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Chapters (28)
  1. SO LUCKY
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. Acknowledgements
  20. Keep Reading …
  21. Introduction
  22. PIECE ONE
  23. Parenting – WHAT is that smell?
  24. PIECE TWO
  25. Don’t miss the ‘So Lucky’ podcast series
  26. About the Author
  27. Also by Dawn O’Porter
  28. About the Publisher

It’s a harsh experience to be confronted with the kind of mother you are. Mainly, perhaps, because you are labelling yourself. But we do that, women, don’t we? We feel we have to fit into categories. The most prevalent categories that mothers are put into are ‘good’ or ‘bad’. ‘She’s such a good mum.’ Don’t tell me you haven’t said it about your friends. So, let’s work out which one I am, because on paper I kind of look OK. It’s just a shame I don’t exist only ‘on paper’.

Reasons I am a great mother:

  1. I am painstakingly dedicated to my kids’ happiness.
  2. I take their health very seriously and work hard on their food and nutrition.
  3. I engage in hours of conversation, despite having relatively low interest, if any, in what they are talking about.
  4. I have happily sacrificed my afternoon nap since having them.
  5. I love them even more when they’re ill and find great pleasure in nursing them back to health.
  6. I have carved out a career that means I have a 98 per cent chance of being there for them if they need me.
  7. I am utterly obsessed with them and think they are the two greatest humans who ever walked the earth.

Reasons I am a bad mother:

  1. I am rubbish at playing.
  2. When my kids do an impression of me, they shout, ‘BE CAREFUL OF MY WINE.’
  3. I fantasise about living in a cute two-bed flat in London with a couple of cats way more than I should.

Now, I realise that my ‘bad mother’ list is a lot shorter. But in the circumstances of lockdown, I realised that being a good player, in particular, is crucial. I know it’s silly to buy into the perfect ‘smug mum’ scene on Instagram, but all I’d see were countless images of mums playing with their kids. Wild and adventurous games that they had invented, dens so extravagant a family of four could live in them, kids so happy they never wanted to see their friends again. And then there was me, out of ideas by Day 4, feeling like I didn’t have the energy to keep two boys entertained, watching how my husband could play and play and play when all I ever seemed to say was ‘in a minute’, ‘when I’ve done this …’, ‘after my wine is gone.’ I do really try, but I get so tired, and that makes me feel so guilty that I internalise it and end up getting all disappointed in myself, so I have to go off and have a big think about life in a cupboard.

I spend a lot of time in cupboards.