Working mum

The problem with having a kid at "big school" is they're hardly ever there! She only started in January and it seems I contend with a week off every other week.

Last week I welcomed a new job into the comfortable fold of my "home office" only to be reminded later that evening of the two week Easter break teetering round the corner.

This week has been the most stressful week I've encountered since becoming a working mum. (Apart from feeding her breakfast on the 7:23 to Waterloo every day when she was a baby).

This week there's been a lot of carting between SE London and SW London to my mum's (best woman in the world btw). The two milimetre gap between the two places on a map is deceptive - it takes FOREVER.

But on Tuesday it was my turn. I looked after Rosie and her friend.

"Okay, now we'll go to the park to collect sticks in about ten minutes," I said. "But first I just have to go upstairs to make this work call ok. Can you be quiet for ten minutes?" (Little head nods.)

Upstairs in bedroom - Dora to the left, Barbie to the right and Scooby sitting on my bedside table. I make a series of "serious" phone calls in my "serious" voice.

Then footsteps and in comes my baby talking in her little high pitched voice. I leap over her pink plastic castle and rush out of the room talking loudly into my handset to drown out her lovely little voice. I cough a lot and clear my throat, tell my boss "excuse me a minute" while pressing the phone hard into my leg to block the sound and saying "go downstairs" in a whisper shout.

Time's been the enemy. But then that's what this diary's all about. Time, and the lack of it.