I am an invisible woman

It is so devestating to the soul how when you become a wife and mother you seem to disappear completely on occasions.

At parents' evening the other night, we were told that my daughter would be studying World War One next term. As Him Indoors works for an Armed Forces charity, I suggested maybe he could arrange to help in some way. Him Indoors said to the teacher concerned that we actually live outside his geographic area of responsibility. I said that I was sure he could make a telephone call to someone to get an Education Pack sent out to the school.

Fast forward a few days and my daughter comes home from school skipping in with an envelope addressed to Him Indoors. It was a thank you card for arranging to have the wonderful pack sent to school.

Now my question is who actually helped here. I clearly don't merit a thank you but I can tell you that without my input, that school would not have its all-singing and all-dancing pack.

This is just one example of the magical nightmare way in which being a wife and mum seems to, too often, obliterate your identity. You become a machine fulfilling six zillion tasks every day, many of which are actually someone else's responsibility. You clear up other people's mess and on occasion, you even have to think for people. I don't mean that I don't understand that some element of these things is not part of parenthood and wifedom but sometimes, just sometimes, the thought enters my head that perhaps my lovely family are taking the piss.

Here's to invisible women everywhere. I can see you clearly and tweet with you often. And I can tell you categorically, you are what holds this bloody country together.

Am I really invisible? Can you see me?