Taking the plunge into professional parenting

In my mother's (and grandmother's) day, the average woman's path through life was fairly clear cut:

1. you got some kind of education
2. you worked for a few years
3. you got married
4. you gave up your job to have babies (if you could).

Some women returned to work eventually, often part-time for "pin money" once the kids were all at school, but there was little expectation of pursuing a full, rounded career. Such a circumscribed route may not have been exciting, liberating or even remotely fair, but at least you knew where you stood.

These days, our path through life is less well defined. We expect more, and more is expected of us. For those who choose to have children, paid maternity leave has greatly reduced the necessity to give up work entirely, or conversely, to return to work too soon. Employers are more aware of the benefits of retaining valued female employees and flexible hours are now more common (in some industries at least). Shared parental leave and changing social expectations mean men are increasingly stepping in to share the burden too, all of which are helping more women than ever before to grasp the financial and personal benefits that come from remaining in the work force. Things aren't perfect, but horizons are broader.

So why, in 2018, would a woman still decide to become a Stay-At-Home-Mum (or 'Professional Parent' as a friend prefers to call it)? While I can't speak for every SAHM in this regard, I can speak for me, as I recently handed in my notice and will not be returning to my paid job at the end of my second spell of maternity leave. Giving up work to care for your kids is often portrayed as a "natural" or "obvious" choice for Mums who can afford it (particularly by those from earlier generations) but for me, it was far from a given. Making my decision involved a lot of thought, trade offs between multiple different factors and no certainty that I was necessarily even doing the right thing.

Money

Most contemporary articles about working mothers assume them to be middle class with grand "careers". After all, surely you would only consider leaving your darlings behind if you had a huge passion for your work and/or a strong desire to climb the career ladder? I suspect the main driver for most is more prosaic however - money. No matter your social class money is, more or less, the primary reason we all work. If you can't pay your rent / mortgage / castle upkeep, then there isn't much of a debate to be had. In my case, when we did the sums, we realised we could manage if I stayed at home. Not forever, but for a year or two if we spent conservatively.

Many will say, "what a luxury!", and yes, we are lucky that we had a choice (though I would argue full time baby wrangling is about as far from luxury as you can get). However, in some respects, it was an illusion of choice. Returning to work would have entailed two sets of childcare costs (even when Duckling's at school, I'd still have had to pay a childminder / after school club), plus London commuting fares. Basically, I would have been left with about £750 in my first year - a pitiful return on the time and effort invested. Yes, that £750 would have been mine, to spend as I pleased (mostly on my crazy obsession with kids' clothes and groceries...). I would have felt less patronised by having to accept "housekeeping" money from my husband too. But sometimes pride has to take a backseat to pragmatism. I am still "working" and effectively "being paid" - just not quite in the formal way I once was (and my husband is most definitely NOT my boss).

The Job

Not all jobs are created equal when it comes to kid compatibility. While it is possible to work full-time and even travel for work when you have children (men do it all the time), you do have to have someone else in your life to do all the nursery / school ferrying, tea times, haircuts, doctor visits, swimming lessons etc. And you have to be fine with that other person doing it all too - which, whether because of social conditioning, your child's expectations or the maternal bond, can be really hard as a Mum.

Then there's the issue of 'keeping your hand in'. For some people, it is very difficult to take a break and maintain the appropriate levels of training, skills and knowledge needed to succeed in their particular career - I know someone working in IT (where the pace of technological change is huge) who not only returned, but actively cut their mat leave short because of this. Even in more stable jobs, a break of more than a year can really knock your confidence in your own abilities. This is definitely my biggest concern about being a SAHM - will an employer ever want me again after so long away? For some, the risk is too high.

There is also the matter of job satisfaction. Do you WANT to go back? Many women hate their jobs, and having a baby offers an excellent excuse to escape. When I went on my second spell of maternity leave, I was in my ninth year at very parent-friendly charity. I personally loved my job and the wider organisation I worked for, but I hated the endless commuting and the increasingly vitriolic political infighting within the senior management team I supported - some days they were ruder than my delightful threenager back home. I survived by keeping my head down and refusing to take sides, but from the moment I announced my pregnancy, I was counting down the days until my exit. I hoped by the time I was due to return things would have changed, but by chatting to colleagues, it became clear they hadn't; if anything the atmosphere had grown worse. So I decided to quit.

If I'm being completely honest, I wasn't just pushed by my current work situation though; I was also pulled by my pie-in-the-sky ambitions to be a writer. It's such a cliché (EVERYONE has a novel in them, right?!) but I knew if I didn't take a break from my regular "career" now, I'd probably never get another legitimate excuse to test the freelance writing waters, or to finish the six novels I have on the go. (I might need to stop writing about myself and start churning out more saleable copy before that can happen though. A work in progress during nap times...)

The kids (and my relationship with them)

I love my kids: that is a given. I also know that they love me - Duckling, very sweetly, tells me so all the time (when he's not calling me a 'Rubbish Potty Head'). As a parent, you create your child's equilibrium and help them to find their way in the world. It is a reasonable assumption therefore that spending more time together should benefit them.

Yet I find it very difficult to say "I've given up work because it's much better for the kids". While my gut (and a reasonable body of research) tells me a consistent parental carer encourages security and stability, and that childcare settings can increase stress levels in children, which can in turn cause later poor behaviour, there is also evidence that mixing with other kids in a nursery-type setting improves social and linguistic skills, and that working mothers ultimately provide a better role model - particularly for girls.

On balance, it is probably better for younger children (particularly those under two) to have their Mum or Dad as the primary caregiver for the majority of the time. Particularly for more closely attached, needy kids. Like Duckling. Yet despite knowing this, I still went back to work the first time, albeit part time. So did many other of my Mum friends. To state "being a SAHM is better for the kids," therefore feels like a problematic admission. Did I get it wrong the first time? Did all my friends?

Truth be told, I returned because I needed to. I was not one of those Mums weeping in the toilets on my first day back. Maybe because my darling son had broken me a little bit, I was actually quite elated to be free again, be earning my own money, and have the ability to eat lunch (and a NICE lunch, made by SOMEBODY ELSE), without having handfuls of food lobbed at me.

That doesn't mean I didn't feel guilty leaving Duckling. I was incredibly torn between what I needed (space, mental stimulation and adult company), and what he apparently needed (me, me and only me). I worried constantly that I was damaging him by sending him to a childminder. Even now, I still fret that his continued clinginess is because he can't forget that sense of abandonment when I left him for nine hours a day, three days a week from the age of 11 months to 3 years. Yet I think the space work gave me made me a better, kinder and more patient Mum, and after he'd got over the initial two weeks of sobbing (thankfully just in time to stop me caving in and quitting my job), it made him a little more resilient and sociable too. Today he speaks of his time there fondly, and insists on waving every time we pass the childminder's house, just in case she's looking.

Now Ducklingette is an entirely different kettle of fish. She is generally an easy-going and happy baby, who will potter about by herself for a whole hour without demanding much more than a quick cuddle. I don't love her any more than Duckling, but I do like myself better as a mother when I'm with her because she makes my job pretty straightforward. That will undoubtedly change as she grows up and discovers the word NO (she sort of already has), but the prospect of looking after her full time for another year doesn't make me worry that I will tumble into depression and burn-out. I'm actually quite looking forward to it.

As chilled as she is though, I still didn't want to hand Ducklingette over to someone else to look after when I didn't really need to. She is still very strongly attached to me, and in the middle of a separation anxiety phase that means I can't even pop to the toilet without tears. I know all babies have to learn to detach at some stage, and I feel awful I made Duckling do that before he was really ready, but does that mean I need to inflict the same on Ducklingette, just to be "fair"? That seems a little perverse. It's not like Duckling is now too old to benefit from me being around either - he's starting school in September, and I suspect the security of having me drop him off, pick him up and attend all his assemblies and concerts will help my somewhat sensitive little soul cope a little better with the unknown. So while I wish I could have had the mental strength to give it all up to be there for him 24/7 when he was small, it's still probably better late than never.

The other-half

If you don't have a partner, giving up work entirely is unlikely to be an option. If you do, then their salary is going to be a key factor in deciding how to balance things.

Stay-at-home Dads are everywhere round my way, and had the salary tables been turned in our relationship, my husband may well be looking after the kids as I type. But they aren't. In some ways, I am annoyed that there was so little debate to be had. Being a well-educated graduate and feminist, I felt on principle I should keep working full time, forging a career, insisting Drake scale back his long hours and crazy travel schedule to take on a more equal share of the childcare.

However, we wouldn't have been able to pay our mortgage had I done that. Nor does Drake have the equipment necessary for breastfeeding (and I'm damned if I'm going to give up early or faff about with breast pumps again like I did with Duckling.) I am also less wedded to my career than Drake is; as much as I would like to claim I was on a steady path to some director-level role, I would have needed to have ousted my boss, gained a tonne more financial and HR knowledge and gone full time to go anywhere in my last job, none of which were likely to happen anytime soon.

I also suspect, for all his protestations that he'd like to see more of the kids, Drake wouldn't really WANT to take on full time childcare, because, though he'd never give me the satisfaction of admitting it, he knows from my endless griping that it's bloody hard work. With all the meetings and travel, his job is hard too but I still maintain that a full day at the office is less physically draining and testing of patience than thirty minutes with the children. Which brings me neatly too...

