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

 

A great day for a laugh

joke

So my dad calls me the other day and we got talking about his terrible jokes, I’m pretty sure I had said something about being hungry and he was like ‘oh hi hungry I’m dad’…yip, cringe, you know the one.

Anyway, what followed was this.

Dad: Why did Lucy fall off the swing?

Me: Because she had no arms. Dad, everyone knows that joke.

Dad: Ok, ok, I’ve got another one. Knock knock

Me: Who’s there?

Dad: Not Lucy.

I was hysterical. Why? I really don’t know, I guess I just wasn’t expecting it.

So I decided to ask my mum what her favourite joke was.

Her reply?

What’s an Irishman with a sugar cube on his head?

Sweet f**k all.

So there you have it folks, the reason my parents live apart.

I don’t have a favourite joke, but I really, really love other people’s jokes. I find it much easier to hear them, learn them and then tell them to other people all while pretending they’re my own. I feel like that’s completely ok.

With the Melbourne International Comedy Festival in full swing, I would love to know – what’s your favourite joke?

Here’s a few to get you started:

Why doesn’t Stevie Wonder see his mates anymore?

He’s married.

What happened to the peanut when he crossed the road?

He was a-salted.

Why does Beyonce sing to the left to the left?

Because black people have no rights.

 

Please note I am not a racist, I just find racist jokes hilarious.