Knowing when to quit

The idea behind the post below had been rattling around my head for a few months.  But every time I sat down to write it I just couldn't get it to work.  I've lost track of how many times I've tried re-working it - rephrasing; deleting; swearing and pleading with it to just form something cogent.  In the end I decided to just abandon it as a lost cause.  I don't know if it's the subject, the fact it requires some local knowledge or just that it's trying too hard. Whatever the diagnosis, I think the kindest thing to do is to lead it limping out of sight and put it out of its misery.
I still thought I'd share the incomplete carcass of the post though, because it shows sometimes it doesn't matter how hard you try some things just don't work out - I'm honest (and defeatist) like that.

Plus, it's been awhile since I've posted anything and throwing this at you in a loose pretense of some deeper philosophical intent makes me look less lazy.

Seriously, this post is just terrible. Don't hate me.

Have you started anything you wish you hadn't?
How have you got around a challenging project?
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The Triangle
There's an area in Bristol City Centre known as 'the Triangle.' It's basically, as the name subtly suggests, a triangular shaped roundabout.
I've lived in Bristol for five years and I didn't know how this road worked conceptually until Husband explained it to me recently. With diagrams:

 

Husband's schematic of the Triangle

In my mind, you drove around it completely and it would coat you in awesome sauce and magically spit you out on to a different road:

 My exciting, magic dust infused version

Disappointingly, this isn't the case.  Apparently I had visualised the Triangle upside down. When Husband illustrated how the Triangle actually worked, it made so much more sense. The real world is boring when you adhere to strict physical laws, so I continue to maintain my original theory in my mind.

My inability to visualise the Triangle highlights how I blindly follow roads without any real spatial awareness. Despite being an OK navigator when a passenger, I will often look at a map and wonder how that road looped into that one, yet when I drove it it felt like a straight line. A bit like motorway driving when you just point the car in one direction and aim straight*
I'm beginning to wonder if I can actually drive, or the universe just bends the laws of physics so I don't kill everyone in sight as soon as I turn on the ignition.  Considering the dents in our first car this doesn't seem likely.
I am also a bit of a passive road-rager.  I politely let cars go past me in narrow roads, then spend the remainder of the journey in a complete pissey because about 8 cars pushed their way through, essentially clamping myself with my own chivalry.

* I mentioned this to Husband whose facial expressions alternated between amusement and abject terror.

Pro's and cons of going back to work post-baby

Now I've been back at work for a few months, I've had time to reflect on the advantages and disadvantages of balancing work and family life.  I've structured it into a pro's and cons list, because I haven't managed to find much of a balance and lists are quick.

Pro:  I don't get indigestion from inhaling meals when Little Parasite spots I'm eating, and makes his determined way over to mug me.
Con: I habitually leave bits of baby-safe sandwich and fruit as a decoy for the good stuff.

Pro: I can have a hot drink whilst it is indeed hot.
Con:  I continually burn my mouth because I think 'boiling' is 15oc, and forget to check. 

Pro:  I often get to have at least one grown-up conversation a day.
Con:  I now have to engage my brain.  I can't rely on innocence and make stuff up.

Pro:  I don't have to watch kids' TV.
Con:  I regularly miss Octonauts and Chuggington, which I now have to catch up on iPlayer.

Pro:  I can spend most of the day sat in a chair, not the floor.
Con: I have to sit in a chair and work, instead of sit on the floor pretending I'm only playing with toys to amuse Little Parasite - who has since crawled off somewhere, leaving me to play with his toys in peace.

Pro:  My lunch hour is actually a whole guaranteed hour, not a duration determined by the equation:  L=(ns - En)/C*, where L = lunch, s = sleep, E = Exhaustion, C = crankiness and n = number.
Con: Less time with LP.

Pro:  Earning money!
Con: The majority of it is spent on childcare. 

Pro: I can pretend 'baby brain' causes me to forget everything.
Con:  I've discovered 'baby brain' is a real thing.

Pro: I can get through a whole day with no baby puke on my clothes.
Con: I end up spilling yogurt on myself instead, and have no one else to blame.



*Apparently, Blogspot has no way of putting sub- or superscript characters in.

