Nurturing my inner PollyAnna

I often Blog about the joys of motherhood and the beautiful moments we all want to last forever. There are so many of these, and I’ve always tried to cherish the ever fleeting moment – even when running on 3 hours sleep. Freddie is without a doubt the best thing to have happened to me; that goes without saying. This week, however, has been tough … it’s partly because it’s dark and dank and cold outside; partly because I’m exhausted, Fred’s been snotty and therefore slightly grouchy [okay, scratch that, he’s been a little bugger at 4,30am for the past three days] – payday has seemed a long way off, and quite frankly I’ve felt inadequate and a little lonely – not to mention hormonal. It’s bloody hard work on your own; and much more so when it’s not summertime when everything seems so much more do able and the days so much easier to plan; no coats and wellies to lug around; light evenings to burn energy at the park ….this afternoon we have watched a DVD [Fred’s current favourite thing in the world, especially if he can ram two in the DVD player at the same time], played cars, coloured, drawn pictures on the chalk board; cooked food in Fred’s kitchen … before tea and finally settling a very overtired little chap to sleep. It was a joyous feeling as I tiptoed out of his room [yes you read that correctly; my child is sleeping in HIS cot in HIS room this evening!], leaving the kitten to act as a purring teddy. I jumped in the shower with a sense of utter liberation. My lovely friend Mandy will be here in an hour with a curry – the wine is chilling in the fridge. Thursday is my Friday; so bring on some much needed relaxation and adult conversation [come on kiddo, you can do it … you can sleep for longer than 3 hours in a row!]

Of course, I love being a mum more than anything; but I don’t want this blog to only document the good times. I was so tired this afternoon I just wanted to curl up and sleep … and despite not wanting to shove Fred in front of a screen to occupy him – it was so easy to do so. I was reminded of a comment from a friend earlier in the week – that it’s okay to be just “good enough” some days … my child is warm and fed, he has a lot of toys to play with and activities to engage with … and yet now he’s asleep I’m feeling utterly guilty for not being quite good enough today; for lacking the energy to bounce around and do more. 4.30am seems a long time ago. Please go back to sleep, I whispered this morning – please go back to sleep …. momma’s eyes are not looking pretty, despite trying the piles cream trick.

I am sitting with a cup of tea nurturing my inner PollyAnna. It is 2 years ago this week since I got the keys to this flat and became the owner of a mortgage. I’m so glad that I chose this place to call home … so many memories in these walls already … so many happy photos line the walls.

Tomorrow is another day. I will try harder tomorrow.

20 months on; the gentle way

This photo, taken during a recent autumnal photoshoot, captures the spirit, cheekiness, and character of my little Fred. I can almost hear his excitement! I was so pleased with these photos, taken in the park next to where we live; the park I played in when I was little, the park I walked around when pregnant, fell on my bottom in the ice a few days before Fred’s arrival, and the park Freddie and I have visited most days of his life.

Today this little chap is 20 months old. I remember this time last year being amazed that he was 8 months already …. it is both wonderful and poignant how fast these milestones occur. Daily Freddie is coming out with a new word or expression [he was wagging his finger at Grandad earlier and saying “noooooo”!] – he is already in size 2-3 clothes, and likes to hold my hand rather than be carried up/down the stairs. I concede that he is no longer a baby; he’s a little boy … walking, talking, full of personality and his own opinions [especially about the necessities of teeth cleaning]

Every monthiversary makes me think back to that night in March 2015 when Freddie made his appearance … a night I could happily reminisce about on a regular basis. I still feel so fortunate to have had such a positive, empowering experience of childbirth. It was without a doubt the most defining moment of my life. Everything changed at 4.39am on 5th March 2015. The world gained a Freddie, and I acquired a purpose; a little bundle of squishy newborn to love and introduce to the world. These 20 months have been the best of my life … the most exhausting, the most demanding … and yet this little person who grew in my tummy, has taught me so much, about unconditional love, and about what’s really important. I’ve let him guide me, and as such he is still breasfed and we still co sleep. Some people raise eyebrows and think this is an issue, but it works for us … one day he won’t want boobie anymore, and one day he will sleep in that beautiful room momma painted for him .. until then, I’m quite happy to settle down beside him at night .. even if I will be woken by a hungry, hair pulling milk monster in the middle of the night. These days go so quickly … and from the outset I’ve wanted to treasure it all ….

