Amra Pajalic

I love being at home with bub. In general writing and motherhood go well together. At the moment I’m handwriting my next project in a notebook as I breastfeed and fitting in other stuff on the computer when she’s playing.

On Thursday I had a photo shoot with a local newspaper for an article they’re featuring me in. Usually this wouldn’t be a big deal, but unfortunately one of my cats got sick so I had to a trip to the vet on Thursday morning, with the bub in the pram and the cat in a cage, then drive home, quickly change and lob at the photoshoot. No time for a shower or make up. I at least managed to brush my hair-which is more than I do some days.

So I’m feeling really tense and stressed. The vet gave me some bad news that my cat will have to get some teeth pulled at an astronomical fee. Plus I’m all stressed because I’d been running around all morning.

Like most people I hate having my photo taken, but this morning I’m feeling even worse, especially cause I’m paranoid that I have that lovely sour milk smell from dripping boobs because I didn’t have a chance to shower.

The photographer keeps trying different locations and poses. I’m trying to smile and relax, but I feel like a corpse that’s going through rigormortis and my face is stiff and not cooperating with me.

I get home and give my husband the low-down. ‘Did you wash your hair?’ he asks in horror. At the moment I have to write notes in my organiser about when to wash hair because otherwise I’ll get around to it when my scalp starts itching. ‘Yes,’ I reply. I’d put on a note in the diary for the day before so at least that’s one less thing to worry about.

So now I’m waiting for the issue to come out. I have this horror image of how I will look. The only good thing is I’m pretending to read my novel so hopefully that will take focus away from my face.