So as of the middle of next month I am officially a SAHM – that’s a ‘Stay at Home Mum’ for those not au fait with parenting lingo. After what feels like months of negotiations, my employer and I failed to reach a flexible working agreement and so here I am. My initial reaction was something along the lines of (apologies for the incoherence):
‘how in the world am I going to entertain a very active almost-toddler with no income and less playdate companions as everyone in my NCT group is going back to work EXCEPT ME and my house is tiny and I’ll have no money and I’ll have to give my child oranges for Christmas and I’ll have to start darning socks oh-my-gawd the world is ending…’
A little later I regained my ability to reason and I actually think it’s not a bad outcome for our family, I’ll have more time with my beautiful little boy and everything happens for a reason.
Anyway, when it became a possibility that returning to work may not be an option my mum said to me, in the nicest possible way, ‘if you don’t go back to work I do think you should try and keep your house a little bit tidier’. Cheers Mum. So the first Monday morning as an official SAHM arrived and I decided to take on board what she’d said and become housewife-mother-extraordinare. I’d do the food shop, take Henry to his doctors appointment, take the dog for her booster vaccination, make lunch, bake bread, bake cookies, pick up the Nespresso capsules, clean the living room and organise the toys.
I did manage the food shop and the doctors appointment. I forgot to take the poor dog to the vets – although she avoided being stabbed in the neck so she’s winning. I made a wonderful lunch of pea fritters with avocado – Henry spat out the first mouthful and threw the rest on the floor, which the dog promptly gobbled up – another win for her. I picked up the coffee (priorities right there), I did not bake bread. I did bake cookies and burnt them. I half cleaned the living room and ‘organised’ the toys by throwing them in a basket.
When Carl came home the sofa was in the middle of the living room with the hoover abandoned behind it and the rug was rolled up. The kitchen smelled like burnt cookies and Henry had vegetable korma in his eyebrows, which again he kept dropping on the floor for the dog. In fact my main parental achievement for the day had been cooking three very healthy meals, none of which were consumed by the intended recipient. All the intended recipient wanted to eat were Organix Carrot Puffs and bagels.
Housewife-mother-extraordinare I clearly am not but I will try again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day. And the next. But that is why motherhood is the best job, a bad day still ends with a hug and a sloppy kiss.