Well-being and metal health

Is being at home with the kid(s) all day, every day, going to drive you crackers? Almost certainly, yes, it is, but do you have the social support and ability to carve out some non-kid time so you can put those crackers back in the packet occasionally?

I do know someone who didn't return to work because they absolutely LOVED being a Mum and couldn't think of anything they'd rather do - if that's you, I salute you. #notme. As noted above, I went back first time in part because I needed to regain a sense of autonomy and stability. With Drake away in Germany all week, I also dreaded becoming isolated. I'm naturally quite shy and a bit of an introvert and I find making friends hard. Nevertheless, I do NEED to get out, talk and socialise from time to time to stay sane. Having spent considerable energy convincing my new NCT acquaintances that I was pleasant, friendly and not too weird, I couldn't face having to do it all over again once they all went back to work. The ready-made social life of the office seemed like a preferable option.

This time around, I've been luckier - several friends have just gone on their second maternity leaves, so will be around for the next twelve months or so, and two others have just become SAHMs too. I still have to put in a conscious effort to organise meet ups and play dates, but it's easier than it was before. Drake is also travelling far less so I have company in the evenings, I get to chat to people at the nursery gate three times a week, plus I have a four-year-old who talks non-stop, and can be surprisingly good company when he's not pitching a fit about spinach or Thunderbirds. I am not lacking for social interaction.

Socially and personally, I am much more comfortable with my identity as a mother now too, and less wedded to that of a "professional". I'm no less tired and in need of personal space than I was first time - I'm just more used to the feeling and better able to cope because the memory of Life Before Children is now far more distant. My kids are my new normal, so accepting the temporary disappearance of paid employment is less of a wrench.

Childcare options

Are there grandparents or other relatives who are keen to look after the kiddo(s) for little or no pay? Can you afford a nanny? What about a good, local childminder or a day nursery?

For me, neither set of grandparents is in a position to be able to offer childcare. Day nurseries are also ultra pricey round my way, and I never felt entirely comfortable leaving Duckling in such a structured, busy environment at such a young age anyway. So for him, we opted for a childminder who cared for a few other kids, some of whom have gone on to be his best friends. I would have happily sent Ducklingette to the same childminder had I decided to return, but sadly she's about to retire. The thought of searching to find someone I liked and trusted as much in a similarly convenient location, who would happily do pick up and drop offs at Duckling's nursery school (he loves it and I don't want to move him) gave me palpitations. It was hard enough to find a suitable minder the first time, so this just added weight to the "stay at home" side of the scales.

Social expectations

Now, I could write a whole separate post on this one - and perhaps one day I will. But essentially, as a woman with children, you feel judged no matter what choice you make.

Going back to work? "Your poor children - they should be with their mother," or "Why would you have kids when you're not prepared to look after them yourself?" or "What kind of woman wouldn't want to spend all her time with her beautiful offspring?" or "Paid employment is a man's domain! We need your unpaid labour to sustain our patriarchal social structures! Get back to the kitchen, skivvy!"

Staying at home? "Cop-out! What a waste of a good education!" or "It's all right for some, with their rich husbands and posh houses, isn't it?!" or "Why aren't you 'leaning in' like women are supposed to these days?" or "Paid employment and ambition are the only recognised markers of success and value in our culture! Women's work is menial, worthless and piss-easy! You should be ashamed! Get back to a desk, layabout!"

Fretting about making a choice and being judged? "You're being stupid - you have to make the right choice for YOU and your kids. Stop worrying about what anyone else thinks you silly woman!"

But I do worry. Not so much because people are "judging me" (they can't judge me any more than I already judge myself) but because I want to do right by society and raise decent, productive members of the human race. That is, after all, the wider aim of reproduction - to keep our species alive and preferably refine it a bit in the process. The problem is that society does not entirely agree how we should do this and what it thus wants of us women. What degree of childhood security and stability are we willing to forgo in the name or female empowerment, personal fulfilment and economic productivity? Is it OK to assume that a mother's care for her child holds no advantage or benefits over, say, a father or nanny's care and rearrange our social structures accordingly? Should we celebrate a mother's role and the sacrifices she makes to ensure her child's welfare or encourage her to sacrifice less and be her own person first and foremost? Tough questions to which I have no clear answers. Society is really no frigging help at all.

Effort and Practicality

Which brings me to the final, rather more mundane, but no less important consideration. Practicality. When you weigh up all of the factors above, is the effort of returning to work actually worth it?

I spent a ridiculous amount of time "working from home" with a feverish, wheezing toddler on my lap during my first year back at work. I felt like a crap employee every time, but I knew I'd feel like an even crapper Mum had I let anyone else look after him (which, even if I'd had someone to help, he'd never have allowed anyway). Given Duckling's continued susceptibility to chest infections, and the recently added issue of a sister who has so far caught everything he's had and more, I KNEW a return to work would mean a return to panicking as I tried to manage 'unforeseen but painfully familiar circumstances' week in, week out. The fact both of them came down with an uber-cold a few days before I had to make my decision probably didn't help either...

The truth is, while it's seen as a virtue to try to 'have it all', it's really fucking hard work: you need a top notch support network, a good dose of luck, masses of energy, exceptional mental stamina and an understanding that there are no guarantees anyone will actually come out of it happier and more fulfilled - not you, nor your kids, nor your partner. In the end, even though I completely recognise there is potentially a huge amount to be gained from staying at work, I just couldn't face the complexity and effort when it wasn't 100% necessary. Perhaps that makes me lazy. I prefer to think it makes me realistic. There is no honour in running yourself into the ground. I WILL go back to work in some capacity - probably when Duckling is at school and Ducklingette starts at nursery, if we don't run out of money before that. I need to do something beyond finger painting and packed-lunch making to prevent total brain / bank-balance atrophy. But for now I am "just a Mum". I don't always feel comfortable admitting it, but you know what? I think it was the right decision. Weirdly, despite the drudgery, bodily fluids and requirement to answer eight hundred baffling questions a day ("Mummy, why is the carpet big?") I'm actually kind of enjoying it. Long may it last.

"There's a Fire at London..."

Duckling, like many three-year-olds is completely obsessed by fire engines, police cars and all things "memergency". I have lost count of the number of times I've been pulled into his emergency rescue games with cries of "Quick Mummy, there's a fire at London!" (I think this is his interpretation of Fireman Sam's catchphrase "Great Fires of London").

It is a very hard thing to explain to a three-year-old that fires are more than just 'exciting'. I tried a few months ago, when some neighbours down the road had a minor issue with a singed bedroom carpet, prompting the arrival of two fire engines in our street. He sort of understood, but mostly he just wanted to wave to the fire fighters.

Yesterday, the explanation of what had happened at Grenfell Tower was infinitely harder. He saw the pictures on TV as I watched the news. "Wow Mummy! That's a big building on fire! And lots of fire engines!" I explained that this was a genuine 'Fire at London', and after some confusion about it being in the building where I worked (London and my office seem to be largely synonymous in Duckling's mind) he grasped the concept that this was a building where people lived. He wanted to see more pictures. He wanted to see the fire and the fire fighters and the sad people. I showed him some pictures on my phone, then told him I couldn't show him any more as I was very sad too. He asked me why.

What I wanted to say was I was sad because so many people had died in the most horrific circumstances imaginable, leaving behind desperate parents, children, siblings and friends. I was sad that mothers had been compelled to throw their babies out of windows, or had faced the agony of losing their children in the choking smoke as they ran for their lives. That those who survived had just had all their earthly possessions taken from them, and would never, ever be able to return to their homes. And above all, I was sad that this tragedy had happened, today, in 2017, in a wealthy developed nation, not because of an unpredictable freak event, but because the prescient concerns of residents were ignored and safety was forgone for the sake of a few thousand pounds. That this whole awful, horrible disaster was so fucking avoidable.

You can't say all that to a three-year-old though. So I just explained that people's homes had burnt down, and some had lost their friends and family and that made me very sad because I could imagine how scared and upset they must be. "Oh." he said. "What if our house goes on fire? Would we be burned and trapped like the people?" I reassured him that our house was very unlikely to burn down, but if it did catch on fire, we could escape out of a window or down the stairs. "No Mummy. I would put out the fire with my fire stingsquisher! Ne naw ne naw!" he cried and zoomed off to build a towerblock and a fire station out of Duplo.

Three is hard. Old enough to understand and be scared, but not yet quite able to fully empathise and grasp the gravity of what a fire - particularly one on the scale of Grenfell Tower - really means. In a year, he will get it. Right now, I'm kind of glad that he doesn't.

The NMC and their ban on Independent Midwives

I am due to give birth to Baby #2 in just over eight weeks' time. Until early January, I knew that birth would most likely - and hopefully - take place at home, in a pool, with an Independent Midwife (a self-employed midwife who works outside the NHS) I knew well and trusted.  My midwife has looked after me throughout this pregnancy, and cared for me during my previous pregnancy and birth too. In an ideal world, every pregnant woman should have the opportunity to receive such comprehensive and consistent care. I can highly recommend it - it's brilliant.

However, on a practical level, the NHS cannot offer this: shift work patterns, organisational complexity, lack of funding and lack of midwives mean that continuity of care for most is just a pipe dream. The vast majority of women muddle through the system just fine. Some have a great experience. For others it's just OK, but they get a healthy baby at the end of it, so they count themselves lucky. For others still, pregnancy and birth can be a waking nightmare that leaves them with PTSD or worse. It is a bit of a lottery.

