For Parents and Carers in Performing Arts, the indie musician kept a diary of her first gigs with a newborn daughter in tow, full of breast milk, sleep deprivation and snatched joys
28 May: Sheffield
I am annoyed with myself for booking this tour. In the five months since my daughter Riri was born, we have barely been apart. Motherhood, for me, has been a meditation a scrunchie-wearing, vomit-stained, oxytocin-induced trance. When Shaun, who is playing guitar at the London show, came over yesterday to rehearse, I could barely speak. Riri and I are codependent. I only know the language of nappy rash and baby-led weaning.
My only consolation this morning was putting her in a new onesie. It has the cast of Frasier dressed up as Kiss on it, and it says Im Listening Tour. I take photos of her as we wait for Caz, our tour manager, to arrive. Then I realise that Caz will arrive at some point. I rush upstairs to throw muslins into a suitcase. My guitars have been packed for days, gathering dust in the hall. At this point, Id rather forget a guitar than a breast pump.