having a daughter

If you’re happy and you know it, be sure to mention it

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We spend a lot of our adult lives learning how to tell people that we want things to change.

We go on training at work about how to give feedback. We listen to radio phone-ins about how to ask fellow commuters to be more considerate. We read agony aunt column after agony aunt column about how to get our spouse to PLEASE JUST CHANGE THE TOILET ROLL FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE FOR THE LOVE OF ANDREX.

And whilst there is of course value in finding ways to make the imperfect better, my plan for 2020 is to spend more time pointing out the things that make me happy just as they are.

A couple of years ago I started keeping a gratitude list. Every week I make a note of the things – big and small – that have happened that I want to remember and that prove that life is great. I’d seen somebody on Twitter recommend it, so I thought I’d give it a go, and it’s done me the world of good – not just because it’s healthy to be grateful for what you have, but because it’s made me realise what really matters to me.

I kept a list every week in my 2019 diary, and though the exact words differ from week to week, the same themes come up time and time again. Cuddles with my daughter. Seeing her laugh. Time chatting to my husband. Moments to myself to read or watch TV. A catch up with friends. A really excellent cake. A visit from my mum. Managing to stay awake throughout an entire film (this happened approximately twice in 12 months). Proof that I’m keeping my mental health in check. Space to do the work I want to do. Our home.

There are weeks when I’ve noted down special events – new exciting projects, birthdays, trips away – but most of the time, each item on the list is a reminder that it’s the simple things I’m most grateful for. It’s a written collection of all the day to day bits and pieces that could easily go unnoticed, but that are actually my favourite parts of all.

The importance of acknowledging the good became even more apparent to me last year when our daughter got a nasty eye infection. All of a sudden we were in paediatric A&E being told we’d be there overnight so that she could have antibiotics pumped into her little veins through an IV. We caught the infection straightaway and the necessary steps were taken, so all was largely fine, but it was also a bit scary. And it involved spending time in hospital, which is always difficult, particularly when children are involved.

All I wanted the entire time we were there was to go home and back to normal. It made me realise how much I loved our life and that all I need to be happy is to be free to live it, together.

And though that thought process wasn’t new, I wondered if I’d ever actually mentioned how much I liked things, just as they were. I KNEW I’d mentioned how much better life would be if only the bins were emptied more regularly and if we changed a lightbulb more than once every DECADE, but had I said: “Actually, everything we have is everything I want. Nothing else matters”? I’m not sure. So I started.

I’ve tried to take the time to stop and acknowledge when we’re having a nice time, and to tell my husband and my daughter how much I enjoy our time together. I’m an organised person, so I spend most of my time living in the future, planning for the next meal I need to cook, groceries I need to buy, or stain I need to try and fail to remove. And though the world must keep turning, I don’t want to forget to engage with what’s happening now. I don’t want happiness to be something I only recognise retrospectively – I want to notice it in the moment. The future will be here soon enough.

We’ve tried to make it the norm as a couple for us to tell each other when we’re struggling. We let each other know how we’re feeling, we talk about why that might be and what (if anything) can be done, and then we try to move on. It’s not about brushing tough stuff away, quite the opposite. Discussing hard times is as normal as chatting about what’s on TV, so the hurdle isn’t finding the courage to bring it up, but figuring out how we can tackle it together.

And I want it to be just as normal to chat about what’s great. It’s not about living some smug, insufferable life where we pat ourselves on the back all day long, it’s just about making sure we don’t forget that we’re lucky to have each other and that we’ve not forgotten the time when all we wanted was everything that we’ve got now.

My husband reminds me regularly of this Kurt Vonnegut quote, which I love: “And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, ‘If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.”

So that’s what I’m trying to do, this year and beyond. Notice. Life can be incredibly difficult. Surprising in glorious ways, and shocking in others. So the least we can do is acknowledge when it’s good, and let the people around us know how happy they make us.

And I’ll be keeping up with my gratitude list too. Stopping to note down the funny, touching, meaningful joys I’ve taken from each day is the cheapest form of therapy I’ve ever known, and I strongly recommend it. And it’s a lovely thing to look back on at the end of the year, too.

