I had no-one to talk to, the confidence to just write rather than panicking about having nothing to say, a community to keep me company as I made sense of my new, often lonely, existence as a stay-at-home mum.

I was reminded of this when I went to Brit Mums Live last weekend. In the run up to it I had wondered numerous times why I was going at all. I worried that in the real world I’d have nothing to say to these people I only knew online – that when it came to it I wouldn’t really know them at all. I worried that I would feel like a fraud – not ready to buy into so much of the blogging world, just hovering on the periphery whilst everyone else got on with the serious business of carving out their new careers.

There was a bit of that, admittedly. But it was actually wonderful to meet these women in the flesh – people I knew from the blogosphere and many others besides. I realised that everyone there was doing this for their own reasons, that none of those reasons were better or more legitimate than others, and that any attempt to directly compare our many different goals and aspirations, let alone the many different ways we’re choosing to reach them, is fraught with difficulty.

I realised that rather than looking out at the journeys others are on it is high time I focused on my own.

My blog is only a small part of what I write. I cannot let it take over – not unless I decide that I want it to be an enterprise in and of itself. I need to refocus on how I can make this space one I am truly proud of, one which reflects my goals and aspirations rather than just the humdrum of the everyday. I need to refocus on my writing, on perfecting my craft. I need to refocus on my ‘brand’, however unmarketable that might be.

Because this is where I have that privilege – to write what’s right for me.

It’s the other words I need to be taking more seriously: honing my novels until they find a home with a publisher, seeking out opportunities through magazines and competitions to share my short stories with a wider audience. The time and energy and headspace that has been taken up by this blog needs to be invested there.

I’m not disappearing from here completely, but a shift in focus is long overdue. I have no idea exactly what that’s going to look like yet!

If you bear with me, hopefully we’ll both like what we find.

Who am I?

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When I started this blog, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. Not just with the blog itself, though that was definitely uncharted territory, but more generally too: over the previous couple of years everything I thought I knew about my life had changed. I liked where I was, most days, but I couldn’t help being curious about where I was headed.

The name of my little corner of the internet, ‘Sophie is…’, was the beginning of a sentence that I hoped I might be able to complete some time soon. With actions at first, and then, as time went on, with a label – something to replace the title of ‘teacher’ which I had worn with pride for the preceding decade.

There were obvious contenders – ‘a mum’ being the strongest one. I remember having a conversation with one of my oldest friends a few weeks after I’d entered the weird and wonderful world of blogging. Like me, she had recently celebrated the first birthday of her first child. Like me, she was struggling to come to terms with putting to one side the career she had worked so hard for. And also like me any regret or guilt she felt at that was still superseded by a strong sense of relief at being allowed, if she so chose, to be ‘just’ a mum.

We spoke about the power of that little qualifier, how hard it was for us – and for society – to accept that nurturing a child was a worthwhile use of our time. We discussed how there were days when being a mum felt more than we were capable of, even with all the time in the world, and others when we longed to be filling our time with something that reflected more of who we used to be, not just this new person we had become.

I think about this a lot, still.

I have not yet been able to relinquish my son to nursery or any other form of regular childcare. I worry that we would both miss too much. But at the same time I have not been able to entirely throw myself into being a mum.

I have needed something more.

And so, as well as ‘a mum’, Sophie is… ‘a writer’, ‘a school governor’, ‘a local councillor’, ‘an education consultant’. All of these things are exciting and fulfilling, and take an increasing amount of my time. Only the last is guaranteed to bring in any income, though I’m still holding out for those novels finding a publisher.

I know I am incredibly lucky to have the choices that I do.

But now I worry that I am spreading myself too thin. I still have not found a satisfying way to complete the unfinished sentence that began this blog.

And the blogging itself is confusing me recently – not the act of doing it, but what it’s all for. I found myself in a heated discussion about this a few weeks ago with someone who shall remain anonymous but whose opinion means an awful lot. The nature of the argument is too complicated and personal to go into here but it left me feeling a bit empty, a bit pointless.

