Quite The Workout

Must vacuum, bake cupcakes for play-date, check all singlets in singlet draw still fit baby, get petrol, buy milk, sew button back onto jacket, email report, defrost chicken for dinner, look for Barbie’s missing shoe, plan up coming birthday…

Late at night we entertain the idea of sleep, but thoughts are not turned off as easily as a bedside lamp.

Just as the waves of lists subside, we close our eyes and the tide of questions starts.

Am I doing enough? Am I doing too little? Am I doing it right? Am I doing it wrong?

For a lot of us, there is a certain topic that prompts these doubts. A topic open to more interpretation and controversy than a Da Vinci painting.

Work.

Post children, the word becomes not only a blurred phrase that is applicable to every second, it becomes a term that conjures nervous questioning.

We are all searching for what we feel is the correct life balance. In one hand we find the necessity of life and in the other, precious time with our Littles.

Swaying back and forth with this exact struggle, I have at many times felt the tightrope fraying under my feet.

‘And do you plan on returning to work?’ asked my OBGYN on my first Mummy follow up.

Head down, biro scratching across the page, everything about her question was punctuated with hidden analysis.

 Yessssss? Nooooo? Maybe? Give me a hint give me a hint give me a hint?

‘Can I buy a vowel?’ said I with an anxious smile, but it seemed humour didn’t translate to someone who had spent the better half of their morning pulling humans from ladies hoo-ha’s. 

It appeared I’d found myself alone with the very personal decision. 

Tossing and turning at night, I wrestled with the pros and cons of a working mother. Can we still be the women who have it all? Do I still want it all? 

I had to take this one to the sisterhood…

‘I only wanted to go back one day a week but work would only let me come back if I worked 5 days a fortnight,’ said one of my girlfriends. ‘I had no intention of putting her into daycare this early but what choice did I have?’

Listening to the angst in her voice I turned to another friend sipping coffee at the table and heard a mirrored response ‘Daycare has been really good for my son, it’s doing so much for him socially, but it’s heartbreaking hearing him cry when I leave.’

Another at the table wiped dribble from her daughters lip while explaining that she was told she could work from home and had no need to send them anywhere until it was time for them to start school.

Summing up the entire conversation, she added ‘I just don’t want people to judge me over the amount of time I spend with my kids.’

Each of the women studied the other with a sense of jealousy and admiration. Where I was jealous that I hadn’t yet enrolled Miss Boo in a daycare, others were jealous that I hadn’t yet had the need. 

Sitting in on this meeting I found that each Mum was relaying her story as if she was stepping cautiously onto a weight scale, squinting at the numbers in the hope they’d reflect the correct balance.

As if it’s not hard enough keeping up with the latest fads in prams, co-sleeping ideas and baby food, we now feel compelled to provide a list of our child’s whereabouts and the reasoning for why we’ve chosen to leave them at said destination. 

I don’t think any of my fellow mothers had the intention of rolling up to my parents house to assess their approach to OH&S systems, but there I was feeling the need to expand on what my kids would gain from being left there.

It’s just a sad and unfortunate truth that mothers are consistently judged, large portions of this judgement being cast from other mothers. The slightest hint of this and we retreat into Self Doubt Syndrome. But who are we really justifying these defences to, them…or ourselves?

‘To be honest,’ sighed Mum #1 again, ‘my boss looks at me like I’ve gone soft now anyway, so it’s probably just him testing me.’

 ‘No matter what I do, some people will think I’m being too neglectful and others will think they’re running the risk of me breaking down at work and attempting to breastfeed them.’

‘Mmmmmm,’ came a sympathetic unison response.

 The jury had spoken, and the conclusion was this; Mum’s are judging us, Bosses are now testing us and we are self-assessing to the point of a mental breakdown.

Bloody. Bollocky. Bugger.

In a more confused state than I had left, I returned home to relay the findings to Soccer Hubby. 

‘What is the answer?’ said I. ‘Of course I want to stay at home with our kids but I also want to contribute and be the type of independent woman a daughter can be proud of!’

As a strong minded female, inputting $0 each week was an internal struggle of its own. I wanted to do something and be something for my children, but I also more than anything wanted to be there with them armed with a tissue every time they sneezed and kiss them every time they fell.

I even wanted to be there for that moment when you realise the consistency of their poo has changed due to the transition to solid food and you find yourself actually teary at the idea thinking Oh how you’re growing up so fast. (Wait for it new Mums, it happens.)

‘I hate when she cries when I leave her, then I cry on the days that she doesn’t because I feel like she doesn’t care. I just don’t know what to do Soccer Hubby…’

Sook sook sook, whinge whinge whinge etc.

‘Answer me Soccer Hubby, show me the answers!’ I demanded, turning to find him still in his work clothes and engrossed in a game of peek-a-boo.

Like a bolt of lightening, I found the answer.

Looking at Soccer Hubby and Miss Boo play, anyone could derive that he was indeed the favoured parent. A decent accomplishment given that between work and soccer he’s only subbed in during evenings and weekends. 

But his wisdom was apparent.

It’s not the time away from these kids that they’re judging us on. It’s the quality of the time we spend with them.

Does it really matter that dinner is 10 minutes late if it means Miss Boo can sit on the bench top and stir painstakingly slow feeling included and self achieving? 

Does it really matter that the washing is still on the line if it means I can read ‘Guess how much I love you’ to Miss Moo one more time and watch her smile at the pages?

Does it really matter to them that I spend one day a week sitting at a work computer if I spend every other day dancing, running, singing, cooking, drawing and fairy hunting with them?

Ladies, the balance is not about time with vs time without. It’s just time with vs. time with.

It’s the personal juggle that works for you and your child. Whatever that may be, if you know you’re the sunshine in your child’s day, then everything you are doing is right.

Don’t judge a fellow Mum who says she’s at a conference over the weekend, she may spend the rest of her week drawing pictures of Dorothy the Dinosaur on the back of spreadsheets for all that we know.

The only person you have to please is the little one waiting for you at the end of the day. 

And our reward is that they do.

To my girlfriends who are full time Mummys, I’m proud of you.

To my girlfriends who are the full time workers in the house and juggle kids as well, I’m proud of you.

To my girlfriends who have found daycare works for their Littles development, I’m proud of you.

To my girlfriends who balance kids and work of any sort, I’m proud of you.

 And to those of you who are still a fluster of headaches trying to find the balance that suits your own circumstances, I’m proud of you for caring so much it hurts.