So that’s my intentions for 2020 officially documented, and I’d love to know what yours are, too. Happy New Year.

Loneliness and time alone and how becoming a mum changed my relationship with both

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Our daughter was born and all of a sudden all those moments of time to myself that I’d never realised were such a big part of my day evaporated. Goodbye solitude, I’ve got company.

You don’t appreciate how many parts of your life constitute alone time until they reduce down to seconds grabbed between feeds, cuddles, and attempts to persuade your child not to dive head first off the sofa.

I look back on all those times I went to the toilet without somebody there to squish my tummy. On all those showers I had where I didn’t feel the need to poke my head out of the cubicle every 30 seconds to shout “ARE YOU OK?” to the little person in the cot in the next room. On all those train journeys I spent reading a book rather than supplying snacks to the small dictator in the pram, perched on the edge of my seat, waiting to see which of the items I’ve selected will be deemed acceptable today. (Fruit, mummy? Really? Try again.) Did I appreciate all that freedom? Of course I didn’t.

Nobody appreciates time until something changes your relationship with it, and becoming a parent definitely does that.

But while I find the lack of freedom hard, having such limited windows to myself has forced me to make the most of the time I do have more than I ever did before.

I’ve learnt to snatch moments to myself, however brief. Ten minutes with Friends on in the background while Leon gives our toddler a bath and I cook dinner. Forty minutes on my laptop on a Sunday morning before everybody else wakes up. Thirty minutes slumped on the sofa on a Friday evening in the gap between my return from work and Leon’s arrival with our daughter after nursery. I don’t mind admitting that I LEG IT home for that sit down. You’ve got to get your rest any way you can in this game.

When time feels so precious, you don’t let yourself waste it. I now know just how much it’s possible to get done in half an hour. Want the house tidied, a tray of brownies baked, and a week’s worth of washing put away? Get a parent whose toddler is taking a nap on the case – and they’ll still have time to negotiate you a new mortgage deal, too. I’ve been amazed and delighted by how the limits on my time have helped me focus my mind and get sh*t done, because I simply don’t have time to fanny about.

I’ve also changed how I think about how I use my days off work. I used to think annual leave had to be used for a holiday or a trip away, or at least for a fancy meal out. And of course it’s great to keep some for those treats, but now I also keep a handful to do the things I can’t do the rest of the time. To sit in a café and write a blog. To go to the cinema by myself. To listen to a podcast with swearing in it without worrying that I’m going to damage the next generation.

I adore my girl and value our time together more than anything else in the world. Being her mum is also the hardest work I’ve ever done, so I do my best to take moments to myself where I can, so I can give her all I’ve got when we’re together.

Because we’re together a lot – most of the time in fact – which is exactly how I want it to be. Nonetheless, one of the other things I’ve found most surprising about life as a parent is how lonely it can feel, despite the fact that you’re in company almost constantly.

It’s the weight of the responsibility, I think. On the logistical front, it’s being the one in charge of deciding everything that we’ll do, when we’ll do it, and what we’ll need to have with us so that we survive the day/avoid significant social embarrassment.

And on the emotional side, the desperation that (when it’s just the two of us) only I feel to get things right for her can feel a bit isolating, too. All I want is to make her happy and to create days that make her feel loved, inspired, amused, interested, and, let’s not forget, sufficiently pooped so that she’ll sleep well, for all our sakes. It’s a lot to be responsible for getting out of a day, and when things don’t go to plan – which is all the time, by the way – it can get you down.

I am of course not on my own. My husband is just as much a parent as I am. But for two days of the week, he’s at work and I’m at home looking after our daughter. And on the days when I do go to work, I do the majority of the childcare around it, because he works longer hours than I do. As a result (and because we live in the society that we do), it’s me who takes responsibility for most of the bits and pieces that keep us going day to day. The meals we eat, the endless supply of milk our daughter requires, the admin that gets our bills paid and keeps the roof firmly over our heads, and so many more things that find their way on and off the ever-growing list that lives inside my brain.

I am incredibly happy and grateful for our life and feel appreciated for my efforts, I just sometimes feel a bit alone in my role, too. I expect we both do.

