I must be the biggest tramp going, what a boob!

I've got something I need to get off my chest. That breastfeeding malarky last week, yep you know the story. Where the ignorant troll calls a mum a "tramp". Yawn. I don't want to dwell on their ignorance or boost their google rating but what I want to do right here, right now is tell you my experience of breastfeeding.

I did it. And I'm proud of it. Born with a healthy set of jugs, bazookas, airbags, baps, boobies, whatever you call them (for the record, mine will always be 'boobs') I knew that once I eventually fell pregnant I'd do my damnedest to give my child the best start in life. Breast is best. My mum told me that AND it's a medical fact. She told me one day after I caught sight of my little brother hanging off her left one. He was 10 months at the time and I was an inquisitive five year old with a growing brain and a freshly developed and absorbent conscious.

Thirty years later and as soon as I found out I was pregnant my boobs sprang to life. My 36Cs felt more like 36DDs and I had a sudden urge to eat grass and moo, nah kidding but I did see the changes in body shape rather quickly. "There" my mum said when she first clapped eyes on my pregnant shape, "You were made to have a baby, Hev". Thanks Mum. The seven years trying was to perfect it, right?

The months that followed included a disappointing trip to a certain store that, without wanting to name, cares for mothers. What started off as an exciting first maternity purchase turned in to an uncomfortable and very bouncy journey home. Telling a 1st-trimester first-time mother that her back had grown 4 inches did nothing for my self esteem, what with the raging hormones and lack of underwire. Having done some research online I discovered the wonderful Bravissimo. (Click here to view their Maternity range and fitting video)

I was able to book an appointment at their rather plush Covent Garden branch and have the correct measuring service. In the flush of first pregnancy I departed the shop with a bulging bag of beautiful lingerie, a well-fitted bra and the knowledge that in fact my back size wasn't that of an amateur wrestler but rather a rounded-down 34. My boobs? Already a D cup, with 6 months to go. Gulp.

Due to health issues I was booked in for a C-section two weeks before my due date. By this time everyone, including myself thought I was having twins. My bump was huge and my boobs weren't far behind. When my beautiful miracle arrived I was rushed off to the recovery suite (sounds far grander than it was, trust me) and I was told to put baby straight on to my chest. She wouldn't want to feed but it was important for all babies to have skin-to-skin contact: keeps them calm, warm and steadies their breathing. It also reminds your body to produce plenty of milk. The body is amazing.

Skin-to-skin contact, although I'm clearly away with the fairies

For the first couple of days I was very nervous. Show me a new mum who isn't. My boobs felt a little achey but as my baby was 2 weeks early the midwife had said that my milk may not be ready. Nevertheless, I was encouraged by the midwives on the ward to feed as soon as I felt up to it. The first night was horrendous. I had a 7lb ball of soft and helpless sleepiness in my arms, I'd not slept and couldn't move well and I JUST KEPT GETTING IT WRONG. It's all about position. And your state of mind. I'm not the most patient of people so I was getting very frustrated. I swapped chairs. I put pillows under baby, under me, behind me. I sat up straight, I sat sideways. My nipple bleeding and bruised, I bawled my eyes out. I sat for an hour, feeling lonely and scared.

I gave in. There's no handbook. And eventually, tentatively approached one of the less severe-looking midwifes and asked if I could have some Formula. It was like the gruel scene from Oliver Twist. She gave me the most withering of looks and I was made to feel like a disgusting individual. The midwives appeared to be very, very anti-Formula. So much so that the milk was kept in a locked cupboard with not every member of staff allowed access. This from a ward that allowed freshly birthed mothers to go out for a cigarette in blood stained gowns. Nice.

After a couple of very tiring and upsetting days we cracked it. Me and my little team member worked it out. Relax. Take your time. Position both of you correctly. And 'woosh'. Mother Nature working as it should be. I drank more water than when I did that 10k in the hottest July on record and had a face the colour of beetroot. But it worked. The more baby drinks, the more mummy drinks. The more mummy drinks, the more baby drinks. Clever isn't it?

