Being in one's 30's

I had intended to write this post when I was 29 but various life events in that year relegated blogging to the bottom of the priority pile.  It was going to be a rhetoric on what turning 30 meant, and what it didn't.  Instead, it's just going to be a general view of what I think being in my 30's means.

My somewhat stereotyped view of your average 30-something (or 'proper grown-up' as I used to think of them) consisted of:

• Owning your own home
• Having babies
• Wearing suits
• Generally, having their shit sorted

My experience so far has entailed:

• Own home - check.  After a tumultuous time renting 
• Babies - check.  Well, one.
• Suits - Nope. Wearing formal wear makes me feel like a tool, and not a very useful one at that.  Like a glass hammer or something
• Sorted - Nope.  I still have no idea of my destination.  The list of things I don't want to do is getting unmanageable, so I really need to focus on that one.

Well, I'm 50% toward being a proper grown-up.  I even do dishes on an (almost) daily basis now.  Prior to hitting 30 I only did them when we literally ran out of things to eat off of (a Pyrex dish and a funnel make a surprisingly passable bowl and spoon substitute). 
Now I've popped out a baby I'm refocusing my efforts on career stuff.  I do like the company I work for, but there's not much scope for progression, and I don't intend to tread water for 10 years just in case a role becomes available.

Being in your 30's isn't much different from being in your 20's.  Except you can't drink as much and not suffer horrendous hangovers, your knees click with a little too much enthusiasm on stairs and you've learnt to curb an overly exuberant excitability into an outward appearance of serenity.  Inside you're still free-running off walls though.
The main difference between your 20's and 30's is that you've generally out a lot more shit going on, and a lot less time to deal with it.


What are your views on being in you 30's (or 20's, 40's, 50's 60's etc...)?
Are you where you thought you would be at this point in life?

Settling in

Now my return to work has been confirmed Little Parasite has started some 'settling in' sessions at his nursery.  These consist of LP spending an hour or so in the nursery without me to get him used to it gradually.  Not that this will be an issue.  LP is quite an independent little soul and is nonplussed when I'm not around anyway.  To be honest, I'm not entirely sure he likes me that much. 

I stayed with him for the whole of his first session and initially he was a bit cautious whilst he took it all in.  Soon he was charging about like a shoe fetishist with OCD, collectig the other children's shoes (some were still being worn in a couple of unfortunate cases) and claiming them for his own.  He has a peculiar penchant for footwear; eating them in particular.

The second session I left him with the nursery staff whilst I filled out paperwork.  This was fairly routine if laborious (i.e. writing out emergency contacts in triplicate; noting any dietary requirements etc.).  One section was a tad concerning however.  It asked if the staff had my consent to call an ambulance if required, before seeking my permission to do so. No, I'd rather you let him bleed out first.  Apparently in the past the nursery had received a complaint from a parent for seeking emergency medical help before informing them.  What's more alarming than the fact there are actually people who think like this, is that there are people who think like this and they know how to breed. 
What this consent section infers is, despite me saying 'yes, phone an ambulance if required' is that the staff will still need to check LP's file for the consent status before calling 999.  We are drowning in pointless, paranoid bureaucratic crap(ha!  I wrote carp at first.  I wonder where a bureaucratic carp keeps its pen?)

When I collected LP after completing the paperwork, he proceeded to bawl into tears when I picked him up.  Apparently a sandpit can sufficiently substitute my company (I hope work doesn't get wind of this or I'm out of a job).
Whilst I know my role as mum means I need to equip LP with the life skills to be a confident, independent adult, there is still a small part of me that is glad when he is upset by my absence.  At least I think so.  Having no experience of this thus far I presume it's at least a little satisfying knowing your child is emotionally attached to you.

I was speaking to one of the nursery staff after LP's last settling session, and said how strange it would be to have whole days where I didn't know what he was up after spending 9 months with him pretty much 24/7.  She said they do have 'My Day' diaries they give the parents, so they get an update on their child's day.  It is a nice touch, but if I'd wanted sporadic updates I would have sponsored a gorilla at the local zoo.  At least I wouldn't have nappies to change.


LP is coping well with his settling in sessions so far and I'm sure he will be fine for full sessions when I return to work.  For my part I'm focusing on the practical  side of things for now.  I will deal with the inevitable guilt and worry when it can no longer be ignored.


What crazy admin protocols have you encountered?
What coping mechanisms do you use when a difficult situation is approaching?

Little Parasite's journal

I have a guest post from Little Parasite today.  It's a journal he kept for Husband when he (Husband) was away at the Reading Festival.

