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.