A working mumma

Sick babes
I’m literally typing this as my three-year-old runs rampant round the house, unable to play for ONE MINUTE ALONE. Why? Why is it that when you’re on the floor with them they’re happy to use their imagination and couldn’t really give two hoots you’ve got into character and Rubble is ready to be on the double, but the minute you decide to cook dinner/check your emails/write a blog they can not possibly do anything alone?

Anyway, I digress. I actually jumped on to tell you I have a new title: Working mumma of two.

That’s right peeps, I am once again an active member of the paid workforce, paying my taxes and shit. Yip.

Last week was my first week back since having Beau and my first week back juggling two crazies, work and just life in general.

It was far from how I imagined it would be because not only did I go back to work, but I went back in a completely new role. Haha, yeah. Because that was a good idea.

To their credit they prepared me with a day’s training and then were like ‘cool, you’re ready to go’. And I was like ‘yeah, totes’, while breathing into a paper bag and working out how we’ll live when they politely ask me to close the door behind me.

Seriously though, that side of my brain has not had to work under that sort of strain for more than 10 months. Add to that the countless other things going on in there and of course important information which I need to remember in order to function and not turn up to work naked, and that shit is full.

By Friday afternoon I had rung my boss that many times he literally answered the phone by saying “I have a migraine”, I was like ‘mate, you and me both’. He was fab though, ultra-patient and didn’t make me feel like a dick for being so needy.

And, add to that all the people I work with making me feel SUPER spesh, it was actually really nice to be back. I got to eat my lunch in peace, go to the loo alone, and swear without it being repeated in the supermarket later that day by my three-year-old after I tell him he’s not allowed a lollipop.

But on top of that I’m proud of myself.

It was important for me, and our family, that I go back to work. I have nothing but admiration for the women, and men, who are full-time stay at home parents – but that role is not for me. I’ve loved every minute (that’s a small lie) of being at home with my babies while they’ve REALLY needed me, but now it’s time to do something to benefit us all.

For me, and this is a completely personal decision, I wanted to go back to work. I’ve worked hard for my career and to get where I am. I enjoy what I do and I love to be challenged.

But more than that, I want my boys to grow up knowing that their mumma is happy. I’m making decisions for all of us. And hopefully, I’m a better mumma for it.

Though in saying that, the guilt I give myself over taking my kids to daycare and knowing they’d rather be at home is a heavy load to carry. But in the bigger picture, it means we can help provide opportunities our babes might otherwise not have had.
It really is a hard decision to make, and an individual one at that.

So mummas, who of you decided to go back to work and who decided to stay home? What were your reasons? I’d love to hear from you.

Side note: My girlfriend was like ‘so, how’s it being back at work?’ And I was like ‘Oh good, a bit like someone took out my brain, smashed it with a hammer, ran it over and popped it back in’. So just in case you’re wondering how I’m feeling after my first week back – that about sums it up.

Also, we’ve had a total of four days at daycare and I can indeed confirm one of my children has an ear infection, only the third within a month, and the other has a chest infection. Daycare in winter for the win. Insert crying face here.

Back to work

 

Advertisements

One to two

babies

I often get asked “what’s it like going from one babe to two?”

“F**ked, actually”, is what I’d like to reply, but usually I’m more like “yea look, it’s a bit of a different ball game”, with a casual nervous laugh at the end.

The truth is, for me, I felt the change more than going from none to one.

Having Teddy was a game changer, obviously, your whole world changes. But for me it was still relatively the same – I could work around one babe when it came to social occasions at the same time as naps, I could still duck down to the supermarket and run in to grab a hot chicken, I still had that one hand to do all those things I needed to do.

Running down to the supermarket now takes a full hour of planning and negotiation, and usually results in a Kinder Surprise I promised myself I wouldn’t buy.

It also requires some form of equipment, whether that’s the pram, the carrier or a food trolley. It’s not as straight forward as running in, grabbing what you need and going. You have no hands. NO HANDS PEOPLE. You cannot carry those groceries, and if you think that your three-year-old can be trusted for 30 seconds if you let his hand go you are kidding yourself. That kid is going to touch everything, stick his fingers into all the things, walk into people and then head straight for the treats, because they’re shiny and colourful and at f**king eye level for your small friends.

Brothers

I suppose in a way it gets easier as the older one becomes a bit more independent. Except, he doesn’t. He’s still three. He still needs you to take him to the loo, even if you’re in the middle of feeding a baby, and trust me on this one, you don’t want to gamble with how long they can hold for.

Getting out of the house would have to legitimately be the hardest part of our everyday lives. I’m 100 per cent sure every time I arrive anywhere I look like I’m about to have a breakdown.

You get one ready and then start on the other. You then realise the first has done a poo and needs to be changed. So you change him, and while that’s happening the other one has take his shoes off, his hat off and is in the process of ripping all his clothes out of the drawer because he wants to wear the jumper with the dinosaur on it.

Meanwhile, I’m still in my pyjamas.

