Why mothers are wired for creativity…and why they don’t need to feel guilty about it

The buggy in the photography class I pushed the buggy through the city centre as evening closed in. On Dame Street my one-year-old gazed in awe at the city lights – excursions from our apartment were usually limited to daylight hours. Already past his bedtime and tucked up under blankets, he succumbed to sleep before we reached the building where my photography class was about to start. I awkwardly hoisted the buggy in the door,...