But as our daughter it getting older (all of a sudden she’ll turn two next month) and she’s getting better and better at communicating, she’s taking an increasingly active role in our time together, and it’s making me feel so much more… accompanied in everything that we do.

She can now express opinions (which, of course, can be inconvenient/tricky to manage, but let’s focus on the positives for now, shall we?), so she can tell me what she thinks of the ideas I have for us. The other day I told her we were going to the farm and she said “Yay! Yarm!” and it made the whole trip that bit more joyous because we were in on the decision to go together.

For a while, parenting feels like something you do ‘to’ your child, rather than with them, because you just have to make decisions on your own. It can be a lonely job, being in charge all the time, so it’s nice to start getting some feedback. It’s most definitely not always positive, but when it’s good, it makes the meltdowns worth facing. And every meltdown teaches me more about how to empathise and communicate with a child who still has so little control over her world.

When you’re expecting a baby, you understand that you’ll probably feel pain during the birth, tiredness after sleepless nights, and a relentless need to go for a wee every 20 minutes for the rest of your life, but you don’t think about what responsibility for your child will feel like in practice. I didn’t realise how much effort I’d have to put into feeling content as an individual (as well as a mum), but I’m glad I have as it’s made all the difference.

Though a lack of time to myself can be trying, knowing that I’m making every moment I do get count helps me feel like I’ve had a break, even if it’s a short one. And when the pangs of mum-life loneliness kick in, I’m lifted by how much more confident I now feel to make decisions for us, to try new things, and to talk about what a roller coaster motherhood can be.

34 things I know about myself and the world now I’m 34

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Every year to mark my birthday, I write a list of lessons I’ve learnt or things I want to say at this point in time. It’s a therapeutic ritual and I recommend it.

So here are 34 things I know about myself and the world now I’m 34 – yet another age that doesn’t feel anywhere near as old as I thought it would…

1. I know that when I sit on the sofa with a drink at my feet and think “I’ll definitely remember that’s there, there’s no way I’ll spill it,” what I’m really saying is: “I look forward to kicking that all over everything in a few minutes.”

2. I know that cheesecake is the world’s most overrated food and I do not apologise for this opinion.

3. I know that there is one person in every group of friends who is in charge of organising get-togethers and who LOVES to complain about how nobody else ever does it and then FREAKS OUT if anybody else ever tries. And hello, yes, that’s me.

4. I know that a solo trip to the cinema is one of the greatest gifts a person can give themselves and I’m just sorry I didn’t realise it sooner.

5. I know that the more energy I put into trying to make somebody like me, the less I will end up liking myself.

6. I know that periods can be a painful, inconvenient nightmare, but there is something undeniably joyful about selecting your biggest, most comfortable knickers to get you through those first, bloated hours.

7. I know that one of the things I find scariest about being a parent is the amount for which your children will forgive you.

8. I know that there’s a huge difference between someone who wants you, and someone who wants you to want them, and that unfortunately it’s not always until you’ve experienced the former that you can recognise the latter.

9. I know that splitting the backside of my favourite pair of jeans open taught me this about clothing: Just because you can do something up, it doesn’t mean it fits.

10. I know that realising I’d done the above just seconds before I left the house to go to brunch taught me you should ALWAYS CHECK YOUR REAR VIEW BEFORE STEPPING OUTSIDE.

11. I know that I sometimes absentmindedly rest my hand on my stomach, trying to protect a baby who now lives out in the world.

12. I know that there will come a point when I have to stop calling my daughter a ‘baby’ and I will get there in my own time. Do not rush me.

13. I know that the way you feel when you see your partner unexpectedly tells you everything you need to know about whether you’re spending your life with the right person.

14. I know that each of us has to take responsibility for our relationship with the internet and to choose to live a life where we feel in control of it, and not the other way around.

15. I know that it’s hypocritical of me to talk to my daughter about the importance of sharing when I find it so very difficult to share her.

16. I know that carrying a yogurt in your handbag is the riskiest game a human being can play.

17. I know that just because you’ve walked into a room and feel like you’re wearing the wrong thing, it doesn’t mean that you are. It’s always OK to dress like you.