Funnily enough I’ve always thought I’d have three kids, boys actually, so when Teddy was born and he was a boy, I thought ‘woah, here we go’, and then came Beau – and now everyone who knows me is like “so, you going to have another one?”, and honestly – I don’t know. A lot of things would need to happen but it’s not off the table, and I’m happy with that.

But we’re eight months in and while it’s still hard, everyday is different. And there’s one thing for sure – it’s worth it.

I recently read a quote saying “the days are long but the years are short”, I couldn’t agree with it more. I try to remember this when I think the neighbours are calling child services due to my yelling.

So in a bid to help some other mummas out there on this mummahood journey I’ve included below a few (hopefully) handy tips:

*One thing I worried about endlessly before Beau was born was, would I love this baby the same. And the answer is yes, 100 times yes. I can’t explain how it happens but it does, and then, just like with your first, you can’t imagine life without them.

*The second time round you are SO much more relaxed. First time mummas are just that, first timers. By the time your second is born you’re a pro. You know what to pack, you know the routine, you know the tired signs, and you know what warrants a trip to the doctor and what doesn’t.

*On the back of that, second babies definitely don’t get that same time with you as your first did, they have to share you a lot more. But, take comfort knowing that they are getting the absolute best mumma, you’ve been there done that and got a vomit stained t-shirt to prove it. They have a mumma who knows the ropes, who’s relaxed and just has a lot of love to give.

*Ask for help if you need it/take it if it’s offered. This is a big one. For us, our friends are our family since we live abroad and they have at times been our lifeline. From cooking for us to looking after Teddy when Beau was born they have been amazing. I hate asking for help but I’ve definitely learnt to accept it if it’s offered, people won’t offer if they genuinely don’t want to and you will be super thankful for an extra set of hands – or just a glass of wine with your hubby.

*Get ready first! This one sounds strange but trust me, it works. When you’re going anywhere for the day, get yourself ready first. Once you’re done get the kids ready, that way the minute they are ready you’re on your way.

*Sounds obvious but pack your bag the night before. Make sure you’ve got everything in the bag ready to go, nappies, wipes, outfit changes, bibs and any food that can be pre-prepared (or is in a packet haha). That way, in the morning all you have to concentrate on is breakfast, getting dressed and putting your babes in the car.

xmas

Guess who’s back, back again

Me harbouring a cauliflower...
Me harbouring a cauliflower…

Holy guacamole, it’s been months, MONTHS since I attempted to entertain you all with my ramblings.

And while I apologise profusely, there is a fairly good reason for this slack behaviour.

It’s because of a cauliflower*.

There is a cauliflower living inside me. It also goes by the name, at this stage, of Baby Knees.

That’s right peeps, you heard it here first, there is a new beginning forming, I have indeed become a vessel of life.

But, before we go into all that – I must tell you how it came about – no, not those details, the evening our lives changed forever…dun dun dah!

It was a Monday evening and I had spent the weekend feeling miserable. Mr Knees and I had been to a friend’s house for dinner of the Saturday night and upon arriving home I found myself with my head in the toilet believing those so called “friends” had tried to take me out.

The following morning I was better, but oh so tired. I even had a nana nap in the afternoon.

So when Monday rolled around and I was desperate for some Macaroni Cheese I didn’t think anything of it, naturally.

However, when it came time to eat the deliciousness I had created, it was back to the bathroom.

It was at that stage Mr Knees and I started to make nervous jokes about being ‘pending arrivals’ and what awesome parents we would make…

I suggested that perhaps he swing by the supermarket and pick up a preggo test, just so we could rule it out and carry on with eating, or rather not eating, dinner.

It’s at this point I should tell you Mr Knees was getting ready for his weekly NBA performance and I was hastily doing dishes so I could finally relax for the evening.

But upon returning to the bathroom, that was not about to happen.

There was the usual dark pink line which indicates you are ‘in the safe’ zone, but next to it appeared to be another pretty pink line.

Um, what?

Two lines. TWO LINES. TWO LINES HOLY SHIT SOMEONE, ANYONE, HELP.

I slowly walked into the lounge.

Me: Um…

Mr Knees: F**k off (staring at me in disbelief)

Me: I don’t know what is happening; you need to help (while pulling at hair, with tears in eyes)

Back to the bathroom we go, he’s got the stick, I’ve got the test info sheet and both of us are just looking from one to the other.

Mr Knees: I’ve got to go to basketball.

Me: We need more tests

Mr Knees: I’ve got to go to basketball.

Me: Bring tests, brings lots of tests, bring the most tests you can find.

He returned with a full bag of tests, upending it on the bed while complaining that he’d just spend $50 on f**king wee sticks.

All seven tests came back positive, one even said PREGNANT.

Jesus.

You’d think after all that we’d have believed it, but not even after the doctor rang to confirm two days later did we believe this was legit.

It wasn’t till we saw that little bean on the screen with its legs crossed and arms under its head, just like dad, did we think – woah, we made a babe.

So, there you have it peeps, Mr Knees and I are due to welcome our little bundle of fun in April.

 

*I’m 25 weeks preggo and this week the babe is the size of a cauliflower!