Back home and it was so much more relaxing than hospital so baby and I had a lovely routine. The body is a marvellous piece of kit; I was recovering from a major op yet still my boobs were full to the brim. A form of elation washing over me every time my girl latched on. I could sit for hours on our bed, baby against me falling asleep, nay literally dropping off my nipple. The best way to recover from a c-section is to feed your baby. I was lucky enough to have a bountiful supply of milk, so much so that I often had to use a breast pump for fear of toppling-over under the sheer weight. I did try expressing my milk (pumping then freezing) but always forgot about the supply and just got my boobs out instead. Rest assured, you'll know when you need to pump - painful and hard boobs are not pleasant and if ignored can lead to mastitis. (If in doubt, always see your GP).

I may have just knocked her out with No2

What baby wants to drink out of a bottle when they've been used to having the warmth and smell of mummy whilst feeding? I'm afraid that during what I like to call the 'breastfeeding years' I did come across friends and friends-of-friends opposed to my natural feeding; those that either wanted to 'save' their boobs or weren't comfortable or whose baby wasn't able to latch on. For me, it was the most natural thing - why else would I have milk ducts? And I'd get them out whenever and wherever (old work colleagues would agree!) If the child is hungry the child will be fed. Once did it by a duck pond, on a wooden bench whilst eating a sandwich. Sound familiar?

The beauty of breastfeeding is that whilst your baby is putting on weight it's quite the opposite for you. I was back in my skinny jeans within a month. Had I not had painful stitches in my stomach, it would have probably been weeks. I was drinking lots of water and decaf tea and eating healthy meals as well as grazing, if I missed a meal I knew about it. So did the husband. You won't like me when I'm 'hangry'.

Talking of drinking lots, readers of my blog will know that I do like the odd glass of wine/champagne/beer/gin/you-name-it and I did have a few nights out where I'm not ashamed to admit I partook of a few too many. Remembering one occasion where I HAD expressed milk for my husband to use later should the baby wake. Stumbling in and with a crash, bang, wallop I inadvertently woke baby, dramatically thrust her to my boob and sobbed "I've missed you, I shouldn't have gone out, mummy's sorry" Sob. Sob. The next thing I knew I'm waking up, fuzzy-headed, blearily looking into baby's cot beside our bed. "S'pose I should feed her, poor thing must be hungry hey". Him, "Er no. She'll be fine. You fed her for an hour last night, don't you remember?" Me "Oh yeah, of course, sorry I'm just a little er tired".

Being the guilty mum I was in the old days, always worrying about the tiniest of things, I went for a check up at my GPs the next week and told her what I'd done. She laughed and said that baby may be a bit gassy from the champagne but that I'm not to worry about alcohol getting into her system. Feeding her when drunk with my milk is still better than feeding her Formula. I thank you.

I didn't take this as a green light to go mad every weekend, far from it but it just goes to show that your mothering instinct is one of the finest skills we humans have. And the odd glass (or bottle) of LPR never harmed anyone, even a hungry baby.

A little tip for you: you should know to alternate feeding between left and right (or No1 and No2) but in the middle of the night and with sleep deprivation you can get forgetful. I bought myself a feeding bracelet. It's basically a stretchy bead bracelet that says 'Next boob' and you move it from your left to right wrist dependent on which boob was last used. Lots of jewellery makers offer them now but you could just use a hairband.

Wearing the 'boob' bracelet on a day out

I've only fed baby twice at house parties. They were close friends and had allocated a bedroom I could use should the need arise. The only thing with having a very active milk flow is that they can leak. If the left boob (we'll call it No1) is in action the right one (No2) starts crying because it feels left out. I jest. No2 will leak, it's like some kind of natural valve system. There are breastfeeding pads you can get, that slip inside your bra to protect your clothes - I didn't know about them at the time or else I would have worn them under my lovely pale grey dress that I wore that one time. That one time I was photographed. And the photo uploaded to Facebook, unwittingly but when you see it you SEE it. Gah.

Talking of embarrassing breastfeeding moments, and I'm sure if the troll was able to read this he'd be horrified, I once sprang a leak in a coffee shop. Sat with a friend, baby was crying because she was hungry and it had taken a while to get a table. Found a table in the corner, got No1 out, baby latched on quickly and quite violently (gets 'hangry' like her mother) and gulped down her lunch. Someone dropped a fork nearby, baby moved her head and yes you've guessed it. The next table's occupant almost had extra milk in their soya cappucino. Cringe? I wanted to curl up under our table and stay there for the next year. The only witness was my friend beside me who, between snorts of laughter, said we should leave and find a less busy cafe.

