I CAN’T WAIT to go back to work. This is not only a true statement of fact, but something I screeched at my children last week.
Wait, wait, hold your applause and Mother of the Year nominations until you’ve heard the clincher:
I really, really meant it.
Somewhere in between my two-year-old flooding the kitchen with Multi-V (a failed self-pouring attempt mummy had dissuaded only moments earlier) and the baby crushing my foot with a dinner plate (in the process of destroying my breakfast), I cracked.
I CAN’T WAIT TO GO BACK TO WORK! (And be away from you!)
In that moment I hated being a stay-at-home mother more than anything else.
All the fun, the spontaneous laughter, the precious moments spent stroking your babies heads and marvelling at the fascinating little humans they’re growing into evaporated in a blink of an eye. FFS is it too much to ask to enjoy a hot cup of tea without everything going to hell in a handbasket? No, I don’t want draw a picture of a rainbow and I REALLY don’t give a bloody rats where that friggin green sheep is!
I was cranky, snappy and so terribly un-fun. I’d become the fang-toothed, fire-spitting dragon mother I’d seen at shopping centre; the type who howls at their kid for walking too slow, or too fast, or for existing in general.
It wasn’t until my two-year-old began apologising for minor infractions – leaving a door open, spilling her cereal, dropping the remote – that I realised I wasn’t the only one who needed a break. Newsflash parents: kids get sick of us, too. Especially when we turn into cranky, overbearing trolls.
Fast forward a matter of days and I finished my first shift of work in more than 12 months…and I could’ve happy-danced Liz Lemon-style the 35km home.
It was brilliant – not because work was particularly exiting, or Australia Day was particularly momentous – but because I was just me. Not mummy. Not the keeper of the milk, the changer of bums, the wiper-upper of spillages or settler of disputes.
Just me. They type of me who can drink a hot tea and have an adult conversation about something other than breastfeeding, poo and sleep cycles.
The type of me who definitely, positively, absolutely never wants to be a stay-at-home mother ever again. (Well, never long term that’s for sure).
Dedicated stay-at-home parents, I’m not judging.
I tried to be awesome like you. I wanted to love every moment I spent with my kids, I really did. I wanted to be that smarmy mum who gladly proclaims they would give anything to spend every second of every day with little darlings, because these formative years are just so precious. I wished I could hack it.
Nope.
I love my children more than anything but – like my husband, family and good friends – I do not want to be with them every waking hour of my life. No sir-ee. Not at all.
And brace yourself attachment parents – I actually think it’s better for everyone if we all have a break from one another.
I can return to work with the knowledge I’ll be a happier, calmer, more focused mummy on my days off and my children will have the opportunity to form stronger bonds with other relatives. They’ll get the best of everyone and more than enough quality attention (not just mummy faffing about the house, cleaning, and counting down the hours until she can put up her feet and have a wine).
Best of all, I can have a goddamn tea in peace (and enjoy actually missing my children, for a change).
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