Last night I had my first proper proper night out since I found out I was pregnant.
I went to the Cat House (iykyk) and danced my little socks off to some 2010s emo/metal/pop punk bangers (and felt confused by the apparent amount of music that has been released that I have somehow MISSED). I drunk texted the guys in my band. For some reason I drank a blue VK. I ate a greasy take away on the stumble home.
Roo turned one nearly two weeks ago, and I've been reflecting a lot on the past couple of years lately.
My pregnancy was really mentally tough, but never physically dangerous. I have the easiest birth story of anyone I know because I was so terrified to be induced that I opted for a planned C-Section at the absolute last second (so last second, that it had to be done by the emergency team), and it went absolutely smoothly. I went into hospital at 8am, and had my healthy baby in my arms by half 10. We were so incredibly incredibly lucky.
It came as an absolute shock to me that I would love being a Mum. For anyone who knows me, that's probably a surprise, as I've been working with kids for 10 years, and I'm just that type of person. But I was terrified of losing my autonomy and lifestyle, I had terrible perinatal depression and convinced myself that I would become unrecognisable. Going from working 6 days a week, into the uncomfortable nothingness of maternity leave was maddening for me, and for the first time in years I had the time to really think about the life I wanted to build for myself, and now for my family too.
My First Stall
I did my first art market when Roo was 6 weeks old.
In retrospect that seems like madness, but I can't emphasise enough how good it was to have something to be working towards that wasn't related to breastmilk or nappies (to be fair, when I booked it, I was expecting him to be 8 weeks old, I had no way of knowing he was going to be 14 days late. For some reason, I actually fully expected him to be 2 weeks early, based on absolutely nothing at all).
I didn't make very much money - but it was enough to buy a nice take away when I got home. More importantly it confirmed to me that yes, total strangers were in fact willing to part with some of their hard earned cash in exchange for my silly little paintings.
I spent the remainder of my maternity leave doing as many wee markets as I could fit in around new Motherhood life. Some went ok, and some less so, but even the good ones weren't anything close to support your family cash.
It feels important to mention here, if you haven't noticed already, I am absolutely addicted to working.
I've always worked full time, and beyond, usually with multiple jobs, and side-hussles to boot. I absolutely fall into the millennial trap of trying to monetise everything I enjoy because I cannot stand to do anything I don't think is worthwhile, and I don't like having a boss.
I love the freedom I have as a creative freelancer, I love being the breadwinner in my family, I love waking up my brain buzzing with ideas and a big to-do list to work through.
But sometimes it's really hard.
I don't really enjoy time off because I can't switch off. Case in point; it's a Saturday morning, and by rights I should be sitting with my head in a toilet, and instead I am writing this blog. I'm also basically off from my day job for the whole of July, so naturally, I'm releasing THE PLANNER, also my band is releasing a single, also I have a Masters project to do. Did I mention I have a one year old (he's currently emptying the pen drawer next to me while I type)? I like to be busy. It keeps my brain quiet.
I wish I could have just relaxed and focused on hanging out with the cool little human I made during my maternity leave, instead of feeling like I had to start a business. But I'm also really glad I made that choice because, I love hanging out with that little guy so much, that there was absolutely no way on this earth I was going back to 6-days-a-week madness. No way I was going to pay someone else to look after him, so that someone else could pay me to look after their kids.
I realised I had all the drive to take starting a new business seriously, but only some of the know-how, and nearly none of the focus. I enrolled in a Masters course.
I've actually applied for a Masters (or equivalent) nearly every year since I graduated ten years ago, but always changed my mind at the last moment due to work commitments, poor mental health, and general fear of failure. I wish I'd had the confidence to see things through in the past, but I'm actually so so glad I waited until I found THIS COURSE.
It's an MA in Creative Practice and it's the first year it has ran. It's kind of like a business course, but for creatives. The focus is on getting things finished, seen, and paid for (if that's your aim) - rather than the specific technique of a certain discipline. I'm working along-side film makers, photographers, chefs, dance teachers, writers, tattooists, and a load of other specialists all working to make SOMETHING happen. It has all the useful "make money" stuff my degree didn't - but it's delivered in a really broad and creative way. There's no marketing jargon, or banking boys in bad suits, or any of the other things that come to (my) mind when I imagine a business course. There's an awful lot of confronting your own bullshit and the ways you get in your own way, facing your fears, and learning from your mistakes. It's good. It works for me. It's not been easy.
The last night of our first Swedish MA Retreat. The lake was so frozen we could have a bonfire on top of it. I'm at the end of the pier in the yellow coat.
Photo by Graeme Worsold - an amazing musician on my course. You should check out HIS blog here.
It felt so huge to start a Masters with a 6 month old - especially because it meant going to Sweden for a week when I'd never even been away from home overnight before, and I was still breastfeeding. I questioned deeply if it made me a bad Mum and a bad wife, and felt so ashamed that I didn't even tell some of the people closest to me that I was going. I nearly just didn't. But after some amazing words of support from my husband, and some sensible straight-talking from my sister, I realised that doing a masters to try and improve the future for my family, was actually a good-Mum move. And thing's weren't going to get easier, so if not now, fucking when?
I'm over half way through now, and I'm doing really well.
I don't know why it feels so important to write this all down this morning.
Except that a year ago today I had this tiny baby in my arms, and I was so terrified about what our life was going to look like together.
And a year before that I was two weeks away from getting married, utterly convinced that I couldn't have children (again based on nothing), and only three months away from a positive pregnancy test.
Things change so fast, and it has genuinely been maybe the hardest, most lonely two years of my life. And it's such a fucking cliche, but despite the body dysmorphia, antidepressants, and the hopelessly messy stressful house, it's been amazing, and perfect, and I wouldn't change it. We are so incredibly incredibly lucky to have what we have.
I feel selfish because this was meant to be a blog about being a Mum, and I've mostly just talked about working and doing a Masters.
I think I'm trying to say that things are harder now, but also better.
And there's a future to work towards, and a little guy who deserves the coolest childhood I can give him.
But sometimes I still need a fucking breather.
And last night. I went to The Cat House.
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