The childcare conundrum nobody warned me about

Yesterday was “Mum’s Equal Pay Day.” I didn’t post about it, because…childcare.

Last year, I was blissfully unaware that this day even existed. Heavily pregnant, I still believed that with some planning, I could “make it all work.”

I can pinpoint the exact day that belief cracked. My son was about five months old when I thought I’d better put his name down at the nice, relatively local nursery. Just one or two half-days when he turned ten months. Nothing major.

Naïve. That’s the only word for it. The waitlist was already closed - for 2026/27. This is 2025.

Panic followed: frantic Googling, calling friends, clicking through directories that don’t even cover the north of Scotland. Breaking it to my partner: there’s no childcare locally until he’s three. None. Nada.

Then came the guilt. I’d spent years on calls with women half-present because a child needed them, even in person. I judged them. Now I am them.

I count myself lucky, though. My mum, who works full-time and has a teenager at home, still drives an hour each way to give me a pocket of childcare every week. My partner’s job means he can usually be around at lunchtime, sometimes even take our son along if I need quiet for a coaching call.

My clients are kind. They know most of my work gets done at night, or with a baby playing at my feet.

I love spending my days with him. He is my world. But sometimes I wonder: how much more could I give him, and myself, if I had just a few more hours of support?

And that’s me in a relatively fortunate position. What about the parents who face the brutal maths of childcare that’s either non-existent, or so expensive it wipes out the pay cheque? Who choose between working for almost nothing or stepping back altogether?

We call it “Mum’s Equal Pay Day.” But it’s not just about the money. It’s about the cost of potential, of contribution, of possibility, and who keeps paying that bill.