Hi there. Just thought I’d pop in and write something, lest you think I’d fallen off the face of the earth. This blog always seems like the first ball I drop once life starts getting a bit busy… and well… I’ve been juggling a lot. Serves me right for writing a post about how to stay organised. The Universe read that post about bullet journaling and laughed and laughed.
Today, I’m not laughing. Today, I am infuriated. I am pissed off. I am fed up. And I’m going to vent it all out on this blog, so if you don’t like swear words, then consider this your warning and stop reading now.
So…
Today was shit.
I have spent the last week stressing out. If I look back, I’ve actually spent the last month stressing out because I’ve had so much going on, and in the back of my mind I am trying to work out when and how I am going to balance life when the time does come for me to go back to my desk job in the city which, when factoring in school and day-care drop-off, will take a good 2 – 2.5 hours each way, door-to-door. *sob* But let’s just focus on the last week, yeah?
Last week everyone decided to get sick at once. It is really hard to write, edit or design anything half decent when your head is foggy, your nasal passage is congested and there is no medication you can take because you’re breastfeeding. On top of that, your body is operating on 45-minute blocks of sleep. (It really doesn’t help that my husband snores like a truck when he’s sick, so it’s basically impossible to get shut-eye when I am dealing with his thunderous breathing and a snotty 9-month-old who is also angry at the world because teeth are literally cutting through his gums atm. And then Mr 5 crawls into our bed because “cuddles” but then does not in fact cuddle but spends most of the night kneeing me in the back and/or face). Talk about #exhausted.
Last Thursday, I decided to put my “grown up” pants on/bite the bullet/insert-adulting-related-cliché-here, and I made a deal with my mother-in-law, who generously agreed to take care of Mr Z while I got a few solid hours of work done at the library.
I have a love/hate relationship with working at the library. I love that it has free wifi, a proper desk, a comfy chair and space and quiet to actually work. But I hate that I have to pack up all my stuff whenever I need a toilet break. So, truth be told, every time I’ve tried working at any library, I only last 1-2 hours. But what do you know; today I surprised myself. I plugged in my earphones, put on some acoustic guitar instrumentals, and found myself in a really good rhythm. I ticked off a big part of a design project I’m working on.
Woohoo, I thought, totally high-fiving myself as I packed up my stuff and walked to the car.
That awesome feeling of accomplishment lasted about 5 minutes.
I exited the lift, turned the corner, and there it was. A yellow envelope. A goddamn parking fine. With a time stamp just 20 minutes after my car was due to exit the parking lot.
Faaaaaaaark.
I got in the car, turned on the engine and did everything I possibly could to not cry. I failed. I burst into tears and yelled every curse word I could think of at the steering wheel.
Because I already felt like shit leaving my kid with someone else just so I could get work done. While I was working in the library, I overheard kids and mums clapping and singing to the Baby Rhyme Time session and a part of me died inside. But the real cherry on top is to have all that time away from my kid and all my effort go down the toilet by having to spend whatever I earned to pay a goddamn parking fine.
It’s like the Universe is punishing me for being productive. If I’d only lasted the 1-2 hours I normally would at a library, and stopped when I expected myself to stop, I wouldn’t have gotten the ticket. If those acoustic guitar instrumentals hadn’t been so damn effective and I hadn’t just powered through to finish off that one big item on my to-do list, I would’ve packed up at the right time, exited the parking lot and avoided this feeling of complete and utter stupidity.
Fuuuuuuck.
On days like this, I throw my hands up in the air and curse every single person who has ever told me the lie that women can have it all.
Because we can’t.
Being a working mum is shit. Something always has to give. There are only so many hours in a day, and if you’re spending them with your kids, then you’re not working, and if you’re working then you’re not spending them with your kids and if you’re like me and a million other mums out there and you’re hustling hard to do both, then it means you’re definitely not spending enough of those hours sleeping, and the likelihood is you’re stretched so thin that you always feel like you’re not doing either of these things particularly well.
So it seems that the curse of the working mum is if your heart isn’t breaking, your sense of ambition and accomplishment is, and if those two aren’t breaking, then your body probably is.
Fuuuuuuck.
So much for happy mother’s day, eh?
If you’ve managed to get this far into my rant, thanks a million. And if you’re a working mum and reading this and thinking “get over it, Joy, I’ve had way worse,” I’m so sorry. Feel free to share/rant in the comments below. We all have bad days.
Before I end though, here’s a bit of encouragement. You know me; I hate to leave it on a bad note. 😘
Note to self: Tomorrow is a new day. Also, pay closer attention to parking signs and the fucking time.