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.

Is it OK to say my child is "bright"?

Duckling is now nearly three. Thirty-four months if we're being precise. He will soon be starting nursery, and we have been given a questionnaire by staff asking us to "describe our child". I imagine this is to help them get a sense of who he is and what he can / can't do. I like this as an idea, but it's a hopelessly open ended question and has presented me with a bit of a dilemma. How exactly do I describe him in the three lines we've been given? 

There are some obvious words that spring to mind. He is, as many of my friends and family have pointed out, something of a 'character'. I think this is a polite way of saying he's a bit bonkers / melodramatic. But he is also quite contradiction. Enthusiastic yet cautious, bossy yet initially shy, very imaginative yet also frustratingly single minded (a.k.a. stubborn) at times. The main word that comes to mind though is "bright". And here is where I'm struggling, because using that word makes me a bit uncomfortable.

As an example, I was talking to my midwife the other day and she commented on how articulate and chatty Duckling was. I obviously felt proud she thought so, but also awkward, so I ended up saying "Yes, he's a bright little spark and he certainly knows how to communicate. Mind you, he still can't properly climb the steps up the slide at the swing park". Then I felt completely awful. Why on earth couldn't I just accept the compliment? Why did I have to temper it with an apparent criticism of my own child, and even worse, while he was in earshot?

It seems, whether about me or my family, I do not take praise well. Like most English people (particularly women), the thought of showing off, putting others down by elevating oneself (or one's children) or appearing big headed fills me with horror.  It probably doesn't help that my school days taught me that having brains and voluntarily putting yourself in the limelight earns you no respect, and makes all but your very best friends hate your guts (and I'm sure some of them got pissed off at me from time to time too - and probably still do).

Anyway, I digress. Before we had kids, Drake and I often used to roll our eyes at parents who made out their infant was a bonafide genius while said child sat in a corner picking their nose and staring into space. We did not want to be THOSE parents. Now we have a nose picker of our own, we understand parental pride a bit more. We give Duckling heaps of praise and take and share photos of his achievements like anyone else. Nonetheless, that fear of appearing blinkered and naive remains. We still make a point of laughing at each other when we go too overboard on the admiration, knowing full well that five minutes after any major accomplishment, Duckling will probably be ramming a spoon in his ear or, like yesterday, trying to construct a shelf out of two bits of wood and his youngest cousin's head (good thing Goslingino is a pretty chilled little chap).

It's not just a self-conscious modesty or a fear of people rolling their eyes (or worse, contradicting me) that makes me balk at the 'bright' word though. It's easy to say Duckling is enthusiastic (the word "wow" gets used about 20 times a day) or bossy ("NO Daddy, you not do that!") but intelligence is so much more subjective. What exactly makes you clever? Is it academic brilliance? Verbal dexterity? Fantastic problem solving abilities? A high IQ? Emotional intuition and empathy? EVERY decent parent thinks their child is brilliant because we love them and choose to focus mainly on their achievements and skills, rather than their failures and challenges. What we may class as 'bright' behaviour might be totally different from the type of acumen another child displays though. Plus our kids develop so rapidly that every new skill learned and milestone achieved really does seem like an Einstein level accomplishment. Even with handy online guides, I still find it really hard to objectively assess whether Duckling is genuinely "advanced for his age" or if I simply think he is because I subconsciously ignore all the dumb stuff he does that's actually totally typical of a child of two (or, ahem, younger). And I know, realistically, he does plenty of really dumb things.

Yet, as my midwife pointed out, verbally, he IS doing very well. He speaks in clear, complex sentences, has a great memory and can understand and explain all sorts of concepts. Today, as a random example, he had a conversation with me about a broken tape dispenser (bloody Xmas wrapping) that went:
"Mummy, why you put that in the bin?"
"Because it was broken Duckling."
"Oh. But you can fix it?"
"No, the little tape cutter snapped off."
"Oh, that a shame. I can fix it Mummy? With my glue or my screwdriver? Can you get it back Mummy?"
"No darling, thank you, but it's properly broken. I don't think glue or a screwdriver will help."
"I can fix it Mummy! I juuuuust need my screwdriver."
"No, Duckling you really can't."
"Oh. Humph. Maybe we buy a new one?"
"Good idea, let's do that."
It was not all that dissimilar from conversing with Drake to be honest - he always thinks he knows how to fix things better than I do too...

