Maternity Leave

‘Put your feet up,’ they said.

‘Enjoy the peace and quiet,’ they said.

‘Have a nice rest before the baby comes,’ they fucking said.

Those people are lying bastards!



That was all great the first time round when I was 19 and spent my days going out for brunch with friends or treating myself to a new MAC foundation, which I would spend about an hour deliberating on which shade would be best. Maternity leave with your second child is literally like you’ve aged 50 years and have committed yourself to a lifetime of wearing pyjamas and your hair in a messy bun.

^ That was then… sob sob.

Having said that, what 19-year-old girl really comprehends the absolutely enormous task they are going to be faced with when having a child. I had left the flat I shared with my best friend Georgia and returned home to my parents after a year of independence, too much tequila and more hangovers than I can remember! Gone were the nights of rolling in with a kebab at 4am and scrambling around for work at 7am getting ready for a killer 12 hour shift every Sunday. This in itself was hard enough, especially knowing my friends were still living that life which I still craved.

After 41 whole weeks and two days my little pink bundle arrived kicking and screaming, the most pissed off looking newborn you ever did see.

Fast forward four years and I have been on maternity leave for 18 days, where the peace and quiet is I do not know. My little girl Ella goes to nursery for 3 half days a week but the rest of the time she is my little shadow, constantly asking questions such as ‘What is that made of?’ or ‘Where does the water go when it runs down the plughole?’ and my personal favourite from yesterday – ‘Mum, why are you putting a bra on? You’re not even going out!’ Face palm.

When I’m not answering all of those questions, I’m cleaning – washing up for what feels like eternity because apparently Rich doesn’t know how to use the dishwasher or evening doing it the old-fashioned way. If I’m not washing up, I’m doing some sort of housework with a nearly four year old ‘helping’.

Maybe I lied about not having girly brunches, me and my Ella have at least one a week! Not quite the same but just as sweet.

So basically, all I want to achieve in the next 3 weeks (hopefully less) of this pregnancy are:


  • Long hot soaks in the bath – ALONE.
  • An eyebrow shape and tint and eyelash extensions (purely for vanity as without I will look horrendous during/after labour)
  • Brunch with friends/ Rich – maybe even throw in a mocktail, why the hell not!
  • NO MORE HEARTBURN (I can dream)
  • Someone to cook for me and clean the house.
  • That peace and quiet thing that everyone keeps telling me I’m supposed to be enjoying.

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