The burden of a working mum

I shuffle to work on Monday morning running through the mental to do list of things I must have ticked off before another working week begins.  In fact, if I am honest, it probably starts as early as Sunday.

Is the washing done? are PE kits ready?

Have I read the latest school newsletter?

Do either of them have a dress up day this week?

Have I paid the piano lessons  bill ?

Monday is just a double check on the day before with a few added tasks, like did I do the packed lunches and morever, did I shut the cat in the Fridge in my tired haze to get out the door.

I rushed out the door to my corporate existence whilst they lay beautifully sleeping in their beds, all they know is when they wake up, mummy isn’t there to cuddle them.

Inside my stomach is the normal rack of guilt that I didn’t see either of them this morning, I rushed out the door to my corporate existence whilst they lay beautifully sleeping in their beds, all they know is when they wake up, mummy isn’t there to cuddle them.

Morning brings the normal rush of tasks, which in the grand scheme of things mean nothing.  My heart aches till I can leave again and get home to the kids.  I won’t lie, there is a certain element of freedom associated with working that I enjoy, however it is overlaid with part of you that says you should be at home baking an apple pie for their arrival from school.  Your grandmothers voice is firmly in there telling you that kids grow up very fast and before you know it you have missed their childhood and all they do is use a series of grunts to communicate.

Tuesday, is the same routine.  I am promptly reminded the night before that Thursday is bring your mum to lunch day and that I should have read the newsletter that was left of the table, my 6 year old promptly tells me I clearly didn’t read it properly and then tells me to “focus”, oh my god, she really does mirror her mothers words.  Now I am aware of said bring your mum to lunch day, which will be fully of home sneering mums, I am racking my brains as to what meetings I have on Thursday and morever whether I can actually escape to attend, or whether I have to start to let her down gently.  The normal debate reigns with my partner as to whether he can cover, but of course, his meetings are more important than mine.

Wednesday comes, I notice a late meeting in everyone else’s diary except mine, I query it only to be told, we didn’t think you could come because of the kids !!!!  since when has having children translated in to having a career lobotomy !!  I hold my tongue as its just not worth the fight, I will be labelled emotional if I do.

Thursday – I am knee deep in reports, I am never going to make it to bring your mum to lunch day, visions of this little girl waiting on her own for her mum who doesn’t come racks me with guilt to the point of near tears, but I daren’t show it.  However, I am so consumed with the vision and am almost transcending her feelings in to my own body, so I up sticks and go, making an excuse about some urgency at home.  I almost hate myself for not being honest, however, if I am it will just mandate the fact that because I have children I am different, and above all not totally in control of my own time nor fit to take on more responsibility.  En route home, I am now full of resentment for the school for laying on such an untimely event and putting us working mums in such a position, by time I get to the school, I am seething.  I am playing with my blackberry throughout the hour, and it turns out to be no quality time whatsoever, I needn’t have gone, no one has won, not least my little girl who tells me this is her time and to put the blackberry away.

Friday comes – I am in catch up mode from Thursday, still resentful at the school and my colleagues who deemed me too much of mum to invite me their late meeting, I expect they thought they were being considerate.  I am in the mother of all moods.  5.30 comes and I am out the door, wild horses cannot stop me as I get on the train and shed the burden of corporate responsibility on the platform.  I am off home, and for one day, I get to be a mum again, before the to do list of Sunday evening starts to whir again…. And just think, I only have this for another 10 years…

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