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Where the time goes

1
Before you have children you just cannot comprehend the amount of time that keeping another person alive takes up. Everyone tells you that you won’t get any sleep (although nothing prepares you for what that actually feels like), and you know there will be nappies to change. But other than that? This is my rundown of the top ten things which I spend my time on now I have children, but didn’t expect. They lead to that feeling when you collapse with a glass of wine at 8.30pm, absolutely exhausted, not having stopped since 6am, but with nothing much to
SelfishMother.com
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show for all the frenetic activity.

1. Picking things up off the floor

A conservative estimate suggests that I spend approximately 40% of my waking life picking things up off the floor that I didn’t put there. It is only 9.30am, but so far I have already spent ten minutes lying full-length trying to wiggle under my one-year old’s cot to retrieve Ears the Bunny, and have disposed of a myriad of snotty tissues from my cold-afflicted six-year old’s bedroom floor. Then there were the bits of toast and boiled egg from underneath the high chair and

SelfishMother.com
3
the spilt raisins in the kitchen. And now, in order to get a blog post written, I am ignoring what remains on the floor (a floor which was pristine(ish) at 10.30pm last night) – a PritStik, one and a half pairs of slippers, a teddy bear, a giant stuffed penguin, three books, a ball, 2 dolls, a party invitation (not for me, obvs), a mini electronic keyboard, a pop up farmyard toy, a cushion, an old shopping list, a teething ring, a beany baby Little Miss Princess, a rattle in the shape of a giraffe and at least ten wooden bricks. And that is just in
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one room. And more stuff is constantly added, so if I don’t clear as I go the end of the day is less tidy-up time and more archaeological dig.

2. Having surreal conversations

Normally these take place while you are simultaneously trying to complete two or more mundane tasks such as emptying the dishwasher or making porridge. Yesterday, as I picked up discarded bits of tea from the floor and tried to stop the baby using her wooden trolley as a scooter, I had the following conversation with my daughter:

Daughter: “Mummy, why do robbers wear

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5
masks?”

Mummy: “Umm, well, I’m not sure if they do in real life. But if they do, it is so that if anyone sees them they can’t recognise them or give a description to the police.”

Daughter: “Are they always black, or can you get masks that are white or different colours too?”

Mummy: “I’m not quite sure. I’ve never seen a robber in real life. They always have black masks in pictures though.”

Daughter: “I suppose it depends if they’re doing the robbery at night or during the day. If it was at night then the black mask

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6
would be camouflage, but if it was in the day then white would be more sensible.”

Mummy: “Yes, you’re probably right.”

Daughter: “But if I was ever a robber I wouldn’t wear a mask at all.”

Mummy: [debating whether or not to inject cautionary moral about hoping she never will be a robber and deciding against it] “Why wouldn’t you?”

Daughter: “Because only robbers wear masks. So everyone would know I was a robber if I wore one. But if I didn’t then I’d just look like me.”

 SHORT PAUSE during which I give baby a

SelfishMother.com
7
cuddle and wipe the worktops clean.

 Daughter: “Mummy, how do robbers SEE when they’ve got a mask on? I mean, how do they know which things to rob?”

 3. Laundry

I knew I should have paid more attention in maths. Maybe then I could have worked out why the transition from a family of three to family of four has led to a five-fold increase in the amount of laundry I have to do.

4. Singing

 Prior to having children I sang at Christmas carol services and at parties when drunk. Now I sing all the time. Lullabies to get the baby to

SelfishMother.com
8
sleep, nursery rhymes to distract her in the queue at the supermarket. Songs at baby groups. Songs from Mary Poppins or The Sound of Music on the school run (my eldest loves these, and demands I join in). Funny little made up songs to make them giggle or encourage them to eat their tea/clean their teeth/tidy up. Hideous renditions of Let It Go when the Frozen sound track goes on. And I can’t even sing.

5. Reading

No, not reading grown up books to myself. I now spend considerably less time doing that. But a lot more time reading children’s

SelfishMother.com
9
books to other people. The six year old can read very well herself now, but still enjoys being read to. We’ve graduated onto chapter books, and I’m actually really enjoying re-visiting classics from my childhood – Famous Five, Secret Seven and the Five Find-Outers, Paddington. With the one year old I’m right back at the mind-numbing bored books. That’s Not My Rabbit, Where’s my Zebra?, Spot Does Something Really Tedious. Can’t wait for her concentration span to extend to Saint Julia Donaldson.