The female body is designed to gestate and birth a baby. However, that doesn't mean that things can't go wrong - we're designed to defecate too, but that doesn't mean nobody ever gets constipated. That is why we have trained midwives, obstetricians, and paramedics to help us through (with birth, not constipation, obviously. Although my midwife did have some handy hints about piles).

The issue comes when your care provider doesn't do the right thing for you and / or your baby. At the minor end of the scale, they may fail to consult you, mistrust your instinct or belittle your intelligence. This is pretty common, and as women many of us will be depressingly familiar with this kind of treatment so we may not even notice. At the more serious end, they may intervene when no intervention is necessary, or fail to intervene when they really should have done. This can lead to terrible outcomes.

People make mistakes. I've made plenty in my line of work and my Independent Midwife has probably made a few too. She is human and I am not naive. It is therefore reassuring to me to know that, should she get it majorly wrong, she has indemnity insurance that will pay out in the event her mistake leads to a life-changing injury to my baby, or worse my own or my baby's death. However, did I choose to go with her because she has that insurance? No. I chose her because I felt it was less likely there would be a terrible outcome with her caring for me: continuity of care has been shown repeatedly to improve safety and reduce risk. My choice. When I had Duckling, Independent Midwives couldn't even get insurance. I still booked in full knowledge of this, because a good, calm birth with a skilled, informed practitioner who followed evidence and trusted me to understand my options and the risks involved felt like a pretty good deal. It was a choice I paid for yes, so a choice I could only make because I am privileged enough to be able to afford it. I recognise that. But still, my choice, and indeed my right.

My right has now been taken away. The Nursing and Midwifery Council (NMC) has decreed that the level of indemnity cover offered by a plan specially set up by IMUK, the official membership association for Independent Midwives, is "not appropriate". Specifically, should a catastrophic claim arise tomorrow, they believe the insurance fund would not contain enough to pay out a full settlement immediately. Despite the fact claims usually take several years to process, by which point much more will have been paid in and the funds would be adequate. And it has been accredited as financially sound and Solvency II compliant, which is more than the NHS' own compensation scheme has been. And that the NMC's actions have been deemed unlawful as they themselves state that it is not their role to speculate what an appropriate level of insurance cover might be for non-NHS practitioners.

All 80+ Independent Midwives (IMs) around the country are covered by this insurance and they simply can't get any alternative cover - it took years of hard graft to get the current scheme working. Yet in full knowledge of this, with just three days' notice before Christmas, the NMC stepped in to ban IMs from offering care to their clients (or even being present) during labour and birth, unless they found cover elsewhere, apparently "in the public interest". I understand the basis of their concerns, but as I stated in my letter of complaint to them, I do not feel this is in my interests. My choice and my right have been taken away, and I now have no idea where my birth will be or who will attend it, which is more than a little stressful.

I have faith in the NHS. I think it's an incredible institution full of incredibly caring people. I genuinely believe they will do their best for me and I don't want to appear an elitist snob about having to have a baby the same way most other women in this country do. If I didn't have an informed IM as a sister, I'd no doubt have been NHS all the way with my first. Indeed, I am very glad and very lucky the NHS will be there (I hope) to support me now it looks like my chosen midwife can't. It will be OK in the end I'm sure.

But I'm certainly not as sure about that as I was before Christmas, when I could be reasonably confident that the woman who brought my son into the world (and stemmed my blood loss from a freak laceration, called an ambulance and nearly got arrested speeding after that ambulance on our way to the hospital) would be there to welcome my daughter. Plus I don't know how I am going to navigate my way back into a system I have been out of since my 8 week booking appointment. Nothing causes more of a spanner in the intricate workings of NHS bureaucracy than a set of patient notes in a non-standard format with uncharacteristically legible handwriting. I strongly suspect I'll spend far more time repeatedly explaining my entire back story to my assorted NHS friends than I will telling them about my contractions and how I REALLY can't take them anymore. And don't get me started on the battle I'm likely to have over internal examinations. I had no idea at any point in my last labour how dilated my cervix was because my midwife was experienced enough to know what stage I was at without poking about. I was just left to get on with it. Excruciating pain aside, it was great and I gave birth feeling entirely unstressed and unmeddled with.

The really worrying thing about this decision though is the impact it will have on women who didn't, like me, have a good birth experience the first time around (and it was good, even with the pain and the drama at the end.  I will get round to writing about it one day). Women who have been traumatised by the treatment they endured at their local hospital, who scraped together enough cash to pay for an IM, and now they have no alternative route for receiving care, would rather give birth at home alone than risk returning to a place full of awful memories and mistrust. Leaving these women stranded is not in their interests. Concern about possible long-term financial difficulties that would only arise were something very unlikely to happen does not excuse an action which puts women and their babies at very real and immediate short-term risk. The NMC's decision is not about women's safety or the competence of their midwives - their real remit as a regulator. It's about money. And it's sad that they have chosen to put the latter before the first two in the assumption that this is what matters the most. This could have been handled SO much more compassionately and sensibly.

So sort it out NMC.  By the time you do, it'll probably too late for me, but you owe it to the thousands of women who will need a choice in the future, and the dozens of caring, dedicated midwives out there who have bravely stepped outside the system to offer the level of support they feel women truly deserve.

___

To find out more about this issue, you can read the official IMUK and NMC press releases, plus a great post from Philosophy, etc.

You can also sign a petition to get the NMC to allow women their rights in labour.

Asking "Why?"

"Mummy, why are your trousers wet?"
"Because you squirted water all over me while you were in the bath my precious little sugar plum."
"Why Mummy?"
"Well I think you got a bit excited and thought it would be funny."
"Why?"
"Err, because you're a giant pickle!"
"Why?"
"Sigh. I don't know, you tell me!"
"Why?"
"Ugh. Right, lets do your teeth."

So goes a standard toddler "why" conversation. It's enough to make you want to put your head under the bathwater and not come up for air. But right now, in both America and the UK, WHY is a vital question to ask. People who didn't vote for Trump are furious. People who didn't vote for Brexit are too. But above all, they are confused and uncomprehending. They do not understand WHY people voted as they did. They simply cannot see how it could be possible for anyone not to see the truth that they do, not to be repelled by the deeply negative, regressive values pushed by these campaigns. I know I can't, not really. Yet something must have turned people into Leavers and Trumpers.  What was it?

Plenty have, and will continue to make guesses. Some will be pretty spot on, others less so. In the USA there is now a sea of speculation to swim through. It was Hillary's robotic delivery, it was Bill's adultery, it was misogyny, it was pure racisim, it was the coal mines, it was the FBI, it was Russia... It was in truth probably all of these things and many more, with different issues being the vote winners for different demographics and different individuals within those demographics. Rather than left wing speculation however, liberal Americans need to hear the reasoning from Trump voters themselves.  However wincing and uncomfortable it may be, their voices have to be listened to because without this, as with Brexit, the other side just becomes a generalised characature, and not a set of real people with real lives and worries. And when you reduce people in this way, it becomes incredibly easy to ignore them, with the consequences we are seeing today.

More than just individual anecdotes, Americans will also need objective, broad studies of all voters. In the UK, the Lord Ashcroft poll for example went some way to providing this at a high level after the Brexit vote. While it served to confirm many common assumptions, it also showed there was diversity in opinions and voter profiles. Brexiteers had a generally more negative outlook on the current state of the UK (and life in general) and tended to be older, in lower social classes and less progressive in their beliefs. But not everyone was. Some 27% of leavers were under 24 and 43% were in the highest social grouping. People voted out primarily because they wanted decisions affecting their country to be made in Britain (49%) with immigration and border control concerns (33%) ranking second as the main reason. The assertion made by some trying to "excuse" Brexit - that it was not actually about xenophobia (overt or not) but the more palatable, fluffy promise to better fund the NHS - was shown to be a bit tenuous. It was a factor but only about 12% of people polled voted Leave primarily because of this.

Statistics aren't sexy, but gathered well and combined with more in depth, qualitative research, they can pinpoint the most common and deepest held reasons people voted the way they did. This matters because it is only by understanding why people do the things that they do that we can begin to come to terms with new realities, move on and make effective changes. Progressives in both the USA and UK need to look forward and plan how to address the fears and motivations of their populaces - from every walk of life - in a way that is based on realism, generosity and practicality rather than fear, negativity and untenable populist policies. This doesn't mean liking, condoning or even tolerating Trump, Brexit or whatever other right-wing nightmares are in the pipeline.  It does mean putting stereotypes aside and calming the anger to find effective, evidence-based ways of winning back the hearts and minds of people who clearly feel the establishment have left them behind. We must all be two year olds and ask "WHY?".

Trump

"What is on your mind?" the app I use to write blog posts asks me every time I open it up. Well, mainly Duckling and his two year old melt downs. But also Brexit. Still. And Trump.

It is hard to know what to say about a man so odious, though many have tried. Screaming carrot demon is one of my favourite monikers (thank you Samantha Bee). Absolute arsehole (or asshole if we're being authentically American) would be my less creative version.

What depresses me more than Trump's vile personality though, and the vile policies and rhetoric it gives rise to, is the ardent support he enjoys from such a large proportion of the US population. There is much I could write about populism, the post fact society where feelings matter more than truth and reason and the bitter divisions within the US in terms of race, income and political ideologies. Trump has exploited all of these to get to where he is, just as the Brexit campaign did in the UK, to such unfortunate effect.

