The Woman behind the Mum

A well-known internet site for mothers is currently running a photo competition called The Woman Behind the Mum. The idea is you send in a photo of you being the woman you are, not only a mum. I thought this was a nice idea. It's restricting to only be a 'mum', as though everything else that makes you yourself has suddenly vanished, and it seems to happen all too easily. My mother has a story about someone she didn't know coming up to her from my nursery school and saying, 'Ah, you must be Melissa's mum'. My mother felt cross for a moment, thinking 'No, I'm me!'

So I went and read up about the competition, thinking it was an interesting topic. And got pretty annoyed. They suggested some possible photos, which mostly seemed to consist of 'your new haircut or manicure'.

So: this is me, the Woman behind the Mum.

I was born in London, moved to Rome with my mother when I was 3 months old and lived there till I was nearly four, then grew up on a small, self-sufficiency type farm in Italy, having a very unconventional childhood full of animals, mad New Age types as well as practical hands-on people going 'back to the land', never went to school, found my first exams terrifying, then came to England for university because it felt odd to be English yet never have lived here. I love living here, it feels like my place. I have a massive, extended, noisy loving family (think My Big Fat Greek Wedding - you're not far off and it's great) and friends whom I cherish. My husband is madly into trains and the most wonderful person who makes me very happy and still, much to his credit, tells me I have a fine ass when I walk by. I love cinema (thank you to all the cinemas who do baby-friendly screening, it makes me feel like a proper living person again), theatre (couldn't you do the same? Please?) and books (huge, huge thanks to my bookclub people who trekked out to my house so I wouldn't miss the first session after the baby came along). I love to write. I read stupidly fast and if I could have a gigantic library of my own it would be heaven. I hate the heat (I am always, always in the shade if it's a sunny day) and hate the cold (my duvet is 12 tog, all year round and my stepfather used to say I must have ice in my pockets because my hands were so cold). This is why I like England's climate, I think. I love to help businesses grow and develop (my job) and I loved all my studies but not sure I'd like to do anymore. I love to cook (and eat, sigh!), to travel (although I don't do 'roughing it'). I need to have a house I love, and this one took an awful lot of work but it feels like a happy home now even though there's all sorts of bits that still need doing. I love to dance and sing. I'm very untidy (thank God for my cleaner and the dishwasher), I'm awful without sleep (was a baby really a good idea?), hate most exercise and especially walks with no purpose except to walk (why?!). I expect there are other things that make me who I am, but I don't have all day.

My favourite description of me was by my father, who said 'I've never seen anyone get so much done whilst giving the impression of relaxing on the sofa.' I love that.

I've only had a manicure once, when living in Brixton with  three months off work to write my Masters dissertation. Envious of the talons of the local girls, I ventured into a nail salon and got a set of false nails put on, a good inch long, with a pale gold background and tiny Japanese cherry blossoms painted on top. They were a work of art - and lasted three days before I returned and begged to have them removed, much to the beautician's surprise. "What's wrong with them?" she asked, to which I replied "I can't do anything in them!" I couldn't type, I felt clumsy, I picked things up as if I was wearing mittens. They came off, but before they did I asked my husband to take a photo of them in all their glory.

I suppose I could send that in to the competition.