Except I love this blog. I love how it jumps from one topic to another, piquing the interest of a wide range of people even though it never lures them in as deeply as it might if my writing was more focused. I know I don’t play by the rules, I know my target audience isn’t clearly enough defined to attract advertisers, I know that I’m not interested in making the blog in itself a commercial enterprise. I know I could channel my efforts much more effectively if I picked an area and stuck to it, but I don’t want to – not yet at least. And that is where this blog, still, is a mirror of my life.

It hasn’t yet decided where its priorities lie, it’s enjoying making the most of all the new opportunities that are presented to it, being able to say ‘yes’ to all the ones that look like they might be interesting or fun.

It’s hard, though, going from an existence where you think you have it all figured out into one where you’re not even sure what your goals are any more, let alone how to reach them. It’s particularly hard for a validation-seeking, confidence-lacking, perfectionist like me.

But I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge.

And so I think I’m going to have to put to one side this desire to figure out who I am and what I’m doing with my life. It may be hard to get my head round, but I think I’m going to have to accept that, for now, Sophie just is.

The evolution of fear

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Out of all of the phases of development I’ve observed in Arthur so far, this one seems to me the most bittersweet. It appears to be emerging hand in hand with his increased understanding, linguistic ability and imagination, and all of those things are obviously to be desired and encouraged. But this emotion above all others is one which has the potential to hold him back, to curb his curiosity, to keep him firmly within his comfort zone.

This emotion is fear.

The first time I remember witnessing fear take over his little body was at a festival last summer. We’d bumped into a friend of ours, someone we don’t see very often but who had met Arthur several times since he was tiny. This time, though, he had a big orange beard. And Arthur was petrified.

He’s never been super-keen on beards, but this was something else. He went from being chilled and cuddly in the sling to screaming and trying to climb up me to escape, and no reassurance would convince him otherwise.

Several months later, I went to take him swimming. We were in a pool we’ve swum in many times before – in fact Arthur had his very first experience of swimming there when he was just six weeks old. But this time he suddenly became aware of the shadowy hole at the end of the pool which houses the cover. He wouldn’t go anywhere near it, and panicked even when I moved towards it. Over the half an hour or so we were in there he built it up so much that he wouldn’t actually stray from the steps at the very opposite end, and even then he was tense and wary.

Both of those were pretty much isolated incidents, and beyond trying to work out what was going on in Arthur’s magical brain I didn’t think too much of it. But in the past few months, as his language and memory skills have developed further, so has his capacity for fear.

He is particularly terrified of hand driers. It’s the sound of rushing air I think – he doesn’t care much for vacuum cleaners or hairdryers either, and is pretty wary of the extractor fan. But hand driers – the sort that are ubiquitous in public bathrooms – they are something else.

It’s got to the point now that if I even mention needing to go to the toilet when we are out a flash of fear crosses his face and he exclaims repeatedly ‘no hand driers!’. If I have to take him in with me, he will cower in the corner of the cubicle, trying to shrink away from the potential threat even if there are no hand driers to be seen. And heaven forbid one is actually activated in his presence! I brushed against one accidentally in a particularly cosy cubicle the other week and I thought he was actually going to climb over the walls.

The other thing that he reserves a special kind of horror for is doctors, particularly if they’re working in a hospital. I think I can trace this back to the immunisations he had when he was only eight weeks old. I will never forget his face in the aftermath – the look of ultimate betrayal he gave me. We are fortunate that he hasn’t had many dealings with doctors, but his dislike of them has escalated nonetheless.

We had to take him in to A&E over New Year with a particularly nasty bout of croup, and the way he screamed when the (very lovely, gentle) doctor tried to examine him took even the emergency room staff by surprise – though at least it showed that there wasn’t anything too seriously wrong with him.

It happened again at his two year check. I was chatting away to the health visitor at our community hospital whilst he happily played with the toys she’d set out when I made the mistake of mentioning this fear of hospitals. His ears pricked up, he looked around him, and he began to wail, scratching at the door to escape. It took both of our best efforts to calm him down enough for the most rudimentary assessment, and I’m just glad she was experienced and open-minded enough not to conclude there was something seriously wrong with him!

This fear is one which is potentially a little tricky for us to get around, what with his dad currently training to be a doctor and all. Friends advised me to get Arthur a little doctor’s play set so that we could work to familiarise him through role play. I did, but he literally will not go anywhere near it – running away if I approach him with the cute little case in hand, eyeing it warily and keeping a wide berth if he suddenly realises it’s in the same room as him.