But this is about Trump the man. Why is it that so many are unwilling to recognise Trump for what he is? An egomaniac. A narcissist. A sociopath. These are undoubtedly big words, which, to be blatantly condescending, are unlikely to be in most Trump supporters' everyday vocabulary. The traits that define them - lying, cheating, manipulation, self-agrandisment, thin skin, lashing out, overt sexism, obvious racism, viciousness, pomposity, basic disregard for human equality and human life - should be easy to recognise though, and should start alarm bells ringing in the minds of anyone who has even a vague ability to recognise right from wrong, even the most basic notion of what happened in Germany in the 1930s and even the slightest idea of characteristics that might be undesirable in a democratic, decent, respectable President.

Hilary Clinton is of course not exactly a perfect alternative. The charity and email server scandals were very unfortunate (if not nearly as scandalous as Trump makes out) . But in terms of 'wrongdoing' this article from the Slate sums it up nicely. Major misdemeanours by Clinton = 1. By Donald Trump = 230.

Where are society, the State, parents, schools, the media, all of us - in the US and beyond (for there are Trump backers here too) - going so wrong that so many people are immune Trump's malignancy, or, worse still, are actively embracing it? Are half the US population missing basic emotional intelligence and compassion? Are the women that plan to vote for him really so hating of minorities that they'd rather ignore their own rights and vote for a pussy grabber than a fellow woman? Are children no longer being raised to be kind and respect others? And if they are, at what point does the message switch to "just look out for yourself and people like you. Everyone else can fuck off?" I can understand how a tough life (or frankly a comfortable, well-off life that you want to protect) can give rise to this kind of thinking. But as with the xenophobia driving Brexit, it doesn't make it excusable.

Everyone is entitled to their political beliefs, and in his own unique way Trump does represent many dearly held by Republicans in the US, however unpalatable they may be to us more liberal minded Europeans (though I can no longer vouch for the liberality of roughly half my country to be honest). But there is a difference between being conservative in your beliefs - which in America is strongly tied to the concept of FREEDOM let's not forget (albeit really only for white middle class males) and being a power-crazed lunatic who just spouts whatever nonsense he thinks will put him ahead in the polls. Many voters at this juncture probably believe that being in Trump's 'in group' (white people) they will be protected, represented, have their lives improved. That's why they're voting for him. They don't care about all the many people he hates, the women he's assaulted, all the people he has alienated and stamped on. He doesn't hate THEM. He makes mistakes and talks like one of them. He GETS them. Until the day he decides they or the social group to which they belong, for whatever reason, have offended him, and then their lives will be made as miserable as the many Mexicans and Muslims he plans to piss all over if he comes to power. Fascism 101.

If there wasn't a chance this will all end in nuclear armaggedon, the idea of Trump actually having to navigate the complexities of leading a world superpower would be utterly hilarious. It would make a far more engaging reality show than The Apprentice. But it isn't funny. Whichever way the election goes today, there will have to be some serious soul searching in the USA tomorrow, and beyond, where Americans ask themselves "How did we allow this man to get so far, how is it so many found him acceptable and how do we stop something like this from ever happening again?" Let's hope it doesn't take four years of a living Trump nightmare to drive the message home.

Judging other mothers

While flicking through the Huffington Post parents section today, I came across a post entitled "Why Was I Shamed For Having A Girlie Mini-Break Without My Kids?". Why indeed? I thought, that sounds very unreasonable. I read on. The author - a mother of two - had spent three days away with her friends in the sun, leaving her 10 week old baby and 6 year old behind with their Dad. She then documented her holiday on Facebook, and received considerable scorn in response.  At the start of the article, I had been ready to be huffy on her behalf, but when I read "10 weeks old" I tutted. I actually tutted. Then I tutted more loudly at myself. Evidently I was no better than the trolls who had criticised her for being "selfish" enough to have a break from her children. I read on, admonishing myself. But the conflict remained.

On the one hand, I totally applauded her decision. She left her children with their fathers, where she knew they'd be safe and happy (her 6 year old daughter often spent weekends with her Dad, so she wouldn't have known any different anyway), and put her own wellbeing centre stage. Far too few Mums ever do that (myself included) and then we bitch and moan about how knackered we are, and how we never have time for ourselves. Well more fool us. She doesn't breastfeed (she freely declares herself NOT an earth mother) and her children self settle so there were no concerns about milk supply or sleep issues while away. Her kids, I'm sure, were totally fine with the arrangement, so why on earth judge her? Just because society (and the Daily Mail, who got hold of the story) tells us mothers must slavishly and selflessly devote themselves to their children, doesn't mean society is right. As she points out, her husband doesn't "let her" go away or "babysit" her younger child. He takes on responsibility for caring for THEIR kid because that's right and fair. GREAT.

And yet. My knee jerk reaction was still to negatively judge and furrow my brow. Why?

I think there were several reasons. First, I am undoubtedly subconsciously influenced by social norms around a mother's inescapable responsibility, however consciously I try to reject them. Second, I projected my own experience onto hers - I breastfed my son, and he was a colossal pain in the arse proper high needs baby (he still is a bit). At 10 weeks, there was no way in hell I could have left him for 3 hours in his father's sole care, let alone 3 days. Unlike this mother's daughter, he WOULD most certainly have noticed, and would have made his displeasure known, exceedingly vocally and repeatedly. Third, because I know that separation from a parent can have long term psychological consequences. There is substantial scientific evidence to demonstrate this, and a member of my own family still bears the scars of being separated from his mother when he was very young, an experience that left him resentful and unable to properly trust her for the rest of his life. Being with trusted, caring fathers, it is very unlikely this woman's children would have suffered the same fate. But when you know what separation can do, the merest suggestion of it can make you feel uncomfortable. Fourth because the article was accompanied by a selection of pouty, bikini-clad selfies of the author and her friend. Fine, but I personally find selfies a bit narcissistic. Probably because I'm old and flabby. Fifth, because there was some judgement coming from the author too. One of her trolls "did look like a troll" (touché, but still...). If you haven't married a man willing to pull his weight in the childcare stakes, it's kind of your own fault (well, yes, unless you didn't actually discover that until you had the baby...). NCT Mums are the worst breed of female she's ever come across... (I am a despicable person, it's true.) Six, I am maybe a little jealous of her, and her ability to say "Fuck it all, I'm off to lie on a beach for 72 hours!"

I didn't want to judge her, and yet I did. Because we ALL judge. It's how we make sense of the world, work out what we like and dislike, what's right and wrong, and distinguish our own preferences, styles and philosophies from those of others. It's not necessarily inherently wrong to judge. It is wrong to voice those judgements publically and unbidden (even via the tempting anonymity of social media) as though your opinion and experience is the definitive truth, all considerations of nuance or sensitivity be damned. So while I recognise I have just publically aired my own thoughts on this particular matter, I would underline they are just thoughts - and are in no way meant to shame the mother concerned. Her life is her business, and as long as her kids are happy and safe (and they almost certain are), then she should be left to live it without uninvited criticism. Preferably on a lounger with a cocktail in her hand, because who wouldn't want to be there?

Oh so lazy

There are many feelings I associate with motherhood. Some are obvious (exhaustion), others more subtle (ambivalence) and some need a whole new word to describe them (guilentment anyone?). I think it would be fair to say that the whole experience is something of an emotional roller-coaster.

There is one feeling that seems to pop up regularly however, good days and bad, and that's the feeling of laziness. It's somewhat ironic that I feel so consistently lazy when I'm in a period of my life when I am at my flat-out busiest. I will spare you the itemised list of all the stuff I do in a week, but let's agree that like any working Mum it's quite a lot and office time, childcare and housework all feature prominently. I am also pregnant, just to add to the fun.

Yet I have a cleaner who vacuums and does the bathrooms, and a husband who tidies and does the washing. I even get to go for a run or out with friends and colleagues in the evenings sometimes. On the face of it, I would appear to have ample support and escape, so why is the house always in a permanent state, why is my To Do list always mile long, and why do I still fail to squeeze in enough 'me' time to feel human? My frequent conclusion? I must just be lazy.

I know, rationally, I am not lazy. I am just time poor and expect too much of myself. I can't keep the house as tidy as I once did because I have a small person constantly (CONSTANTLY) messing it up, and sucking up the time I'd usually devote to tidying and filing and organising. Plus I am tired. So lacking in energy sometimes, that I find Drake's preferred 'proactive parenting' approach (monitoring your child's activities and behaviour so you can step in to prevent issues before they start) a laughable impossibility. And when I do have an hour in the evening to NOT be overseeing a toddler, an hour I should rightly devote to snack cupboard alphabetisation, sewing on buttons or window cleaning, I physically and mentally can't bring myself to do anything but sit on the sofa watching TV and writing blog posts like this.

Drake just sighs when I have my 'I'm so lazy' moments, and tells me to stop beating myself up (because I'm not lazy and an ultra tidy house is really NOT important), go to bed earlier (ha!) or organise things better so I have the time if I'm really so stressed about them. He is right, but the fact his pet name for me is 'sloth' (due to my former love of lie ins) does not help. Nor do his "Right, we really need to sort out XYZ in the house" monologues, which he likes to deliver randomly when something in the household inconveniences him, usually with a sense of authority and despair that implies he would have this all sorted and under control if it weren't for his scatty wife and her poor mastery of her Tasmanian devil of a son. This could of course just be the way I interpret it, as I am ultra-sensitive to accusations of slovenly behaviour, being constantly convinced I am slovenly. But still.

