Sharting becomes normal - when your kid is on his third stomach bug in as many months you can bet your arse that you're on the same and this means that instances like sharting just become a normal occurance. If you're not covered in someone else's shit then it's your own and around this time of year you're probably wondering what it was ever like to pass a firm still and if you'll ever know of it again. Probably not hun, stomach bugs are more regular than my periods these days so thanks for that Fred. 

Not eating - most kids go through a phase where they eat really well and you feel like you've struck gold on the kid-eating-veg competition but then suddenly and literally out of nowhere your child will decide that they no longer want to eat anything, a n y t h i n g other than toast and the mere suggestion of them considering something else is actual abuse and they would call childline if they knew what it was or how to. 

Toddler socks vanish - If you think matching up adult sized socks is a fiasco imagine ones a fraction of the size, I probably get Fred a new pack of socks each month and within a week I am only left with odd socks. Odd socks is one of those things that makes my right eye twitch and heart race a little but thanks to this tiny human's tiny feet and tiny socks my OCD behaviours are being challenged daily leading me stop giving a sh*t what he looks like for nursery which brings me to my next point...

Dressing for nursery - There was a time when I'd plan Fred's outfits to make him look as cute as poss for nursery so that I looked like a dead good mum...then he started walking. Trousers soon became ripped at the knees, shoes were scuffed in a day and there was this one time when he was shoved in a ditch to play and was covered head-to-toe in mud so I stopped giving a shit. Nice clothes are saved for the weekends and occasions when I need to look like a dead good mum, most of the week is spent wearing ripped trousers and slightly too short tops because I will make the most of every item of clothing until he can physically no longer wear it. 

Nicking your kid's food - Imagine this, you cook your little bundle of joy a classic meal of fish fingers, smiley faces and peas and as you serve it to him you think back to your own childhood and how much you enjoyed this grub. It's not your dinner time yet because you ate most of Greggs at lunch so you sit at the table with the child to be nice and chat and help them fill their little face with goodness only for them to take e v e r y s i n g l e pea off their plate, choke on your poison fingers and just suck on the faces. This brings on a range of emotions from concern for their malnourishment, disappointment that they can't just be a normal human and eat their dinner and anger that they don't know what a cracker of a meal they've been blessed with - this soon passes as you feed your emotions with the bits of food that haven't been choked on, on the floor or sucked....oh who's kidding, you eat the lot. 

Dropping a swear word - Fred likes to copy words, it's cute until I start talking about his Dad and now we have to say that Daddy is a digger because that is absolutely what Mummy said and definitely wasn't dick.

Kerchinging when child benefit goes in - kid's are expensive, so there's nothing more celebratory than a free £80 landing in the bank once a month - I like to consider it compensation for the sharts, endless hours of in the night garden and wasted food. 

There you have it, just a few realities from your fave mummy blogger. I'm off to make fred some avocado on toast - just kidding, Im napping whilst he dances to Iggle Piggle for the 8th time today. 

I used to be a cracking employee, the reliable, high performing type who new the job inside out and smashed targets. These days I'm pretty shit and it's not for lack of trying. 

I also used to judge mums who didn't work but back then I wasn't a mum; I didn't understand what a bloody nightmare having a child was and I didn't know of the strain of finding and maintaining a work-life balance. I used to finish work, come home, watch endless episodes of Real Housewives, piss around on the internet and play with make-up. It's never about me anymore, it's always about Fred, and work and handling pressure and juggling hours and constantly trying to keep up with life. 

I've been a single mum for around four months now, without being disrespectful to Fred's dad I was pretty much single mum before; all the responsibility fell on me from the finances to Fred's care to holding down a stable job. Life hasn't changed much since he left aside from being able to cook the food I like and having more wardrobe space but finding that balance has become more complex. He lives over 200 miles away, the distance means he's not there at the drop of a hat to co-parent, he's not there to take on the struggles and release some of the burdens either financially or physically so I couldn't be anymore of a single parent if I tried. 

This wreaks havoc with trying to maintain a job and manage everything else (including not getting stressed so I don't have another stroke and be totally useless); I didn't anticipate how poorly kids get in childcare and how often. I thought I could have the carer and be a Mum and be some kind of super hero but a year into this rollercoaster I've very quickly learnt that it is in fact impossible to have all your shit together and whoever makes out it is anything other than a constant nightmare is a knobhead. Standard nursery and childcare policy is that if a child has a bout of sickness and diarrhoea, they're not allowed to return to the setting until 48 hours after it's stopped - this is to avoid spreading infection and because understandably, cleaning up the puke and shitty nappies of several grotty kids is impractical and fucking gross. I understand and appreciate why this policy is in place but I didn't anticipate how often kids get infected; my friend (a mother of four) advised me that until they're around three years old they're pretty much ill from October - March, I thought she was exaggerating...we're onto our second October and I can confirm that she was in fact telling the truth. 

Fred is on his third round of the shits in as many months, his stomach bugs are more regular than my periods which doesn't help when I'm trying to hold down a job and salvage a career in my absolute state of a life. Three stomach bugs in three months means that I've had three absences from work very quickly and followed by three instances of sickness for myself because Fred loves sharing his germs and my immune system is fucked. Whilst my employers are understanding, accommodating and the rest - I still feel a huge weight of guilt for constantly needing time off, I'm more than aware that I'm letting people down and I dread returning to work; I feel as though I have to walk in with my tail between my legs because I've been off again and somewhat frustratingly, aside from some wet poos Fred is as bright as a button. It's not as though he's on the sofa, poorly and needing my full attention meaning that I'm sitting here wishing I was at work and then feeling guilty for not wanting to be with him, it's a vicious cycle of constantly feeling as though I'm disappointing someone despite the fact that I'm trying my best. 

There is a case that I could work from home, if Fred is well in himself and doesn't need undivided attention I could focus my efforts on trying to work but any employer would be concerned at how much I could focus and how consistent I could be. All of the family I have are working themselves and have kids meaning that they can't take time off work to look after my child nor would they want to at the risk of infecting their own kids and needing further time off. I'm in a position where I am consistently off work, out of annual leave and looking having to take unpaid leave and be out of pocket. It's situations like this where I would be better off not working; I wouldn't have the childcare costs and disgustingly I would bring home the same amount of money in benefits than I would my monthly wage but in turn I'd be bored out of my mind and Fred would probably barely get poorly because he wouldn't be around other kids to get sick. 

How do working single mums cope? Is there a magical hack for handling the never-ending stomach bugs and holding a job down or am I right in thinking that it's a myth?