Today was busy. I negotiated through my meetings; wrote a briefing for our executive committee; supported my overworked team and started writing my promotion case. I was on top of my game today. Coffee in hand I ruled my little empire, and I ruled it well.
And in the few quiet moments I had, as I filled my water bottle, or re-plaited my hair, I was completely floored by remembering my little man is being looked after by strangers again today. I kept forgetting about his existence in all the noise. Then I had to hold onto a wall for support as I was overcome with longing for his chubby little hand wrapped around my finger. I found a box of raisins in my handbag, and wanted to rush home and hand-feed them to him.
Maybe all the working parents around me feel like this. Why can’t I ask them? I drop stories about the little man into conversation wherever I can. I’m rare: some colleagues smile at me in relief, and join in. But often we just move onto more important things: meeting schedules and corporate behaviour and what colour the new chairs should be.
It’s all going better than ever before. So why is it still not feeling easier?