I've always been an avid reader but since having Fred I convinced myself that I didn't have time for it when the reality was that once I'd completed the morning nursery run, a day at work, the walk home from nursery, the tea, the bath, the bed and the housework all I could muster the energy to do was sit and watch Youtube and get wrapped up in the dramas of batshit people on the internet. It wasn't healthy and it wasn't actually much fun either. After watching Brain on Fire on Netflix and realising that it was based on a book, I had to download it and within 24 hours I'd devoured it and was thirsty for more.

At around the same time, the Amazon wishlist trend was bopping around twitter faster than the rona and before I knew it, I had a to be read pile longer than my shopping list and all I wanted to do was read. The re-lighting of my reading fire (that's a dodgy metaphor, I'm not burning books) has been one of the best things to happen to me in lockdown. Back at the beginning of the year I set myself the target of reading just one book a month throughout the year, we're in May and I'm on book number thirteen with an ever growing to be read pile. With my new found addiction for books only growing I am absolutely considering subscribing to the Amazon-book-prime thing because I'm not sure that I can continue to fund my habit this way. Before a little internet person pipes up about my bragging about the amount of books I read, I'm proud of the fact that I've completed a new years resolution before we're even half way through the year and not implying that my unnatural reading speed makes me "better" than anyone else, so sit down hun. 

Back to the books - Brain on Fire had me hooked, having my own little broken brain makes me intrigued about other's broken brain stories and Susannah Callahan, was in her early 20's when he brain decided to completely lose it and send her on this incredible journey of recovery. She suffers with a very rare auto-immune disease that presents itself in so many different ways that it's often misdiagnosed and can be deadly. Susannah's journey is inspirational, she went from being entirely lost inside herself to becoming an author - it's well worth a read and the Netflix film is very close to the book which is always a winner. 

There was a running theme of medical related books for a long time, again, being unwell last year has made me obsessed with hospital and trauma - much like when I was preggo and religiously watched one born every minute until I did it myself, I can't resist a good old medical memoir. The next book I read was Can you hear me? - A paramedic's memoir of working for the London Ambulance Service, Jake Jones recounts some of his most traumatic calls, his less traumatic ones and the hilarious ones, it's well worth a read if you're wanting to know more of the ambulance service and ALL the paperwork. A similar book I also read was Blood Sweat and Tea by Tom Reynolds, this book is a series of blog posts from Tom's blog (entitled the same), Tom gives hilarious accounts of his working life as well as critiques the shortfalls of the service and the daily struggles employees of the trust face. 

Continuing with the medical theme, I also read In Stitches by Dr Nick Edwards that did in fact have me in stitches (the metaphorical kind, just to clarify) as I said on my Instagram, the places that people put fruit are mind-blowing. In addition to this, I highly recommend Twas the nightshift before Christmas by Adam Kay as well as his first book, This is going to Hurt, both books had me crying and laughing at the same time and are probably the best starter-reads if you're wanting to get into medical book drama. The amount of pressure that NHS staff are put under is unbelievable and especially at a time like this, it's so important to have an insight into what life is truly like for these professionals or shall we say, heroes. 

The Doctor will see you now by Max Pemberton followed more of a plot surrounding Max's life with housemates (also working for the NHS bar one) and the struggles they faced daily at work. Again, an insight into the beurocracy of the trust as well as the more interesting and eccentric patients that were treated is so interesting. It was also nice to follow more of a narrative for a while as I'd probably overdone it slightly with the straight up memoirs. 

Getting back to preggo life, The Secret Midwife was a brilliant read. If you follow Erin you'll know that she's a student midwife and one of my favourite people, as I recall Erin was about 2 minutes (slight exaggeration) into her training and she was already catching babies all over the place, this book reflects how student midwives are quite literally chucked into the deep end and faced with the responsibility of life and sadly death. I'll never get my head around how midwives can be so comforting and reassuring and never look stressed also again, the paperwork, so much, all the time. If you're looking for an honest account of the life of a midwife then this is a must read.