I breastfed my girl up until two weeks after her 2nd birthday. She was weaned as normal but I continued to give her breast milk as a supplement to food and the dreaded Formula. For a few weeks leading up to her birthday it had began to hurt as she had a couple of teeth and was accidently catching and consequently biting my skin. That was a big decision but one that all feeding mums have to make at some point. I pride myself on doing it for that long. And my boobs, now at 34F, still look like and I quote an old work colleague "wench's boobs" even if I do say so myself. Oh and I still shop at Bravissimo, but not the 'mother' section rather the 'sexy mutha'. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.

That's one in the eye (literally?) to all those anti-breast campaigners.

For information on positioning and attachment, click here

REVIEW: She's Got The Whole World in her Hands

You've gotta hand it to 'em

Growing up in the 1970s the furthest we travelled was Cornwall, and when it wasn’t Cornwall it was Devon. Sigh. Now there’s nothing wrong with these two fine holiday destinations but to a seven year old with a vivid imagination it did all begin to look the same.

The 270-mile car journey was part of the ‘fun’ apparently. Me and my two kid brothers on a mattress in the back of a Ford Escort Estate. In the time before seatbelts, we were thrown around along with the obligatory vomit. Vomit flying through the air – not actually knowing whose was the worst part. With both parents smoking in the front we didn’t have much choice.

Alarmingly I have memories of my brothers writing ‘HELP’ in the condensation of the windows. On a summer’s day we dared not have the windows open, as the speed of the car would mean that the youngest brother would have been sucked out on to the M4. So what with the smoke and vomit we also had the steam.

Things have changed since then. Seatbelt laws for one. And fewer smokers, more considerate ones I hope, allowing their young passengers some oxygen via an open window.

Going abroad wasn’t an option back "when I were a kid" unless your last name was double-barreled and you lived in the ‘country’. With not much talk of aeroplanes and only seeing a crack-commando-unit-who-were-sent-to-prison-by-a-military -court-for-a-crime-they-didn’t commit jump out of one on telly, it didn’t even cross this writer’s mind. Talking of the great goggle-box, what was with the Swedish chef on the Muppet Show? Hurdy-Gurdy indeed.

Birds Eye French Bread Pizza. Here’s the thing. I, like many, would bite into one of these for tea after school and Grange Hill thinking of far off places like Calais and oooh Brittany. But wait a minute. Pizza? Isn’t that Italian? Birds Eye what were you thinking, how could you fool this schoolchild into accepting this fusion of Mediterranean foodstuffs? Sadly, it was never an issue. Back then food was food. Your mum put on the table what the housekeeping covered. In our little backwater town there were very few Indian and Chinese restaurants and always kept for the most special of special occasions. Nowadays we have high streets full of all types of food from all over the world and we don’t bat an eyelid. Takeaways are an accepted form of catering for a lot of mums (and dads). American, Chinese, Indian, Italian, Turkish and Scottish (what do you mean you can’t buy neeps and tatties at the golden arches?). These food retailers are bringing us the taste of other parts of the world and it’s all on our doorstep.

The jigsaw with the magnetic pull

Living on an island it’s inevitable that we become increasingly multicultural, and that’s especially due to our airports. Since 2000 Heathrow has held the title of ‘world’s busiest airport by international passenger traffic’. Put in real terms, that’s around 65million visitors a year to our green and pleasant land. We ARE the great big melting pot as sung by Blue Mink in 1970. With that comes a curiosity in children to learn more about their neighbours either within their hometown or across the seas.

My four year old has ate the food, met the children, perhaps watched a documentary but what she really wants to do is experience first hand the different countries out there and this experience is now within her reach. She can sit at a computer and surf the net for information, hell she can even Skype her Nanny in France. Children’s enthusiasm to learn doesn’t stop at learning to read and write in their own language. You only have to watch an episode of Peppa Pig to hear Delphine Donkey ask Peppa “Comment ça va?”