I guess the next stage is actually going in to see daddy at work. We’ve talked about it, and he’s gradually transitioning from being upset at the prospect of Leigh even being there himself – “No daddy work at hospital!” – to being able to discuss it without the rising panic.

I find it all very interesting, objectively, because on the whole Arthur is a very brave, very confident little boy. He’s intrigued by new experiences, loves getting to know new people, will pick himself up if he stumbles without as much as a whimper. But clearly there is something about these particular triggers that has captured his imagination.

Avoiding the things he is afraid of doesn’t seem like a sensible option: I don’t want him to become fearful, to put his demons in boxes and not face up to them. At the same time, though, it is horrible to see him quite genuinely terrified. So we will proceed very gently, easing him into a place where he can see that his fears are (largely) unfounded.

I’d be curious to hear about other people’s experiences around toddlers and fear – what it is that scares them, and how you’ve helped them to overcome it. I realise that to some extent being afraid is part of what makes us human, but I hope that I can learn to help him learn how to embrace his fears and use them to make him stronger rather than shrinking his world and shying away from the things that make him scared.

Top tips for taming anxiety with a toddler in tow

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The last few weeks have been pretty bonkers. So much so that this week, now that everything has started to calm down just a little bit, I’ve found myself struggling to focus and teetering on the edge of panic at the slightest thing.

It’s a tendency I recognise from periods in my life when I have been overcome by anxiety. Not the anxiety that is borne of a genuinely nerve-wracking situation, but rather the insidious and potentially overwhelming feeling that the world is about to spiral out of control.

It’s frustrating to say the least – there was so much I wanted to get done this week, and sitting here now at the tail end of it there is so much I haven’t achieved. But most of what I wanted to do required focus, a clear head – and those are the things that have been most elusive.

The difference though this time round is that I’ve recognised my symptoms for what they are – my sometimes fragile mental health crying out for a little attention after a relentless period where I was embroiled in the unknown territory of election campaigning (it worked by the way!), and my core support network of husband and mum have themselves been tied up in finals revision and preparing for my brother’s wedding respectively. But my anxiety hasn’t got the better of me, and I have made every effort to make sensible choices to enable myself to keep going.

Being accompanied by a toddler pretty much every minute of every day has definitely added a different dimension to that process. And not necessarily in a bad way.

It seems pretty apt, with this week being Mental Health Awareness Week, that I share a little of what’s been on my mind. So without further ado, these are my top tips for taming anxiety with a toddler in tow.

1) Catch up on sleep

I reckon this is possibly the most vital, though also the trickiest, part of the plan. I have tried to get to bed a bit earlier this week, though I’ve never really been very good at the discipline that involves (especially as we’re deep in the midst of season five of The Walking Dead).

For me snatching sleep has mostly happened during the day – taking my iPad up to bed so in the morning the toddler can snuggle up with a movie whilst I get a few extra zzzs, and for the first time in ages trying to nap when he naps.

I realise I’m lucky he still does, else I’m not entirely sure how I would have coped…

2) Eat healthily

I’m ordinarily pretty good at keeping a healthy diet going for all of us, but it had certainly started to slip over the last couple of weeks. I couldn’t face the battles that potentially ensued if I moved too far from toast and pasta, and didn’t have the energy to prepare something different for myself so ended up having my diet dictated by a two year old.

It’s silly, because I know how much good food makes the difference. This week I’ve been upping the fruit and veg, cutting down on carbs, (mostly) remembering to take my supplements – and feeling all the better for it.

3) Get some exercise

There’s been an awful lot of walking involved in the election campaign, but that was accompanied by a sense of drudgery in the later stages. This week I’ve, albeit tentatively, started reintegrating yoga and hula-hooping into my routine. With that and the Friday trampolining sessions that I’ve just about managed to keep ticking over I’ve started to feel the spring returning to my step.

4) Get outside

I have a real tendency when I’m feeling overwhelmed to go into hibernation mode – even opening the doors to the garden can feel like too much at times. But having a little person around who would ideally spent every waking moment outside definitely comes in handy.

