Midnight and I was still wide awake. Hubby was having another of his coughing fits (The Cough is an annual event that begins around this time, lasts for at least 3 weeks and keeps repeating on you like a dodgy kebab). There was a half-hearted attempt at sympathy on my part but after five minutes I just wanted to smother him with a pillow. I was desperate for a good night’s sleep as I had a big day ahead – my first day at a new job. I managed a few hours until Mishty came along at 5.15am, wriggling into bed, grabbing my ear as his comforter and noisily sucking his thumb.
Bleary-eyed and cursing the 9am start along with South Eastern trains, I stumbled in and switched on my best “friendly yet professional” face. After receiving my IT and having several introductory meetings, it quickly became apparent that I had left Utopia and stumbled into the Dark Ages. All the flexibility I had enjoyed in my last job was flying out the window while I smacked straight into the big, bad wall of Presentee-ism. Working from home wasn’t normal, long hours was. I had to come into the office so the director could see me, even if he was off. I went home with an ominous feeling in my gut (which could also have been the canteen food).
Day 2 started with another 5am wake up call from Mishty. The tiredness was making me emotional and I felt like the lonely new girl with no friends. There was no one to lunch with, everyone ate at their desks, and zero banter. The only thing to break the tedium was either going to the tea point or the toilet. When I got home Mishty asked me if I had made any friends. I nearly cried as I said no, while he just looked at me like I was a loser.
The next day was the third night in a row of being woken up at 5am. My nerves were raw and I was in danger of bursting into tears at any moment from tiredness. It took a lot of restraint from me not to bawl when the printer started to behave like a dick. Several coffees later I felt more optimistic. I could find my way around, there was a delightful roof terrace and the people were alright.
By the end of the emotionally draining week I felt like an old timer. But I was drowning in guilt and felt conflicted over my decision to take this promotion. My father didn’t go for promotion while I was young in order to avoid stress and help out with childcare. That was thirty years ago but nothing seems to have changed as now I am faced with the same question – more money or more problems?
I went for this promotion because I could do the job but it feels like I’m being penalised just for being a mum. I can’t do long hours in the office at short notice which could make some question my commitment. Never mind the fact that I can log on again at night if I need to, there’s no real belief that this could be adequate.
I’m earning more but I’m also paying more for an extra day at nursery, extra travel costs and extra lunch costs. I gave up our Mummy and Mishty day by going back full time. I’m making him do longer hours and coming home to a cranky kid lashing out from tiredness. I’m rushing him all the time just so I can get the early train instead of nurturing his curiosity over flowers and cars as we walk to nursery. I’m home in time for bedtime but not for playtime and getting punished by him purposely asking for Daddy instead. I’m stressing over not being there to help with homework when he starts school and whether I’ll be able to get time off for school events. I’m worrying over logistics from not being able to do as many pick-up and drop-offs anymore as Hubby’s job doesn’t allow working from home, requires going to another site outside London every week and an evening meeting every fortnight. I’m struggling with change and I miss him. I am a mess of heartache and guilt.
It’s a rude awakening to the reality of many full-time working mothers who are offered little or no support. Going from an organisation that tells you to come in only if you have a special need, to an environment that is the complete opposite takes some adjusting. But people manage whether they are fortunate enough to outsource the care to nannies or nanas or nurseries.
I could start reading articles on ‘how you can have it all’ but who wants to spend their life meal planning and having to schedule in down time instead of naturally flopping on the sofa? I don’t want to make more lists because all it does is remind me of everything that isn’t done and my inadequacies as a mother or an employee. I don’t want to be always mentally planning while rushing up escalators, I just want to go at my notoriously slow pace, and have the time to switch off, sit and be. Wishful thinking, I know.
This new job isn’t ideal but with time we will adapt to a new rhythm and make it work, just like everyone else in the same boat. The big question though is whether to stick with this new rhythm that jangles on your nerves or whether to cut your losses and find a different one that is more harmonious.
No one tells you that it’s not just the baby you give birth to but also endless guilt, self-doubt and sacrifice. You muddle through life and find there’s no right way of doing things, just whatever works for you and your family. All you can do is control the things you can, and forgive yourself for the things you can’t.
Mishty in my belly 