With international calls made daily, Skype and something called Facetime (no, me neither), talking to our overseas friends has never been easier. And you could even do it whilst sat at the table munching through a French Bread Pizza.

As an enthusiastic (not pushy!) mum I do like to teach my daughter about the world around her. We’ve covered off a little about languages, foods and climates. Time zones will be her dad’s job. I barely know what time it is here. The TV continuity announcer only has to mention ‘British Summer Time’ for me to run behind the sofa and panic about time travel.

We’ve had the Janod Magnetic World Map for a week now and even I’ve learnt something. Ok. I’ve learnt a lot. Geography was never my strong point at school, I could colour a map in but couldn’t tell you what an Isobar was.

Did you know that the main export of Bolivia is soya beans or that there’s an African country called Chad? I thought that was a drawing of a man looking over a wall. Anyway, I digress.

There are many ways to play with this toy. It can be a simple jigsaw for one player or a game for many. Its pieces are easy for little hands to hold and place in position. The magnets are strong enough to stay in situ when hung on the wall, being durable but not ungainly. Each piece of the puzzle has a relevant image to the country portrayed. The illustrations and typography are wonderfully done, not overly childish but sweet enough to catch the eye of a young child. The colours are such that you can tell which is a cold climate and which is hot.

It's child's play, or mum's, or dad's...

You do end up forgetting it’s a jigsaw, more a trip around the world in 80 minutes, or however long you choose. Food and animals native to that area represent each country.

Distance and position is now easier to discuss and explain, for instance: we have relatives in France as mentioned earlier, and further afield in the US and Australia. The jigsaw puts in perspective any wild talk of country hopping… “So, Mummy when we’ve been to France shall we go to America to see my aunty and then pop to Australia next week. Please?” Ahem.

The Janod Magnetic World Map is a hit in this house. Not only with the four year old but this 40 year old. A great addition to a well-stocked playroom and a fabulous talking point. An inspirational purchase and one that will come in handy next year when we discuss our further adventures into the big wide, amazing world out there.  

Buy it here: Janod Magnetic World Map

And if you want to be in with a chance of winning a wonderful wooden toy on Wooden Wednesday, (as well have fun on their page) join thousands of others by liking Wooden Toy Shop here. 

REVIEW: Which came first? The chicken, or the egg (sandwich).

When I was asked to review “20 Great Lunchbox Ideas From Leftovers” I did wonder what on earth these meals could be and indeed look like, so I was pleasantly surprised.

My first impression of this e-book was the clear navigation, simple instructions and easy steps to follow. It made this occasional dizzy blonde feel like even I could produce great food from the recipes.

It’s a fabulous idea; a book written by two very inspiring women. One a busy mum who set up MyFamilyClub , and the other, a campaigner who heads up the brilliant
www.lovefoodhatewaste.com and is also the food expert for MyFamilyClub. They also have a great page on Facebook, click here to view.

Now, I’m not the most organised of mums so when I read how easy it was to convert last night’s dinner to today’s always-hungry child’s lunchbox (actually make that husband’s too) I was very keen to read on and take lots of notes.

The layout is very helpful with first a dinner recipe, then lunchbox and then waste-reducing tips including freezing instructions. Did you know you can freeze fresh garlic, me neither. Bake washed potato peelings, season and enjoy? Slice fresh lemons and freeze for drinks instead of ice cubes? Impressive, hey?

I never thought I’d enjoy reading a recipe book, especially an e-book (I like to hold a thick tome, but that’s a different story, boom boom) but like any good book I was hooked from start to finish. In fact, you could say “the butter did it” (sorry).

Bin there. Dung that.

I’m now looking at my freezer in a different light.  For instance, I never thought of buying peppers, onions and mushrooms. Preparing and then freezing. How easy it is to throw something nutritious and tasty together when the main components can be found in the freezer? I do recall my mum ‘blanching’ vegetables and freezing them but those were the days when it was the done thing to boil the life out of broccoli, rather than have the much healthier and palatable ‘al dente’ we all prefer these days.

I found the lunchbox ideas particularly helpful as well as innovative. I seem to be the only parent with a four year old who still won’t deign to eat a sandwich, no matter what lies betwixt the wholegrain goodness. I sometimes find myself having bleary-eyed, head-scratching food dilemmas at 7am, searching my cerebral cortex for another way to make cold pasta interesting. Not anymore, thanks to this book. Next time I do a ‘big shop’ I won’t just be considering dinner-time meals but how these can be converted for lunch box.