I wanted to blog tonight, yet realise I’m too tired to write anything of any substance. I couldn’t let 20 months pass by unnoticed though … so now I’ll cuddle up next to my boy, listening to the fireworks booming in the distance … looking forward to the adventures tomorrow will hold.

 

 

 

 

The tight rope of sanity

This week I have seen many posts by friends [and strangers] sharing lived experience of mental health for world mental health day. Social media has its down points [for instance, I was tagged in something the other day to “find the name of your vagina” – erm, really?] – but this was an example of how brilliant it can be – breaking the myths and stigmas surrounding mental health. I had no idea of the struggles behind so many of the smiling faces – the happy statuses and family photos I see on my newsfeed. It really does come down to Plato’s wisdom “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle”.

I haven’t spoken about mental health for a long time [life suddenly got rather busy; not to mention sane] – but timehop reminded me last week that three years ago I was giving the Brett Hill Memorial Lecture at the International Conference of Mental Health Pharmacy. Back then I was working as a recovery trainer for the local “recovery college” – and one of the prerequisites for the position was lived experience. For those of you who know me beyond wordpress, you may remember the “duvet days” when I was struggling … when life seemed very heavy and without meaning. Of course, I’m one of those happy go lucky smiley people who no one expected to plunge to the depths of depression. I think I put a lot of energy into being “okay”and this didn’t really help. Cambridge was quite a pressurised environment; I expected a lot – in fact, reading back through an old journal the other day I was amazed just how much pressure I put on myself – running, swimming, calorie counting [a meagre prawn on a piece of brown bread for lunch; really?] – staying up until God knows when to finish three essays on palaeolithic hand axes; and trying to work out what I really wanted from life. Burnout? I ended up eventually as an inpatient, walking around Fulbourne Hospital in my pyjamas drawing pretty flowers on the desk. The psych ward was an eye opener, and not wholly a negative experience. Ultimately I wanted desperately to know that someone cared; that I wasn’t alone in this vast and scary world. I soon realised that very little of the supposed professionals did care [some did, later on, and they were hugely important in my recovery]- it was the solidarity of the “inmates” which mattered. Unfortunately you said what the doctors wanted to hear, and eventually – 3 weeks later in my case; they let you out.

What was it like, my depression? It manifested itself in chest tightening panic attacks, the kind which strike unannounced in supermarket queues, prompting you to leave your basket and flee; convinced that everyone will think you insane, as you fight for your breath, convinced you’re about to die an embarrassing death. It crept into not wanting to go out, in self harming and a desperate sadness. A hopelessness that one cannot sufficiently describe to one who hasn’t been there. If my life were catalogued in colours, this would be a grey period … a long dark winter …

It wasn’t an easy road, but whose is? I had therapy, I talked, I painted, and I wrote stories … I realised that actually it was okay not to have all the answers to the [unanswerable] philosophical questions … and that I needed to learn to be okay on my own. You get through it because the alternative isn’t an option. I think there came a point when I realised that I couldn’t kill myself, so therefore had to find a way to live.

It is ironic, perhaps, that all these life lessons, have come in so useful since the birth of my darling little boy. I didn’t declare any history of mental health issues on my pregnancy questionnaire, as I didn’t want the stigma attached to me. This is probably a sad reflection of our culture; yet I stand by my choice.I haven’t been on any medication or seen by any doctor concerning mental health, for 3 years …. I am out the other side … and I can now look back and be [wait for the PollyAnna haters to vomit] glad that I experienced it all. I hope knowing what it’s like to be riddled with despair, helps me empathise with others – and will help me mother my son in a compassionate and understanding way. My coping mechanisms, assisted by CBT, are still used today. They work. I have not had a panic attack in 5 years [and still appreciate getting through Sainsburys without leaving my basket!]

