Saturday 17 August 2019

Terrible news for a writer mum...

My typing wakes up the baby.

Hoover is fine. Leaf-blowing is fine. Revving up a motorbike repeatedly (I hate you, whoever you are) is fine.

Typing, not fine.

When I was eight months pregnant, we moved to the flat next door. It had one more room, which became my office. An office beside the baby's room. Perfect. A sunny, cool, uncluttered room where I could snatch moments to write while my little one snored softly in her crib next door.

I typed like mad while I was pregnant. I wanted to finish my novel before my due date. Perhaps the sound now reminds my baby of humbler times, when she lived in a cramped flat and survived on a liquid diet.  

"What are you doing out here?" my husband said, when he discovered me writing on the terrace one early morning, "you have a wonderful office now."

I thought of my big white desk, my notebooks within reach, my selection of biros, my view of the pine trees. Was my typing really waking her up? Or, was I just being paranoid?
I returned to my office and began to type:

C-H-A -(I heard a stirring...) P-T-E-R ( faint mewling) O-N-E (loud cry)

I stopped typing. Silence. 

I picked up my laptop, charger, notebook, biro, phone, cup of tea and tiptoed down the corridor, passed her room and out onto the terrace. The cicadas buzzed, the leaf-blower grumbled, the motorbike revved, baby snored, I typed and all was well in the world again. When it comes to writing dreams and babies, you have to adapt to survive!


Pregnant and looking for a positive account of pregnancy and childbirth? Check out the diary I kept while I was pregnant! It's available from Amazon.