And as for our ever-faithful compost bin – well it’s going to take a lot longer to fill now we have this book in our lives!

This cookery book is hugely recommended and makes you think. Doesn’t it?

Well I’m off to make myself a well-deserved gin and tonic, not forgetting the frozen lemon slices. All in the name of research, of course. 

Buy it now for only £1.99:  http://www.myfamilyclub.co.uk/ebook/great-lunchbox-ideas/d/9

Let's be friends!

Someone once said "if you have nothing good to say, say nothing". I agree, to a point. If it's appalling service then one needs to let the server know it's unacceptable. But it should work both ways. I'm a great believer in positive feedback; not only does it make the person on the receiving end feel good but I also get a warm and fuzzy feeling inside too. And at my age that's few and far between!

With the dawn of social networking comes greater brand awareness and customer service contact. No longer do we need to begrudgingly put pen to paper and hastily post to some unidentifiable P.O. box number nor do we wait patiently on the phone whilst Cliff sings 'Wired for Sound' or worst still 'Power to the People'.

Log on to Facebook and you're sure to find your intended modern-day oracle.

One such case occurred for me last week. On our chill-out Monday at home, me and daughter like to bake. Sweet or savoury - as long as my little girl gets to stand at her step in the kitchen and throw, sorry make that sprinkle, a topping or two she's happy.

Upon realising we were eggless off we went to our new sparkly supermarket to grab some eggs and other baking goodies - I always find it oddly pleasurable eyeing up all the pretty bottles and jars of sprinkles and the like. Anyway, Autumn grabbed a box of ready-made cake mix and as time was pushing on I thought what the heck, let's do it. She picked Green's Barbie Vanilla Cupcake Kit; it was clearly the most appealing packaging to a little girl and to this bigger girl as not only do you get the mix but also stickers and activity book. Great to while away the minutes waiting for the oven to do its thing.

Does what it says on the box

The cakes rose. A small triumph in this house I assure you! Autumn had busied herself with the activity book, so it was time for me and my little sous-chef to get decorating. The buttercream was easy to mix and simply by cutting the corner off the packet, as advised, I could pipe to my heart's content. You might be able to see the one cake that I allowed Autumn to pipe (I did try to resist but there's only so much elbowing I can take) - it's hidden at the back. Once decorated I felt compelled to take a photo. I know. I'll photograph almost anything but hey I was impressed. The cakes looked exactly like the image on the packaging. That NEVER happens!

Cut to a few days ago, and what with my love of feedback, as mentioned at the start of this, I found Green's on Facebook (harder than you think). Wrote a little message saying how impressed I was and attached a photo. I didn't expect anything back but just wanted to express my appreciation. The very next day I had a friendly reply and was instructed to email their marketing department as they would like to send me a goodie bag for Autumn.

Frenzied unwrapping ensued

Two days later I receive a large parcel. A full size Barbie doll, post-it notes and cookie cutters. I guess the doll isn't for me. Autumn was beside herself; a new doll with lots of accessories, and safe in the knowledge that Mummy will be hot-footing it back to the supermarket to buy more from Green's selection of home-baking. Click here to go to Green's website.

"Oh, I can't wait until you're older so we can bake together" Barbie might have said

So remember this, "IF IT'S GOOD, TELL THEM." (You can use that, it's mine).

I've not had time to swing a cat

So it's been 6 weeks since my last confession blog, huge apologies. I have an A1 whiteboard opposite me daubed with so many half-finished projects, things to do and ideas that I've not had time to swing a cat let alone find room for it.

It could have something to do with the school holidays and the fact that I'm not the most organised of people. I've been wanting to get on with what was going to be a weekly blog post but time has flown by in a flurry of 'play days', cafe visits, Grandma's house, and the dreaded role play. Re-enacting Cinderella with a wannabe actress (make that 'drama queen') takes a lot out of you when you know you've got a proof to send off and the stairs are too far away from the playroom to make a run for it. Especially when you're dressed as the fairy godmother. Bibbity-boppity-flipping-boo!

