In the past 6 months, I had about 20 hours completely to myself. 20 hours without responsibility for little L. 20 hours to switch off and think about what I wanted to do with my life. It might not sound much, but I managed to build castles in the air during those 20 hours. Once little L would be a little older, I would organise some kind of childcare, get my pencils out and start drawing again. I would finally look into graphic design software and would start using the computer drawing pad Big M got me for my birthday in July. Or would I just get stuck and stare out of the window like a paralysed rabbit?

With little L being almost completely weaned and well beyond the newborn stage, I thought this was the right time to hire a babysitter. But instead of embracing my newly gained freedom and enthusiastically plunging into a new chapter, I feel deflated like a balloon after a child’s birthday party on a hot summer day. Like the leaves that used to be on the tree just outside my window, my drive has fallen off. I have absolutely no energy left.

Even blow-drying my hair seems to be too big of a task. I want to cut my hair off to have a bob. If only Big M wouldn’t disapprove. ‘You can’t have a bob. Bob is a guy who lives in America.’ Maybe that’s where my mojo has gone?