18. I know that of all my life goals ‘That I will one day get on top of the washing’ is by far the most ambitious.

19. I know that the more evenly spread the balance of power is between two people, the better their friendship will be.

20. I know that every friend you make isn’t necessarily meant to be in your life forever. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t still worth knowing each other.

21. I know that if you value your time and your energy you shouldn’t even think about chopping a butternut squash. Just roast the bastard for an hour and a half and then do what you need to do with it. Save your blood, sweat and tears for a more worthwhile activity.

22. I know that just because somebody’s on their own it doesn’t mean they’re lonely, and that just because somebody’s in company, it doesn’t mean they’re not.

23. I know that if you want to make a dream a reality, you have to start being able to talk about it whilst looking people in the eye.

24. I know that though migraines are the bane of my life, they have taught me a lot about how much activity, stress, and socialising I can handle. Your body knows what you can take, so listen to it.

25. I know that I’ve never been to an actual swamp, but I have been in the bathroom after my husband has been in the shower, so I’m pretty confident I know what one looks like.

26. I know that it’s always a good time to remind the person you’re spending your life with that you love them just as they are, mess or no mess.

27. I know that you have two choices: spend your time doubting whether there’s space for you and your creative work, or spend your time creating that space by doing it.  

28. I know that the gap between what you imagine putting your child to bed will look like (reading them a bedtime story, rocking them to sleep, singing them lullabies) and what it actually looks like (being repeatedly kicked in the face/poked in the eye whilst you lie down with them to help them ‘settle’, saying ‘Yes, that’s a lovely tongue’ when they choose this moment to show you their entire mouth, getting so good at pretending to be asleep yourself that sometimes you do drift off) is VAST.

29. I know that there will come a time when I don’t sit with my daughter in my lap every night, reading her the exact same books before she goes to bed, and I miss it already.

30. I know that we trick ourselves into thinking that we’re working towards an end point in our lives where our achievements will be added up and evaluated. And I know that the older you get and the more milestones you tick off, the more apparent it becomes that that end point doesn’t exist.

31. I know that one of the greatest gifts my daughter has given me is total abandonment of my sense of self-consciousness. I will sing in the street, I will moo, baa and neigh on the train, and I will dance like she’s the only person watching. In so many ways, she has set me free.

32. I know that the moment things go wrong, you realise just how happy your life made you as it was, but that we don’t have to wait till then to notice.

33. I know that at 34 there’s still so much that I want to do, but that for the life we’ve built so far I am grateful.

34. I know that it never ceases to amaze me since we started our family how quickly our time together passes by. And that all I really want for my birthday this year is more, so much more of it.

This much I know about toddlers

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That when job applications ask if you speak any other languages, you should be able to get credit for speaking ‘Conversational toddler’.

That preparing a toddler for nursery, transporting them there, dropping them off and then negotiating the buggy shed requires so much energy and generates such volumes of sweat that it should be recognised as an Olympic sport.

That toddlers make you so attuned to risk that even when there are no children around and you see a small object you still feel the need to warn everybody in the vicinity NOT TO PUT IT IN THEIR MOUTH.

That trying to get a toddler to wear a sunhat may be the hardest work you’ll ever do.

That the volume of books you read to toddlers about farms and zoos highlight the gaps in your education when it comes to animal noises. If there’s a Facebook group dedicated to achieving consensus about the sound we should all make to represent a giraffe, I’d like to join it.

That toddlers throw so much food on the floor and you have so little time to yourself that before long you start hoovering up every damp, chewed up morsel and calling it dinner.

That there is no ‘correct’ way to help a toddler eat, sleep, or do anything really, because they’re human beings, not robots. You just have to find a way that works them and for you and resist the temptation to compare it with anyone else’s.

That the confidence and sense of entitlement with which a toddler will steal food off your plate/out of your hand/straight from your mouth is nothing short of inspiring.

That toddlers teach you more about who you really are than any personality test ever could. Mine sighs like me, dances like me, and becomes impossible to communicate with when she’s overtired, just like me.

That toddler demands are generally pretty reasonable. The trouble is that, because they can’t really communicate yet, the process of getting you to understand those demands can feel somewhat unreasonable. I find it helps to remember that it’s the situation that’s difficult, not the person.