Friday
Mummy suggested I keep a journal for you, to let you know what I've been up to while you're away.  I wasn't sure at first because I'm quite busy, but she said you would like it so here it is.
I had Shreddies for breakfast which was new.  I managed to fit 4 in my mouth before Mummy took the bowl away and handed them to me one-by-one.  Then I spent a bit of time in my walker, tried climbing the TV stand, chased Boy Dog and played Peek-a-Boo with Mummy (for a brief moment I thought Mummy had vanished forever, but luckily she was behind the cloth the whole time).  Then I went for a nap.
After my nap, I had a quick bottle of milk and went in the car with Boy Dog to Eastwood Farm (I don't think it's really a farm at all though, because I didn't see any cows or pigs or sheep).  I met two of Mummy's friends and their dogs, Kaz and Lottie.  Kaz was funny and looked a little like Girl Dog.  One time she barked and made me jump so I nearly headbutted Mummy.  I liked Lottie because she was nice and gentle and quiet.  After an hour of being carried around I got tired so we went home.
I had lunch and then went for a nap.  But when I was in my cot I noticed the curtains blowing in a breeze and I wanted to touch them.  I went to the end of my cot and stood up so I could reach them.  Then I got stuck and got a little scared so cried until Mummy rescued me.
Then we went to the post office and a lady next to us dropped a whole necklace of beads on the floor.  It made a lovely clattering noise.  Mummy helped the lady pick up the beads, but they didn't drop them again, which was a little disappointing.
When we got home, I attempted to nap again.  This time Mummy put me in my sleeping bag so I couldn't stand up and I slept for 2 hours.  Mummy had to wake me up for dinner!  I fell over and bumped my head before dinner, and it hurt so I cried.
After dinner, Mummy and I played with my ribbon pot and discovery bottles, but I really wanted to play with Boy Dog.  Then I had my bath, and Mummy read me one of my new library books (we went to the library after the post office) before I went to sleep.

Mummy told me you went to the Reading Festival. Why do you need to go to a field to read?  I have lots of books you could borrow.

Saturday
Today I woke up grumpy because my mouth hurt.  I had some teething powder and felt a bit better so I could play.
I went in my walker and the bouncer whilst Mummy did stuff in the house.  She put something in the walls that she called 'Polyfella.'  I'm not sure who Polyfella is, or why he wants to live in our walls.
I had a really short morning nap, so I was still grumpy when I woke up.  I had a snack, tried climbing my mobile, fell off and bumped my head.  I don't like bumping my head.  Mummy tried putting me down for another nap (I think she wanted to secretly eat the Toffee Crisp she thinks I don't know about) and I slept for 2 hours.
I then had lunch and we took Boy Dog for a walk in the field.  Mummy brushed Boy Dog's fur, but I was bored just sitting there so encouraged her to hurry up.  When we got home I went to the kitchen and on the floor was a bowl of gloop [Ed: This was a cornflour and water mix for messy play] that looked like milk.  I tipped the bowl over and the gloop spread over the floor.  It felt funny between my toes!  It was odd because it looked like liquid, but when I picked it up it went solid then liquid again.  It didn't taste very nice.  I had a bath in the kitchen sink after which was fun.
I was really tired, but I didn't want to go to sleep, so I stayed up until bedtime.  I was very grumpy by then, and my gums were hurting again so Mummy gave me some of that tasty pink goo [Ed: Calpol].
In the bath, I found a metal ribbon.  But when I pulled it my bath water started to vanish!  I found a hole where it was running away to and tried to pull it back in, but it was very slippery so I ended up sat in an empty bathtub.  I then got ready for bed and Mummy read a story about a kangaroo!

Sunday
Today I am officially 8 months old.  I don't know where the time's gone.  Mummy tried to make me feel better about being 8 months old and told me she's 32 years old next month.  She's a very silly Mummy.  No one can be that old.  It did cheer me up though.
I didn't play very much this morning.  I woke up because I was hungry, but I wasn't very awake.  I stayed up for an hour after breakfast then went back to bed for 2 hours.
We went shopping when I woke up, which used to be fun, but I've realised it's just the same thing over and over.  I entertained myself by pretending I was going to have a boredom tantrum whenever we were near a large group of people, then Mummy had to make loud, silly noises to stop my pretend tantrum.  I wonder how long I can get away with that?
I had humus for lunch, and it makes a really good finger paint too.  Then I went for a nap.
We went to Ashton Court in the afternoon with Boy Dog.  I got to have my snack and milk outdoors!  It was even better when Mummy moved to a new spot once she realised she parked me by a dog poo bin at first.  We walked for ages, and did a lot of off-roading as there were hundreds of steps everywhere that Mummy was obviously trying to avoid.  Mummy said we should come back again with you, but probably not tomorrow as you'd be feeling delicate.  Do they throw the books at you at the Reading Festival?
We got home after dinnertime, so we had a late dinner, then some games (I found a new game where I crawl toward the TV stand, and Mummy slides me backwards by my trousers across the floor).
At bath time I remembered the metal ribbon and pulled it again.  The water ran away again too.