I've never been to intensive care and I don't really fancy it to be honest but I was interested into finding out what it was like to work there so Seven signs of life called to me (another metaphor, I'm not hearing books speak) Aoife Abbey recounts her experience of working as a Dr in intensive care and it is deep, she candidly discusses the last moments of patient's lives and what "making them comfortable" actually means. Aoife focusses strongly on the seven key emotions we feel over our lifetime and how she relates to them in a work based perspective to herself, her patients and their families. At first this emotional account didn't speak to me but in retrospect, it's fascinating how Aoife can connect her experiences to specific emotions to cope with the often tragic circumstances that she has to manage at work.

Things took a slightly darker turn with Unnatural Causes, Dr Richard Shepherd recounts his entire career as a forensic pathologist, sharing his experience of the Hungerford Massacre, 7/7 bombings and various murders etc. he also very candidly and honestly speaks of the PTSD affects his work has had on his mental health and that of his family relationships. Unnatural causes gave a fantastic insight into forensic pathology and how autopsies are undertaken and the absolute grilling pathologists can get in caught that I was previously unaware of. 

The Brain by David Eagleman is very different to the books mentioned above - it covers how the brain develops and how life develops the brain in a really simple and very easy to understand language that doesn't blow your mind (see what I did there) I really enjoyed learning more about the brain without feeling like an idiot and not understanding half it. It's written in a really easy format that makes it, unlike most non-fiction reads, easy to follow without wanting to put it down and have a break. 

There you have it, a whistle stop tour of some of the best medical related books I've read over the past four weeks, is there even a name for this genre because I'm not keen on "medical related". I'll be posting about some of fiction books I've clapped my eyes on soon so keep an eye out for that if dead bodies, medical emergencies and giving birth isn't your jam but twisted thrillers are.

The dichotomy between fast fashion charity T-shirts is unavoidably obvious but equally irresistible. I'm pretty sure that a lot of people, like me, are spending our lockdown days in baggy t-shirts and leggings. What even are jeans please? I've been reaping the benefits of my Boohoo premier membership and have kitted myself out with a variety of over-sized t-shirts, leggings and some shorts (for that day when we had summer). There has been some uproar about fast-fashion over the past couple of years with people arguing the ethics and environmental consequences of being able to buy low quality products at exceptionally low prices and receive them the next day. Don't get me wrong here, I frequent the Boohoo app more times than I care to admit and the fact that I have a premier membership says enough doesn't it. 

That being said, I'm still more than aware of the damaging affects of fast fashion. Let's start with the financial aspect of it all - fast and cheap fashion is all my budget will allow. As much as I'd love to be able to buy higher quality clothes and call them "pieces", I can't. Boohoo and the like are quick, cheap and easily accessible but that doesn't mean that it doesn't come with a host of issues. Buying clothes online means constantly guessing sizes and learning what specific items will be true to size and what won't. I'm at a privileged advantage of being a size eight which means that I can mostly and arguably easily use the models as a point of reference (providing I imagine what the item of clothing would look like not pulled tight with a huge bulldog clip) and 90% of the time I win the size lottery. Those who have normal bodies - not the super slim, gravity defying smooth AF ones that the media would like us to think are average types, aren't given a visual point of reference and have to play clothes size roulette every time they pop something in that virtual shopping basket but... the low prices, constant sales and discount codes flashing about on the homepage like a NYE firework display make the gamble much more worthwhile. (I have to add here that although Boohoo and the like do have  a plus sized range, and the models are plus sized, they're still not representing the average plus sized body and don't even get me started on the ridiculous poses - I want to see how an outfit looks when I'm opening the door to my Amazon delivery driver and not when I'm doing taking three feet wide steps and dislocating my shoulder to try and seduce the camera). 

As I said, for me, the gamble mostly pays off and my baggy T-shirts and leggings almost always fit and are acceptable to wear, even outside the house; but when things don't fit, can I be arsed to go through the returns process? The answer is for the most part, no. Despite it being an easy process to print off the returns label and send that fanny-flashing dress on it's merry way to back to the warehouse to trick someone else, the ease of shoving it it at the back of my wardrobe in the hope it might grow a few inches far outweighs the ease of returning and it the mentality of "it was only a fiver" justifies it. 

