I’ve been in denial for some time but the truth is irrefutable. ProBlogger is done and dusted. That plush hotel room and big soft white bed all to myself, towering golden pyramids of pina colada macarons and cheerful Phil (sorry Hank) bringing me a perfectly made double shot cappuccino each morning is all but a distant rosy memory.
Welcome to the wee hours. That strange disembodied patch of time after the kids have gone to bed and the house is finally quiet, otherwise known as ‘your time’ – if you can keep your eyes open long enough and your hands off the wine.
To be fair, this used to be when I did my best work. 10pm was my magic hour. I was a card-carrying, candle-end burning night owl, meeting tight deadlines after heroic all-nighters and then backing it up the next day with nothing more than a shower and a double shot (sometimes espresso).
Becoming a mother was the easy part. I fell in love with this nice bloke and we decided to have a baby. No problem! Not that falling pregnant was that straightforward but lucky for us it did happen and then hey presto, this little baby boy with huge brown eyes suddenly appeared in our house as if he’d been there all along, invisible and quietly waiting off to the side until someone came along with a fat crayon and coloured him in, rendering him real and vivid and squally.