That a toddler’s absolute faith in you to be there to save them should they fall off the sofa, misjudge their ability to balance on the bed, or regret climbing into a cupboard is both touching and terrifying in equal measure.

That toddlers make simple things suddenly seem magical. There’s a metal elephant in our garden, left by the previous owner. I’ve always thought it was fine but my daughter thinks it’s AMAZING, so now I do too. A toddler’s ability to get excited about small things is contagious and good for the soul.

That toddlers are little people learning to make decisions. And when that decision is to give you a cuddle, it feels like the best present you’ve ever received.

…But when it’s to empty the entire contents of your purse across a restaurant floor, it feels like maybe letting them look through your handbag was a mistake.

That toddlers are here to teach you that the answer to the question “But how much mess can one small person really make in this house with a yogurt anyway?” is: So much that you’ll wonder if it would be easier to just move out and start again than to even attempt to try and clear up.

That toddler-care involves a lot of jobs: feeding, dressing, changing, washing, translating, lifting, feeding some more. And it’s easy to get caught up in the tasks and lose sight of the little person you’re doing them for, particularly when you’re tired. I’m trying my best not to.

That being the parent of a toddler is the reason I’m now incapable of walking passed a dog without saying “Doggy!” Or that’s what I tell people anyway.

That when it comes to books, toddlers have two settings: 1. I will allow you to read one sentence from this book, close it so quickly that you get a paper cut and then select another; and 2. This is my favourite book in the world, please read it again and again and again until one of us passes out. (It’ll be you).

That there is no need to have a toddler and a gym membership. All you need to do is tell your child that you’re going to put suntan lotion on them and by the time you’ve chased them down and applied it, you’ll have done all your exercise for the year.

That toddlers have the warmest, softest little hands, and that walking about with my daughter’s in mine is my favourite thing to do.

That, if you let yourself, you could spend every second you’re responsible for a toddler feeling scared, worried, exhausted and confused.

But that it’s better for everyone if you focus instead on how joyful, love-filled, and fun this job can be, and just keep on doing your best.

Does parenting get easier? Nope, you just get more resilient

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You’re about to discover just how strong you really are. That’s the sentence I find myself saying to friends about to have babies.

I say it because it sounds wise and reassuring, but also because it’s gentler than saying “That child is going to DESTROY YOU – but don’t worry, you’ll cope.”

The trick to parenting is resilience. Without it, you’re screwed. But the good news is, you can’t help but develop it.

As I see it, these are the three main things that simultaneously test and build your resilience when you’re a parent.

1. The fact that you don’t really have a choice

My daughter is almost 16 months old and at no point in her life so far have her demands been negotiable.

When she wants milk, she wants it now. When she wants a snack, she wants it now. When she wants me, for reasons only she understands, to let her into the bathroom so that she can grab a clean nappy and wear it around her neck like a scarf, she expects this opportunity to come about THIS INSTANT.

Since the moment she was born, it’s been our job to give her what she needs, when she needs it. No matter how tired, emotional, confused, scared, fed up, distracted or lost we felt, we had to keep going.

What it means to be truly at someone’s beck and call 24/7 takes some getting used to. You know that’s what you’re signing up for, but not what the reality will feel like.

I’m grateful that I don’t have a choice in the matter, that it’s my duty to serve her, and that I’m unable to function if she’s unhappy. Because it means I don’t have time to stop and think.

I don’t take a moment at 3am when she’s calling for me, to ask if this particular moment is convenient. And I don’t make time to notice that I’ve made her breakfast everyday for almost a year and a half now and never once has she even offered to make mine.

This is my job and I need to show up for it, rain or shine.

But of course that doesn’t mean your wellbeing isn’t important. Strength comes from giving yourself permission to matter too. To speak honestly about how you feel, to do activities with your baby that fill you both up, and to acknowledge that if you’re happy, they’re happy.

2. The fact that the best and worst bits will be a surprise

Your resilience is tested every time something happens that you weren’t expecting. Which is all the time.

Every single one of our best and worst moments has come out of the blue.

I didn’t expect to find breastfeeding so difficult.