Anyway, I won't hang around. I'm writing this in some pain. Not mental pain you understand. Physical, squashed against the edge of my desk pain. Yep, you've got that right - one child sat at desk behind me. All manner of odd and somewhat questionable sound effects coming from the child's PC. This is how I'm managing. Apart from the odd evening spent catching up on projects and 'Swimming Sunday' when Daddy takes Autumn out for the day, I've took it upon myself to work 'with' my very demanding almost-4-year-old who, when at home with me, tends to cling onto my leg like an excitable Jack Russell needing her first 'ablutions' walk of the day. The only way I can shake little Autumn off, metaphorically speaking of course, is to hurriedly switch the pc on and offer her a chair. Thus rendering some pain my way. It's a box room for gawd's sake! We are both squished in the corner as it was my grand idea years ago to install a swivel chair to work between both pc and mac in busy periods - and to feel a little like some important NASA expert or failing that, Jean Michel-Jarr. Now we have a dining room chair and about two inches betwixt working mother and inquisitive child.

My brain hurts!

I could blame my lack of accomplishments on Social Brand Creation's work log but I've also become a social network fiend. Facebook is almost an income, so let's not complain. But then there's Twitter (Stephen Fry has yet to reply), Pinterest (I have no idea either) and Google+. Not to mention LinkedIn, but again let's hope one of my paltry 23 connections has a connection with a connection that might eventually want a connection with me, which may in the future lead to a lead which leads to a lead which leads to a job. Ahem.You can view my LinkedIn file here. Or Google me, I'm everywhere baby!

In the meantime, I've got 5 windows open on my mac, including two email inboxes so by the time I've checked for updates, competition wins, job requests, job approvals, and done some actual, proper, what-I-like-to-call-work work the blog is still on the to-do list.

Autumn is normally very good when she's 'working', only momentarily banging the mouse down in fury when the pc freezes at an important part of colouring in a big hairy monster and yelling "Maaaaam, do something, NOW grrrrr" in my ear which happens to be a few inches from her mouth. This usually occurs when I'm about to save a proof so timing could be better. Saying all this, it is working. These school holidays have a lot to answer for but I will miss my lovely little girl even if I do I have to watch my language and find myself humming along to some very annoying, 80s-synth inspired theme tunes. 

One last thing, if I hear Justin Fletcher talk about Mr Tumble's spotty bag again the pc's going out the window.

An Apple(mac) A Day

Let's make this a little easier for you, my wonderful reader, we are still blogging in retrospect and this edition begins in 2010:
So yet to be discovered as the next David Bailey and with a little bit of money left, I bought myself a brand spanking new iMac, replacing the battered and bruised Blueberry iMac used purely for iTunes and emails. Considering I've been working on, let's give them their proper title, AppleMacs since they were first introduced to the UK (yes, I'm that old) I thought it was time I made my money this way. With 20 years experience in the creative industry it was only right I give it a go.

Being one of those, what I like to call, 'creative types' my once glitzy 'dressing room' morphed into my home 'office'. The idea being that as sole carer for Autumn I should start thinking about staying in to work - as opposed to going out to work, see what I did there?

Starting off as 'WFH Creative' I had some success but not wanting to make excuses, it's flipping hard to concentrate on a project when you have a two year old wanting your attention, demanding food and bottom-wiping (her's not mine). Then there were two cats to kick (I jest) and a house to keep tidy. Don't get me wrong, Andy is well domesticated and house-trained (he'll love me for that) and not your typical male stereotype - he'd make do with a cold belly-pork sandwich after a long day at work, he's Northern remember. A couple of projects down the line and my yearning for success grew. I do have a fair few ideas whizzing round my cerebral cortex so am often found talking out loud then maniacally searching for a "goddamn pen and bit of paper for gawd's sake!"

One of my very first projects was to come up with a new cider. Not as easy as it sounds, and now looking back I'm sure we would have been trounced by Stella Artois' Cidre, but it was fun all the same and proved that I was still capable of coming up with original creativity. Another project that didn't take off sadly was for a friend's refrigeration company and I feel, especially after announcing it here, that the strapline will follow me around for years to come. The brief was to come up with a catchy slogan about inexpensive cold storage appliances. I cringe as I type this but all the same, it's funny, sort of clever and once Curry's see this they'll be biting my hand off for copyright: 'Thrilling Prices for Chilling Devices'.

