This day one year ago I returned to work after maternity leave and thus ended what had been the most enjoyable 6 months of my life to date. I went back fulltime, Monday to Friday, all day long. Gone were the easy days where the two ladies and I moved to the beat of our own drums.
Instead there were days dogged by rushing, hurrying, occasional shouting, sweating and worry. Hurrying two small children to shovel their breakfast into their little tummies, urging them to quickly choose what to wear, hurriedly washing teeth and wiping faces, running to find missing shoes, pulling on jackets then a calmness for 10 minutes where we could sing and chatter during the morning commute. Then barely time for a goodbye kiss.
As soon as the clock hits 5 I’m rushing to collect them as soon as I can to make the best of every single minute. Hurry to get the dinner on so their little bellies aren’t empty. Try and squeeze in some playing, chatting and fun. Eat then it’s bath time, book time, bedtime and before I know it, silence.
And there are other aspects to working that make me wistful, when you can’t reciprocate the playdate your daughter so desperately would love because you simply don’t have time. The housework still needs to be done so weekends are eaten into by mundane tasks.
And so in 6 weeks I will happily bow out from work, my contract with work ends and I won’t be looking for anything else. Instead I am relishing the opportunity to spend some time getting to know my ladies. Building lego houses, painting, baking, laughing, dancing. Teaching them songs, colours, numbers and words. I’ll be reading books about Gruffalo’s not analyzing scientific journal articles. I will be pointing out moo moo’s and no longer calculating the sustainability of dairy systems.
A new three letters will define me, Mum not PhD.
And I cannot wait.