Maybe you’re reading this and you’re struggling; maybe something here resonates with you – then know that nothing in life stays the same … people change, situations change … if you’d told me 3 years ago that I would be mother to a 19month old, with a mortgage and a job, and a totally happy/”normal” life, I would never have believed you. I am content these days; exhausted but content – we may not live in a mansion or have lots of extra money at the end of the month – but I wouldn’t swap this for the world. This is my wealth; an appreciation of happiness, of life, of having survived.

There is help out there, and often found in the most unexpected of places. I wasn’t going to write about this, as I figured this is in my past, and doesn’t need digging up – but maybe someone needs to read this today, and I’m not ashamed …  just proud.

Digging the good life

After a long summer of driving back and forth to the hospital to visit my poor Dad, I am pleased to report that miracles can happen. He is home. Still on the “normal” heart transplant list, but suitably well enough not to be on the urgent one. This is such a relief for us all, and Dad is feeling ok and enjoying his freedom. La Vie Est Belle. I captured this photo at the weekend, of Freddie and Grandpa inspecting the apples in the orchard. Glorious normality resumed.

I had some VERY exciting news this week; the news that Freddie and I reached the top of the local allotment list, and have our very own allotment! I feel so strongly that I want Fredders to understand where food comes from, and to spend as much time outside as possible. We are lucky to live next door to a big park, so although we don’t have a garden, we have access to a lot of space. Our allotment is a 5minute walk away, and I am already planning our blank canvas. There is an apple, pear and plum tree …. I intend to get some ex battery hens, and create a series of raised beds using wood from my parents old decking. This is going to be a real challenge for me, as it’s all new – but I have a good feeling about it, and I look forward to seeing how it develops. I’d like Freddie to have his own patch, and look forward to sitting in my shed, listening to the Archers, watching things grow – living the good life. Next stop the library for some allotment books ….

Meanwhile, Fredders is 19 months old today …. I’m convinced these months are going quicker …. this week I’ve made 35 Christmas cards with a Freddie footprint design; I’ve wrapped one of his stockings full of presents, and put up my Halloween decorations. I’m sure I wasn’t this organised pre-motherhood. I’m damned sure I wasn’t this tired …. hence blogging once again in bed with a mug of hot milk, beside a warm snoring boy … 20.04 and signing off …

 

 

 

 

A letter to Freddie

Dear little boy,

In the early hours of tomorrow morning you will be 18 months old …  a whole year and a half in the world. On the one hand it seems like yesterday – I still yearn to press rewind and relive it all again …. yet on the other, I cannot imagine a time when you weren’t here. How much fun we’ve had and how much you’ve grown. I find it very strange that if you’re reading this one day, you won’t remember any of the things we’ve done in the past 18months. Of course, Momma knows that nothing is wasted and that everything you’ve seen and felt and done has contributed to the vivacious happy little boy you are today. I’m so proud of you, and I don’t think I’ll ever truly believe you’re mine …. I’m such a lucky momma.

Today we collected Percy Pickle kitten, our first pet; and you were very excited about playing with him. Momma has had to teach you to be gentle when you pick him up, and to let him sleep when he needs to sleep … but before we came to bed you gave him your Iggle Piggle, and I hope you grow to be good friends. I think it’s important children grow up with a pet; and Percy Pickle will be a buddy to get up to mischief with! Please don’t eat the cat food though darling …

We’ve just had a lovely week away with your friend Atticus and his Mummy to Bluestone in Wales. It was a real joy to watch you play together and learn from each other. Whilst Atti picked up your very sweet and constant “Momma Momma Momma”, you learnt to say “tractor”, or “Tacdaw” as you so cutely put it. You’ve made sandcastles on the beach, eaten sausage and chips by the sea, seen lots of animals at Folly Farm, and had a blast swimming in the Blue Lagoon with your new arm bands. You had a really fun time, and Momma’s a little sad that it’s back to work tomorrow ….