I didn’t expect to realise in the middle of Heathrow Airport after we’d checked in our luggage, been through security, and ordered an ill-advised salad with a well-advised side order of chips, that those spots on our daughter’s ears were chickenpox and we wouldn’t be flying anywhere today.

I didn’t expect to spend 28 hours in hospital with her whilst she had antibiotics pumped into her little veins to rid her of an eye infection.

I never expect her to fall over but she does, all the time.

I often lie awake at night worrying about all the things that could happen and trying to work out how I can become organised enough to ensure that they won’t.

It’s a tough moment when you realise that there are only so many to-do lists you can write and parenting articles you can read. Surprises will still occur. But with every one that does, you gather more evidence that you can and will cope.

3. The fact that your heart lives in your child’s hands, and they can crush it whenever they like

I can find the words to describe most things, but I can’t describe the way I feel about my daughter.

When she was born, the love was so overwhelming that it broke us; more than the sleep deprivation or the attempts at feeding, or the c-section recovery. The hard and fast tumble in love with this baby was almost more than we could handle.

But of course, only almost. You get used to functioning in a world where you feel this way.

You get used to feeling genuine physical pain when your child cries.

You get used to how brutal it feels every time one of your efforts to give them a good start in life is rejected – a homemade muffin chucked on the floor, an attempt to get them dressed that ends in tears, a lovingly-read bedtime story during which they get up and leave the room.

You get used to feeling guilty every time they get ill, sad, hungry, thirsty, too hot, too cold, frustrated you won’t let them eat paper, displeased with one of their socks… basically every second of the day.

All I want on this earth is for my daughter to be happy, but because she’s a human being, she’s going to experience a lot of other emotions as well. As her mum I have to become resilient enough to handle that reality.

Because it’s not just me who needs to be able to cope. I have to help her grow up ready to face the highs and lows life will throw her way, too.

Be your own adjudicator

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Be your own adjudicator

‘Should’ can be an unhelpful word, particularly when we use it as a weapon with which to beat ourselves.

Life is fast and competitive and it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by our awareness of what other people are doing. I enjoy feeling connected to people I know and people I don’t via social media, and getting little insights into lives that are different from mine. But I can also feel myself drawing unhelpful comparisons. Noticing things that other people do that I don’t, and interpreting them as evidence of my failings.

But just because something exists as a possibility, it doesn’t mean that you should do it. It’s just one of the options. Do it or don’t, no-one cares.

My problem is that I hear ‘should’ when it’s not even being said. I confuse hearing somebody say “I am doing XYZ” with “You should be doing XYZ.” I see people talking about how they’re raising their children or building their careers or decorating their homes, and forget that what they’re saying has no relation to me. 

I’ve always struggled with the fear that I’m not doing the right thing. I don’t mean morally or legally – fear is such a dominant emotion for me that I’m always pretty confident I’m on the right side of the law. No, I’m worried about doing The Optimum Thing.

If we’re on holiday and looking for a restaurant, I’ll worry about choosing the ‘right’ one. What if we’d have had a better time elsewhere? What if that table by the window would have enhanced our experience? What if sitting this near the loos ruins the ambience? What if it’s actually this thought process that’ll ruin our night?

Be your own adjudicatorAnd now that I’m a parent, I – like every single mother on earth, probably – worry that I’m not doing everything I ‘should’ do for my daughter. Should we be at a class? Should we be socialising? Should we be playing educational games indoors? Should I be doing more to make the most of her – whatever that means? As if just loving and caring for her with everything I’ve got isn’t enough.

Parenting is relentless decision making. And what’s harder than being the person who has to make them all, is the realisation that nobody’s going to come along and let you know if you’re doing it right. You just have to trust yourself in the moment.

When our daughter was very small, I used to imagine there would be a time in years to come when she’d say to me: “Mum, you know that day when I was so upset in January 2018? It’s because I wanted you to heat my milk up/put me to bed/ turn off that unbearable episode of Gossip Girl.” But as the sleep deprivation started to wear off, I realised: That’s not going to happen. 

You’ll never know if you did the right thing, because the right thing doesn’t really exist. There’s no list, charting all the options in order of preference, nor is there a jury waiting to judge you on your choices. We have to be our own adjudicators.