6. Lying

Not lying down. There’s a lot

SelfishMother.com
10
less of that. But telling fibs. I pride myself on being honest with my children, but I still tell them a lot of lies. I get pushed into intricate details about Santa’s elves’ work patterns or the Tooth Fairy’s travel arrangements. I swear blind that no, of course, there’s no onion in the Bolognese sauce. I tell them injections won’t hurt much or that mummy needs to check her emails for work when really I’m just desperate for a five minute Facebook fix.

 7. Analysing bodily excretions

I’m not totally naïve. I knew I’d have to deal

SelfishMother.com
11
with whatever bodily fluids emanated from my little darlings. I just didn’t know quite how interested I would be in them. I have had many, fairly lengthy, conversations with friends about our offspring’s poo. I have deliberately peered into the toilet after my daughter has done a wee to check the colour of it in case she’s dehydrated. I have analysed vomit to see if it seems to be caused by catarrh or a stomach bug. And it all takes up quite a bit of not very pleasant time.

8. Going places you don’t want to go to. Repeatedly.

In no

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12
particular order: soft play, the local playground in winter, any playground ever, Ikea, shoe shops the week before school starts, the Science Museum in the school holidays. This is closely linked to ‘watching things on telly you don’t want to watch’. Repeatedly. Waybuloo. Peppa Pig. Frozen.

9. Cuddles

You see, this is a good one really. These delicious, warm, squidgey little people you’ve miraculously created want to snuggle up to you, a lot, and it is impossible to refuse. Even when you’re also trying to cook pasta or change a nappy or

SelfishMother.com
13
put make up on or have a bath or read something which isn’t about an anthropomorphised rabbit.

10. Writing

I spent at least fifteen years thinking that I would like to write. I read English at university, I wrote some truly toe-curling poetry, I had endless notebooks with jottings of cryptic plot ideas. But it wasn’t until I was a stay-at-home mum to a lively two year old that somehow my motivation and creativity and self-confidence (and some babysitting from my MIL) all came together sufficiently for me to write my first novel. It got

SelfishMother.com
14
published. I wrote another one. It got published. By this time I had also started blogging. I wrote an e-book. It got published. I am now at the point where, although I am a stay-at-home mum, I also feel I can describe myself as a writer. 95% of my time is taken up by the activities above, along with cooking, food shopping, cleaning, reading books and all the rest if it, but motherhood has honed me to a lean mean writing machine in the little windows of time I manage to carve out.
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- 27 Jan 16

Before you have children you just cannot comprehend the amount of time that keeping another person alive takes up. Everyone tells you that you won’t get any sleep (although nothing prepares you for what that actually feels like), and you know there will be nappies to change. But other than that? This is my rundown of the top ten things which I spend my time on now I have children, but didn’t expect. They lead to that feeling when you collapse with a glass of wine at 8.30pm, absolutely exhausted, not having stopped since 6am, but with nothing much to show for all the frenetic activity.

1. Picking things up off the floor

A conservative estimate suggests that I spend approximately 40% of my waking life picking things up off the floor that I didn’t put there. It is only 9.30am, but so far I have already spent ten minutes lying full-length trying to wiggle under my one-year old’s cot to retrieve Ears the Bunny, and have disposed of a myriad of snotty tissues from my cold-afflicted six-year old’s bedroom floor. Then there were the bits of toast and boiled egg from underneath the high chair and the spilt raisins in the kitchen. And now, in order to get a blog post written, I am ignoring what remains on the floor (a floor which was pristine(ish) at 10.30pm last night) – a PritStik, one and a half pairs of slippers, a teddy bear, a giant stuffed penguin, three books, a ball, 2 dolls, a party invitation (not for me, obvs), a mini electronic keyboard, a pop up farmyard toy, a cushion, an old shopping list, a teething ring, a beany baby Little Miss Princess, a rattle in the shape of a giraffe and at least ten wooden bricks. And that is just in one room. And more stuff is constantly added, so if I don’t clear as I go the end of the day is less tidy-up time and more archaeological dig.

2. Having surreal conversations

Normally these take place while you are simultaneously trying to complete two or more mundane tasks such as emptying the dishwasher or making porridge. Yesterday, as I picked up discarded bits of tea from the floor and tried to stop the baby using her wooden trolley as a scooter, I had the following conversation with my daughter:

Daughter: “Mummy, why do robbers wear masks?”

Mummy: “Umm, well, I’m not sure if they do in real life. But if they do, it is so that if anyone sees them they can’t recognise them or give a description to the police.”

Daughter: “Are they always black, or can you get masks that are white or different colours too?”

Mummy: “I’m not quite sure. I’ve never seen a robber in real life. They always have black masks in pictures though.”