Sometimes I lie here watching you sleep at night, stroke your little face, and hope that I’m getting this parenting business right. I want to be a gentle, fun mum … I want to say yes as often as I can; and I don’t want to be a shouty nag. You’re a good boy, Freddie Worthington-Phillips … and you light up my world.

Eighteen months …. from my 7Ib 9oz newborn, to my little boy … just think of all the adventures we have to come. But now, my dear one, your Momma is going to snuggle down beside you [at 20.25] because quite frankly I’m exhausted! Can’t take the pace these days …

Lots of love,

Momma x

A hearty matter

The Orchard 28.08.16

Two years ago today I had my 12 week scan, and went home with a lovely grainy photo of Freddie sucking his thumb. I think I blogged that evening, unable to quite comprehend the blossoming life nestled in utero. I’m still amazed, that my precious boy grew inside my tummy and found his way out. More’s the point, how is that 2 years ago? I can tell you what I was wearing, how nervous I was that day …. and how relieved when the chugging of his little heart was heard. This week that little foetus has learnt to shake his head in answer to questions. Are you tired Freddie? Always provokes a strong shaking of the head, even if he falls asleep shortly afterwards! It’s such a delight to see him engage with his toys and friends, and to learn new things. There could be no love any greater or any stronger. My boy, my precious little boy. He’s sleeping beside me as I type, and as I look across at him, I am overwhelmed with the maternal protection and wonder I have held for him since he splashed into the birthing pool. Life; how miraculous and yet how fragile.

Tomorrow we are off to Wales with a friend and her little boy – this 5 day break is so needed. My poor Father remains incarcerated in hospital until a suitable heart is found. [It’s okay to have a different outlook on fatal traffic accidents, right?] He had a false alarm a week ago today; when a match was found but the heart wasn’t healthy enough to go ahead. We visit regularly; he now has a room of his own with a view of the hospital helipad. I’ve loaned him Freddie’s iPad so he can teach himself to use it [with the help of written instructions from me] – my Uncle is keeping him stocked in suitable reading material, and he seems remarkably positive. I’m sure there is a fear, loneliness and much thinking, that goes on in the long hours outside of visiting. I bumble along with my PollyAnna hat on. They will find him a heart; they have to. This Grandpa needs to be playing with his Grandson, picking apples in the orchard; kicking a football on the lawn. For every week Grandpa is held hostage on Ward 304 of the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Birmingham; my Freddie is missing out on time with a man who loves him so very much.

So I shall go to sleep next to my baby, and report back after our break. Never have I needed a week off more; and when we return we collect out kitten; Percy Pickle.

Home sweet home

It is 9.06am and my son is still fast asleep beside me. This never happens; but it has been hot, and we’ve had a busy few days. I’ve just made myself a cup of tea, and as I walked to the kitchen, the sun casting pretty patterns on the tiles – I was reminded how much I love our home. In October I will have lived here for 2 years [which means I’ve already been blogging for 2 years …], and it is lovely to see these four walls develop into a family home …. the type and size of toys changing, the evolution of photographs on the walls … and the pitter patter of toddling feet along the hallway. It is happy, bright and lived in. There is always more I would like to do to it, but Flat 7 has always felt like home, and moving here was such a good decision. How fast time has gone, since I sat with a huge Freddie bump on the Chesterfield [in a much tidier and sparse lounge] trying to imagine what life would be like post partum; since I sobbed in the shower wondering if I could do it all. Then of course it was here where I brought my newborn in his moses basket, squishy and gurgling. This modest flat has provided for me, for us; a security, our own little haven; and I don’t think I will ever want to leave … the memories here have been the best of my life … and ones I will cherish forever and tell Fred about when he’s older.

Perhaps I’m in a philosophical mood, ignited because my beloved father is embarking on his 4th week  in hospital. It raises so many emotions; watching a loved one suffer; having to trust other people to fix them, and dealing with the reality that life is fragile, unfair, and short. There has been a heaviness these weeks; that Dad can’t be with us to enjoy the little things. Life isn’t as joyful when he’s not home. I’ve spent time in hospital myself, and the days are long. I’m hopeful that this week we may have a plan … but it has certainly provoked a lot of thinking and sadness, knowing my dear Dad is so poorly and that there is very little I can do to help him. We take our health forgranted ….