It’s true for all areas of our lives. There’s no adjudicator who’s going to come and tell you which career path you ‘should’ have taken, which date you ‘should’ have gone on, or which Netflix series you ‘should’ have chosen to best entertain your baby. We did what we did based on the information we had at the time – there’s no other way to do it.

Be your own adjudicatorSince becoming a mother I’ve learnt that, to be happy, I have to accept my choices as I make them, one by one. Decisions require my attention quickly; I don’t always see them coming. I can’t always nail it, and, if I’m not careful, I’ll spiral into a long and pointless thought process about what I ‘should’ have done instead.

But now I’ve realised how unhelpful that is, and how many moments with my baby I’ll miss if I spend all my time analysing what I’ve done in the past.

Instead it’s better to focus on making decisions that suit us both today. My daughter is the most important person in the world to me, and I’m that to her, too. So when I’m deciding how we spend our time, it’s OK that I do so with what I need in mind as well – my energy levels, my mental health – because if I’m well, so is she. As I’ve written before, the inherent guilt of parenting makes it hard to prioritise yourself, but with nine months of experience under my belt, I can tell you: you must.

So I want to park the ‘should’ and have a little more faith. In myself as a parent and as a fallible human being, and in the need for there to be healthy differences between how we all lead our lives.

Because time will pass, no matter how we spend it. And to hand more of our precious hours over to regret, rather than to joy, and to self-criticism rather than kindness, feels like the kind of waste we should all do our best to avoid.

33 lessons I learnt during my 33rd year

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33 lessons I learnt during my 33rd yearYou know the drill by now – I’ll turn 33 this week, so, as is tradition, I’ve written a list of things I have to say at this point in time. This time it’s some of the lessons this period has taught me. My 33rd year has been dominated by pregnancy and my daughter’s first seven months in the world, so they’re mostly about that, with a few bonus points chucked in for good measure.

(Here are the lists I wrote when I turned 29, 30, 31 and 32, in case you’d like to catch up before we get going.)

1. I’ve learnt that you have absolutely no idea what it’s like to have a baby until you have a baby and that, even then, you only really know what it’s like for you.

2. I’ve learnt that the return of mid-length shorts to the world of fashion could not have come at a better time. I spend most of the day bending down to pick up my child and I need to be able to do so without fear of arrest.

3. I’ve learnt that optimism is heading down to theatre to have a caesarean section with your knickers on in the hope that the surgeons will just cut along the waistband.

4. I’ve learnt that marriage is having to take those knickers off and hand them to your husband to store in the pocket of his scrubs. The spiral of indignity started there and ended… hang on, when will that be?

5. I’ve learnt that when you have a baby your body changes. Mine is bigger, it’s wobblier, and it’s scarred. Of course it is, I housed a giant child for nine months and then had her cut out of me. I am grateful for everything my body let me do and I am happy to look a little different as a result. Women, there’s enough nonsense out there about how we should or shouldn’t look. The least we can do is refuse to add our own voices to the noise.

6. I’ve learnt that instead of thinking ‘What would Beyoncé or Oprah or Emma Thompson do?’, it’s more useful to think ‘What would I do in this situation if I wasn’t worried about what anybody else thought?’

7. I’ve learnt that having a baby makes you look at your parents completely differently. Finally, true empathy and gratitude starts to kick in. Oh wow, you did all this for me. Holy sh*t, this is hard work. Thank you, thank you so much.

8. I’ve learnt that when I look at a picture of my daughter on my phone, I think: That’s my heart right there. That is a photograph of my heart. Oh no wait, that’s 76576 photographs of my heart and my phone memory is full AGAIN.

9. I’ve learnt that marriage is hard when you’ve started a family because you both spend all your time cuddling somebody else. It’s important to make a little room for each other too when you can.

10. I’ve learnt that if you want to eat an iced bun you should eat an iced bun because life is short and cake is delicious.

33 lessons I learnt during my 33rd year

Picture by @ben_cameron. I’ve learnt that he can articulate my feelings in a drawing.

