I Just wanna be a mum…

Unmindful Mama - 13 Jun 16

Jobs. Who’d have ‘em eh?  They take you away from all the very important and splendid things you want to do in life like playing ‘kick ball’ in the sunshine, splashing in muddy puddles, making peas out of play-doh and playing ‘spot the choo choo’ when the 10.21 hurtles past.  Basically, getting in the way of enjoying my precious son growing up. Boy, how I resent going into that office.

I feel very guilty saying this when you consider how generous the maternity leave is here in the UK – we are blessed with up to a year’s entitlement, with a fair proportion of that paid.  This is in stark comparison to some countries in the western world like the US or Australia, where the duration of statutory maternity leave is much less, and, unpaid to boot.  So I am not, by any means, taking lightly how precious those first twelve months are for us mothers in the UK, watching our little creations grow and develop and turn into their own little people.  But by gad, I was not prepared for how devastating it felt to leave my young charge at the tender age of eleven months and re-enter the workplace.

For me, after having that glorious year off, there was suddenly the unchangeable fact that that child had now become my Number One priority.  It was totally hard-wired into me. The end. No matter how much of a career woman I might have thought I was before El Kiddo, the strategic direction and vision and values of a company just don’t have that same amount of Oooph anymore; compared to making sure my child is safe and well, happy and cared for and god forbid hasn’t lost his cuddly at nursery that day, or bedtime is just going to be a nightmare…..

Handing over my son to (albeit very lovely) nursery staff at 8am each morning, when I haven’t even done the basic requirement of giving my little lad breakfast, just feels like a complete neglect of my motherly duties.  (This could well be because my son likes his food as much as life itself, but the fact that someone else prepares food and feeds my son for more days than I do, just feels plain wrong).  Then there’s the mad rush to the station, to catch the crowded commuter train, that will take me to the office I’d really rather not be in, for a boss I’d really rather not work for, to earn money to pay for my child’s childcare…erm, hang on a minute, why am I doing this again?!

And don’t get me started on all the ‘firsts’ that I’ve missed out on, or haven’t played such an integral role in.  Between the age of one and two, kids develop sooo much.  They learn to walk, talk, express emotions and basically develop into the people they are destined to become.  I don’t want to miss a minute of it.  Before we know it, his father and I will be packing the car full of boxes and his Hi-Fi (or whatever newfangled technology they’ll have in the future) to take him hundreds of miles away and telling him ‘don’t forget to ring your mother now, son’ as he embarks on Fresher’s week.  Ok, I’m getting ahead of myself a little now.  But this just serves to demonstrate how this wonderful time isn’t going to last forever and how I want to revel in every moment I can whilst my little boy still delights in singing all five verses of the ‘peel the banana’ song replete with actions, before giving me a cuggle and saying ‘I uvvve yooo mummy’ at bedtime.

Hands up, it isn’t always cotton candy and butterflies.  He certainly has his days like the best of ‘em.  I’ve seen total melt downs for the most baffling of reasons, like why can’t I touch the top of the tree, mummy? ‘want to, want to!!! Noooooo!!!’.  And trying to dream up creative ways for my son to eat any other vegetable but peas is certainly trying… ‘look darling it’s not broccoli it’s a tree, you’re really eating a tree, how fun!!!’ Plus let’s not forget the sheer eye watering, throat clogging and nose slapping intoxication of a teething poo. (I really think every parent presented with such a bowel movement should have formal training in hazardous substances).  With all that said, the moment he squeals with utter glee and shouts ‘aerrrplane’ after seeing his 67th one of the day (we live under the Heathrow flightpath) or quips ‘later dude’ to the postman, I cannot think of anywhere I’d rather be than with him…Work, who?

Besides I don’t really get the oft-said sentiment by mothers that ‘I go to work to have a break’ and ‘at least I get to eat lunch by myself’.  Alright, I admit it, you do get to sit down to have your Boots meal-deal whilst not perpetually fending off a toddler with grubby hands who is refusing to eat the exact same meal put on his plate as on yours, whilst grabbing frantically at the food on your plate howling ‘mine!’ with a ferocity you thought only a pack of hungry wolves possessed.

But, what I’ve tended to find from my experience of returning to work is that a lunch-break is not necessarily the god-given right we might expect when 1) you’ve got that looming deadline (and often boss in tow) hovering over you, 2) Barry from accounts has been wasting the last 45 minutes chattering non-stop at your desk about his latest flare-up of eczema and now any chance you had to slip away has just evaporated due to a last minute team meeting arranged for 2pm and 3) well, bugger it, you might as well crack on and work through lunch as quite frankly how are you ever going to meet that deadline and get out of the door by 4.15, to catch the crowded commuter train, to pick up your little lad by nursery kicking-out time anyway?!

Maybe the simple fact of the matter is, I’m just a relic from the past.  A big purple dinosaur called Barney.  But I like being a mum and I don’t want to do it on a part-time basis.  Perhaps, if I was to be a full-time mum, when it comes to that day when we do drop him off for Fresher’s week, it will make that inevitable ‘empty-nest’ syndrome much more difficult to bear.  But who knows, maybe when I’m lying in bed at night in a different city to my son, worrying what the hell he might be up to at this hour, at least I’ll have the comforting knowledge that I got to share in so many magical times in his life that helped shape him into the man he’s about to become.

Unmindful Mama

I'm a mama that tries to be ‘present’ and savour all those precious moments with my two adorable imps and wonderful Welshman hubby, to stand firm in my lofty ideals of how to parent and to absolutely, never, not once use screens as a way of distracting my children.... ...Gahhh, who am I kidding? In reality, I’m frantically juggling what feels like seventy-seven gazillion balls in the air at any one time, my mind never stands still and when I’m with my kids my brain is often running through a constant checklist of stuff I feel I should have a handle on, but never quite have. My eldest has a childminder by the name of Hey Dugee. And I’m still searching for that hallowed rulebook on parenting. In a nutshell, I am totally ‘Winging it’. I am completely *Unmindful Mama*.

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