As delighted as I was to have become a finalist, watching the banter on Twitter about the approaching Britmums Live blogging conference and the included award ceremony had the opposite effect than it probably should have done. I didn’t feel part of the community involved with Britmums Live, exactly the opposite, I felt like the one stood by the door holding a watermelon gawping (if you have never seen the film Dirty Dancing, to be honest, this metaphor is going to be utterly wasted on you).
With your first child it’s fine to be fastidious with every aspect of their lives, from having ear phones strapped to your belly playing Beethoven (yes I did this) in order to better grow a cultured foetus, to showing a 6 month old flash cards in the hope it will give them an edge over their competition peers. With the second child you’re happy if everyone is dressed and fed and you convince yourself that the older one is passing on all the wisdom you attempted to impart in them to their younger sibling. By the time you’ve reached your third child, a good day constitutes not having misplaced any of them and not having had the neighbours report the screaming coming from next door to social services. Little do they know that it is you screaming, not your children.
Becoming a mother is an assault on every one of your senses, it’s an exercise in surviving mental torture and has a learning curve that puts a banana to shame. Yet, at the same time I learnt so much about such specialised things that, if you pitted my knowledge against the general public’s on the same subject and you would have to concede that I, in the context of the wider world, was a childcare expert, and really that’s something that more mothers should learn to be proud of (Gina Ford, eat your heart out).
It's been a strange old week. First I found out that you lovely people have nominated me for an award despite my British reserve and lack of confidence having prevented me from asking anyone to even consider me. I have since added the badge that is meant to encourage you to vote: if you look
I was originally going to lazily share the Mother's Day guest post that I wrote for Great Ormond Street Hospital's charity blog today. I was so enormously touched to be asked to write for them, and so overwhelmed by the response that the subsequent post caused, I confess that I might have actually squealed and