I should no doubt ask Drake to help more, but I feel lazy mainly because I so rarely seem to get anything done. Actually completing something makes me feel better. If I don't do it myself, the issue may as well have not existed at all. I didn't solve it; I don't get to take credit and convince myself that I'm not REALLY so lazy after all. Or feel justified for being so goddamn tired.

I'm sure all of this makes me a self-flagellating control freaky perfectionist martyr. However, it also demonstrates just how hopelessly brainwashed I am by society's placement of mothers in the housewife role, despite my best efforts not to be. Do I consciously think my worth is only gauged on how well I clean the kitchen or how many times a week I manage to roast a whole chicken for dinner? I consider myself a feminist for Christ's sake so I should hope not! And yet the feeling is there; the little voice in my head saying "this isn't good enough, you could do more".

Contrast this to Drake. He is a pretty modern guy. He "helps out" (I have written about my dislike of that term before). But the fact he gets annoyed at the mess, not at his own failure to tidy it says a lot. If we lose a bill, I get frustrated at myself because I haven't magicked up the time or conviction to properly file it. I feel lazy and a failure. Drake gets frustrated because he can't do his job and pay the bill. It's the bill's fault, or mine for having "moved it", but never his for having failed to put it in the box labelled "bills". I am never quite sure if this is a sign of very robust self-esteem (aka blindness to his own faults), an assumption of male superiority (household organisation is not HIS job! Others must be blamed for this situation!) or whether he does actually feel annoyed at himself and just buries it deep to save face. Whatever the case, it is quite the opposite to my own, usually pretty open and deeply annoying self-admonishment. I am as much a female cliché as he is a walking example of a 'typical bloke'.

So things continue, some days more productive than others, with the lazy scale fluctuating accordingly. Maybe I need to rename the feeling to "disappointed at lack of energy" or "frustrated by lack of time". Perhaps this way I can start to accept that the problem is not simply an inherent character flaw, but a disconnect between my own admirable ambitions and the reality of the situation I am in. Maybe setting myself just one or two goals a day ("get to the shops" or " play Duplo with Duckling" or "file my nails") is the answer. Consistently ticking mental to do boxes has to be better than constantly ticking myself off, no?

The Lunch Box Dilemma

I'm not really one for getting publicly vocal about my feminist principles. Give me a bit of wine and I might hold an earnest debate with you about the patriarchy. But I am not going to lecture you if (as happened today) you force me to chose between a pink princess or a jungle explorer kids meal box. You're a nineteen year old cashier in a café at a tram museum. Life's too short.

None the less, The Lunch Box Dilemma irked me because it highlighted an aspect of modern childhood with which I have a real issue - just how stupidly gendered it has become. Gendering sells. But in the process, it also reinforces stereotypes that lead girls and boys to make assumptions about what they should and shouldn't like and what is and isn't appropriate behaviour for them (or the opposite sex). Equally brainwashed, many parents then line up to reinforce these assumptions in an effort to keep their child happy and conform to the norm.

So what lunch box to choose? Duckling was on the far side of the cafe so not around for me to ask. I had to make the call. Princess box = girl. Aspiration = youth, wealth, beauty and marrying a handsome prince. Explorer box = boy. Aspiration = bravery, adventure, autonomy and an all terrain vehicle. Why two boxes? I thought. Why couldn't they just have a jungle explorer box? Or a neutral castle box featuring both a prince and a princess, if they really had to? Why does LUNCH have to be gendered?!

Eventually, after the cashier had started rapping her nails on the till, I opted for the jungle explorer. Ashamed as I am to admit it, I am not immune to the strong social stigma attached to boys playing with "girl" things. Encouraging boys to actively 'go pink' takes guts, probably more so than suggesting a girl might want to 'go blue'. I'm sure nobody would have said anything had I selected the princess castle and Duckling wouldn't have cared a jot as long as it contained the requested chips (BAD Mummy). It might even have made me feel proud to be so markedly 'gender blind'. But I'm actually not - I would have been deliberately contriving to push a particular counter-identity on my son, for the sake of MY ideology - one that he's not remotely going to understand. Besides which, I don't think the fairytale princess narrative is a particularly positive one for either sex...

Why is it that your sex at birth - the type of human body you have - now maps out virtually every choice you make, down to the colour of the straw you're expected to have in your milkshake?  Intersex individuals aside (and there is a whole other set of issues to be considered there), males and females do have different reproductive organs and different chromosomes. The male / female label really shouldn't do much more than describe our physical attributes however. Our brains for example are not intrinsically blue or pink, whatever the Science Museum may tell you (incidentally, I, straight, eternally scatty woman with one child and a bun in the oven, have a 'male brain' according to that test. Err, yay?!). Our identities are about so much more than our sex. Certainly some personality traits, skills, likes and dislikes may be more commonly found in women than men and vice versa. But it is very hard to unpick nature from nurture, and in most cases, we cannot categorically state that, for example, a woman is caring or a man is aggressive simply because her or his brain is naturally wired that way.  Evolution may be responsible for contributing to a general trend that sees women and men fulfill these stereotypes.  But it is also true that these traits are prominent because society tells us we should be kind as a girl and tough as a boy. Social norms reinforce and amplify any possible 'natural' tendencies (note tendencies, not inevitable traits), to a point where they are seen as fact, and deviation as abnormality. And that is dangerous. When our sex (physical attributes) doesn't seem to fully match our gender (social ideas of what we should be like) it leads people to commit unspeakable acts of violence against each other. For women to be eternally subjugated and exploited. For men to be excused for inexcusable behaviour. For young girls and boys to decide that, because they don't fit with society's identity expectations, there must be something wrong with them. They must have been born the wrong sex, and have the wrong body parts.

So yes, I know it was just a lunch box, but it represented a division that does nobody (except manufacturers and advertisers) any good whatsoever. Give me the neutral elephant, giraffe and monkey boxes at our local swimming pool any day.

Dear liberal thinkers of America...

Dear liberal thinkers of America,

Unless you have all been living in an underground bunker for the past couple of years (which, given everything that's been going on would be kind of understandable), you will probably have noticed that the USA is approaching a presidential election between Hilary Clinton and Donald Trump.

The more switched on among you may also know that here in the UK, we have also just had a major vote - on whether to leave the European Union or not. Two very different votes about two very different things you might think. Yet there are a surprising number of parallels to be drawn, and some vital lessons to be learned if Trump's march towards victory is to be halted. Which, given that the man is at best under qualified, and at worst a terrifying narcissistic bile-spewing time bomb, is a bit of a priority if the USA is to continue to function and retain any shred of respect with the rest of the world.

We should know. The rest of the world thinks we're certifiable right now. There has never been much love lost between the UK and the EU. Being the somewhat arrogant, aloof and insular islanders that we are, we as a nation have always viewed the EU with soupçon of suspicion. Different languages, different cultures, different priorities and yet somehow they still get to pass laws by which we have to be governed? All a bit dodgy if you ask most people. We've thus kept ourselves at arm's length, refusing to join the Euro and carving out special dispensations and rebates.

Yet the benefits of EU membership are enormous: it's why we joined. Some perks are tangible - tariff-free imports and exports and bloc-negotiated trade deals, cheap and easy European travel, funding for our scientific community, international university exchange programmes, support for our struggling farmers, regional development grants, the right to work anywhere in the EU without a visa, protections for workers and consumers, the economic and social benefits of immigration (such as the provision of skilled staff for the struggling NHS)... Others are less so - for example the stability and peace that has been achieved by working together as a common, cooperative entity. We simply do not know what conflicts may have arisen or escalated since the end of the Second World War had the EU not been founded.

Despite all these benefits however, the UK chose to leave the EU. 52% of the voting public said 'let's get out'. Why? As a liberal, progressive egalitarian of mixed European heritage, who studied French and Spanish and has lived in France, it is a question I am REALLY not qualified to answer. But by talking to others, it is becoming clearer, and here is where some lessons for you, ordinary Americans who want sanity to prevail, can be drawn:

1) Don't assume the 'other side' are simply idiots. This is a mistake I made personally. Yes, it is tempting to think those who don't share your views are stupid. Your frustration their narrow-minded views and apparently wilfull ignorance will certainly pull you to feel that way. In some cases their intellect may indeed be below average, in others it will not. But bright or dim, people make choices based on a unique set of internal and external factors - environmental, circumstantial and psychological - and when all of these are weighed up, the choice they make will be rational for them. Calling people idiots just makes them want to tell you to f**k off and is likely to push undecided voters away from you, rather than towards. Keep the name calling to circles of like-minded friends (not your whole Facebook friends list or all of your Twitter followers!).