We’ve had lunch outside a couple of times this week, and spent time just lounging around and looking up at the sky. The sunshine has helped – but actually the fresh air simply works wonders whatever the weather.

5) Tidy up!

Now this is something I’m rubbish at, and I still have a long way to go, but it is amazing how getting rid of the mess and the clutter makes the world seem so much more manageable!

I had a bit of a manic afternoon on Wednesday getting the kitchen ship shape as yesterday morning we were visited by a reporter from our local BBC News to interview me in relation to the local elections. It felt a little bit like torture at the time, but the kitchen is now definitely my happy place, a little oasis of calm amongst the widespread detritus which has come from just not having a second to get things under control (at least not without the toddler wreaking his own brand of havoc).

6) Tick some things off your to-do list

Now I have to admit first of all that the ever-increasing list of things I have to do is still residing mainly in my head. I know this isn’t helpful. My poor diary, that gave me such satisfaction when I first filled it in back in January, hasn’t had a look in for weeks.

I’ll work on that…

But in the meantime I have been having stern words with myself about just getting things done rather than ruminating over how much I need to do them. Writing blog posts, for example. Or emails. Or paying bills. All sorts of little bits and pieces that have literally felt like a weight off my mind once I’ve actually achieved them.

(It still took me until this evening to get round to writing this post. I never said I was perfect.)

7) Be kind to yourself

This is another biggie, and is one that is challenging to put into practise when your head is full of noise. But in order not to be consumed by it, it is vital to work on your internal dialogue.

I say dialogue, because at times like this there are two voices in my head rather than just the one. There’s one that seems determined to pull me down – with comparisons, with regrets, with paranoia. And there’s another, the one that needs to fight to get heard, that is trying its utmost to focus on the positive – to remember that it’s ok to feel overwhelmed, it’s ok to slow down, it’s ok not to achieve everything I wanted to, because actually, on balance, I’m doing a pretty awesome job of this whole life business.

8) Make the most of all the cuddles

This is where the toddler truly comes into his own, where having an extra little shadow really does become a blessing rather than just another cause of messiness and having too much to juggle.

I don’t know about yours, but my little person absolutely loves to snuggle up. Not all the time, but certainly more than I normally slow down to give him credit for. And this week I have been making the most of all of that physical contact filled with warmth and love – whether it’s lingering in bed a little longer in the mornings, cosying down together to watch Chitty Chitty Bang Bang for the umpteenth time, or seeing off an approaching tantrum by whipping him up into the sling.

There have been many times when I have been the centre of calm for my child, but it is a wonderful realisation that he can return that favour too.

My word of the week this week is anxiety.

Also linking up with this week’s prompt of calm. I’m getting there!

What I’ve learnt from standing for election

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On a national level, this feels like the most important election we have participated in for a long time. Recent weeks have been filled with optimistic anticipation, a sense that things might really have been about to change for the better. I have been buoyed along by a surge in interest and engagement from people whose views sit firmly on the left. Now that the results of the parliamentary election are in, I have been brought sharply down to earth. But I still have the little corner of hope carved out by my last minute leap into local politics.

For the first time, I will be able to say that I have not just talked the talk about the importance of engaging in politics. I may only be standing for our little town council, but suddenly, in the face of a national picture which is so far removed from my political values, that feels like the first step in a journey which may have considerably wider scope than I’d previously imagined.

I will not know until tomorrow whether I have been elected. But whatever the outcome there are some important things that I have learnt along the way.

1) There are a lot of people out there just waiting for a reason to get involved

Politics, on every level, is pretty intimidating. I’ve toyed with the idea of being a councillor for years, but (aside from the difficulty of finding time for it alongside a teaching career) I never really knew how to take the first step – or even if I really wanted to.

For me, it took an encouraging nudge from a community figure I admire against the backdrop of a group wanting to abolish our town council to make me realise that I needed to stand up and be counted. A couple of my fellow candidates fall into this category too, and we have brought with us a swathe of people who, were it not for knowing people standing for election, might not have taken much interest in what was going on locally – or indeed nationally. And others who were always interested, but who (like me) had been seeking an outlet for that political drive.

