It was my mother who heard it first. “She sounds English” she said of my daughter and I told her she was wrong. Children as young as my daughter have not yet developed accents I thought. And yet, after my mother had left I could hear it. Yes, there was an accent. No, it wasn’t the same as mine.

I am Scottish. My husband is English. My child was born and lives in London (sort of) and yet, now she speaks with an English accent I am shocked to have given birth to this person from another country. 

This is of course exactly how it should be and much better than the fear I had throughout my pregnancy that she would develop a hybrid of my Glaswegian tones mixed with my husband’s Essex ones. In my nightmares I heard echoes of Jimmy Krankie meets Danny Dyer and I was scared. That she is simply English is a blessing. Yet it presents new things to be worried about. Will she make fun of my accent for it being different to hers? If we move to Scotland will the hybrid accent become a reality? At airports will border control think I have kidnapped her from a nice English family?

This blog post is brought to you by ideas that weren’t strong enough to support a full-length piece people would pay me for.

Laters 2016

Above is an example of my daughter’s first doodle next to one by me done at the same time. I expect by this time next year she’ll have overtaken me in artistic ability. 

On Hogmanay 2015 I had no idea I would become a celebrated local artist (that’s not strictly what the article says but, whatever) or have a weekly column blabbering on about life and motherhood. I made resolutions that night and kept none of them so tonight I’m not making any. Unless trying to have a nice year is a resolution, in which case that’s my resolution. 

Happy new year everyone. Thank you for dropping by this blog and not making it an unread disaster like I anticipated when I uploaded my first drawing in June. 


In an unusual example of being super organised I already summed up my thoughts on 2016 in November here in Standard Issue