Last week I found myself sitting alone on a train to Brighton, looking out the window and wondering what my toddler was doing. I was travelling to a three-day illustration job, and it was the first time I’d left her for one night, let alone three. I wasn’t worried, though – there were no pangs of ‘Will she be ok?’ – just a happy curiosity, and the remainder of the journey was spent daydreaming about having a hotel room (and bed) to myself.

Grandpa Robin was the reason I knew she’d be OK. My dad would be looking after my daughter, having cared for her regularly, one-on-one, since she was born 17 months ago. Despite living over 300 miles away from us, in Newcastle, he has become a significant secondary caregiver for Elphie. It’s a relationship that often feels closer to a third parent.

It’s not the new motherhood I imagined when growing up – I always assumed it would be my lovely mum heading up grandparent duties. But Mum died when I was 16 – she was 45 – so any hopes of her cooing, cuddling and caring for my future child were lost when she was.

Before my first daughter was born, I had no idea what a pivotal role Dad would play, and the extent to which his help would facilitate a return to my work in that first year. We have at times gone up to stay with Dad for week-long stints, which has allowed me to take on freelance projects that the inflexibility of paid-for childcare would never have allowed for.

Dad may be at the heart of my ‘village’, but he’s not the only one in it. There’s my parents-in-law, who put me and Elph up for days on end, caring for her as I dip in and out to work. There’s my Aunty Anne, who travels up from Scarborough every time we are up north to help her brother. There are the ‘other mothers’ I have cultivated in the years since Mum died – one of whom, a friend’s mum, now lives a short drive away and kindly offers to babysit when needed. Then there are the fellow new mums I’ve met along the way, mostly at the mum and baby yoga classes. It was one of these mums who offered to look after Elph, along with her own son, as I sat in the next room working on a project. Another two friends would pop around during their lunch breaks and after work, taking my daughter for long walks along the canal, gifting me precious pockets of time to work.

The first year back at work after maternity leave: it takes a village