Worry with Mother

By Francesca Hornak

Anyone who has ever given birth knows that a mother’s worrying is never done. Parenting books give wildly contradictory advice, late-night Googling induces blind panic, and, in today’s ultra-competitive environment, other parents just make you feel worse. This hilarious book, by first-time mother and Sunday Times columnist Francesca Hornak, captures perfectly the madness of modern parenting, with 101 worries all mums will have experienced themselves, on topics including food-throwing toddlers, technology-addicted teenagers, and an imaginary friend called Neil. Beautifully illustrated by renowned cartoonist Dorrance, this book is a welcome slice of light relief from all the fretting mums are expected to do these days.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins UK
• Release date: Feb 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781911042273

Book preview

Are you sitting comfortably?

Then I’ll begin.

For the first few months of my son’s life, like any dutiful new mother, I referred constantly to parenting books, websites and magazines. I was in thrall to Britain’s two biggest baby gurus, Gina Ford and Penelope Leach, whose books I had been lent by a friend. But Gina and Penelope were a terrible combination, because they had opposing theories on everything. Gina (a routine fanatic) made you feel disorganised, and weak-willed. Penelope (the original earth mother) made you feel heartless for ever putting your child down. For each problem I faced, there seemed to be two completely contradictory solutions. Every time I looked up one anxiety, I came away with five new ones.

Then there were the worries that I conjured out of thin air, which seemed rational at 3am, but sounded ridiculous at the GP’s surgery. Whenever I shared these fears with other parents, though, I found I was not alone. Most mothers, it transpired, know the 3am panic. My personal low point was the time my son’s nanny (who I was able to semi-spy on) changed his morning’s itinerary, by taking him to the library without telling me. I worked myself up into a private frenzy, imagining what else — besides illicit library visits — she might be concealing. Then there was the time I read, in tiny print, ‘Not Suitable For Infants’ on a packet of flaxseed I had been sprinkling on his porridge, having read it was a good source of Omega 3. I spent a feverish night researching ‘flaxseed overdose’, and kicking myself for