Quality is another issue when it comes to fast fashion. In 2018 Boohoo launched a £5 dress range and the press reported that the quality was so low "even charity shops would turn them away". With fast fashion you predominantly get what you pay for, there's a vast difference between a £5 dress and a £25 dress and you're fool to think that anything under £7 isn't going to disintegrate in the wash or spontaneously combust in the sun. The cheapest items are usually made of synthetic fabrics, often being 100% polyester which we all know is horrendous for the environment but on a more narcissistic level, it almost never sits well on anyone's body, is often see-through and a magnet for sweat patches - if you think you're going to look like goddess after a night on the tiles in that £5 dress you need to not wear knickers and get some botox on your pits so that you never sweat again. Again the low cost price justifies the low quality and in turn justifies the arguable waste of money. 

The ethical and environmental factors when it comes to fast fashion are uncomfortable to say the least. The majority of Boohoo clothes are manufactured in factories across the UK which is why they're so easy to get via next day delivery as transporting them distribution centres can take just hours it also means that brands can churn out new lines in fast-fashion times and provide new collections at a click of our virtual fingers. Sounds great but it's been largely reported that the manufacturers working in the factories are often paid less than minimum wage and whilst this is something that government is trying to tackle, according to the Guardian in 2019 "MPs found that the Modern Slavery Act was not robust enough to stop wage exploitation at UK clothing factories. There was a lack of inspection or enforcement, allowing factories – none of which are unionised – to get away with paying illegal wages." Environmentally, the cheap fabric used to create many fast-fashion items from across the scope (I'm not just talking about Boohoo here) wreak havoc when it comes to pollution, with synthetic fabric causing up to 35% of microplastics in the ocean and unsold or used items being thrown away at alarming rates the wider impact that the use of these fabrics are having on the globe is not ok hun. 

So where do charity T-shirts come into this? Well mate, let's start at how quickly a fast fashion brand can chuck a charity T-shirt at us. After the Manchester bombings Bee T's were popping up all over the shot, when Caroline Flack tragically died, within days there were and still are T's being sold depicting a quote she fairly recently shared on her Instagram (in my opinion this is somewhat bad taste, making someones suicide a fashion statement so soon after her death and regardless of the profits going to charity just made me feel a bit, bleh) More recently, an NHS range has been produced with all profits going to, yeah, you guessed it, the NHS. The cheapest item is a T-shirt sold at a reasonable price of ten of your english pounds and what is it made of? yep you guessed again, 65% polyester and 35% cotton and let me tell you now, that little tinker needs to go on a cold wash or it'll be a cropped T-shirt before you can say "next day delivery". You're probably wondering if any of this matters because it's raising money for the NHS right? well, kind of but you see, the slight issue with this is that the T-shirt is in fact made in Pakistan and you can bet ten of your finest english pounds that the person who made it does not get a fair deal in this. 

However, I'm not one to knock fundraising and I did buy a charity T-shirt (as well as some other items to tide me through lockdown) and god knows the NHS needs all it can get and let it be known that I feel quite proud wearing my rainbow T knowing that I've contributed in chucking some dosh at the NHS but I also think it's really important that we're aware of the wider consequences of endorsing fast fashion. Will I be cancelling my Boohoo Premier membership and boycotting all fast fashion brands? absolutely not, it's convenient for both my grabby-need-it-now mentality and my bank balance. There's no doubt that if I could afford to I would invest in more sustainable stuff and does this make me a raging hypocrite? probably but I'm a conscious one....if that's even a thing.

Disclaimer: this post contains an Aff link that isn't mine - this means that any orders made via the link will reward the owner of the link, my cousin and homeslice with a little bit of commission okay? Okay. 

