I like stuff. I really, really like stuff. I know it’s materialistic and shallow. I know it feeds the capitalist regime. I know that buying objects won’t fill a void in the way that, say, meditation, or charity work, or reading a good book should, but fuck it, I like stuff, and I like buying that stuff. My best friend and I used to genuinely lament that shopping was seen as too vacuous to list as a hobby in our Record of Achievements.
Some mornings my life feels completely alien. I leave the nursery and can’t believe that somebody else is looking after my child for the day. He’s so little: how has he already got a part of his life that is so separate from mine? I’m already drafting emails for work by the time I get to the gate of the nursery: I worry that it’s unnatural to flick from one life to another so quickly and easily.
First day in the office for over a week, and my personal black cloud was nowhere to be seen. No compressed hours, no crushing deadlines, no staff, no disheartening management meetings today. A little bit of praise, a little bit of progress, Indian snacks from a colleague. A view through the fog. I can’t remember if my feelings towards work were this volatile before I became a working mum (working dads unite…where are the working dad groups?). But today was mainly work, and today was good. Yesterday was mainly family, and yesterday was good.
My parents praised my husband for changing his working hours. He does the nursery pick ups, takes Wednesday afternoons off so he gets an afternoon just him and the boy. People we’ve just met tell me how lucky I am to have a man that is so involved.
I bloody love Christmas. I love the tinsel, the fairy lights, mulled wine, soppy films, christmas carols and Christmas number ones, selection boxes and sherry.
I have been having a tough few weeks (months? Could it be months?) at work. Fridays off with the boy are easily the highlight of my week. The relief I feel as I leave the office on Thursday is physical and immense. I crave more than just that one day pottering around the house together, giggling and singing and building elaborate train tracks.
I taught my little man what eyebrows were this morning. Stroking them makes him blink his eyes and giggle. I should be writing a presentation for our executive committee to either argue about or ignore.