From a diary of a working mum...
From a diary of a working mum...
After another restless night, the alarm buzzed at 05:45, but I snooze it until 06:20, as it’s nearly Friday and getting up is a real struggle. Theia decides to wake up with me, which sucks, as I cannot spend an hour in pure silence, but there you are.
My incredibly dramatic and whiney child decides to tantrum through her morning, throwing every option of breakfast straight at me, whilst I make coffee to keep my eyes half open. Don’t get me started on the dog and cat, tangled between my legs, demanding feeding. It wasn’t until 7:00, that I actually got a move on, otherwise I would have fallen asleep on the sofa.
I make Theia’s lunch and pack her nursery bag. Dress her, brush hair, using my phone as an item of bribery, if not, she would go to nursery looking homeless. Encourage to brush teeth. Dress myself, make up, hair. We are out of the door just after 08:00 (first time this week!), I even squeeze in a quick natter with my mother.
Theia is throwing yet another tantrum as at the tender age of nearly 2, she has suddenly lost the use of her legs to get to nursery, so I carry her. If my back could gesticulate, it would show me a prominent middle finger for doing that daily. Theia successfully placed in nursery, so I run home, quick sip of my cold coffee and I’m on my way to work to start at 9.
Work - demanding, eventful, tiring, but in a sick and twisted way, fun as always. By midday, I want to bash my head against the computer and pass out, in hope for a wink of sleep. Three coffee’s later, it’s 17:00, at last! I’m going home. Quick trip to the shop as I ran out of the magical potion of sanity - coffee - and straight to pick up Theia.
Theia was good at nursery, what a relief. No bumps on her head as a result of silly behaviour or time out in the managers office. I bribe her once again, this time with chocolate, to let me carry her home, otherwise she bolts to the park and that’s a shit storm of its own kind, because whatever the weather, swings are life. Get home, another coffee. Coffee doesn’t even scratch the surface anymore; at this point of the day, I strongly consider illegal substances to give me a boost.
I rush downstairs. Start cleaning the kitchen, garden, laundry on, I still haven’t put the dry washing away, but surely it can wait till Christmas? Bathroom cleaned, toilet scrubbed. Hoovered, due to the dog destroying a shoe box, one of my shoes from the charity shop (which cost £3) and various leaflets. Air freshening the living hell out of the house, because it smells of wet dog.
Dinner is nearly ready. I finally take my shoes off and sit down... the clock reads 21:50. I finally sit down, to have my dinner...
So please, don’t question me, when I’m nearly falling asleep at my desk. When I don’t laugh at every single joke or want to engage in social interactions. When I’m tearful for no reason, due to the state I’m in, as I can literally feel the hormones buzzing within me. When I suddenly lose the will to live. When I snap, bite and frown. I’m not asking for admiration, pity or even a gold star. Just understanding. Being a working mum is rough and today is a proof of it. I’m just trying to survive yet another day. Over and out.
22:30 - Little footsteps, stomp stomp stomp... somebody is out of bed.
