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A Week in the Life of a Working Mum

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Yes that’s right, I am one of those women who ’has it all’ – been back at work after my second (and almost certainly last) bout of maternity leave for seven whole weeks now. Am slowly making it through the carefully choreographed dance of push and pull over retaining a role that’s interesting and challenging and making it work in three days, in a way which benefits both the company and me. No mean feat. I’ve been pretty lucky with it though.
This week however, has been a blinder. The previous week my four year old daughter had a cough. She was fine
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in the day time but sounded like a 50-a-day smoker for much of the night so I had spent a fair few hours every night in her room / bed trying to comfort and calm down. Then we had some friends to stay over the weekend, which was great, lots of booze (until about 10.30, there’s limits to this parenting lark) and food, a bit of sightseeing (aka over excited children turning slowly to whingeing children, with parents ending up opting for a pub) but sadly a lack of staying asleep from said children at night time. Ugh. Anyway, all this lead to Monday morning
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this week – up bright and early with the one year old, as ever. Husband brightly says upon leaving ’at least you’ve got the day off to catch up after the weekend’ – in my mind I scream ’it’s not a f***ing day off, I have two kids to look after’, out loud I say something similar but with less swearing. It’s only Monday after all.

Monday passes much like most do, we meet up with other mums and kids, the kids play together (aka 50% playing 50% saying ’she snatched blah blah from me’ ’she’s not being kind to me’ ’that’s my toy not his’ and

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so on and so forth) me and other mums k-line coffee, talk about how hard it is to balance work and family, have a moan, decide we should stop moaning and enjoy this precious time more, talk about how lovely our kids are (this is during the 50% playing nicely), take deep breaths when the bad 50% starts, drink more coffee etc. In the evening the one year old is a bit crotchety, out of sorts, bit warm but not boiling, but with nothing specific (sure you know it well). Teething I think to myself. Standard reason for all the above. He’s a bit dribbly too, I
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rest my case.

Tuesday morning rolls around, mad rush to get up, get ready, get kids ready, get out the door by 7.30 to get to nursery in time to whizz the kids in and race to the train station… Little one is still a bit grizzly so I give him a bit of calpol and hope for the best (guilt…) Make it to nursery in good time, just about to drop off the baby when I feel something warm on my hip. You’ve got to be joking me – wee through the nappy and on to me without getting a drop on your vest?? Seriously?? Make a quick mental calculation and realise

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there is no chance I am making it home to change and get in for the 9 ’o’ clock meeting so skulk in to the kids’ loos, wash my top with hand soap and dry it under Puff the Magic Drier (a nursery school hand drier made for princesses and knights, apparently) God I hate myself, the shame!! Made it in only 5 mins late, not bad going… Busy day, in an out of meetings, the type of day you think thank goodness for tomorrow when I can actually sit at my desk and get some work done. Think again… 3pm the dreaded phone call from nursery comes through. The
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baby has a high temperature, please come and get him (guilt again). Off I go. On arrival I ask the same question I always ask when this happens – can he come in tomorrow if he is alright? I already know the answer – no. It’s fair enough, I would be cross if someone else’s kid was allowed in to give mine the lurgy. So I resign myself to the fact that I’ll be working from home tomorrow, let work know, and thank goodness they are understanding (a blessing given my little dance mentioned above, and given that my first week was peppered with this malarky
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too). Up half the night with poorly boy, give him milk to settle him.

Wednesday begins, the little one still not great, but mercifully my daughter is 100% and can go to nursery no bother. I manage to be ultra efficient during the morning nap and am pretty pleased with the amount of work I have got done. But then he’s up and it’s a constant battle between me, him, the computer and the phone. It’s a miracle that no-one got an email of gobbledygook from when he’d jumped on the keyboard. I am desperately hoping he’ll nap during my client phone call

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in the afternoon, and when it becomes clear that is not going to happen I race around to get a friend over to sit with him while I’m on the phone. Get professional, make the call, client is not able to make it to the call, ring back tomorrow. Argh! A friend texts me to say her boy has been sent home from nursery today too (major guilt for passing on germs). Manage to get a few more bits and pieces done before we head off to the doctors for a 5.10 appointment. In the meantime hubby has asked if I can do the pick up from nursery today as he’s in the
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middle of something at work and will definitely be able to ’get shit done’ if he stays a bit later. No worries, I’ve got loads of time… Doctor running really late. Text two friends to ask if they can pick up my daughter when they pick up their kids (guilt again). Speak to the friend who helped earlier, she can pick her up (phew). Ring round all others to say don’t worry about picking up my daughter. God, I’m not even at work and I can’t make it back for pick up (suicide at the nursery – and cause for much fines. There’s already been a recent
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newsletter highlighting how all parents must pick up on time, I know it’s aimed at us) Make it out of the doctors in time to pick her up anyway. Double argh! Baby doing OK by the end of the day, keep my fingers crossed about making it in to work on Thursday. Up in the night with him again, give him milk to settle him and when morning comes he is happy and importantly has a normal temperature, hooray!

