Spellbound

This week my daughter turned one. I'm struggling to believe it.

It's as if at her birth, storybook-style, a fairy godmother cast a spell over her - magically transforming her from a tiny curled up creature to a confident, crawling, chatting minature person. All in just one year.

The same spell worked its magic on R and me, but with different results.

From being independent, intelligent women, living in a reasonably tidy house, that pinch of fairy dust transformed us into sleep-deprived zombies, battling against ever-growing piles of dirty plates and dirty nappies, dazed, confused - and delighted - with our new way of life.

I've spent the last year, and the months leading up to E's birth, soaking up one new experience after another. Two years ago, I knew few parents and even fewer children. Now that's all changed.

I have my own daughter and parenthood has become a part of me. It's changed the way I see myself and the world around me. And it's changed how others see me.

Like all new mums, I've become a marketing target for everything from nappies to new cars, I've become a proud flasher of photographs to anyone who'll stop and look, and I've even - although I promised I wouldn't - started talking about poo in public.

But being the 'other mother' is different too. I've been the only woman in the 'dads' group at the antenatal class, the only one of my friends with babies who hasn't been on maternity leave or complained of sore nipples and I still haven't quite worked out what to say when a stranger tells me that E has my eyes.

I've been wanting to blog about this for some time. But there's always washing up to do, preparation needed for work, a baby who wants to play or a tempting bed with a warm duvet.

Will I succeed now? Well, that's up to the fairy godmother. A year on from casting her spell , I'm hoping she's finally going to give me a break...