Mornings for any parent I imagine all start off in the same relative fashion. You wake from sleep deprived slumber to the sheer joy of hearing your little sparrows, and I mean the ones inside the windows, chirping to themselves in their rooms. You stretch luxuriously in bed before your half closed eye peers at the clock. Joy turns to action and you spring out of bed.
As a working mum this is the time the Sergeant Major is unleashed and within half an hour you’re showered, partly dressed, prepared snacks and lunches, dressed little people, fed breakfast in to tiny tummies, patted the dog, fed the cat, popped on a load of washing, answered emails, lived a week. Or so it seems.
You’re out the door carrying 5 bags still adjusting your bra tags, let alone your hair, preparing to conquer the traffic.
A word of warning for those uninitiated. Do not mess with a working mum on any given day between the hours of 7am and 9am. They are on a mission with no time to spare and they will take prisoners if need be.
Yes, I work. But please don’t judge me.
I have known of this ‘distinction’ that occurs in the school playground in pick ups and drops offs. I don’t mean between children, I mean with parents, with mothers particularly.
It’s not spoken of. But it exists.
You can spot the working mum. She’s the maniac who whips through the school yard like a mini cyclone. She’s the one waving to other mums, with no time to chat. She’s the one focussed on ensuring her little ones are safely deposited at their classroom door with their teacher so she can leave for work with a feeling of peace and not guilt. She’s the one who drives off craning her neck to catch a last glimpse of their monster playing in the schoolground. And yes, she’s also the one who doesn’t watch every morning assembly and the one who only volunteers once a month for canteen duty and not every week and yes, she’s the one who doesn’t go on the school excursions as the extra helper.
Yes, I work. But please don’t judge me.
This morning there were a group of stay at home mums watching the cyclone from the cosiness of their playground positions where they were comfortably attired in their tracksuits and gym gear with hours to sit and chat. I couldn’t help but notice they were watching me this morning and it wasn’t friendliness in their eyes. There was…hang on,.,.judgement. Did I just write that? Yes, judgement from one woman to another. Why do woman have to be competitive? We are all in this game together, no-one’s ‘better’ at parenting than someone else when everyone is simply trying their best. No-one’s a ‘better’ mum because they breastfed, no-one’s a ‘better’ mum because they home school, no-one’s a ‘better’ mum because……..you get my point.
I drove to work wondering what sort of mother am I? Mr 8 once told me he’d be happy to see me back on tv but would prefer me to work in the canteen for ‘the free food’ Bless him. I’d like to think the monsters see me a busy woman, sure, but as one who still manages to hold a good job with responsibility and more importantly greets them with unadulterated love each afternoon I see them.
A girlfriend told me of a book called ‘How not to f*** them up’ where it talks of three different types of mums. There’s the hugger, the organiser and the flexi mum. While I’m yet to read it, apparently it raises questions - do we as a society offer enough support of one another? How does one achieve the perfect work/life balance?
I’ll be honest, I’m still trying to nail it.
If you’ve nailed it, then I applaud you, no matter if you’re the one at home or the one at work. But how about this? Don’t judge me and I won’t judge you.