Let's start this off with my admittance that I'm not a fan of MLM schemes, if you're a mum on instagram and your inbox hasn't been filled up with message like "hey mama, want to know I became a millionaire in week via selling sh*t on facebook" then you'll know why I avoid them. However, when my cousin set up her Bubble and Blow page I was intrigued. After raving about the products Jess decided to become and affiliate and when Jess does something, she goes all in and her page soon became a hub of activity with giveaways almost daily and various games and competitions throughout the week. The page has become a little community and the products aren't even the primary focus and I think that's why Jess smashes her sales and manages to make a little income from a hobby and tbh, hats off to her. 

Where I've been able to afford to, I've been a supportive cousin and bought some bits but most of the things I've had have been from competition wins; The bubble dusts are an absolute favourite of mine, they're colourful, smell great and leave my skin oily but, they're addictive - I had to hold off buying more before I needed a colourful bath every time. My all time favourite product is the soap sponge which pretty much explains itself - it's a massive sponge that is also a bar of soap and it is perfect for scrubbing away fake tan and making sure it fades evenly, if you're wanting to try anything from the range then I really recommend this. The bath bombs are equally brilliant, Bruce the shark was a firm favourite in our house and I've also used a tub turd and have an ugly baby thing that I can't part with. 

More recently, Jess has set up a brilliant initiative in the group following from the recent waves of encouragement to be kind currently going across social media, group members are posting an item that they would like from the range and people are anonymously buying each other gifts. I thought this was a brilliant idea but didn't imagine it to take off the way that it did, before long almost everyone had been gifted the item that they wanted (including me so thank you to whoever it was) and the page soon became a hub of people who were excited to give, rather than to receive and was truly heartwarming to see and be a part of. 

Then, Jess announced that any commission from the sales of the gifts would be donated to a charity very close to her hearts: Autism Inclusive; not only are people being kind AF and buying anonymous gifts for each other but they're also raising money for charity and it's been really heart warming to be  a part of. it just goes to show affiliate schemes can be positive when run by the right people so, if you're looking to try some new bath products, join a little community and raise some money charity head over to the Facebook group, or Jess' Bubble and Blow page.

If you're not in any kind of debt then you're into some kind of witchcraft and need to teach me your spells because I am drowning. Talking about money is typically uncouth for us Brits, it's rude to ask people how much they earn, save and owe etc. and, in general people don't really want to talk about debt because there's a sense of shame about being unable to afford to live but statistically, 34% of UK children are living in poverty. The World Bank and the UN define poverty as "being unable to afford to basic needs of life including food, shelter and clothes etc." but poverty can have several different meanings basing in various factors such as people's standards of living being somewhat subjective as well as income vs material essentials. This makes drawing the poverty line difficult and fitting poor b*stards like me into the right category a tough job.

Cooking for a family of one and half is hard work; It’s hard to make the right sized portions for one adult and a small person who doesn’t really want to eat anything other than mini rolls and cooking and preparing a hearty and decent meal after a hard day’s work to probably end up eating my serving cold and cleaning Fred’s off the floor can often seem like too much effort. However, having a new storm every week and not being able leave the house without the fear of ending up on Oz means that I have the time and patience to prepare some comforting yet healthy meals for me and Fred, all with a little thanks from Schwartz and their recipe mixes. 

My absolute favourite home-cooked meal is a sausage casserole, my Grandma used to make it when I was younger and the smell would fill the house. I always remember feeling warm and full after eating it and it’s the go-to meal to make when Fred and I need a bit of comfort or a decent meal. Thanks to the recipe mixes, pre-packed chopped veg and instant mash, whipping up a good dinner after a full day of work takes no more than an hour and gives me time to sit at the table with Fred before his bed time rather than eat alone once he’s gone to bed. 

Other recipe mixes in the Schwartz collection include, Peppered Beef Casserole, Shepherd’s Pie and Moroccan Lamb Casserole to name a few. Managing portions effectively is something that I’ve been working on over recent months; as I mentioned earlier, making meals for just two of us is hard work and can lead to a lot of food going to waste as well as wasting money. I’ve started batch cooking meals at the weekend and then freezing them to heat up throughout the week.

