Do you suffer from too much spare time, sleep or personal dignity? Then amdram and/or babies-and-toddlers might be for you!

Here are some things I’ve learned:

• You need a tip-of-the-tongue repertoire of approx. 80-100 extremely stupid songs, preferably with hand actions and BIG energy. No, bigger than that! Bigger than THAT! OK, now AGAIN!

• AGAIIIIN!

• Qualities required in a toddler/infant mum are basically the same as those required in a good stage manager: co-ordinating several different complex sets of timing while also in the presence of loud music, flashing lights and many trip hazards; ability to shut down muppets creating chaos overly-exuberant playfulness without actually causing tears, and a sixth sense for what might be happening in the gap that’s juuuuuust concealed from view by that cupboard door.
  • I imagine that parenting older kids is probably more like being a director — you can tell them how to speak and act til you’re blue in the face, but no guarantees they’ll actually do it on the night — and being a parent of adults is probably more like being a playwright. But am going to have to defer to other people’s experience or wait and see .

• When it comes to winning over an audience, subtlety is for losers. This has been taken to extremes in my one-woman Gruffalo, performed nightly in our living room. Five out of five sippy-cups from Squirrel, who swears that it spits all over Imelda Staunton’s audiobook version. Otter prefers my intimate spoken-word Round and Round The Garden, but each to their own.

• More song again? Please?

• SOOOOOONG!

• There is definitely no such thing in the world as too much Monster Energy Drink. Until there is.

• Every so often, someone will throw up, have a nosebleed or spill something that they really shouldn’t have been drinking there. Hope and pray that it happens on one of the cheaper costumes and have your wet facecloths at the ready.

• The bit where everyone is standing in the spotlight getting applauded and smiling is only about 1% of the total experience. The rest of it involves helping others get dressed at top speed in the dark, reading the same lines over and over until they’re burned into your Oh help, oh no BRAAAAIN, and struggling to realise the vision of someone who has very specific ideas about blocking, the Stanislavsky method, or why lunch should be composed entirely of string cheese and Ribena.

• There will always be some smart alec in the audience who has put in 0% of the work but has 100% of the opinions. Moooooost of the time it’s safe to ignore them, but occasionally we do need to take on feedback from other human beings or we end up playing nursery rhymes on the recorder in a paddling pool full of baked beans at 10am on the Royal Mile.

• No matter how daunting it seems at the cast announcement, you will eventually grow into the role.

• Man, it’s Show Week. Only a colossal knob would say “Enjoy every moment” because that’s not how this works, but… as much as it’s draining your wallet, your patience and occasionally your will to live, there’s very little of this that you won’t look back on with affection, and one day long for just one more post-rehearsal pub session or one more curtain call.

• Seriously though, watch out for the vomiting. And on no account let them throw the cast party at your place.

• More Gwuffalo again please?