There’s definitely a need for more people to get their voices heard. It’s been a while since I did anything where I was categorised as young, but suddenly – despite the fact that I am closer to my fortieth birthday than any other milestone – I find myself representing the youth voice. There’s clearly some work to be done there. Not to mention the one third of people eligible to vote in the UK who once again failed, for whatever reason, to exercise their democratic right in this election.

But overall it’s actually been quite inspiring – the thought that, for all the uncertainty we’re now facing as a country, there might just be hope for the future in people who have previously felt disenfranchised and are ready now to stand up and make their mark.

2) Campaigning requires seriously comfy shoes (and a decent sling)

This may have been naive of me, but I honestly had no idea quite how much legwork was involved in an election campaign. Our town council elections are admittedly unusual this time round in that there has been some stiff competition for the available seats. And as a result, in the four weeks since I came on board as a council candidate, I have walked about 100km delivering leaflets.

Up and down hills and endless flights of steps, dodging traffic and dogs, all whilst wearing my toddler. I didn’t have much time to think about the wisdom of it all this time round, but if I do this again I’m certainly going to look into how much influence this trekking actually has. I would like to think there is more scope in social media – I certainly had some great interactions on twitter and Facebook.

But there is, admittedly, nothing quite like actual face to face conversation – and with the turnout at local meetings being so low there is still much to be said for the power of turning up on people’s’ doorsteps.

3) Sticking your neck out really attracts the trolls

I don’t know if this is a general thing or whether we have an unusual number of resident trolls in Brixham, but I was bemused to see the onslaught of online abuse I received within days of standing for election. Both on twitter and in the comments section of our local paper I found myself targeted with some quite unpleasant – and borderline libellous – attacks.

I’m not one to bow to bullying, and fortunately once I’d lodged complaints with the police, with twitter and with the local newspaper editor the nastiness seemed to die down.

It did all make me wonder though why people would want to put themselves through it. I never even said anything controversial – just the mere act of standing for election was enough.

I had an interesting chat with Sarah Wollaston, my (now re-elected) local MP. She is no stranger to online attacks herself, but said that from her experience it’s often a lot worse – and definitely a lot more personal – the lower down the political food chain you get. The problem with that is it could genuinely cut peoples’ political ambitions off at the knees before they even have time to get started – it’s one thing to say that people just need to develop thicker skins, but it’s clearly a massive block to engagement for anyone who would rather not be subject to abuse.

4) The system is not easy to navigate with kids in tow – but it’s not impossible either

My first meeting in the course of this campaign I attended with my two-year old. It was in the evening, and his dad was working late. With no-one else around to look after him it was a case of take him with me or not go at all. I’m really glad I took the decision to go – and that he slept in the sling for the majority of the meeting – but I definitely got some strange looks.

If I am elected, then I think I’m just going to have to get used to those. As someone who has chosen not to go back to work outside the home but rather combine full time motherhood with writing and other endeavours I don’t have easily accessible childcare. I can’t afford to be paying someone to look after my son so I can attend council meetings or voluntary engagements, so unless it would be noticeably disruptive for him to be there he will be coming along for the ride.

And there is of course the precedent set by Licia Ronzulli, the Italian MEP who has challenged people’s perceptions of the place of children in the world of politics.

5) Finding the right words counts for an awful lot

Having come into the campaign to stand up for Brixham council so late on I have repeatedly felt a long way out of my depth. My teaching experience, and prior to that many years of drama and debating, has left me with the skills to stand up and say my piece in front of a crowd, but that did not stop my palms from sweating and my voice shaking when I actually did it.

I certainly don’t think I’ve said anything particularly extraordinary – talk of working together, of giving people a voice, of looking to the future rather than being stuck in the past – but when I have spoken it has seemed to strike a chord. From the vitriol of the online haters to the people stopping me in the street to say how glad they are that I am speaking out it is strange to realise that my words have had an impact.

I suppose it’s like the blog too really – whether spoken or written it is always satisfying to hit on just the right way of putting something to draw people in. I just need to make sure now that I have the knowledge, understanding and integrity underneath it all to deserve people’s trust.

Suffice to say I have been surprised by how tough but also how exciting the last few weeks have been. I shall find out tomorrow whether it has all been enough to save the town council – and indeed to get me a seat on it – but whether it has or not a political spark has definitely been ignited within me. And I am intrigued to see where that may lead.