Not only has this saved time in the evenings, resulting in meals just needing a shove in the oven for an hour but it’s also saved a fortune on the monthly food shop – My mum (who also lives alone) and equally struggles to buy food for one person (and cannot cook to save her life) has been chipping in on our food shop ensuring that none of the meals that I cook are going to waste and that we’re all eating a healthy, hearty and enjoyable diet. 

Financially we’ve been able to both save money as all our meals are planned and prepared meaning that random trips to Tesco for microwave meals and ending up spending more money per day than we would per month on food and groceries no longer happens. We’ve set a budget that we’ve agreed to spend each month and plan meals around it. The best thing about the Shwartz is the variety of mixes that ensure that sticking to planned meals is never boring – not only is there a plethora of mixes available but the their site also includes a range of different recipe ideas that can be used with the mixes making mealtimes exciting and convenient.

This year will be my first Valentine’s Day as a single person in almost five years; you’d think that I’d be filled with some sadness about it but I feel the complete opposite. During the past five years I didn’t celebrate Valentine’s Day, getting my birthday remembered was enough of a chore so extra dates in between that and Christmas were  a waste of time. This year is very different, I want to celebrate everything and enjoy Valentine’s day as a single woman who’s happy without cupid and his little bow. With that in mind, Angeleye very kindly gifted me the perfect Girl’s night outfit from their Valentine’s Day Outfits collection.

I decided that this year I was going to try new things in the land of beauty and I've delved, eyelid first, into the land of lashes and it has been a wild ride. I'm only on week one of having massive clumps of hair stuck to my eyelids and and I've gained the nickname 'Beep, Beep' at work, been advised to wash them thoroughly for fear of lice and can't stop stroking them.

1 week after application

I won't lie, until I did some research and by research, I mean a very quick google and taking the first result as fact, I thought that russian lashes were the long lashes that impoverished Russian women had sold to make a living and I did have a short moral dilema. As it happens, they're synthetic lashes just extra fine and applied loads and loads and loads and loads of times to create a really full and fanned out look. Stacey from Fresh by Fletch applied my lashes; after seeing lots of the women I  know walking around with fluttering these full and fabulous lashes I decided (very much on a whim) that I wanted in on the action and Stacey popped around with a bag fully of tiny hairs and popped them on my face. I can't tell you how the process was undertaken because I was lying there having a relaxing time with my eyes shut whilst we bitched about crap dads. Stacey took 45 minutes to make me look like a Disney princess and was really professional and friendly. I didn't even cry that much afterwards - the residue glue once you open your eyes at the end isn't the best experience to have but it is bearable. If anyone in Crewe is looking for a fabulous, flexible and friendly lash tech, Stacey is your woman.

Just after application, complete with eye-goo - photo nicked from Stacey's FB without permission

Let's talk about my personal experience with having massive Russian lashes; during the first few hours I could feel them, my vision was framed by two fluffy ovals and they tickled my eyelid but weren't uncomfortable - I just needed to adjust to them. You can't get your lashes wet for the first 24 hours and I had been very wise and avoided makeup on the day they were applied (clever Issy). The following morning I woke up to Fred shouting "YAK YAAAAK" and as I went to rub my eyes I jumped back in horror, thinking that a tarantula had decided to nest in my eye...no, it was just my massive Russian lashes. Fearing that I'd ruined me new lewk, I neglected my yak-shouting child and bolted it to the bathroom to have a look at my eyes, the lashes were still there, fuller than ever and I went on with my day. The benefit of having massive Russian lashes is that I don't really need to wear eye make-up; 1. I you wouldn't really be able to see it because of my massive Russian lashes 2. i'm not sure how to get behind my massive Russian lashes to blend anything in and 3. it's saved me loads of time in the morning, I've just shoved some CC cream on, given my lashes and hair a quick brush and popped off to work.

being a gobby little cow with a sharp tongue and few boundaries means that, when the time is right, my colleagues can come back at me, and come back at me they did. Comments such as "are they weighing you down?" and receiving emails with photos of cars with lashes not to mention the several offers to trim them ensued. Jokes aside, there have been some struggles with the lashes, I need to wear glasses so that I can be really detailed in cocking up my job and the massive Russian lashes kept acting as windscreen wipers on the inside of my specs or, getting stuck and making me look like I could've been having a stroke all over again. To conclude, there is a slight possibility that massive Russian lashes aren't appropriate for work for practicality and abuse reasons. 