2) Consider all motivations. In our referendum, most remainers assumed that people voting Leave were simply xenophobic. They didn't like foreigners and they didn't like all the open borders imposed by the EU, or the level of immigration this led to. This was undoubtedly a motivation for a not insignificant chunk of Leavers, and the rise in hate crimes since has highlighted a very unpalatable seam of overt racism in our country, fuelled by the Leave campaign's anti-migrant vitriol. But people also voted Leave based on a promise to plough the money we save on EU membership into our creaking National Health Service. They voted because Leave promised change and to "Take back control" of a country they no longer felt they knew. Because they couldn't see what the EU had ever done for them personally. Because they were tired of arrogant, educated snobs and "so called experts" telling them what to do and making them feel belittled. Because they genuinely believed (and despite the fall out, maybe still do) that life would be better for them, their children and grandchildren. Because they got their news from one of several anti-Europe tabloids. Because they felt like protesting about the current government, and this was an accessible way to do it. Because they thought the Remain campaign's warnings were just fear mongering. Because they viewed the EU to be too socialist, or conversely, overly influenced by capitalist values and corporations. Because they believed the whole set up to be undemocratic (it's not, but anyway...). The point is, if you make assumptions about WHY the average voter might plan to vote for the "other side" you will almost inevitably be wrong, because you will be swayed as much by your side's rhetoric as they are by theirs. To truly change hearts and minds you have to understand why hearts feel and minds think that way in the first place and speak to them. This is something we can all do. Which brings me to...

3) Don't preach to the converted. People usually only follow media outlets that reflect their own views. The Daily Show can say what it likes; the vast majority of Fox News fans will never, ever, hear it (unless Fox News is complaining about the Daily Show of course). So you have to find ways to get 'alternative' points of view across. Forget the media, and reach out to communities, friends, families. I'm not claiming this is in any way easy. It requires creativity and the courage of conviction to loudly and repeatedly denounce the lies and hate being served up by your opponents. It also means identifying the values, hope and fears of the voters of the other side, and demonstrating how your side can address these, as well as highlighting how their representative cannot. Political campaigning 101 basically, but still worth underlining.  

In many respects, Trump is doing the job for the Clinton camp. In his comments relating to the parents of the US Serviceman, Humayun Khan, he made a calculated gamble. He hoped the US public would, in general, find the the Khans' religion more distasteful than his own comments about the family of a soldier and patriot; that anti-Islamic feeling would win out against deep-seated respect for military personnel. The dent in his poll ratings suggest his calculations did not add up. This is the kind of tasteless behaviour that needs to be highlighted and shared extensively. Remainers failed to get our message across for many reasons, but it was, primarily, and obviously, because we failed to reach and engage the people who would swing the vote our way. We were initially too wishy-washy, then too negative, too preachy, and too high handed, We also lacked a "man of the people". Which brings me to....

4) Don't underestimate the power of personal charisma and populist rhetoric. Trump is popular because people see him as 'one of them'. He doesn't talk like a politician. He jokes about and says "risqué" (a.k.a offensive) things. His fluency is of the slightly bumbling sort. He's clearly xenophobic (and misogynistic for that matter), but not in a way that is so completely and obviously Hitleresque that he repels those who don't really consider themselves racist (but actually are). We have a politician who ticked all these boxes too. His name is Boris Johnson, and he led the Leave campaign. Despite being about as highly educated and privileged as you can get, like Trump, he managed to persuade great swathes of the country that he was "their man" with "their interests" at heart. He won Leave the vote, looked very shell shocked, then promptly went silent. You see Boris Johnson didn't ACTUALLY want to leave the EU. In fact, he probably knew, deep down it was a ridiculous idea. But what he did want was to become Prime Minister and saw leading the side that opposed the incumbent Prime Minister's Remain campaign as an excellent way to achieve that. Like Trump (and probably most politicians, albeit far less overtly) he was guided by a massive ego. It backfired - he was stabbed in the back by his fellow Leave campaigner, Michael Gove, and Remainer Theresa May became PM instead. But hilariously (ahem) he is now Foreign Secretary. Everyone on the Remain side is sincerely hoping he will make a cataclysmic blunder and launch himself into disgraced obscurity for the rest of his days. But like Trump, the man is Teflon and there are no guarantees.

5) Never assume they cannot win. This is another major reason why Remain did not succeed. We didn't think people could actually, genuinely, be stupid / brave enough to pull us out of the EU. The consequences were too ridiculous to imagine, so we buried our heads in the sand and just shouted "we're right, you're wrong, wake up and realise that thickos!". It didn't happen. In a post-factual society, it doesn't matter who has the facts on their side. It doesn't matter who is backed by the experts (as Michael Gove of the Leave campaign said, people have "had enough of experts"). People are jaded by information overdose and proliferating voices on social media, and no longer feel able to trust anyone to be truthful, least of all aloof, distant 'experts' who issue warnings about intangible things many don't have the energy or resources to investigate, understand or even care about. They cling instead to preachers with a strong, clear message of a better future, who validate their views and make them FEEL good. Take Britain back. Make America great again. It almost doesn't matter what you say - just be populist and you will be popular. Talk down like a teacher and you won't.

6) Be positive. The remain campaign was branded "project fear" because it spent an inordinate amount of time shouting about how terrible the world would be if we left the EU. There was no hope or aspiration. Many of the predictions have of course proven quite accurate (others were a bit over egged and some were too long-term to yet assess given that we haven't actually Brexited yet). Our Prime Minister resigned, our currency fell through the floor, ratings agencies cut our outlook, the stock market crashed massively seriously affecting pension funds, and many businesses found themselves with shelved orders or cancelled deals. The lesson? You may know life under Trump will be execrable, but you really need to focus on how Hilary will be better too.

7) Understand the other side's point of view, but only up to a point. In a progressive, open, trusting society, values of freedom, liberty, equality and tolerance are ALWAYS better than negativity, fear and hate. You believe this because the evidence is overwhelming - and you are right to keep on believing it, and keep on pushing these values. It is a cliché that the worst atrocities in humanity happen when we do not tolerate each other, but it is true. As I say above, you should, by all means, get to know and understand the other side. Understand why they are fearful and why Trump appeals. Respect their right to have a different opinion. Agree to disagree on certain things. That is tolerance and you have to practice what you preach. BUT where freedom of speech tips into inciting hatred, where facts are patently wrong, where fear is whipped up without any solid foundation, PUSH BACK and don't be ashamed to do so. The Remain campaign did not want to brand the leave campaign as racist, and did not want to upset the mass of Conservative voting public who don't much like immigration, so they did not denounce the racism seen in the Leave campaign as loudly as they should have done. They did not sufficiently debunk some of the patently false claims of the Leavers and they did not adequately highlight the massive contribution that so many EU nationals make to UK society. None of us did.  We all dropped the ball, and now the more progressive and tolerant 48% of voters in our country - mostly younger, educated and aspirational people - feel like their identity as residents of an open, cooperative and liberal European country has been stripped away by a fearful and insular 52%. They are angry and grieving and profoundly worried for their future, and that of their nation. It has highlighted deep divisions, and driven wedges into the heart of many families. Never before in recent history has politics been so personal in the UK. A Trump victory will do the same. Like Britain choosing to leave the EU, it will mark a seismic shift from a country seen as comparatively open minded and liberal to one associated with deeply conservative fear politics. Freedoms hard won could be lost as the status quo changes, and nothing generates more anger, whichever side of the fence you're on.

So, in conclusion, understand but don't condone, be respectful but vocal, stay positive, spread the word widely and DON'T be complacent. Easy right?! I just wish Britain had tried a bit harder to do the same.

Yours hopefully,

The Different Duck x

Sandpit wars

I loved my NCT classes. I was lucky enough to have a really sensible, down to earth teacher and some lovely classmates that I still meet up with now. There is only so much they can teach you however. Beyond birth and breastfeeding, there is a whole world of lessons you are left to learn for yourself. I suspect these never really end, and I'll still be wondering how on earth to negotiate Duckling-related dilemmas when he's 21, 30, 45... ("How do I tell him that suit makes him look like a gangly undertaker?", "Should I tell him his wife's a narcissist?", "Is it reasonable to let him move back home after his divorce...?") Nonetheless, some basic pointers on negotiating the first few years would have been nice.

Today's quandary: how to react when all the other kids in the playground steal your son's toys. As I'm sure any parent will know, playgrounds are a breeding ground for tantrums, arguments and shoving. Against my advice, Duckling decided to take his small cement mixer, digger, and tipper truck to the sandpit today, along with his bucket, rake and spade. I agreed after deciding a nice quiet sandpit session was probably preferable to him running around, given he's currently battling his usual cold-induced chest issues.  Unsurprisingly, he quickly became a magnet for other children wishing to "share" this bounty, it being far more alluring than the existing selection of discarded, sun-bleached plastic tat to be found in The Pit.

Duckling did not take kindly to this. "No! Is MY bucket! Give it back!" he shouted to the little (as it turned out) quite violent sub-two year old who first appeared on the scene. Duckling tried to grab the bucket, but Violent Victor was having none of that. In full, plain sight of his Mum, he yanked the bucket out of Duckling's hand, turned his back on him and started to fill it with sand.

His Mum asked Violent Victor to give the bucket back (at least I think she did - she spoke Russian). Victor ignored her and carried on shovelling. His Mum gave up instantly and just sat and watched him. Duckling sat and pouted. "Mummy! He protested. "That boy took my bucket! Get it back!". 

What to do? Had Duckling done the same to Victor, I would probably have reprimanded him and made him return the bucket, explaining it didn't belong to him. Or I might have instructed him to ask nicely if he could share (or asked on his behalf if, like Victor, he was still preverbal). His Mum, perhaps because of the language barrier, or because she didn't realise the bucket was Duckling's, did neither. I think she may also have been as scared of Victor as we were. 

So, not willing to wrestle a bucket off a toddler in full sight of his Mum, engage a mother who really didn't seem to want to engage, or send my child to his likely doom to retrieve it, I told Duckling the boy was just borrowing his bucket, and would give it back later. And Duckling, being a bit of a pacifist wimp accepted this, and carried on playing with his trucks, while keeping a wary eye on young Victor. As did I.

