….aaaand I’m done

Not blogging! Babies. Why give up something that you only do once a year? Oh, hang on a minute…

When I say I’m done with babies, I don’t mean that I’ve finally decided not to go and pick them up from my mum’s house and move into the Travelodge by the station (a long-held 3am fantasy). I mean that, at the age of 40 and three quarters, well into my heavy eye cream years, I think I’ve finally given up on the notion of having a third baby.

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The cocoon

It was never my intention to update this blog all the time, or turn it into a ‘thing’, chiefly because that would’ve entailed finding out what a ‘thing’ is, and then doing it. It’s more a place for diarising life with young kids (because I am extremely forgetful), sharing the funny stuff (because I don’t have colleagues), and venting (because I usually do that quite angrily and out loud while I’m having a shower and I’m not sure if the neighbours can hear me through the wall – this is quieter).

I’m finally sitting down to write this post about life as a stay-at-home parent slash freelance journalist slash can you be a stay-at-home parent with a job slash no not really. It’s been percolating in my brain for a while and, unlike any notions I’ve had over the years to get tattoos, hasn’t gone away. It’s about the overwhelming blanket of nothingness that can drape itself over you when you stay at home with kids, and what it feels like to be under it.

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