My word of the week this week is democracy.

Coming up for air

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I’ve been increasingly single-minded over the past few weeks. At the beginning of January, I started work on the third draft of my second novel. This was a pretty intimidating prospect – with every new draft the stakes get higher – and I struggled at first to pick up momentum. But as I got deeper and deeper back into it, helped by some great feedback and a couple of lightbulb moments, I became increasingly confident in my ability to make the changes I needed to. And as I got closer and closer to the end, working on the edit was pretty much all I wanted to do.

And then, this Tuesday, I submitted it to my agent. A huge weight was lifted off my shoulders – now all I have to do is wait and see what she thinks!

Well, I say all I have to do. My single-mindedness has definitely impacted on everything else: my blogging activity has slowed to a trickle, the laundry has piled up, and all my good intentions to do more exercise have come to not very much at all. I have also not been giving Arthur quite as much attention as perhaps I should have been. I mean, I’ve been here. Physically. But my mind has not been entirely present…

So that was my main aim this week – to begin to re-enter the real world and enjoy hanging out with my awesome son. We’ve spent lots of time at the beach, hanging out with friends and just throwing stones.

I finally put together the rebounder that’s been cluttering up Leigh’s study and is a key part of my ‘get fit for summer’ exercise plan. That was foiled slightly by Arthur’s insatiable appetite for bouncing… But I’ve had lots of fun getting reacquainted with my hula hoop whilst watching him bounce up and down.

He’s been asking after yoga lots too, so getting back into that is my next goal – we were doing so well with our morning yoga sessions but those too have suffered in the quest to get this novel finished (again).

My brain is still feeling a bit fuzzy after all its hard work, but fresh air and exercise are definitely helping. I have a growing list of ideas for blog posts, and hopefully soon I’ll find the time to actually write them!

There’s nothing quite like the buzz of adrenalin and sense of achievement that comes from bringing a major project to a close. But there’s something pretty special about the peace and space to breathe that comes in its wake as well – and that’s what I have been enjoying most of all about this week.

My word of the week this week is breathe.

Why I write

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So much has changed over the past three years. In January 2012, I was living on a building site, struggling to keep my head above water in a job that was quite possibly more than I could handle, and wondering whether (despite the view) moving out of London had really been such a great idea.

A few months later I fell pregnant, and my priorities began to shift…

Now of course I am loving living by the sea, spending my days writing and hanging out with an amazing baby. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

You can find me over on the Faber Academy site today talking about how everything started to fall into place the moment I took a deep breath and decided to stop being so scared of my dreams.

Now you are two

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Dear Arthur,

A year ago today I wrote my very first post on this blog: a letter to you, a week and a day after your first birthday.

Reading back over those words now it is hard to believe that only twelve months have passed – and at the same time I wonder where that time has gone, where my little baby has disappeared to.

You are still my baby of course. I suspect that will be the case for many, many years to come. But there is no denying that you are growing up.

A month or so after that first post you started walking. Unsteady on your feet at first, you soon leapt in confidence. You are so strong and fast now – running around on your tiptoes, a look of glee on your face. You have finally learnt to jump: you worked on that for ages, such determination as you squatted down and pushed upwards, not quite understanding why your feet wouldn’t leave the ground. Gymnastics has taught you to be increasingly comfortable in your body in many ways – walking backwards and sideways, rolling and balancing and climbing. I reckon it’s going to be a pretty active year ahead!

There’s swimming too. You’ve loved the water since you were little, but in your second summer, with the help of your float suit, you began to move yourself around in the pool and the sea. It made me very glad to live where we do, that there were so many opportunities for swimming in the open air feeling the breeze on your skin and the sun on your hair, looking out over our beautiful bay.

But the biggest steps you’ve taken this year have to be in your language and communication. You had a handful of words by your first birthday, and as you learnt to use them and discovered where they could get you your vocabulary snowballed. I stopped counting back in April as your list of words neared one hundred. Since then you’ve picked up many more from your books and films and conversation and just listening. You can put them together in simple sentences now, ask questions and express your preferences. Your definitely starting to do that rather a lot: I love the clear-minded and strong-willed personality that is emerging.

