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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A likely story

Eva, like most two year olds, has a fluid approach to fact and fiction and a slight tendency towards melodrama.

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Every bump, real and imagined, requires the immediate attention of a doctor (‘a REAL doctor’) and a ‘sticker plaster’. As she sorrowfully repeated to anyone who’d listen for a week after I used the wipers and screenwash to scrape bird crap off the windscreen, our car was ‘broken’ because ‘a magpie did a poo on it’.

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How to go out for lunch with two tiny children

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It’s half term. Most parents of school age children dread the holidays and they’re not alone – it’s no picnic for mums and dads of teeny tinys, either. No sooner have the school gates been padlocked from the inside by overjoyed teachers than our lovely little weekday world comes to a juddering halt. In its place is a post-apocalyptic, Mad Max-esque dystopian nightmare ruled over by hoards of terrifying, gangly, freckle-smeared creatures with out-of-proportion adult teeth bombing around playgrounds, parks and shopping centres on their wheeled shoes shouting, ‘Bums! Farts! Minecraft!’ from dawn to dusk. Baby cinema? Cancelled. Music classes and playgroups? Hah! Gentle trips to the swings? Only if you enjoy watching your toddler being repeatedly knocked over and taught to say ‘bollocks’. Soft play? Are you quite, quite mad? No.

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