I’ve held Fred a little tighter, a little longer, recently …. ever aware of how quickly he is becoming a little boy. There are no words to describe the love for this little chap; the surge of protection, and the pride at the cheeky faced fun loving boy he is. I can’t imagine a time when he wasn’t in my life; and still pinch myself that he’s mine. How on earth did I unintentionally create something so utterly wonderful? I’m sure all parents think the same … but it’s the motherhood miracle which I’ll never quite get my head around. Sure, some days I’m pushed to my limits and long for bedtime, but when bedtime comes, I sit looking at my sleeping boy and forget about the housework which needs doing.

It’s now 6.30pm, and another Sunday is nearly over. My baby is once again sleeping peacefully beside me. I hope one day he looks back with good memories on his childhood, and remembers this home as a fun filled loving place to grow up. I want to get this right; and I feel the time is slipping through my fingers like grains of sand. I just brought a newborn home, surely?! Oh Freddie, you give me so much, and I’m loving watching you develop and grow … it’s great, this adventure.

Wine on a Tuesday …

The calm before the storm

Is it really only Tuesday? At some ungodly hour last night I remembered I haven’t yet blogged about our holiday to Devon 3 weeks ago; and that will have to wait [it was good, by the way, although we might’ve put childless holiday companion off ever utilising her uterus]… because I need to explain in intricate detail the baptism of fire I experienced this afternoon. My Freddie is 16months old today … and today I encountered my first “what the fuck do I do” moment of parenting through a tantrum. I think the easier option was 16 months ago in the birthing pool [all hail the vagina].

Thus far I’ve muddled through motherhood with a laid back; softly softly, don’t read any parenting books, approach. He’s still breastfed, and we still co sleep … life has been filled with chuckles and adventures, and those gappy gummy smiles which melt ones heart. I never thought I could feel such love for another human being. I work 16 hours a week, over 4 days. We’ve just come to the end of yet another course of antibiotics [tonsilitis – again -all associated with these pesky gnashers] – I’ve now dosed us up with multivitamins and black elderberry which promises to improve the immune system. The disgusting iron syrup I’ve bought myself states it will alleviate tiredness and fatigue. I can sue, right, if it doesn’t?

So, I needed to pop to Halfords after work, to pick up some car mats for our new car [tomorrow, I collect my new car tomorrow!] and a sparkly new air freshner. Oooh, Freddie can walk now, I thought to myself … he’ll love holding my hand as I walk round to choose the things I need. REALLY. REALLY? What the fuck was I thinking? What really happened was, as I struggled to lug the new mats, and various other bits I’d chosen, I had to chase an inquisitive destructive toddler and stop him from throwing cans of car spray paint across the shop floor; looking like the worse parent in the history of parenthood; NOTE TO SELF; take the pushchair next time. NEVER just amble in, thinking it will all be okay. Checkout lady carried my items out to my car looking mildly amused, whist I had Fred horizontal under my arm, screaming and kicking because I wouldnt let him destroy the keyring display at the till; or eat my debit card.

In car. Regain composure; sing the Grand Old Duke of York and ask Freddie where his head is. I can do this, I thought. Next stop, tea and cake with a friend, in a very quaint little tea room. I should add at this juncture that this morning I wore a dress for work, which meant my boobs were inaccessible without me showing far too much flesh in public [I had my granny pants on too]. Freddie doesn’t really *need* boobjuice in the day now, so I hadn’t thought it would be a problem …. yet today I realised that boob is my one comforter during a meltdown. In the words of a very wise fellow mummy “if in doubt, whack them out” …

There was screaming, there was throwing [oooh a cookie, yes, I quite want this cookie, but I want the smartie off the top of it, and I can’t quite get it off, but I don’t want momma to help me … if momma helps me I will throw it across the room and squeal] – I tried to distract with a book, with a toy car, with a drink … with a spoon … and nothing worked. There was throwing and flailing of arms, screeching, tears …. a red sticky, sweaty, much loved face.

