Page 1 of The Bad Mother's Diary

Thursday January 1st

New Year’s Day

New Year’s resolutions:

MOVE HOUSE!!! This is absolutely fucking urgent. A couple with a three-month old baby should not live in a one-bedroom penthouse with cream carpets. The glass balcony alone is a health and safety issue. Even the pigeons slip over.

Set up regular donations to Save the Children, NSPCC, Child Action and Stop Child Poverty.

Phone Nana Joan every Saturday, like I did before I had Daisy. Feel terrible I keep forgetting, but something has happened to my brain.

Stop watching the news. It’s just depressing – especially now I’m a mum. Horrible to think about the things that happen to children.

Lose baby weight. Post-pregnancy, I look like a Renaissance nude. None of my clothes fit, and I want to look my best for the wedding.

And on a lesser note:

Use bags for life.

Stop playing Candy Crush Saga / online bingo.

Learn how to fold up the stroller without slicing my fingers open and find out what those black cushiony things are for.

Try REALLY hard not to swear at Nick’s mum, even when she turns up unannounced. As our landlady,technicallyshe should give us 24 hours notice before letting herself in. But as Daisy’s grandmother, I should tolerate her calling round. I just wish she didn’t have her own key.

I’m happy that finally Nick proposed, but we still have a long way to go.

By the time I had a baby, I thought we’d live in a proper house with tasteful wooden board games and a vegetable patch.

I also thought I would own a rolling pin.

There’s no room for baking equipment (or baby bottles) in this apartment. Our kitchen is designed for London executives who eat out or heat up microwave meals.

Nick says we should count our blessings.

We rent a beautiful, glass-fronted apartment on the Thames. Plenty of Londoners would love to live near the Tate Modern.

But Daisy needs parks. Trees. Space. Other children.

Will give Nick a good kick up the arse this year, because good houses in our price range sell fast.

The only ones that hang around for more than a few days are ‘in an up-and-coming area’ (shit area), ‘delightfully cosy’ (shit size), ‘priced to sell’ (massive shit hole) or ‘remarkably energy efficient’ (shitty basement).

Nick tried to stay in bed this morning claiming he ‘wasn’t feeling well’ (10 bottles of Corona last night), so I threatened to spray him with window cleaner until he got up and helped me clean the panoramic glass.

Am taking Daisy to see Nana Joan this afternoon. Haven’t seen her in ages, and Nick and I could do with some space.

Afternoon

No trains today, so drove the 50 miles to Nana Joan’s care home in Great Oakley.

It should have been an hour’s journey, but we got stuck in M25 holiday traffic.

Kept glimpsing my tired face in the rear-view mirror and wishing I’d worn makeup.

I have an English-rose complexion (pale skin, instant sunburn) that usually looks okay natural, but right now a bit of colour wouldn’t hurt.

My hair (which my hairdresser politely calls ‘not quite blonde, not quite brown’) could do with some attention too. It’s been ages since I had highlights, and my curls are past my shoulders and need a trim.

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