Start to head to nursery, get a text from hubby saying there’s a second sinkhole opened up at our station so there’s no trains. Brilliant. Anyway,

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head on to nursery and both kids go in fine. (OK I admit I dosed up the little one before leaving, just in case – guilt again) Text my boss to say I’m coming in but will be late because of the trains, get a text back saying ’you’ve had a bad week! At least it’s your last day today’… Compose a long text highlighting how it is not my last day, I am just not in the office tomorrow, I’m still working thank you very much, I just don’t get paid for this job… Delete it, write ha ha and be done with it. Half an hour late for work. Mad rush around to
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try and catch up on the work I couldn’t do yesterday at home, and have the meetings I postponed yesterday. Realise at 4.30 that I had better get going because of the bloody sinkhole. Make it to the station with a few minutes to spare. On the train I realise with about 20 seconds to spare that I am actually on the wrong train. Race across the station to fling myself through the closing doors of the right train. Made it, just. My phone rings at 5.10pm, hubby saying he’s just left the office and has realised there’s no trains (it’s actually his job to
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pick up the kids but I, rightly, assumed he wouldn’t factor in the train issues) – in my head I scream ’it’s a bloody good job I’m on the train! What would have happened to the kids if I hadn’t left work. We’re already in trouble with the bloody nursery for being late!!’ – in reality I calmly say ’it’s OK I’m on the train I will get them’. The woman next to me is already looking at me funny from my flinging on the train shebackle, I’d better not go nuts on the phone too. Pick up the kids, get told that three more kids have got ill and been
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sent home, guilt consumes me entirely… Get home, put the kids to bed, baby won’t sleep, drink some wine (me not him), eventually he goes to sleep, make dinner, drink more wine. 4.30am he wakes up crying, the wine seems like a bad idea, decide I am not giving him milk so as not to form a habit, spend an hour getting him back off again.

So now it’s Friday, my ’day off’ again, ha ha. It’s a nice day so I have put a wash on, better make the best of this excellent drying weather. Need to stop writing soon and get the kids up and dressed – it’s

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swimming lesson for the four year old at 11am, which usually entails me racing around the edge of the pool trying to stop the one year old jumping in. Then I will probably go and do the weekly shop. Maybe another wash if I am feeling crazy. It’s really glamorous this ’having it all’…
Would I change it though? Probably not (although I would quite like to rewind time and be on maternity leave again for a bit longer…) You see I like being a mum, but I don’t think I would be a great stay at home mum, and I like working, I want to keep that in my
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life in some capacity. I am hopeful that things will settle down and my little juggling act dance will become more of a slew, comfortable waltz. Fingers crossed.
 
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- 5 Aug 16

Yes that’s right, I am one of those women who ‘has it all’ – been back at work after my second (and almost certainly last) bout of maternity leave for seven whole weeks now. Am slowly making it through the carefully choreographed dance of push and pull over retaining a role that’s interesting and challenging and making it work in three days, in a way which benefits both the company and me. No mean feat. I’ve been pretty lucky with it though.

This week however, has been a blinder. The previous week my four year old daughter had a cough. She was fine in the day time but sounded like a 50-a-day smoker for much of the night so I had spent a fair few hours every night in her room / bed trying to comfort and calm down. Then we had some friends to stay over the weekend, which was great, lots of booze (until about 10.30, there’s limits to this parenting lark) and food, a bit of sightseeing (aka over excited children turning slowly to whingeing children, with parents ending up opting for a pub) but sadly a lack of staying asleep from said children at night time. Ugh. Anyway, all this lead to Monday morning this week – up bright and early with the one year old, as ever. Husband brightly says upon leaving ‘at least you’ve got the day off to catch up after the weekend’ – in my mind I scream ‘it’s not a f***ing day off, I have two kids to look after’, out loud I say something similar but with less swearing. It’s only Monday after all.

Monday passes much like most do, we meet up with other mums and kids, the kids play together (aka 50% playing 50% saying ‘she snatched blah blah from me’ ‘she’s not being kind to me’ ‘that’s my toy not his’ and so on and so forth) me and other mums k-line coffee, talk about how hard it is to balance work and family, have a moan, decide we should stop moaning and enjoy this precious time more, talk about how lovely our kids are (this is during the 50% playing nicely), take deep breaths when the bad 50% starts, drink more coffee etc. In the evening the one year old is a bit crotchety, out of sorts, bit warm but not boiling, but with nothing specific (sure you know it well). Teething I think to myself. Standard reason for all the above. He’s a bit dribbly too, I rest my case.

