The truth about being a 'SECOND MUM'

Like many child-free women, Kate Mulvey devotes herself to her sister's children

- KATE MULVEY

We hear a lot these days about the rise of childless – or, following a timely rebrand, child-free – women. At 59, I am technically one of them, since despite longing for a baby, I never had one of my own.

But I’m also a member of another group that is less talked about. I am one of the legion of women who put our lives on hold to help our relatives or friends raise their families after divorce, separation or widowhood. I am a second mum.

This is nothing like the ‘PANK’ (professional aunt, no kids) who appears laden down with lavish treats and gifts, plays with the children for an hour or so and just as swiftly disappears again. A second mum takes on the everyday chores. For me, that has meant co-parenting my two nephews, George and Oskar, since my younger sister Louise’s separation when they were four and eight, and her divorce five years later.

I have cleaned up spilt drinks and crisps from down the back of sofas, broken up fights, got up bleary-eyed at 3am to soothe a nightmare, mopped up tears from scraped knees, cancelled dates for babysitting and put holidays on hold to be at the school gates.

At the same time, I know that my laughing claim to the title ‘second mum’ is a mask of sorts, hiding the lingering pain that I’ll never know the love of my own child. My role means everything to me, but nothing to most of the world. At family events, I am still the childless auntie. There are no badges, no days of Second Mum celebration or membership of the swim mums WhatsApp group.

The role started by accident 13 years ago, when Louise and her husband split. Up until that point, although we all lived in the suburbs of London, apart from Sunday family lunches and the odd walk in Richmond Park, I rarely saw George and Oskar.