Having woken up at 3am last night by a screaming teething baby monster I tried everything to lull little boy to the land of slumber – calpol, teething numbing liquid, comforter etc but my prayers to the baby sleep Gods were not being heard, in fact they were lobbing all my vain attempts back at me in disgust. If I could have given him an anasthetic I would have done. Boys just aren’t good with pain. So, I relegate him to the buggy in the kitchen, shut all the doors, and climb up to bed. When there is work and school the following morning the preservation of sanity wins over cradling a screaming baby all night. It seemed to do the trick but it took a while. The following morning my hubby tiptoed around his buggy to keep the peace for a little while longer.
Later that morning after safely delivering my daughter and her precarious model of a tulip to her classroom, I arrive at baby boy’s nursery. They are one step away from calling social services when I tell them of the kitchen episode. So I felt bad, particularly when he started to scream as I left.
Once at work, after 3 weeks away from my desk it looked like a bomb had hit it. After wading through all the paperwork and emails I had a delightful ‘catch-up’ meeting with my boss and the person I am supposed to line manage. First my boss updates me on an informal meeting he had with a freelancer who has experience in my line of work (great first sign he is not happy). Then he tells me how she had reminded him of an approach that, reading between the lines, he thinks I should be adopting. The final nail in my coffin of work pride is delivered by my colleague who states that “next time we should plan to do it this way, like I did this time last year while you were on maternity leave”.
So after ending my day on a brilliant note of job satisfaction, I collect my daughter from my mother-in-law and hope that I don’t feel any further disappointment. Thankfully she was lovely and spent some precious time with baby boy walking around the garden and sitting with him on her lap on the swing. My daughter had been indulged too, with lots of food and a relaxing break in front of the TV as opposed to the normal Tuesday eve swimming drills and homework.
As for work…. I considered changing careers, maybe midwifery or child-minding? But no I’m going to fight my corner and up my game. Not that I am a career woman. As I get older I am observing that careers are not all they are cracked up to be. Look at Maggie Thatcher. According to the film script, she followed a political life because she didn’t want to end her days washing tea-cups, well she was in the Ritz actually but I’m pretty sure she would have preferred to have been surrounded by family. David Frost interviewed broadcast journalist Joan Bakewell and asked her what the most joyous moment of her life was looking back and she said “I know its cliched but it has to be family”. I am not going to waste my life finding that out the hard way.
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Thanks for reading.