And I realised this is it; toddlerhood.

I was trying to simultaneously shove a bacon and egg sandwich into my mouth without letting the yolk dribble down my chin, and appear very composed at the chaos. Does one just keep calm and carry on [must carry gin in hip flask for such occasions] – even when people are blatantly staring, or moving to sit outside. The floor is now smeared in cookie crumbs and dropped spoons.

“I’d let your husband look after him one afternoon” said an old lady -didn’t like to tell her I’m a single mum.

“He’s not normally like this” I said

“They all say that” said her friend.

And so after gulping our tea, we got in the car and came home.

My darling little boy is now asleep beside me, looking angelic and peaceful. Its 19.16 and I’m ready to join him, once I’ve finished my glass of merlot. Maybe I should read a parenting book? I love the bones off this little chap; he makes me laugh; in fact – sometimes he makes me laugh even when being naughty, and I need to work on my serious face. Once upon a time there was a little girl who was also very strong willed and defiant. I’m still chuckling to myself though, that I thought it would be a sensible idea to just mosey into Halfords ….

 

Gratefulitis

The past month has been blighted by every flipping “itis” out there … tonsilitis, bronchiolitis, and this week – conjunctivitis! In 15 months of parenting, including pushing a 7Ib 9oz baby from my vagina with no pain relief; a second degree tear, cracked bleeding nipples, and an average of 4.5hours sleep a night – eye drops have been my biggest challenge yet … how the fecking hell are you supposed to single handedly do this? I’ve used the Steve Irwin and crocodile analogy before, but seriously … imagine Steve Irwin trying to get chlorophenicol into a crocodile’s eye … It has been a long week, and it’s only Wednesday [geez, it’s really only Wednesday] – initially we had hysterics [from Fred] and feeble tears from me. I’m too soft. I never imagined I would be a softy soft parent, but it seems I’m headed that way … I can’t bear my boy crying; I just want to scoop him up and cuddle him and make everything okay. He’s so cuddly [sorry Fred, if you’re reading this in 15 years time cringing!]

So it has been a bit fraught; worrying about the excessive gunky snotty slime which has oozed from his eyes … deliberating whether I should go to work and leave him … and struggling to get him to sleep in this very muggy humid heat.

Then amidst all the worries and goo, you suddenly have a moment and realise your life is pretty damned perfect, even with the chlorophenicol in the fridge. This time two years ago I wasn’t yet preggers … I had no intention of being preggers, and my life was drifting along at a casually okay sort of pace, living in a houseshare … not sure of what next; complaining if I’d slept less than 7 hours in a row. This evening I made chicken curry [Freddie’s favourite] followed by strawberries and cream. I think my son would eat curry every night of the week without complaining [maybe those years in India somehow transmitted across the placenta] – After tea we went to the park on his trike, where he swung on the swing and chuckled until it rained and we headed home, via the shop for an ice cream. I took this photo at our garage, looking up at our flat and our shiny car. Two years ago this wasn’t our world [I say our world, and yet Freddie didn’t even exist 2 years ago; how is that possible, how could the world exist without him in it?!!] …and when I look at this photo I feel such pride, such achievement; because hell; it took some determination and strength to go through pregnancy and flat buying alone [nevermind childbirth and motherhood!]

We are so lucky, me and my boy … and it takes my breath away how awesome and unpredictable life can be … what a miracle it all is …

And next week, we are off to sunny Woolacombe on our holibobs …

Mum’s the word

It has been a long day, and it was an even longer night. Poor Fredders is hot and bothered and incredibly snotty. I stayed home from work today as Momma’s instinct told me that my little boy needed snuggles and plenty of rest. We might not have been out enjoying the glorious sunshine, but we managed a 2hr afternoon nap which is unheard of in this house [I mean flat, don’t I] … of course the downside of a 2hr afternoon nap when one is not accustomed to such lengthy siestas, is waking up feeling groggy and jet lagged, and having to then cook tea … I hope the rest has done my poorly boy good, and I dearly hope tonight is more restful … I think I started praying a Memorare last night at 3.40am – the nuns would be proud. Maybe I’m still a closet Catholic after all …