For a while all was calm. Then Victor returned for round two, and tried to take Duckling's tipper truck. "My truck!" said Duckling, but was too slow to grab it back. I looked at his Mum. She looked away. 

"Hey, I know," I said to Victor, "Let's do a swap. If you want to borrow Duckling's truck, you need to give his bucket back." I picked up Duckling's discarded bucket and gestured my intention. "Neeeeeee!" screeched Victor and lunged at the bucket, just grabbing the handle. We had a small, embarrassing tug of war before I relented, slightly scared Victor, who was now actively growling, might bite my hand. Thankfully in the tussle, Victor had dropped the truck, which I grabbed and stashed out of sight behind Duckling. Victor, who was legging it with the bucket, failed to notice initially but on turning round was dismayed to see it had disappeared. I did an internal cock-a-snook. Duckling looked on goggle-eyed. "I no like that little boy," he said. I didn't disagree.

Victor settled himself a little way off next to a small girl who was peacefully shovelling sand next to her Mum. At first I thought he might try to grab her spade, but Victor had much grander plans. He filled his bucket with sand and poured it over the girl's Mum's sandals. She was rather surprised. Victor's beleaguered Mum did react to this and apologetically dusted down the lady's shoes for her. Still no real reprimand for Victor though - at least not until he started whacking the poor lady's feet with his spade, at which point she removed him to the other side of The Pit. Clearly he believed gladiator sandals to be rather 2012.

While watching all of this, I had failed to notice a young girl approach Duckling. She was probably also two, but tall for her age so initially I took her for older. She took a shine to Duckling's cement mixer. "Ooh!" she cried and grabbed it. "No! Mine!" cried Duckling like a broken record. "Um, sweetheart, that's not actually yours..." I cried lamely, but Light-fingered Lucy was off, gambling awkwardly across the sand. Thankfully her Mum stopped her and brought her back. Phew, I thought, at least she's on the ball. "Would you mind if she borrowed this for a bit?" asked her Mum. "She really likes cement mixers." I was a bit taken aback. "Oh, err, sure," I said. "Do you mind if this little girl borrows your cement mixer Duckling?" I asked, feeling awful that I'd just loaned out another of his favourite toys. "Humph. OK" said Duckling in a small voice. "Well done," I said relieved, "it's very kind of you to share. She'll bring it back soon, I promise."

It was while I was standing, meerkat like, watching Lucy drive Duckling's cement mixer up a climbing frame, that his green rake was swiped by an older boy, probably about six. "My rake!" yelled Duckling. "GIVE IT BACK". Rakish Ryan ignored Duckling. Now this boy should have been old enough to know better. "Excuse me!" I said in my politest stern tones. "That's actually my son's. Could I swap you for this one?" I proffered a wonky blue rake with no handle, figuring it probably didn't belong to anyone (at least not any more). "Oh sure, sorry" said Ryan, handing back the rake but ignoring my offering. "Don't worry, I'll take this one instead." And he picked up Duckling's spade and charged off. "My spade!" yelled Duckling. "Oh FFS!!!" I muttered a little more loudly than I probably should have done.

In the end, the goodness of humanity prevailed. Violent Victor's Mum brought Duckling's bucket back (along with someone else's sieve and a plastic fish that he'd apparently also pilfered), Light-fingered Lucy's Mum returned the cement mixer while Lucy was busy stealing another child's scooter, and I reclaimed the spade off Ryan's friend's Mum, who was profoundly apologetic, even though she couldn't have had any idea where the spade had come from.

By the time we got home, I was exhausted by the social awkwardness of it all, as was Duckling. Had I let my own son down because of my personal dislike of making a scene and confronting strangers?  Should I have stood up for him more?  Or should I have made him stand up for himself?  Was it wrong not to pull him up for shouting at the other children?  Or, conversely, should I have praised him more for being so accommodating?

In the end I decided I didn't have a bloody clue, and nor does anyone really.  You don't know other people's kids, you don't know why their parents parent them as they do, and you don't know how they (or their parents) will react to whatever type of intervention you try.  So muddling through and trying to stop your own child dissolving into a rage of injustice is really the only option.  Or you move to Finland, where the local authorities provide a shed load of toys in every public sandpit. It's definitely a bit easier to referee when the plastic digger with a missing wheel being fought over doesn't actually belong to either child. Or, more realistically, you say NO when your toddler asks to take half his toybox to the playground. Strictly bucket and spade only in future.  With his name written on them.  In caps. And maybe GPS security tagged for easy tracking.  Surely there's an app for that?

The questions you ask yourself when you lose a referendum

Could I have done more?

I researched and read endlessly. Propaganda from both sides, and neutral stuff. I wrote a blog or two. I shared and commented on Facebook and Twitter. I talked to friends, most of whom were already Remainers, a few who weren't. But I could have formally joined the campaign. I could have done and said more. I didn't because I naively assumed we wouldn't actually leave.  That we couldn't possibly actually leave, because that would be an utterly insane thing to do.  Apparently half the nation didn't get that memo, and I wish now I had shouted it repeatedly from the social media rooftops.  I would have bored the pants of everyone, but I would feel better now that I did all I could.

Does this make me wrong?

I am in the minority. I always am with the way I vote, but this felt different. Binary. Personal. More people than me felt Brexit was a good way to go and were convinced of the arguments. I felt they were being duped, but perhaps I was the blind one. The Leave campaign's facts were certainly demonstrably wrong, but maybe their hope was not...? Alas, I still don't think so. I want to believe our country will be better off going it alone, I really do.  I want to believe the Gove and Johnson promises. But the first few days post-referendum have not exactly filled me with confidence. I remain quite certain that for all its faults, the ethos of the EU, what it represented, and the stability and benefits it brought was too important to cast aside. Brexit is going to be horrifically detrimental to the UK, as countless very well informed people have said loudly and repeatedly (see here and here and here and here - I could go on... ) not to mention the damage it may do to the EU and the rest of Europe.

Why oh why did I imply Brexiters were idiots?

A friend called me out on a Facebook post that suggested people who paid no attention to expertise, history, evidence, reality and fact in any other context would be branded idiots. It was a 2am post borne of anger (not just because Duckling wouldn't sleep). I felt uneasy posting it, though I stupidly did not remove it. Fatal social media mistake. She said arrogance like that would not persuade the undecided to vote my way. She was no doubt right (though annoyingly criticism of other's reactions was her only contribution to the debate) and I wish now I had not said it, as it invalidated the more considered arguments I had made before. I guess when you think half your country is about to do something idiotic though, you open yourself up to doing idiotic things yourself.

Am I just angry at people who voted leave because I'm a member of the white, middle class, privileged elite and I don't understand them?

Oh the handwringing... I am undoubtedly white, privileged and middle class. Not a lot I can do about that. I earn well and am married to a man who earns well too. Does that mean that I cannot understand why Leavers - mostly working class - voted as they did? No, I don't think so. For a start, not all Leavers were working class. My 'idiot' posts were directed squarely at various fellow comfortable, educated, middle class friends (mostly of my parents) who voted 'out' based on a massively rose tinted view of the past, and information that a two second search could show to be false. BUT I can see why they - and everyone else - were swayed by the message of "taking back control" delivered by the Leave campaign. They presented some very convincing, solid-sounding arguments and made appealing promises that people thought would change their lives for the better. They evoked feelings of hope, nostalgia and national pride. They also played beautifully to those most affected by the very real social and economic inequalities in this country, who rarely get such a direct say in how our politics are shaped. I don't for a moment assume that Leavers didn't do any research or were all raving racists.

Nonetheless, smouldering beneath it all, fanned by the tabloids, was the immigration issue. It is not wrong to talk about immigration, to look at the positives and negatives and debate how it might best be managed (because it does need to be). It is not wrong to question how those arriving affect those already resident.  It is wrong to distort the facts about migration to make it look 'bad', simply to play to the fears of those with most to lose. I do not know what it is like to live on the breadline, and feel like outsiders are taking away what should be rightfully mine. I would probably get a bit pissed off too. This is why fear of foreigners is always the first thing to rear its ugly head when times are tough - it's an evolutionary instinct that has driven the rise and fall of civilisations over millennia. Understanding where xenophobia comes from does not mean condoning it though. So if I am angry at some sectors of the Leave camp, it's not because I'm a white middle class snob who doesn't understand them, but because racism - unacknowledged, subtle or overt - is never, ever, a good reason to make a decision on anything. If it is privileged and elitist of me to say that, then please call me the queen of snobbery. 

Oh, and the fact people adulate Boris when he's a tricksy bald faced liar makes me a teensy bit cross too.

Can I still be friends with people who voted out?

Yes. It's probably a good thing I'm currently on holiday though. It could take me a while to calm down enough to speak to them through ungritted teeth.


Why am I so angry / sad / scared?

So many reasons. My anger is explained above.  Mostly though, I think I am grieving. Grieving for the loss of a country I felt I knew. Grieving for the bonds we just severed. Grieving for my belief in the majority of people being rational, open minded and pragmatic. Grieving for the lost opportunities for my son. Also, I know that most people will have voted based on heart foremost, and used their head to back that decision up. I did. So that means a majority of people don't feel and think like me, and that's hard to accept, however open minded you might consider yourself to be. 

