When I was pregnant with Toby I just knew he was a boy. We’d picked a girl’s name just in case (Martha) but I *knew* I was carrying a boy even though we didn’t find out at the scan. I saw myself as a mummy to boys and I was really comfortable with that. With Martha, I didn’t have that sixth sense of our unborn baby’s gender and with my stress levels rising over what to do with Toby’s newborn clothes, we decided to find out. But I didn’t think I wanted a daughter.
I’ve never been one to stare at my reflection for hours on end or spend a fortune on haircuts and manicures, but I’ve also attempted to have a modicum of pride in my appearance. Lately, however, I’ve realised that a few balls have dropped in the juggling act of looking after myself. Here’s my guide to being an unkempt mum.
A political commentator I most certainly am not, but I do try to follow the goings on as much as my sleep deprived little brain will allow and yesterday’s budget has left me rather bemused to say the least. As a self employed parent with a fledgling business, some of Philip Hammond’s announcements have a huge impact on me and my family.
Last week, Martha and I hopped on the train (the one after the one we were meant to catch – ooops) and headed to London to spend the morning in the company of I Just Love It, Historic Newspapers and some lovely bloggers, for their Mother’s Day Blogger Brunch. We were treated to some amazing food, great company and delightful personalised gifts that I simply need to tell you about.
Before I was pregnant, before I’d even met Phil, I had a vision of myself. I was pregnant and sitting on a rocking chair doing a Peter Rabbit cross stitch, ready to finish off with the details of my baby’s name, birth date and weight. Phil even bought me the kit to make on the Christmas I was pregnant with Toby – I looked at the instructions, felt instantly stupid and never even threaded the needle. That should have been the first clue.