29 Feb 2024
February.
A trip up north. After a weekend staying with cats, Alfie now shouts ‘TAT’ and ‘MEOW’ every time he sees a cat, or a picture of a cat.
Driving down the motorway and seeing a family in the car next to us all laughing.
32 years around the sun.
A Thai massage. Not what I ordered but exactly what I needed.
Sushi lunch date.
Making my favourite Guinness cake because if you can’t bake your favourite cake on your birthday, when can you?
Pancake day!
Nine years together.
A woman with a neon pink umbrella on the greyest, wettest weather day.
The first hints of spring; magnolia buds, white blossom, daffodils.
A lunch date with my gal, the best kind of catch up where it’s like no time has passed.
Lighter evenings.
New babies joining the gang.
Baking with my boy for the first time.
Alife’s first babyccino. The milk moustache was spectacular.
Alfie calling birds ‘tweets tweets’.
16 Feb 2024
Twelve Months Of Stories: On Motherhood, Writing, Being Selfish
We discussed it endlessly, went around the houses, had a lot of back-and-forth etc etc, before eventually settling on me working three days a week. It was a precarious balancing act of what we could afford, what availability the nursery had and what was our actual preference (in that order). We arranged three days of childcare and then I finally sat down with work to put my request in. We registered our child at nursery before he was even born and still didn’t get the days we wanted so at this stage, I assumed getting approval from work would be the easy bit.
And then I was told that I could come back part time, but it had to be two and a half days a week. For reasons I won’t bore you with, this made sense from the perspective of my employer and the way my job works but I hadn’t accounted for it, and I felt the pre-emptive blow of having even less money than we’d planned for. I was too busy thinking about the money that it took me a while to realise that this would mean I would have one afternoon a week where I was neither working nor looking after my son.
Funny how sometimes life just presents you with opportunities. At first, I claimed I would absolutely use that afternoon to be the best “housewife”; I was going to get on top of the washing, do the food shop, keep the house tidy… (sorry husband!) But then I realised that, if I was willing to be selfish, I could use that one afternoon a week to write. Something I love, something that I have needed to do since I was a child in order to feel most like myself, something that I’d had such little opportunity to do since my son was born.
That first week, slipping into my favourite café with my laptop, completely alone, I was both exhilarated at doing something just for myself and overwhelmed with guilt. Was I a bad mother for doing something so luxurious whilst my son was at nursery? I wasn’t earning money (although I was paying the nursery fees regardless), I was technically available to be looking after him. Should I not be doing something more… useful? Probably pretty typical thoughts of a mother under the expectations of a 2023 society. So, here’s what I learnt (because I didn’t cave to those thoughts and spent 99% of Wednesday afternoons sat in a café writing during 2023): that one afternoon a week was the single best thing I could have done for my mental health and my ability to be a loving and calm parent. I am in such a better place than I was this time year and I massively credit that with having just a small slice of time to pour into my favourite creative outlet and the thing that keeps me feeling grounded. I learnt that regardless of what you do, the society we live is always going to push mother’s to be 100% self-sacrificing so you may as well do the thing that keeps you sane. Because a sane and happy mother is far better for a child than a mother who can’t breathe because she’s trying to keep up with unrealistic and exhausting expectations. No one is a bad parent for taking time for themselves. In fact, they are often much better parents as a result. And I can’t emphasise this enough: if you pay for childcare and do something other than working your day job, that does not – in any way shape or form – make you some kind of neglectful parent. Chances are, you’re paying for that time regardless (we pay 52 weeks of the year regardless of holidays, what time we pick him up, bank holidays, illness, whether we’re working or not working). Bloody hell, if you’re paying for your child to be in nursery when they’re ill or old Charlie is having his coronation, you may as well pay for it to have some time for yourself. I know I am lucky, I ended up with this time by accident and it makes no difference to our finances whether I use it for myself or pick up my son from nursery early. But I also refuse to feel any sense of guilt for that luck. My only wish is that my husband could have the same thing.
I set myself a challenge: one short story a month for the year, post the messy, first draft online to hold yourself accountable. I hadn’t written that much in years (covid, pregnancy, newborn baby) and the idea of sharing early drafts is terrifying for any writer, let alone putting it on the internet. But I did it. It was a real lesson in what you can do when you only have a tiny amount of time once a week. I could not procrastinate, because that time wouldn’t come round for another seven days. I wrote quickly, and furiously and messily. My favourite café learnt my name and order and asked me how I was. I met other writers and discovered a local writer’s group. I remembered why I love the act of making up stories, writing down words so much. I remembered that Kate, pre-motherhood Kate, was still there and had a lot of shit she still wanted to do. She’d just been a bit tired and all-consumed by this brown-eyed, blonde-haired whirlwind that had landed into her life one Christmas Eve.
I don’t know how long this option will be available to me, but I intend to cling onto it with both hands for as long as it is. Thank you to everyone who has read and been so kind about my messy first drafts (and if you want to catch up on them, you can do so here). I haven’t quite yet worked out what my Substack page will be in 2024 but I do know I am going to keep posting, so you can probably expect more stories and more food writing as a starting point. I’d love for you to join me.
Hey there!