Daughter: “I suppose it depends if they’re doing the robbery at night or during the day. If it was at night then the black mask would be camouflage, but if it was in the day then white would be more sensible.”

Mummy: “Yes, you’re probably right.”

Daughter: “But if I was ever a robber I wouldn’t wear a mask at all.”

Mummy: [debating whether or not to inject cautionary moral about hoping she never will be a robber and deciding against it] “Why wouldn’t you?”

Daughter: “Because only robbers wear masks. So everyone would know I was a robber if I wore one. But if I didn’t then I’d just look like me.”

 SHORT PAUSE during which I give baby a cuddle and wipe the worktops clean.

 Daughter: “Mummy, how do robbers SEE when they’ve got a mask on? I mean, how do they know which things to rob?”

 3. Laundry

I knew I should have paid more attention in maths. Maybe then I could have worked out why the transition from a family of three to family of four has led to a five-fold increase in the amount of laundry I have to do.

4. Singing

 Prior to having children I sang at Christmas carol services and at parties when drunk. Now I sing all the time. Lullabies to get the baby to sleep, nursery rhymes to distract her in the queue at the supermarket. Songs at baby groups. Songs from Mary Poppins or The Sound of Music on the school run (my eldest loves these, and demands I join in). Funny little made up songs to make them giggle or encourage them to eat their tea/clean their teeth/tidy up. Hideous renditions of Let It Go when the Frozen sound track goes on. And I can’t even sing.

5. Reading

No, not reading grown up books to myself. I now spend considerably less time doing that. But a lot more time reading children’s books to other people. The six year old can read very well herself now, but still enjoys being read to. We’ve graduated onto chapter books, and I’m actually really enjoying re-visiting classics from my childhood – Famous Five, Secret Seven and the Five Find-Outers, Paddington. With the one year old I’m right back at the mind-numbing bored books. That’s Not My Rabbit, Where’s my Zebra?, Spot Does Something Really Tedious. Can’t wait for her concentration span to extend to Saint Julia Donaldson.

6. Lying

Not lying down. There’s a lot less of that. But telling fibs. I pride myself on being honest with my children, but I still tell them a lot of lies. I get pushed into intricate details about Santa’s elves’ work patterns or the Tooth Fairy’s travel arrangements. I swear blind that no, of course, there’s no onion in the Bolognese sauce. I tell them injections won’t hurt much or that mummy needs to check her emails for work when really I’m just desperate for a five minute Facebook fix.

 7. Analysing bodily excretions

I’m not totally naïve. I knew I’d have to deal with whatever bodily fluids emanated from my little darlings. I just didn’t know quite how interested I would be in them. I have had many, fairly lengthy, conversations with friends about our offspring’s poo. I have deliberately peered into the toilet after my daughter has done a wee to check the colour of it in case she’s dehydrated. I have analysed vomit to see if it seems to be caused by catarrh or a stomach bug. And it all takes up quite a bit of not very pleasant time.

8. Going places you don’t want to go to. Repeatedly.

In no particular order: soft play, the local playground in winter, any playground ever, Ikea, shoe shops the week before school starts, the Science Museum in the school holidays. This is closely linked to ‘watching things on telly you don’t want to watch’. Repeatedly. Waybuloo. Peppa Pig. Frozen.

9. Cuddles

You see, this is a good one really. These delicious, warm, squidgey little people you’ve miraculously created want to snuggle up to you, a lot, and it is impossible to refuse. Even when you’re also trying to cook pasta or change a nappy or put make up on or have a bath or read something which isn’t about an anthropomorphised rabbit.

10. Writing

I spent at least fifteen years thinking that I would like to write. I read English at university, I wrote some truly toe-curling poetry, I had endless notebooks with jottings of cryptic plot ideas. But it wasn’t until I was a stay-at-home mum to a lively two year old that somehow my motivation and creativity and self-confidence (and some babysitting from my MIL) all came together sufficiently for me to write my first novel. It got published. I wrote another one. It got published. By this time I had also started blogging. I wrote an e-book. It got published. I am now at the point where, although I am a stay-at-home mum, I also feel I can describe myself as a writer. 95% of my time is taken up by the activities above, along with cooking, food shopping, cleaning, reading books and all the rest if it, but motherhood has honed me to a lean mean writing machine in the little windows of time I manage to carve out.

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I'm author of novels 'Two For Joy' and 'To Have and to Hold' and mum to two daughters aged twelve and six. As well as writing, and my children, I love reading, cooking, eating and exploring London (and further afield when I get the chance). I was born and brought up in Liverpool, studied English at Oxford University, and now live in East London with my husband, daughters and cat.

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