As predicted, I am ashamed of my country's choice, and what the decision says to the world at large.  As the Brexiters so often accused, I am scared of change too, but who wouldn't be when you fear that change could be catastrophic and will cost an insane amount in administration and legal fees to boot?

Finally, I feel just a little worried for my family. My father is Dutch and does not have a UK passport. He's never needed one (a shame really, as he didn't get to vote). I don't know what will be decided about his right to remain and I'm sure it won't be impossible to sort whatever happens but with stories such as these emerging, he feels distinctly uneasy right now. Quite frankly, so do I.

What is going to happen now?

Who the fuck knows. At one end of the scale, you have a massive recession, endless political in-fighting, race wars, general chaos and the break up of the UK. At the other you have a reasonably orderly exit, minimal disruption and a series of trade deals that mirror what we had before. Most likely we'll end up with something in the middle - or no exit at all because nobody has a plan and nobody can agree on anything. We will get through it. But it isn't going to be quick and it isn't going to be pretty. The key is not to give up.  The liberal minded may have lost this one, but this should be all the more reason to fight for the best possible outcome as the fall out begins.

Holy crap. Are we actually about to leave the EU?

So much has been written by so many about the EU referendum that I'm honestly not sure I can find anything novel to say. That's why I attempted to keep things light with my last post on the subject. But with less than 24 hours to go and the latest polls suggesting the UK may actually be about to leave the European Union, I am seriously worried that my country is about to do something monumentally stupid.

I honestly don't know what will happen if we leave the EU. I am quite sure that nobody truly does, but I can categorically state that Britain will not become the halcyon green and pleasant land of white-faced English speakers, plentiful well paid jobs and affordable rose adorned cottages so many Brexiters seem to think it will. 

I wouldn't mind if the arguments for leaving focused on the flaws of the EU itself.  It is far from a perfect institution, and there are plenty of things that need addressing.  I have waded through the impenetrable bureaucracy of the EC's myriad grants and funding schemes enough times to know that the left hand often does not know what the right is doing, and indeed may not even be attached to the same body.  It's too far in the pocket of corporations (the planned 'TTIP' free trade talks are very worrying) and few have any real idea what MEPs actually do (or even who they are), so transparency (though NOT democracy) is something of a problem.  I can understand why many die hard socialists want to leave. But the at the heart of the Brexit campaign is not reasoned critical analysis of a flawed institution, but pompous rhetoric, prejudice and more than a little wild speculation.  This is why I am dismayed that at least half our country agrees with what the Brexiters have to say.

At one end of the campaign's class spectrum you have the likes of Boris Johnson.  Right wing posh boy, brought up revering a bygone era of British colonial wiff waff greatness.  A time when we ruled large swathes of the world through blinkered bombast and the simple conviction that we were superior to everyone else.  The UK is the fifth largest economy in the world he likes to tell us, we should be able stand on our own, make our own decisions.  Yes, we are pretty wealthy all things considered, but our wealth has been gained as a member of the EU.  To leave would be an act of quite unparalleled complacency and arrogance.  Two words that sum up Mr Johnson quite nicely IMHO.

At the other end are those who actively fear what they think the EU represents. The people who want out because of the belief that European migrants are taking away what is rightfully 'theirs', whether this be jobs, benefits, school places, housing, GP appointments...  It's an understandable concern when you don't have much to start with, and in areas with recent influxes of migrants, there is undoubtedly more strain on local services. Post financial crisis austerity, inflicted by a government we elected, has more than a little to do with this however, and nationally, migration has an unarguably positive impact - as others have explained far more eloquently and thoroughly than I ever could. Furthermore, migration is not even a financial 'problem' that Brexit would solve, as any deal we do after leaving is almost certainly going to involve comparatively open borders if we want to continue to benefit from free trade with the rest of the EU. Migration is going to continue to be vital and only partially controllable whether we are in or out.  People just need to get over it.

More dangerous and disturbing is the dark, undeniably racist underbelly of the campaign. I don't think all Brexiters are racist, but I do think most probably read newspapers that basically are. It shouldn't need saying that migrants - European or otherwise - are just people. Some are 'bad', some are 'good', just like human beings anywhere. As the late Jo Cox so eloquently put it "we are far more united and have far more in common with each other than things that divide us". You wouldn't know that from the vitriolic tabloid press though.  The 'othering' is everywhere in this referendum.  "Turkish invasion on the cards if we don't get out now!" Um, really not likely any time soon. "Brussels tells us what to do!"  No - 'Brussels' DOES NOT tell us what to do.  The European Parliament (based in Strasbourg, incidentally) passes the laws, OF WHICH BRITAIN IS A PART.  "Europe has too much control!" Again, last time I checked, we were part of Europe. "Fat German bureaucrats are the wurst!" OK, I made this one up, but you get the idea...

What angers me most about this whole campaign is not that people are arrogantly nationalistic or unjustifiably prejudiced - you find this wherever you go in the world sadly.  It's that the Remain campaign - headed up by our Prime Minister, let's not forget - have not done more to fight the underlying xenophobia that is utterly tainting this referendum (and indirectly inspired it in the first place).  It is, I'm sure, in part because our PM and the party to which he belongs are not exactly immigrant huggers either (think his 'swarms of migrants' speech).  But still, to win their case, why are the Remainers not doing more to push back against those who have so little evidence on their side and win the hearts of the undecided? Apart from Ruth Davidson, who was outstanding in tonight's TV debate, there has been a frustrating lack of conviction  from the Remain side. Where are the TV ads and literature, breaking down the myths, explaining what the EU actually is and what it does, how it benefits everyone's lives and denouncing the hate-mongering stories you read in The Daily Mail and the like?  The leaflet that came round from the Remain campaign was frankly insipid, and the TV ads I've seen have been mostly fluff and nonsense.

As I say, I do not know what will happen if the UK leaves the EU.  But it almost doesn't matter.  It is the symbolism that I care about.  I want people to think my country is one with its head screwed on, that works, pragmatically, in collaboration with its neighbours to create a more prosperous, peaceful and fairer society for all. This may sound trite and idealistic, but these are the values that make our country worth living in.   I don't want to live in a parochial, insular, prejudiced nation, and I don't want my son to grow up in one either.  One only has to look at the terrible fate of Jo Cox to understand what can happen where putting "Britain First" becomes your sole obsession. I want to be proud of my country.  If we leave I will feel nothing but shame.

Dieting a la Duck

I am for the most part happy with my body. After many years of being a bit overweight, these days I have a just-about healthy BMI and I can run and climb stairs without killing myself. From time to time I do regain a few pounds though (*cough* three stone during pregnancy *cough*), which makes me wince a bit when I look in the mirror, "shrinks" my clothes ("Did you put these trousers in the tumble dryer Drake? Seriously, did you?!"), makes running harder, messes up my cycle (stupid PCOS) and gives me inexplicable backache. I just don't feel good, so despite my feminist pretentions, I feel compelled to diet.

I like food. A lot. I do not like dieting. At all. My diets therefore go like this:

Thursday: RIGHT! Let's do this! One slice of toast for breakfast! Salad for lunch. Some seeds to keep my blood sugar balanced. Ooh, Sarah brought cakes in! It would be rude not to... Just one then. Oh. I've had three. How did that happen? Dinner can be something light. Except we only have a four cheese pizza... OK, I'll start again tomorrow.

Friday (7pm): Oh crap, I was supposed to be on a diet wasn't I? Tomorrow!

Saturday: We have people over. Diets don't work when you're cooking for others. Tomorrow.

Sunday: Why am I worrying? I'm not that overweight. I'm letting womankind down by even thinking about it. I should just make peace with my curves and get on with life.

Monday (7.30am): Argh! Can't get my work skirt on! How is this the only thing that's clean??? DEFINITELY dieting tomorrow!

Tuesday (11pm): Jesus, what a day. Hey, I didn't get time to eat much though!

Wednesday (11pm): Jesus, what a day. Surely that makes that entire packet of custard creams justified? Seriously, tomorrow is the day!

Thursday: RIGHT! Let's do this! Etc. Etc.

It feels so clichéd to admit I diet, and even more clichéd to admit I'm completely crap at it, but losing weight IS difficult. For the past three years I have either been pregnant or breastfeeding so I have been able to get away with eating a good few hundred calories more every day than I can now I've stopped being "milked". My appetite has definitely reduced, but eating is as much about habit as hunger and habits are hard to kick. I have to remember not to buy popcorn or nuts with my lunch (or eat Duckling's leftovers) and stop myself from having a slice of toast before bed. That's enough to keep my weight stable, but more has to go to actively lose it, and that's a considerable shock to the system. My brain seems to bypass the knowledge that I'm on a diet every time I'm faced with food. The "not necessary!" voice is replaced with one that says, "go ahead! It'll be fine. You can go for a run later!". Which of course I never do. All the while the narratives of "You need to be thin to be accepted" and "You need to be thin to be healthy and avoid burdening the NHS" and "You shouldn't need to be thin to be anything. Just be you." are circulating my head. They all have their truths, but also their dark sides, particularly when taken to extremes.

So I munch on, gaining a pound, losing a pound, and being generally irritated that society, body and ethos have me so conflicted. This is probably why I only ever actually lose weight when ill or stressed. Flu is definitely not the best way to get thin but at least it takes the decision to diet out of my hands. Just not a week before our holiday please - I'll take snot-free over "beach-ready body" any day.