Pooped

Hurrah, its Friday.

Breathe.  We reached the end of the week.  In one piece.  Just.

The big girl had a great time in nursery as they were having a party celebrating the end of a long, involved and fun project. This was followed by her bestest’s friends birthday party.  Oh the excitement of life.  How full can a little girl’s life get.   On the way home I picked the small boy from the child minder.  He wasn’t particularly at all pleased to see me, just concerned that he hadn’t had his tea yet and I was late and he was hungry with a capital H and did I really absolutely know that and he would really appreciate food RIGHT now, even if only the merest crust of dried bread.

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Thinly spread

I popped into work for a preliminary mooch before the actual event in May – yes, next month, a looong way off – and actually felt better about the whole thing.  I don’t have my own project and in fact am going to be working on four other projects.  I have been really grumpy about the whole thing and kind of felt I was treading water, getting deskilled, missing the fun of running my own project – the best bit about work, the bit where you can inject that spark of you and, I freely admit, I am a total control freak and slight perfectionist. 

But, after I had the big girl, I ran my own project and when the rush was on it was a complete nightmare managing home and work.  I had a rubbish time health wise with a miscarriage and just general grimness and asked at work to take a step back.  Initially I loathed it and thought I had made the biggest mistake ever.  And in terms of job satisfaction and the love of the job that I had it was a huge step backwards and I know can do so much more, so much better.  I grumped that it was me that had to sacrifice job satisfaction not the husband.  But, and here is the crux of it all, it made my life at home with the big girl and now the small boy so much better.  I wasn’t so tired, stressed and just plain thinly spread.

And so I am going back to work, with colleagues I really like, doing something I can do standing on my head.  The feminist in me shudders as I think that one day I might just get an equivalent to my old job back, when I can manage home and work.

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The perennial question

To work or not to work. 

I have a return to work meeting tomorrow.  Nuff said.  I sorted the childcare bit a while ago and then have blindly ignored, buried my head in the sand, willfully looked the other way, stoically not thought about the actual fact of going back to work. 

I know that actually (depending on what they find for me to do) it will be a Good Thing.  A bit like castor oil and vitamin supplements.  No, really, I know last time I felt slightly more human, its only a couple of days, think of the money, it keeps my hand in for when the kids are finally a bit more independent and I can finally get a more interesting job  … hum, who am I trying to convince here?

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