Your independence takes me by surprise sometimes. You still like your booba, and cuddles in the sling, and the moment in the night when you come and join mummy and daddy in the big bed. But none of these things are stopping you from developing your own sense of self.

You like to sit on your own table at mealtimes now – the blue table with the blue chair. You feed yourself with a fork or spoon, still wolfing down porridge and pasta. You love fruit too, especially bananas and satsumas and pears. And salmon – well, all fish really. Especially if it comes with chips. Though potatoes in general are pretty popular.

We took the side off your cot this week, and you’re very excited about your ‘new bed’. You like to be able to climb in and out. That was the problem with the high cot side in the end – it was a good thing daddy was there to catch you! You haven’t quite mastered staying in your bed when you’re asleep either, but you’re very close to the floor. The last couple of nights, when I’ve come in to check on you, you’ve been fast asleep on the mat we laid out to cushion your fall. I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it, and for now I can’t help but find it super cute, especially since rolling out of bed doesn’t seem to wake you.

If you do wake in the night then more often than not daddy’s songs will soothe you back to sleep. You definitely still love your music – dancing and singing, playing piano and drums and your little ukulele. We actually had to replace that finally last month – it’s taken a bit of a battering with all your enthusiasm. Definitely worth it though.

The other thing you love, more than anything at the moment, is trains. You have a wooden train set which was added to this Christmas and birthday with all sorts of new and exciting bits of track. You could happily sit and play with it for hours. We’re lucky to have the steam train so close – we went on it for your birthday again this year, remembering that life-changing trip two years before when my waters broke at Paignton station. You love to watch trains too – Thomas is becoming a firm favourite, but you’re just as happy with the hours of footage on YouTube of steam trains all over the world, chugging and choo-chooing along with them as you sit on daddy’s knee.

There is so much more than this. Sitting here now trying to capture you at two years old is really quite overwhelming. I know that as this year unfolds you will blossom more and more – finding the words to express all the increasingly complex concepts swimming around your head, growing in strength and dexterity, playing with more and more purpose and absorption as your imagination opens up a whole new world.

And so, just for a moment, I will hold you close and breathe you in, savour the magic and wonder of your existence. And then I will take your hand and let you lead me into the next year of our adventure.

All my love for always, Mummy xxx

Why I will not be staying at home to breastfeed my baby

4 Replies

Dear Natali,

I read your article in The Independent today, and to say it made me angry is an understatement. I’ve watched the responses unfold on Twitter, both in support of and against your view that breastfeeding mothers should stay at home with their babies, and have found myself quivering with rage.

I imagine you thought, with public breastfeeding a hot topic in recent weeks, that it might be a handy way to garner publicity for your forthcoming novel.

And I’m sure you’d tell me to lighten up, to not take your words so seriously. You tweeted after all that your intention was to be ‘tongue in cheek’, to be funny.

The problem I have though is not only that your words contain only the barest hint of humour, but that also the issue of breastfeeding – public or otherwise – really is no laughing matter in this country.

I wonder if you stopped to think for a moment about the realities we are facing. That despite the NHS recommending exclusive breastfeeding for six months, only 1% of British babies are exclusively breastfed for that long (with only 34% still breastfed at all at that stage). Not forgetting the WHO recommendation that babies are breastfed for at least two years. I can count on one hand the amount of mothers I know who fall into this category, and I have no doubt many eyebrows would have been raised if I had been breastfeeding my (very well behaved) 23-month-old over afternoon tea at Claridges.

But I would have done, because I know my rights and I know what’s best for me and my son. I have, to date, breastfed him in a number of establishments you would I’m sure have denied us access to – backstage at gigs, fancy restaurants and yes, swanky hotels. I have yet to be challenged, and I hope if I was I would have the courage to stand my ground.

The thing is though that there are many, many mothers who would not feel the same way. Numerous women who would read your article and nod sadly, convinced that their desire to breastfeed their child is not compatible with any kind of social life, concerned that they would be subjected to the judgemental gaze and comments of people like you. I have come across many cases where it is precisely this that leads women to choose bottle over breast, leading them in turn to miss out on the myriad of physical and emotional benefits breastfeeding offers them and their baby.