Homelife with the lashes has been much easier, I'm at a point now where I've  forgotten that they're there and only remember when I catch a glimpse of my reflection and recoil in shock. There have been four casualties that I've noticed so far, RIP little eye mates but despite my constantly rubbing, tugging and forgetting about them they've stuck around. Losing a few has softened the look a bit and I think I prefer them looking less full.

but I am definitely into this whole lash extension thing, I've not had to pick mascara off my lashes (we all do it, don't lie) for a week, I've barely worn make-up and even though massive Russian lashes aren't very me, I really do like the look of having fuller and longer lashes and can confirm that Lash Extensions are Issy approved ✓ you're welcome. 

Probably a very dramatic title but we all need a bit of clickbait sometimes. The truth is that I’m not ready to date anytime soon for three reasons; 1. I don’t know what I want, 2. Dating these days looks extremely complicated 3. I cannot be arsed. I tried Tinder for about a week and realised that I am far too much of an arsehole for online dating. I convinced one match that I was a flat earther because the conversation was lacking and after replying with “I had a stroke” to being asked “tell me something interesting about you that I wouldn’t expect” I was swiftly unmatched, not to mention the few times that I swiped right because of cute dogs and the amount of Dads who want to talk about how great their kids are and have some sort of kid appreciation session, we all know doting dads aren’t my thing. 

Relationships have taken on a different meaning to me lately; probably due to having a kid but I’m no longer in a rush to find ‘the one’ and settle down and live the fairy tale. I don’t want a prince charming to rescue me, I’m not a Disney princess. I’m an evil queen ruling my own little kingdom and I love it. Over the years I’ve pretty much always been in a relationship and never really for the right reasons, I’ve settled for the sake of settling, changed who I am, tolerated things I swore I never would and compromised my own happiness and wellbeing in the process. The fear of truly being alone was greater than being alone and with someone and I didn’t realise which was actually worse until now. 

It’s arguable that I’m slightly bitter about relationships at the moment, who isn’t after a break up – but whilst I believe that the honeymoon phase is lovely and magical I’m also very aware that it’s not real nor is it a real reflection of someone is like as a person, it’s six months down the line when a person gets comfortable and their real personality starts showing through that is an accurate indicator of what a person is like as a partner and currently, I cannot be arsed to wait six months pretending I am the perfect girlfriend to find that I’ve picked another bellend to spend my life with. I want to get straight to comfortable farting, lazy days in front of the tele and having pointless arguments with some butterflies and romance thrown in. 

There’s also the various stages of a relationship these days that are too much to comprehend; talking, shagging, seeing, dating, going out, engaged, married, being fucked over, kidding yourself that it’s more than it is, pretending you’re over them when you’re really not. It’s more complicated that it needs to be and doesn’t help when both parties are always either playing it cool or, don’t really care as much as they let on they do but don’t want to lose the guaranteed fun stuff. I’m not into wondering why someone is reading my messages and not replying or having my confidence knocked by being ghosted, gaslighted and fleabagged (whatever the f*ck that one means). 

Current dating etiquette and the inclusion of labelling all these unacceptable behaviours almost makes them acceptable – being ghosted sounds much nicer than being treated like shit, gaslighted is better than being emotionally abused and manipulated and using these terms to describe our experiences somewhat hides the pain a person might be experiencing because it’s the dating norm and therefore okay. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind a bit of heart break, it’s healthy; I literally felt nothing when my last relationship ended so feeling heartbreak again would indicate that there’s some love involved but I’m not up for being deliberately hurt by someone in the name of dating. I’ve been through too much to tolerate that kind of nonsense so, until I know what I want and when I want it I’ll be on Instagram moaning about being single like a hypocrite and scoffing at happy loved up couples. 

