There is a moment — and I can pinpoint it exactly — when you realise your life has taken a very unexpected turn. For me, it was standing in the shell of a half-built van on a draughty Cornish drive, hands covered in spray adhesive, lower back screaming, eight weeks pregnant, watching Tilly drag an entire length of conduit cable across the floor like she had won it in a raffle.
Welcome to Wild Coast Mama. This is us.
How we ended up here (the short version)
About twelve months ago, we did what sensible people in their late twenties, ahem early thirties do and sat down to work out if we could afford a house in Cornwall. We ran every possible version of the numbers. Shared ownership. Help to Buy. Moving inland. Moving to a town with a name that sounds like a sneeze. We even briefly considered leaving Cornwall entirely, which lasted approximately two minutes before we came to our senses.
The deposit alone would have taken close to a decade to save. And by then, prices would have moved again, as they always do, just slightly ahead of us — like a very smug seagull with a pasty.
So we bought a van instead. A large, blank, faintly terrifying panel van that smelled of mystery and previous owners. And we started building.
Tilly was deeply suspicious of the van from day one. She sniffed every inch of it, sat down in the middle of the floor, and gave us a long look that said: I want it noted that I had no part in this decision. She has since changed her position entirely.
Then came the line on the test
About eight months into the build — insulation half done, electrical not started, one minor argument about diesel heaters still technically ongoing — we found out we were pregnant.
I took the test in the morning and stood staring at it for so long that Tilly came to check on me. She pressed her nose into my hand, looked at the test, looked at me, and then went and sat by her food bowl, because she has her priorities sorted.
We were shocked. Then we were terrified. Then — and this happened remarkably quickly — we were absolutely delighted. In a dizzy, slightly unhinged kind of way.
Why van life and a baby actually makes sense (no, really)
I know exactly what you are thinking. A van. With a newborn. Has she completely lost the plot? Possibly. But hear me out.
We are not doing this for the aesthetic. We are doing this because the maths of conventional life in Cornwall simply did not add up for us, and because we decided a different kind of start to our family's story was better than no start at all. And there is only so far parents' generosity extends…
On eating well when your kitchen is two gas rings and determination
The rule I cook by: it has to be fast, it has to be genuinely good for us, and it has to be something Tilly cannot steal off the hob. She has tried. She is optimistic.
My current favourite: coastal lemon and chickpea one-pot. One tin of chickpeas, one tin of tomatoes, a handful of kale, a whole lemon, garlic, cumin, smoked paprika. Twenty minutes. Tilly gets one chickpea as a tax. This is non-negotiable and has been agreed by all parties.
What comes next
We are mid-build. The insulation is in, the electrical is almost done, and the bed placement debate has been resolved. I won. Tilly is also pleased because she has her very own space all to herself.
If you are here because you are thinking about van life, or because you are pregnant and looking for someone who is also making it up as they go, or because you just like dogs and Cornwall: welcome. Pull up an upturned bucket. We have cake and ginger tea.
— Wild Coast Mama