You say that you are qualified to pass your judgement – indeed are an ‘expert’ – by dint of having once breastfed yourself, but that doesn’t wash I’m afraid. Much as homophobia is still unacceptable when it comes from the mouth of someone whose ‘best friends are gay’, you don’t get to tell breastfeeding mothers to stay at home just because that is where you felt most comfortable.

You refer derisively to the fact that the breastfeeding mother whose mistreatment you were responding to burst into tears when told to cover up by staff at Claridges. This surprised me, as surely being a mother of two yourself you remember the cauldron of hormones of the early months? Or maybe you don’t. Having read this and some of your other articles it’s clear that you practise detachment parenting almost religiously.

It’s sad, really. Almost a reason to feel sorry for you. Apart from the fact you’ve chosen to express your views so publicly in a supposedly respectable newspaper.

The Independent of course has a case to answer here too. In a society where bare breasts are fine as long as they’re being used to sell something and yet establishments from local cafes to world-class hotels openly discriminate against breastfeeding mothers despite this being against the law, it is a travesty that a newspaper that prides itself on its liberal views can give yours air.

But it is you whose words made me so very angry. On the blog you contribute to you proudly refer to yourself as a Selfish Mother. And sure, there are times when us mums need to put ourselves first. But to be so selfish as to advocate denying mothers the right to leave the house and to contribute to the incredibly damaging dialogue that denies women the freedom to choose the best start for their babies? That, I’m afraid, is a step too far.

Yours sincerely,

Sophie

Linking up with Sara at Mum Turned Mom for her prompt: ‘I read the news today…’

Gratitude

11 Replies

Another character development exercise, this time exploring the relationship my female protagonist had with her mother during her teenage years. She is fifteen when this scene takes place, sometime in the autumn after another long, heady summer staying with her grandparents by the sea.

***

“I just don’t know how I’m supposed to be thankful for this!”

As soon as the words left my mouth I was ashamed, but at the same time a thrill bubbled up deep inside of me. I couldn’t help myself.

“I mean, it’s no kind of life is it? You and Dad – you barely see each other. And you couldn’t give a stuff about me.”

I willed her to speak but she just stood there, quiet now. She’d goaded me to this, nagging and nagging. And now she wouldn’t even answer me. My heart raced in my chest as my mind churned through all of the most hurtful things it could think of that might provoke a response. Something stopped me though – I still wasn’t brave enough to say them out loud.

When she did finally speak her tone was low and measured.

“Your father and I have done everything for you. Everything.”

I’d heard this so many times.

“But did I ask you to? Did I?”

“We only want the best for you, Catherine. We’ve tried and tried to do what’s best for you.”

There was a new note in her voice, and with something close to disgust I realised she was almost pleading with me.

“Well maybe you should just try harder. Maybe you could even try listening to me. I don’t want this, any of it. The world is changing, mum. It’s going to leave you behind. And you might be happy with that but I’m not – I’ll never be.”

I wanted to shake her, to force her to understand what I was trying to say. And then, just for a second, I wanted her to hold me, to hear her say that everything was going to be ok.

The next time she spoke though it was with the special air of venom she reserved for my aunt.

“You sound just like her, do you know that? I knew it was a mistake letting you and Joseph spend so much time together. They’ll poison your mind, the lot of them.”

“It’s got nothing to do with him!”

The heat rose in my cheeks as I thought of Joe. Sweet, angry, confused Joe. It was true he’d opened my eyes to what was out there, but I refused to believe for a second that was a bad thing.

“You’ve got no idea what she’s like, not really. She’ll have completely brainwashed him. No son of hers could grow up to just be happy. There always has to be drama, she never could just be grateful for what she’s got.”

She stood up and smoothed down her apron, forcing me to take a step backwards as she moved into my space.

“In fact you’re more like her than I’d ever realised.”

She swept out of the room then, her head held high, leaving me trembling with rage even as the tears began to prick behind my eyes.

I never had understood why she hated her sister so much, but in that moment something clicked. Mum was afraid of her. Everything she’d done, all of the decisions she’d made: they were the polar opposite of my parents’ safe, boring existence, the very things that could bring it crashing down.

And now my mother was afraid of me, and I had absolutely no idea how that was supposed to make me feel.

***

Thank you to Sara at Mum Turned Mom for inspiring this post with her prompt: ‘thankful’.

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