Leaving your baby at nursery or with a childminder whilst you try and focus on and do eight hours of work is no mean feat. Most mums return to work after nine months of maternity leave and every mum will tell you that it feels too soon, most mums won't admit that it also comes with a sense of excitement for the opportunity to talk to adults, do something that isn't singing nursery rhymes on repeat, cleaning endless babygrows and having an actual reason to get dressed but this feeling is soon overshadowed by thoughts of ''am I a bad mum for leaving him/her" and "will I still be able to do my job".

Forever a sucker for a challenge, I thought it'd be a good idea to not only return to work but to move half way up the country and start and entirely new job, with new people and have to pretend that I'm a mature and responsible adult (didn't last long). Fortunately, moving back to my hometown meant that choosing a childcare setting was a no-brainer - a family friend owns a setting, the staff are also family friends, their kids as well as Fred's cousins attend and knowing that he would be spending 30 odd hours a week with people I know eased the expected concerns about leaving my baby for the first time. By nine months Fred should've been well into weaning but my fears of him choking meant that he was still eating properly blended food, giving him toast in the morning set me on edge and it wasn't a nice experience for either us, no one wants to eat their breakfast with their Mum and inch from their face, staring at them. The setting asked what he liked to eat, my response was "I don't know", they asked if he had any allergies...I didn't know. They asked what his routine was at home - I told them to fit him into their routine as he's spending most of his time there. The reality soon hit that these people would grow to essentially know my child better than me and they're not just his childminders, they're his people. 

Four months into starting nursery we attended Fred's big cousin's birthday, lots of kids from nursery were there including the staff. When it came to eating, I shoved Fred in the highchair like a good Mum who knows what she's doing and then started at the food - I didn't have a clue what he could and couldn't eat, I'd never given him a sandwich or proper crisps and I'd never let him just sit and eat without feeling nervous. Instinctively, I looked over at his childminder and asked her what my child liked, what he could eat and how to give it to him without hesitation, she came over with a plate of food for Fred and my mind was blown not only by the fact that he could chomp on a fairy cake without issues but at how calm and collected the childminder was when feeding him - weaning babies is second nature to her, she's trained in baby first aid, she knows what he likes and how he eats and where people may think I should've felt shame or guilt for being so inept at feeding my kid, I felt relief and pride that the areas where I was struggling at mum-stuff were compensated by the care and professionalism he was receiving at nursery (and seemingly outside of nursery).

As with all kids who attend nursery Fred has clocked up a record breaking number of stomach bugs, his nose permanently runs from October - March; last year we had one hospital admission for tonsilitis and decent bout of chickenpox. The relevant policies were enforced and Fred probably spent more of October 2019 at home than he did at nursery but during instances where he was randomly unwell, developing odd rashes after eating and getting a fever for no obvious reason nursery would call me and ask what I they wanted me to do - again I didn't have a clue, I asked them what they thought I should do and Fred was given Calpol or anti-histamine and the staff soon learnt when he was out of sorts and needed sending home or, if he could be comforted by them. Putting my whole trust in the team at his setting has made the whole experience of leaving him an actual pleasure. 

Fred has a whole different life at nursery, he has mates, activities that he likes and dislikes and experiences that I can't give to him at home. More often than not, he comes home completely filthy, covered in mud, food down his top and one time he had purple hair. The bigger the state he comes home in, the more fun I know he's had. I don't care about him getting messy, clothes getting ruined or the bumps and bruises he acquires along the way - I know he's had an absolute blast (and he's usually so knackered from his escapades that bedtime is a dream...literally). The best thing about leaving Fred at nursery is knowing without a doubt that he's loved, he talks about the staff when he's home, his face lights up on Monday mornings when he sees the staff for the first time after the weekend and sometimes at night he's cried out for them and not me - some would assume that this would give me some 'mum guilt' but it doesn't, knowing that he finds comfort in the people that he spends around 32 hours of his week with gives me reassurance more than anything.