With my thirst for branding and marketing reawakened, it was about this time that I discovered 'comping' on Facebook. It got so bad that I'd wake up in the night thinking of winning slogans and captions. Andy used to tell me off for going on the computer every day. I'd say I was taking some washing up or making the beds or cleaning the shower (that's when he knew I was fibbing). There were times when I was actually working too. Like I said, when you have no childcare you have to grab as much time as possible to do the things you think will make a difference to your family. I've been entering competitions and giveaways on Facebook since September last year and have won 70 prizes so far. Ranging from the inevitable cuddly toy to Disneyland Paris breaks, oh did I mention ankle supports?

"All because the Lady loves...ankle supports?"

Having an inquisitive and tech-savvy daughter means that I'm often elbowing said child off my Mac and have now installed a chair at the PC behind me. Autumn has her own desk and enjoys doing 'her work' on Cbeebies but she says she prefers my computer and I don't blame her! I've just been working on a branding project for Word files. The expletives coming out of the office were record-breaking, I even managed to create some new swear words. Copyright pending of course.

She blinded me with flash photography.

My husband, Andy, won't mind me admitting this but for the first couple of years I did feel like a single mum. We were like the proverbial ships in the night, only grunting at each other after our equally tiring days. Our sole purpose in life at this time was to keep our baby safe, secure and fed (not in that order). My choice of breastfeeding meant that Autumn was dependent on Mummy mostly and the fact that I could stay at home that first year, with the cushion of redundancy payment helped hugely. I've always been a creative type and would sit with feet up, boobs out and baby attached daydreaming about this idea and that. Some of my ex-colleagues would say that's how they remembered me at work, without the baby of course. Meanwhile, Andy was under immense pressure to work long hours to pay all the bills because, as mentioned in my first blog, that money soon burnt holes in both our pockets.

Years passed and bringing up baby got easier - they say the first 6 months are the hardest, with worn-out parents getting little from the experience (sorry to say this but it's true). Rewind to the day before Autumn's birth and I made a vow. Well two actually. One was to be the best mum ever and, if I was lucky enough, to breastfeed as long as physically possible (2 years and 2 teeth later, if you're interested). The other? To document our little girl's life through pictures. This latter vow was a personal wish for Autumn to have more (and better) memories of growing up than I do. I only have a handful of photos and sadly own only one of me as a baby. In this digital era I count myself lucky that I am able to take so many photos and make so many memories for Autumn.

Having used my lovely Nikon D50 to take some beautiful, well I am biased, photos of my one and only I realised that I had a knack for capturing something and so I decided overnight to become a professional photographer (I'm laughing at this whilst I type). Never been one to concentrate on one thing, nor enjoy courses, revision, you name it I won't read it. Anyway, Hevco Creative Photography was launched. Buoyed by the fact that I'd won a recent Facebook photo competition I began to think this was going to be the 'It' I'd been waiting, and clearly was destined, for. I was going to make a significant contribution to the household income. To further my chances of becoming successful I created a brand (I'm good at that) and set up my first Facebook page. (https://www.facebook.com/hevcocreative)

About this time Autumn had been attending a wonderful playgroup at a local church. The lovely ladies there encouraged me to set up a portrait shoot in a back room. Now my camera is good but not that good. So with the help of a very dear friend with a very dear(!) camera/flash/lens I took part in my first, and to date only, children's photo shoot (see test shot of my lovely girl above). This was partly successful had it not been for my nutty mother-in-law who chose to walk in front of shot just as I'd been able to settle my final 3yr old subject. A scouse mother-in-law is not to be questioned even when potentially ruining your career before it's actually began. Funny now but at the time I was furious!

My short-lived career as portrait photographer is over, for now. But my love of concept photography is always never far from my mind. I've since entered other competitions and either won or been short-listed. I enjoy updating my Facebook page and will eventually, honest, get around to advertising my gallery and hopefully sell some of my work.

There's just one more thing I need to do and that's find the time to back-up the 11,000-and-counting photos already on my hard drive. I can't do everything. But I'll give it a go.