I needed to Blog this evening, and those of you who are Facebook friends will know why! Yesterday was quite monumental; finally after nearly 3 years, I was able to wear contact lenses again. Long story, gammy corneal ulcer in 2013, quite horrific … yadayada. Anyway, I was quite excited to get the lenses in and take a selfie. I happened to take this selfie whilst sitting in my parked car on the drive, letting Fredders sleep for a bit longer [and giving me the opportunity to catch up on emails and Radio 4 simultaneously] I tagged the photo with the comment What do you see (aside from a teething sleeping Fred in the back!) – contact lenses after nearly 3 years!!!! Woohoo! – By the time I checked social media at 5am this morning, there was a comment from an acquaintance informing me that Freddie’s chest straps on his car seat were “seriously loose” and that rear facing car seats are recommended up until 15months. There was also a reminder of the “two finger rule” for chest straps thrown in [I can think of my own two finger rule]. Bearing in mind my three hours of incredibly broken sleep, I read this comment and was incandescent – for many reasons – and reasons which I intend to hilight here, now I’ve calmed down and reflected …

Firstly, I hope I don’t need to declare that I wasn’t driving around with Freddie’s straps so loosely fitted. When we arrived home, I went to get him out of the car seat, loosened his straps [as I often do in this situation] and decided against moving him. I live on the first floor with no lift; so it is a mission to transfer a sleeping babe from car to cot without waking him. In fact, I can count the number of times I’ve managed it on one hand, and they have nearly always been rewarded with a glass of wine.

Secondly, I drive a very economical and lovely bright red C1 called Ludmila. She is wonderful, but rather small. Fred had no option but to go forward facing for safety when he progressed from his baby car seat. This is totally legal, and should not, in my opinion, provoke any comment …

You may think this explanation is long winded and unnecessary; several friends told me that I didn’t have anything to justify, and I know this is true. However, it DID rattle me. Every mother worries they aren’t doing a good job, that they are somehow failing their offspring; it is the classic mother’s guilt. Did someone think so little of my ability as a mother that they thought I would put my son in danger by driving around with him lolling about everywhere in his car seat? Is that the kind of mother people think I am? All these things were consuming my sleep deprived head … IT WAS A PHOTO ILLUSTRATING MY FUCKING CONTACT LENSES; which were a treat to myself, to Verity, who isn’t just Mummy. As others pointed out, they saw a selfie with beautiful sleeping baby in the back; nothing more.

The prevalence of social media [and hell yes, I love it] does create armchair experts in everything … and of course if you put things out there, you can expect feedback. However, would we say these things face to face, in the street to friends or strangers? I wholeheartedly agree that it “takes a village to raise a child“, and I do not consider myself overly sensitive or rejecting of criticism. However, it’s the implied stupidity which riled me. Perhaps said person was being helpful, perhaps this comment came from a good place, as another friend suggested. Perhaps some people do drive around with their children not strapped in, with badly fitting car seats and maybe there are a few who even take selfies whilst driving along … but I would err on the side of caution when putting such comments in the public domain to people we don’t know. There is a classical [cheesy?] Plato quote “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle” – timeless, and true. It is so much harder with the written word to understand the sentiment behind the typing. It is impossible to know whether that person is exhausted and struggling when they read your words … so maybe we all need to be a little kinder. I include myself in this, as many months ago I lost a friend over a Blog I wrote detailing her response when Fred started playing with her baby’s keys. I didn’t name her, but she knew I was referring to her – and it upset her … mea maxima culpa.

We are all, most of us, ordinary mums, juggling a lot of balls in the air, worrying the same universal worries, loving our children, wanting the best for them, worrying we’re not good enough for the job. My message to you all this evening, is quite simple – if you love your children and they are going to bed with full tummys and clean pyjamas, then you have no need to worry. We are stronger than we think.