Divided

Two hours forty-five minutes.  That's how much sleep I had a few nights' back to get me through a working day.  Since Little Parasite started nursery 6 months ago his immune system has been under constant onslaught from every virus, germ and bacteria that can conceivably fit in one pre-school room.  Colds; hand foot and mouth disease; conjunctivitis; norovirus; eczema (including a fungal skin infection on his hands).  Poor LP has had it rough.  Add to this the expected trauma of teething and post-vaccination fevers, and the whole household has had it rough.  Nurseries are no place for babies.  They are essentially Petri dishes waiting to take their gig mobile.
That night, a cold-riddled LP decided screaming at regular intervals throughout the night, whilst still fast asleep, was in order.  When Husband or I went in to check on him with increasing frequency, he would sleepily look up at us with an expression of "What are you doing in here? Get out of my room so I can sleep."  Chastised, we would then leave the room.  As soon as the door closed, the screaming would start again.  Eventually, by 3am, we'd had enough and brought him into bed with us.  He immediately woke up and proceeded to use our bed frame as a gymnasium.  He lasted 10 minutes before we unceremoniously deposited him back to his own room.  He then happily fell asleep till I had to practically crow bar him out of his cot in the morning.  Unsurprisingly, he was somewhat tired and didn't want to go to nursery.


This is just one of a number of instances where I doubt how beneficial working is when your child is so young.  I know for many working mothers they enjoy the sense of self being at work brings back.  You regain some of your own identity, and don't just become the family's official nose-wiper and funny-noise-maker.  For me, becoming a mum updated my identity, it didn't undermine it.
Instead of feeling empowered by working, I feel that I've now become a half-assed employee, and a half-assed parent.   
Simple things such as when your child is a bit unwell suddenly become complicated issues.  Is he unwell enough to stay home?  Could he cope being a bit poorly but going to nursery?  Who is going to arrange time off to look after him?  Do we have enough leave to accommodate it? The simple answer of 'he just needs his mum' is no longer an option.

LP has great fun at nursery, so I have no concerns that he spends his days lamenting my absence (he barely looks back when I drop him off).  It's good for him to gain invaluable social skills and it gives Boy Dog* a break from having his eyes poked. Once we have got through all these recurrent illnesses (which, apparently, is an expected part of integrating into a nursery - oh good, it's normal.  That makes it much easier to cope with) things will improve.  In the meantime, I'll fantasise about creating the first commercially viable caffeine IV drip targeted at working mums. Know your market. 

*Sadly, Girl Dog passed away a few months ago. Now Boy Dog has to take the full throttle (not figurative) of LP's attentions.

Resolutions

A new year is a time for reflection, and a chance to indulge in a bit of self-absorbed introspection without too much disapproval.

So, a couple of weeks late perhaps (working mum... busy... blah blah blah), here are my resolutions for 2014:

Get my fitness back
Ok, I know pretty much everyone has this one on their list.  Up until the last year I have always exercised regularly (even when I was 9 months pregnant I was still active).  Unfortunately, it went a bit downhill from there.  After a less than pleasant birth experience (are any of them pleasant?), subsequent recovery and adjusting to life with a newborn, exercise did not feature high on my priorities.  I then had a Mirena coil fitted which caused constant cramping.  This was made worse when I exercised (and 'exercise' in this context could just mean walking to work).  This was not conducive to fitness motivation.  Now the damn thing has finally been removed, I have no excuses, and can finally get my fitness (and sanity!) back.  Of course, this does mean needing to find other ways to stop being parasitised again, but hey, at least I can do crunches.

Write more: 
Ha ha! Seriously. How often has this one reappeared on my resolution list over the years?  I do intend to try and factor in some regular writing time this year, and hopefully get a few more features published.  Because that's realistic; if I struggle to stick to my own deadlines, working to an editor's deadlines will be so much easier.

Recycle more:
When I was a student I was a very conscientious recycler.  We lived in a block of flats where the kerbside recycling bins were regularly stolen. So Husband (who at the time was Fiance) and I would collect all our recyclables over the month, and hike to the local supermarket with bags of plastic and glass jutting out everywhere to dispose of them.  Of course, much of this was fueled by my environmental and bioethics courses, where osmotic guilt seemed to be transferred through the rows of students.
Since leaving university I haven't given much thought to recycling beyond putting empty milk bottles and tins in the right coloured recycling box.  So, I'm going to put more effort into it and actually think before I automatically throw something away.

Give less of a crap about stuff:
I'm a worryer.  I worry about anything and everything,   I worry that I worry too much, and that worry is making me a bore, and if I'm not worrying about something, I think I've missed some small detail somewhere.  I'm worried that I've used the word 'worry' too much in this paragraph.
Basically, I'm going to try not to over-think everything, and properly enjoy the present.


I started 2013 with a newborn baby and a new home, and it has been one of the most enjoyable, exciting (and frustrating!) years so far.  I'm starting 2014 with a toddler, and a growing confidence which I hope will make this year notable.

Do you have any New Year's resolutions?  Any that keep recurring year after year?

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!