A Wardrobe of Mother-Guilt

There are few things that make me happier than sharing guest posts on the blog, and especially so when it’s a post from someone I’m a big fan of myself. Michelle at The American Resident is one of my very favourite bloggers. An American living in the UK, dealing with all things expat, she is a wonderful, evocative and honest writer, whose posts on her own blog have moved me to tears of both joy and sadness in the past. In person, she is an irresistibly charming mix of introversion, big warm smiles and blue hair dye. If you love her writing as much as I do, please do pop over to her blog, or at the very least say hello on Twitter.

***

I watched from the platform while my daughter and her granddad found their seats on the train.  Then the frustrating minute of waving, smiling, holding back tears, and waving some more, wishing the train would Just Go, now that she was beyond One Last Hug for the next two weeks. Then slowly the train began to move. I waved again, trying to look cheerful, sending her happiness vibes. Have fun but be safe, my smile said. She returned a blissfully carefree smile of excitement. She loves her visits to the grandparents, hours spent at the local stables, no pressure, no demands to empty the dishwasher, ‘but you must help out, even if they don’t ask.’ ‘I know mum. I do.’ Continue reading

Humility, and other liberations

Today’s super-duper awesome guest post is from an old university friend, Marina. Last time Marina wrote on DorkyMum – a brilliant piece called The Pot Plant Analogy – it turned into one of the most popular posts on the blog ever. I hope this piece on humility works a similar magic…

***

Motherhood, for me, is an exercise in humility. And patience. And fortitude. And a lot of other virtues that would sound oppressive and downright creepy if they were being demanded by something less cute than a baby, or an enthusiastic nearly-three-year-old. But mainly, humility. The humility of admitting to myself just how much is outwith my control.

First pregnancy I read all the books, took hypnobirthing classes, and ended up with a 22 hour induction, epidural, and eventual 2 hours of pushing to deliver a 9lb baby boy who I was too exhausted to hold, let alone breastfeed in an aura of serene maternity.

Continue reading

Maternal and Newborn Health is a Feminist Issue

Today’s hugely important guest post is from one of the loveliest bloggers around – Kylie Hodges, who you can find over at Not Even A Bag of Sugar.

The Partnership for Maternal, Child and Newborn Health is a division of the World Health Organisation and they have asked me to shout far and wide about the Newborn 2013 conference. Continue reading

The Living Wage

Today’s guest post is from Jax, who blogs at Making It Up and tweets as @liveotherwise. She describes herself as “a home educating mother of four, working from home around the children on wordpress websites for small businesses and spending far too much time blogging, and ranting on twitter about inequality.” 

***

There’s been an awful lot written the last few days about benefit cuts and how it’s the only way to make work pay. On top of that there’s been some suggestion that the government is thinking of cutting the minimum wage. This seems to me bizarre – surely the best way to make work pay is to actually make it pay a decent amount. A fair day’s wage for a fair day’s work or some such. Something like perhaps the living wage? Continue reading

Just the One

Today’s lovely guest post moved me to tears. It’s by one of my very favourite bloggers, Sarah at Grenglish, whose blog you can find here, and who you can say hello to on Twitter here.

***

‘Just the one’ we say when someone offers us something we consider delicious, indulgent and chocolately.

‘Just the one’ we might insist when someone tries to refill our glass with something chilled and bubbly.

It is a phrase that is used time and time again when we fancy a polite taste of something nice, but without actually scoffing the whole packet of biscuits, or polishing off the whole bottle of wine.

It is also a phrase that I have personally always struggled with, but never more so than when people ask me how many children I have, and I reply ‘just the one’. Continue reading