11. I’ve learnt that, whereas I used to be too afraid to wear a jumpsuit because you have to take the entire thing off to go to the toilet (what if somebody walked in?), so many people at our local hospital have now seen me do so much more than that that I no longer care. Join the freakin’ list, lads.

12. I’ve learnt that there is a serious gap in the market for a wearable drinking vessel for breastfeeding mums. No activity on this earth makes you thirstier, and yet you don’t have any hands free to hold a drink. Come on, someone, invent something.

13. I’ve learnt that people who show up at your door with food during the first few weeks of your baby’s life are the greatest people in the world.

14. I’ve learnt that perfect strangers think you don’t know very much about your own child. “She’s tall isn’t she!” Yep. “She’s a big baby isn’t she!” Uhuh. “She’s long for that pram isn’t she!” SHE USED TO LIVE IN MY BODY. I AM AWARE OF ALL OF THESE THINGS.

15. I’ve learnt that all it would take for me to be interested in the World Cup is a nice man in a blue waistcoat in charge of the England team.

16. I’ve learnt that one of the greatest gifts motherhood has given me is the opportunity to say “Come on then, let’s get you home!” into the pram when I need to get out of an awkward social situation.

17. I’ve learnt that it’s hard when you’re in charge of a small person’s life not to see everything else in the world as utterly trivial. But it’s important that you don’t.

18. I’ve learnt that no human being on this earth yields more power than a baby who finds themselves momentarily without a nappy.

19. I’ve learnt that the reason it’s so difficult to just be ourselves is because who we are never stops changing.

20. I’ve learnt that when people tell you to make the most of your free time before you have a baby you think ‘Yeah yeah yeah, what does that even mean?’, and then you give birth and you realise exactly what that would have meant, but it’s too late.

21. I’ve learnt that I’ll feel sick for the 12 hours before I’m going to be away from my daughter, but that, if it’s to go and do something fun, and she’s in safe hands, I will feel better when I get there, and that the time away will do me good.

33 lessons I learnt during my 33rd year22. I’ve learnt that it is possible to feel nostalgic about things that you found really difficult. Pregnancy was tough – my back hurt, I had migraines all the time, and I became so enormous that I could hardly walk. But still, sometimes I miss it. I miss carrying her around with me, and the freedom only retrospect has made me realise that I had.

23. I’ve learnt that any mother you see feeding a baby will probably have been through quite a journey to get that child to eat in a way that works for them both. I thought it would be simple, but it wasn’t.

24. I’ve learnt that my hopes and dreams outside motherhood are very much still alive and well, it’s just that I have to use my free time more wisely now to make sure they happen.

25. I’ve learnt that the second you start to get used to whatever stage your baby’s at, they’ll move onto the next one. Don’t you dare start to think that you know what you’re doing.

26. I’ve learnt that I wear make-up for my own benefit. When I first became a mum, I discovered that I felt better if the face looking back at me in the mirror looked as nice as I think it can. It was my view I was concerned with, not anybody else’s.

27. I’ve learnt that having a baby increases your ability to hold a grudge. I’m sorry, was that a negative word/thought/exhalation in my daughter’s direction? Goodbye forever.

28. I’ve learnt that it’s good to do things that scare you. Maternity leave can be daunting as hell, as I wrote here, but it does help if you leave the house, try something new, and meet people. If you’d told me last year that I would join a choir and be up for singing with them in front of other people, I’m not sure I’d have believed you. A lot can change in a year.

29. I’ve learnt that you discover just how good your hearing is when your child is born. I’d be able to hear our daughter crying through a typhoon. I can’t hear my own mobile phone ring when it’s in my hand, but at least I’ve got her covered.

30. I’ve learnt that if somebody sat you down and really made you understand what the first few weeks of having a baby are like, you simply wouldn’t do it. So thank goodness they don’t.

31. I’ve learnt that if somebody had sat me down and tried to articulate how incredible seeing our baby being born would feel, they still wouldn’t have been able to prepare us.

32. I’ve learnt that I feel like I’ve aged a lot more than just one year in the last 12 months.

33. I’ve learnt that, even though it’s been hard and tiring and more emotional than a season finale of Grey’s Anatomy, I wouldn’t change a single thing.