I just want some of it. Oh, and the some of it that I want is likely to change quite frequently since I am ruled by my emotions and at the moment they are a little unstable.
Sometimes I want a career and I want to leave the house every day with somewhere important to go and important things to do. Not often, but sometimes. Most of the time I want to get through the day without people (me, the baby) crying and with a relatively tidy house.
Don’t tell Emily Pankhurst. I’m quite happy to stay at home with the children- I wish I could do it every day. BUT I want to do things too. I want to be one of those Work At Home Mums (WAHM) rather than a Stay At Home Mum (SAHM). Like I said, I just want some of it.I don’t really know the pros and cons of being a WAHM over a SAHM as I have never been either. I sometimes imagine that WAHMs are a little like the image of Fay Weldom that I inherited from one of my creative writing lecturers: she used to hide under the table to write her novels as it was the only place she got some peace and quiet and the last place her kids would look. I can relate to that. I like that kind of chaotic dedication. I also imagine that SAHMs have their own fair share of hiding under the table scenarios but that perhaps they can postpone the event until a more convenient time. I may be wrong.
I have huge plans. I have the best idea about making an interactive garden for my kids but I can’t do it when going out to work keeps cropping up every week. For now, I must remain in this odd limbo that demands I am a WAHM/SAHM part of the week and for the other part I am a Working Mum (WM). WM is no fun. She makes everyone get up early and rush through their breakfast with showergel still foaming in their eyes. She hurriedly brushes hair, clips clips in fringes and wipes milk from chubby cheeks. She leaves children in various places and arrives at work harrassed and tired. Then she remembers how much she loves her kids and how much she wants to be with them and not at work. WM is no fun. When she gets home, she collects tired children and makes them eat whatever dinner has been stewing in the slow cooker. She bundles them up for baths and retires to paperwork.
I don’t know who I want to be anymore. I don’t want it all. I don’t want to be part SAHM part WAHM and part WM. I want to be one of them. Or I don’t. See, I don’t want it all but I don’t know what bits I want to keep and what bits I want to get rid of… Did I mention I was confused about it all? I’m ruled by my emotions, you know. I’m writing this from under the table…