Tuesday morning rolls around, mad rush to get up, get ready, get kids ready, get out the door by 7.30 to get to nursery in time to whizz the kids in and race to the train station… Little one is still a bit grizzly so I give him a bit of calpol and hope for the best (guilt…) Make it to nursery in good time, just about to drop off the baby when I feel something warm on my hip. You’ve got to be joking me – wee through the nappy and on to me without getting a drop on your vest?? Seriously?? Make a quick mental calculation and realise there is no chance I am making it home to change and get in for the 9 ‘o’ clock meeting so skulk in to the kids’ loos, wash my top with hand soap and dry it under Puff the Magic Drier (a nursery school hand drier made for princesses and knights, apparently) God I hate myself, the shame!! Made it in only 5 mins late, not bad going… Busy day, in an out of meetings, the type of day you think thank goodness for tomorrow when I can actually sit at my desk and get some work done. Think again… 3pm the dreaded phone call from nursery comes through. The baby has a high temperature, please come and get him (guilt again). Off I go. On arrival I ask the same question I always ask when this happens – can he come in tomorrow if he is alright? I already know the answer – no. It’s fair enough, I would be cross if someone else’s kid was allowed in to give mine the lurgy. So I resign myself to the fact that I’ll be working from home tomorrow, let work know, and thank goodness they are understanding (a blessing given my little dance mentioned above, and given that my first week was peppered with this malarky too). Up half the night with poorly boy, give him milk to settle him.

Wednesday begins, the little one still not great, but mercifully my daughter is 100% and can go to nursery no bother. I manage to be ultra efficient during the morning nap and am pretty pleased with the amount of work I have got done. But then he’s up and it’s a constant battle between me, him, the computer and the phone. It’s a miracle that no-one got an email of gobbledygook from when he’d jumped on the keyboard. I am desperately hoping he’ll nap during my client phone call in the afternoon, and when it becomes clear that is not going to happen I race around to get a friend over to sit with him while I’m on the phone. Get professional, make the call, client is not able to make it to the call, ring back tomorrow. Argh! A friend texts me to say her boy has been sent home from nursery today too (major guilt for passing on germs). Manage to get a few more bits and pieces done before we head off to the doctors for a 5.10 appointment. In the meantime hubby has asked if I can do the pick up from nursery today as he’s in the middle of something at work and will definitely be able to ‘get shit done’ if he stays a bit later. No worries, I’ve got loads of time… Doctor running really late. Text two friends to ask if they can pick up my daughter when they pick up their kids (guilt again). Speak to the friend who helped earlier, she can pick her up (phew). Ring round all others to say don’t worry about picking up my daughter. God, I’m not even at work and I can’t make it back for pick up (suicide at the nursery – and cause for much fines. There’s already been a recent newsletter highlighting how all parents must pick up on time, I know it’s aimed at us) Make it out of the doctors in time to pick her up anyway. Double argh! Baby doing OK by the end of the day, keep my fingers crossed about making it in to work on Thursday. Up in the night with him again, give him milk to settle him and when morning comes he is happy and importantly has a normal temperature, hooray!

Start to head to nursery, get a text from hubby saying there’s a second sinkhole opened up at our station so there’s no trains. Brilliant. Anyway, head on to nursery and both kids go in fine. (OK I admit I dosed up the little one before leaving, just in case – guilt again) Text my boss to say I’m coming in but will be late because of the trains, get a text back saying ‘you’ve had a bad week! At least it’s your last day today’… Compose a long text highlighting how it is not my last day, I am just not in the office tomorrow, I’m still working thank you very much, I just don’t get paid for this job… Delete it, write ha ha and be done with it. Half an hour late for work. Mad rush around to try and catch up on the work I couldn’t do yesterday at home, and have the meetings I postponed yesterday. Realise at 4.30 that I had better get going because of the bloody sinkhole. Make it to the station with a few minutes to spare. On the train I realise with about 20 seconds to spare that I am actually on the wrong train. Race across the station to fling myself through the closing doors of the right train. Made it, just. My phone rings at 5.10pm, hubby saying he’s just left the office and has realised there’s no trains (it’s actually his job to pick up the kids but I, rightly, assumed he wouldn’t factor in the train issues) – in my head I scream ‘it’s a bloody good job I’m on the train! What would have happened to the kids if I hadn’t left work. We’re already in trouble with the bloody nursery for being late!!’ – in reality I calmly say ‘it’s OK I’m on the train I will get them’. The woman next to me is already looking at me funny from my flinging on the train shebackle, I’d better not go nuts on the phone too. Pick up the kids, get told that three more kids have got ill and been sent home, guilt consumes me entirely… Get home, put the kids to bed, baby won’t sleep, drink some wine (me not him), eventually he goes to sleep, make dinner, drink more wine. 4.30am he wakes up crying, the wine seems like a bad idea, decide I am not giving him milk so as not to form a habit, spend an hour getting him back off again.

So now it’s Friday, my ‘day off’ again, ha ha. It’s a nice day so I have put a wash on, better make the best of this excellent drying weather. Need to stop writing soon and get the kids up and dressed – it’s swimming lesson for the four year old at 11am, which usually entails me racing around the edge of the pool trying to stop the one year old jumping in. Then I will probably go and do the weekly shop. Maybe another wash if I am feeling crazy. It’s really glamorous this ‘having it all’…

Would I change it though? Probably not (although I would quite like to rewind time and be on maternity leave again for a bit longer…) You see I like being a mum, but I don’t think I would be a great stay at home mum, and I like working, I want to keep that in my life in some capacity. I am hopeful that things will settle down and my little juggling act dance will become more of a slew, comfortable waltz. Fingers crossed.

 

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Wife, mummy of two, Marketing Account Director at Limelight Sports. Simultaneously...

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