I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow and playing - Mummy is rubbish at rough-housing, but she does try.  I've missed you!

Returning to work

I have finally negotiated the complicated path of requesting flexible working when my maternity leave ends at work.  For some inexplicable reason I had thought it would be a fairly straightforward process that would go something like this:

Me: "Can I come back part-time on the following days...?"
HR-Powers-That-be: "Yes/no"

Which would then result in me either happily toddling back to work under the agreed schedule, or unhappily plodding through endless job searches and rejections.

What it actually entails is this:

Me: "Can I come back part-time on the following days...?"
HR-Powers-That-be: "You need to fill out this convoluted form in detail.  We will not accept 'not applicable' as a response even if the question is totally irrelevant to your role."

I then return the form only to find they need more detail.  Like, a lot more detail.  We're talking a detailed account of Husband's shift pattern over the next 3 years, an immunoglobulin test result from Little Parasite, and a description of my proposed route to work including Google Map diagram.
The form is returned again and then I'm invited to a formal discussion with
HR-Powers-That-Be.  Expecting to have my work plan ripped a new one, I am somewhat surprised when essentially the only question they have is "may we phone you on your off days should we need to?"
Then, I wait a couple of weeks for the decision letter that will either see me sigh with relief, or sign up to numerous job seeker sites.

Fortunately, my request has been accepted so there is a lot less free-flying cortisol in the house.  Of course this has now freed up vital worry space in my brain to focus on the practicalities of returning to work.  I'm suddenly confronted with such pertinent questions as 'where the hell are my hair straighteners?' and 'do I even own clothes not stained with baby puke anymore?' This awakening to just how blinded I've become to my increasingly disheveled appearance warrants its own post (which I will no doubt neglect to write).

Apart from the obvious concern of forgetting how to actually do my job and dissolving into a pool of my own incompetency, I'm a little concerned that I may attempt to transfer my new found parenting skills into the workplace.  For example, when people become agitated during meetings I'm genuinely worried I may automatically start singing 'the wheels on the bus' to mollify them.

I still have a couple of months of maternity leave left before returning to work, and I fully intend to make the most of them with messy play, trips to the park, swimming and baby groups before the shock of a structured day hits us all.  Poor Little Parasite; kiss goodbye to your random 08:30 lie-ins.

Have you returned to work after a lengthy time off? How did you cope?  Did anything surprise you about the process?

Hybole returns

After an 18 month gap Allie Brosh, author of the highly popular blog 'Hyperbole and a half' has returned.  Her long awaited post details her struggle with depression over the last few months to explain her lengthy hiatus from blogging.  Written with her usual flair for imparting her stream of consciousness, and illustrated throughout with her distinctive, simplistic cartoons the post does not disappoint. 
Although depression is not an obvious source of humour, Allie has described this mental illness in an accessible, funny manner.  If you have ever suffered from severe depression, you will recognise the stages she describes very well.  From the initial confusion at a loss of joy, to apathy through to an inexplicable anger at the world.  Even her floor-crying corn experience will not be unfamiliar to many.
The frustration at people not accepting her mental state, and the social awkwardness at pretending not to be depressed are all eloquently described in Allie's unique style.

Image from Hyperbole and a Half

Perhaps not the best first post to read if you are new to Hyperbole and a Half, it stands alone from her previous posts.  Many of Allie's previous posts are inspired by events in her life, the majority from her past.  I think it is a brave step to write about a personal experience with depression, especially whilst it is still a significant factor in your life.

I, along with thousands of other followers, am glad to see Allie is back blogging again.  I hope she continues to recover well, and takes the time she needs.  If her next post takes another 18 months, well, she has already proven she has a loyal following who will be there to read her work.

Brassic

Right, after having a bit of writer's block for a while (I blame Little Parasite because frankly he can't argue) I've decided I just need to write anything in order to alleviate it.  The result is the post below, which I accept is not great (or even mediocre).  It's not intended to be polished, perfect prose, but an exercise in getting off my arse to write since writing has fallen to the curb lately.