My chiropractor's son of two and a half on the other hand is still stuck at the ten word level Duckling was when he was 17 months or so (you have to discuss something when they're sat on your leg, cracking your spine...), while another friend's daughter speaks in whole, descriptive sentences and she isn't even two.

So how can you compare? Should you even try? I think the answer is probably not. As every Health Visitor will tell you, children develop at different rates and will prioritise some skills over others. Being very verbal at this age has little real bearing on future braininess, however you choose to define that. Except maybe in those truly gifted children who are talking by one, doing long division by two and playing Beethoven by three... He is definitely not one of those. Furthermore, I'm not sure it really even matters. In the grand scheme of things, I'd rather have a healthy and happy child than a Nobel prize winner any day of the week.

After a lot of unnecessary overthinking, in the end what I wrote on the form (amongst other things) was our honest opinion: "We feel Duckling is quite bright." Because we do. Because he probably is. For a two year old anyway. He still can't bloody climb steps though, bless him.

Dear Playdoh (Baby No. 2)

Dear Playdoh (for that is what your brother has decreed you shall be called),

While you are still nicely contained in utero, I thought I might take a moment to pen you a little note containing a few small requests. If you wouldn't mind considering them over the next four months, I would be very much obliged.

1. Your due date is 30 March.  I will give you a knock and let you know when this comes around.  Your brother wasn't particularly keen on making an entrance on his due date.  Or in fact anywhere close.  Then when he did finally decide to venture out, he took four days about it.  Less faffing about would be infinitely more comfortable for us both.
2. When you make your final descent, if you could try your best to properly rotate yourself, rather than just shooting out like a wailing torpedo, you will save me an awful lot of blood loss, an ambulance ride and a whole patchwork quilt of stitches.  Better for me, better for you and better for your Daddy, who I'm sure would rather avoid sitting in a hospital room for eight hours with only a stale muesli bar for sustenance (poor lamb) and a wife moaning about the fact he forgot to bring her any shoes...
3. If you've unfortunately inherited your father's genes and have a tongue tie, could you spend the next few months stretching it a bit? It's not much fun for any of us having to have it snipped. Especially not twice.
4. I accept that sometimes you will be hungry / cold / hot / wet / burpy / tired. I will do my best to rectify these situations wherever I can, but if you could avoid apoplectic melt downs outside of these scenarios, I really would appreciate it. Your older brother cried pretty much constantly when he wasn't clamped to one or other of his beloved boobies, which was really rather tiresome and made life quite difficult for the first six (twelve, eighteen...) months. I'd prefer not repeat the experience.
5. I will from time to time need to put you down - in a bouncy chair, on a change mat, into your father's arms... If you could attempt to be OK with that (for at least five minutes, but longer would be amazing), it would really help me out.
6. One poo a day is generally considered an acceptable number. Poosplosions two, three, four or more times a day is a little excessive.
7. Hospital is not a fun place to be, even if they do have an awesome playroom and macaroni cheese for lunch every day. Avoidance of fingers in doors and pneumonia causing bacteria is advisable.
8. The pushchair is not your sworn enemy. If you prefer a sling, that's totally fine, but at some point it would be brilliant if you could also deign to be pushed about in something with wheels. Preferably some time before you exceed the maximum baby carrier weight limit / my back gives out.
9. If you could possibly try to sleep through the night before the age of three, the whole family would be eternally grateful.
10. I am all for a less prudish, uptight society, but I'm afraid bearing one's breasts in public is still generally frowned upon.  If you could try not to extract them in front of others every five minutes therefore, you will save me a lot of blushes and yourself a lot of ticking off.

Of course if you do decide fulfilling these polite requests is simply too much of a crimp on your right to individuality and self expression, I will understand. You could ignore all of them to be honest and I would still love you more than life itself I am sure. I also recognise you'll probably come with your own unique set of fun traits which could well trump anything your brother threw our way. If you're half as entertaining and lovely as him, it won't matter a jot. Though, you know, I would prefer to reach forty before I go totally grey...

I live in hope and look forward to meeting you soon,

Love,

Your Mummy xxx

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?