The best advice that I can give anyone leaving their children in the care of professionals is to remember that they are professionals, accept that in many ways they will know your child better than you and learn from them. Build a relationship where they're comfortable telling you that your child has been a nightmare and might need an exorcism, keep them up to date with things at home that might affect life at nursery and more importantly never send them in clothes you want to see again or in good condition. 

It baffles me that we live in a society where fathers are given equal rights to their children yet in the same instance, they're allowed to walk away and dip in and out of their children's lives as they please whilst ranting about their rights and of course, as with everything else, it's the mother's responsibility to pursue them and force the law to make them step-up financially, emotionally and physically and often still to no avail. It is common that when relationships breakdown, fathers are the ones who tend to leave and mothers get the lion's share of the work - the daily care, the nappies, the nursery run, the baths, the food shops, appointment planning,  staying awake all night to comfort kids... list goes on and we do it all, we do it because we have to and because our maternal instincts don't allow us to even consider life to be any different. From the moment we fall pregnant for the rest of our lives all we know is to keep this little life safe and love it, it's our default programme but we're not considered excellent Mums, involved Mums or even good Mums, as far as society is concerned we're doing exactly what we should be. 

So, why are 'active' fathers who rock up once a week for trips to the cinema and a takeaway considered good when, as nice as it it is, the reality is that they're still doing the bare minimum in comparison to the mothers. More frustratingly, most mums hide the fact that some dads are deadbeat and don't see their children for weeks on end, if at all. We reluctantly ask the CMS to help us get money because we can be perceived as desperate and somehow, in some twisted way, we're actually afraid to call out shitty behaviour from dads for fear of backlash from their family and friends and having your child 'turned against us'. The fact of the matter is, a man can post as many photos of him and his kid on Instagram using #fatherandson but if he hasn't made any effort to see his kid for  10 weeks then he relinquishes his right to demand time as and when he pleases. Mums can't live in fear of calling a shit dad a shit dad when his behaviour is nothing but shitty and rather than defend deadbeat dickheads, family and friends need to call it when they see it and help them become better people rather than condone their arsehole behavour to the further detriment of their kids and the relationship between parents.

A mother's love is rarely questionable, it's continually demonstrated in our actions - everything I do or want to do has to be considered with Fred in mind. There isn't a single thing that can be done without it having a consequence on Fred's life - to put it into perspective, if I don't have a shower or bath on a Friday night then I need to have one during the day on a saturday, this has to be scheduled around his nap, if he doesn't nap then I can't wash until the evening when he's in bed. I can't afford to forget to buy any necessities from the shop, once he's in bed we're both in for the night and if we're out of something then we're out of it for the night. I can't have a few drinks when Fred is in my care, god forbid he needs me later in the night and I'm three-sheets-to-the-wind the same applies to an extent when he staying with his grandparent, looking after a toddler with a hangover is utter hell - there aren't any wild nights out or in for me and I wouldn't change it for the world, these just some of the sacrifices mums make for their children without question. Meanwhile, fathers can be living it large like they're in their early 20's - I don't begrudge that but why is it not ok to question a father's love for his child when he prioritises pretending he's in his early 20's over seeing his child?

I never intended to be a single mum, I wanted the cliche 2 parent to 2 kids kid and after everything we went through to have Fred I didn't imagine it would be so easy for one of us to walk away and stay away. However, my strength, sheer determination confidence in my ability to be a mum means that I know without a shadow of a doubt that I am more than enough for my child and I can and am doing it with ease. However, I refuse to allow fathers who choose to consider barely weekly facetime calls and hashtags on instagram be put on pedestals and labelled active, involved and hands on. I won't beg for anyone who doesn't want to make the effort to be in my child's life and I won't gracefully ignore shitty behaviour for sake of keeping things amicable. My child will grow up knowing Mum had her shit together, I won't make excuses for someone else and I won't allow anyone to feel that they can walk in and out of his life as they please because when you don't see you child your child for 10 weeks you relinquish your right to dictate when and how you see them and mothers who are left to take on full responsibilities should be allowed to take control of the situation without judgement.

Here's to all the single mums smashing it alone.