After university, Husband and I spent a couple of years being pretty brassic. During this time, we did a good job at eking out the life of our belongings.  I would sew old t-shirts into tote bags, make skirts from old jeans, bulk out meals with pearl barley and then spend nights in wide-eyed panic over our finances when we ran out of ways to stretch our wages.
However, there comes a point when being so thrifty actually turns you a bit materialistic. After attaching elbow patches to your sweater for the umpteenth time, and making dog toys out of old socks stuffed with tennis balls (also a very useful sling shot), you eventually begin imagining life without holey pants (not devout undies just many, many holes). This then evolves into humbly wishing you had clothes that weren't dated from before your uni days (there's a limit to how long you can pretend your style revolves around the vintage look when trying to pass off wearing your old tat), and lamenting the fact that your DVD collection is primarily based on scratchy throw-outs from the local rental DVD shop that went bankrupt.

Yes, thriftyness can come full circle so it ends up staring at the arse of commercialism in its tight CK jeans.  Does this make me a bad person?  I don't think so.  A little shallow perhaps, but it has helped fuel my creativity.  From being broke, I have learnt to sew, knit, create passable meals from random ingredients (peanut butter and noodles is not one that fits that category) and see the potential in items rather than immediately throw them away.

I can't say that I enjoyed our time being skint, but the skills we gained from this period have continued to prove invaluable.  I think it's a shame that skills such as sewing are only taken up as a solution to an economical situation.  Making things yourself is satisfying in it's own right, and not just as a fallback plan.

Graphic design fail

Baby clothes are typically abundant in the cute motif department, and the alphabet themed bear design from a collection lent to me is no different:

'B' is for bear

 

Until you reach 'F'.  Now, is it just me or is it slightly phallic?  I'm not the most mature of people, so maybe I'm alone in this, but surely someone in the design process must have seen the potential for the innuendo?

'F' is for, umm....

Myths of having a baby

I apologise for any spelling/grammar errors; sleep deprivation is a marvellous thing for humbling an overly pedantic approach to the English language.  I should probably also apologise if the content only makes sense to me.  Sleep deprivation is a marvellous thing for catalyzing a descent into nonsensical prose.

Little Parasite made his appearance into the world on Christmas day, and Husband and I are gradually getting used to life with a baby.  I still have moments of 'bloody hell, we have a baby!' and wondering, despite really concentrating during biology lectures, how we got here.
LP is now 4 weeks old, and I'm surprised by how many fallacies can be found in baby books:

Four hourly feeds
All the pregnancy books I read proclaim that you have to feed your newborn every four hours round the clock.  I thought that sounded pretty tough, but hey, a four hour block of sleep isn't too bad.  What the books neglect to tell you is that this routine is based on formula fed babies.  Imagine my shock when I found myself feeding Little Parasite every 1.5 - 2 hours day and night.  No sooner had I settled LP back to sleep and it was either time for another feed, or nappy change.  Luckily, LP is a little weird and at only 4 weeks old he sleeps for 3 hours in a row at night, so I only had to be zombified for about 10 days.  That's no guarantee that he won't slip back into hourly feeds however.
I'm sure that the 'four hourly feed' myth is not corrected as it serves the 'breast is best' campaigners well. Frankly, there would be less people quitting breastfeeding if they knew what to expect, rather than be abruptly slapped in the face by the fish of reality.

Breastfeeding is a bonding experience
I'm still waiting for this amazing bonding experience I've heard about between baby and mother when breastfeeding.  Honestly, I just feel like an immobilised dairy cow.  I wonder if all this bonding people go on about is really Stockholm syndrome.
I'm pretty sure LP differentiates me and Husband as 'the milky one' and 'the not milky one ' respectively.  Until I'm more than just a food source to LP I doubt I'll be overcome with a dizzying sense of closeness brought on by breastfeeding.  In the meantime the milky bra's are on me.

Irrational tears
I was fully expecting to dissolve into a salty pool of irrationality within the first week.  All the post-birth literature I've read warns that you will burst into tears at really silly things (your partner put his socks in the laundry bin; you looked at the dado rail...).  I had one moment when tears threatened to spring.  Husband and I were discussing the temperature settings on our thermostat and I suddenly felt the hot sting of tears forming, although I didn't actually descend into hysteria.  So, being irrationally hormonal is not a given.

You will still look pregnant post-birth
I was not looking forward to still have a pregnancy paunch for weeks after giving birth, but within 10 days I didn't look like I'd just had a baby.  In fact, my pre-pregnancy clothes were baggy.  I know this makes me sound like a self-satisfied, smug cow, but since I'm in my 30's I think I'm allowed a certain degree of boastfulness.  However, my stomach feels like a half-filled water balloon, so I do have a bit of work to do, and darling LP split my abdominal muscles (diastasis recti) during pregnancy, so no crunches for me for a while.


Our voyage into parenthood has only just begun, so it will be interesting to see what else turns out to contradict our expectations.  From everything I've read, your children rebutting everything you've read is the only certainty.