Returning to work, for most is no longer a “choice”. Cost of living has resulted in a need to be a dual income family.
I didn’t have a child until my 30’s, this meant I had achieved financial independence and made good career progression. I wasn’t prepared for the fact, none of this would help me and I would need to give some of this up temporarily.
Childcare is going to cost similar to what I can earn in a day. The government will only offer minimal childcare support before age 3. (I will avoid a rant about the House of Commons, providing a staff nursery). My employer will be hesitant to give me 3 years paid leave or allow me to reduce hours for the full 3 years.
Is it any wonder that by 3 years, we have given up career progression, become disheartened by a lack of support and learnt to live off lower incomes. The truth is the majority of us won’t return to work full-time for a few years.
Although, the above is an issue, it’s not even the main reason we don’t return full-time, before 3 years. The reason for that is being a working parent, is the hardest thing you will ever do. But what does it look like?
The alarm is set for 6.00, to give me time to get dressed first. Nevertheless, at 6.00, the alarm serenades from the other room. I have been patting you in desperation, whilst you blow raspberries and cry over the 8th nursery Illness of the month.
I picked a nursery that gives him breakfast, This will give me one less task in the morning. Yet, the toddler has been awake since 6.00 and is hungry before 8. He now thinks breakfast has 2 courses.
I try to leave 15 minutes early for nursery, but the dishwasher is showing e05, the toddler just did a poo at the dinner table and my partner has advised, my shirt is inside out (at least today, I knew before midday). We will now leave 15 minutes late.
I pull up at nursery, it’s the parents derby, I have 6 opponents. You begin unstrapping and Julie pulls in from no where rushing her straps, – no you don’t, I got here first. Bag- check, coat check, bloody hell “where is your sock?”. You are finally walking to the door, but you are neck and neck with a Susan, you cut her up on the corner, and your first to the door (you give them a cocky glance). This moment of glory is short lived because the toddler is now screaming, they don’t want you to leave. You head back to the car, guilt ridden. But now you can’t even leave as Julie is faffing and blocking the exit, FFS!!!
I switch to work mode for the next 8 hours. There are some positives to this like, warm tea, I introduce myself – not a toddler, I actually use my lists and brain for something other than house responsibilities and I didn’t go to the toilet with the door open (although due to habit, you may forget to lock it.)
On collection, I play toddler roulette, will nursery have left a poo in his pants? Will he be overtired? Will he need feeding? How many different ways will the staff hand me back the one bag, coat and toddler I gave them this morning? (I fail to understand how they double the content). I leave looking like an overloaded pack mule. The only thing that helps with this is, how big that smile is when I’m spotted.
I’ll spend the next two hours, trying to fit a days worth of love and parenting in. On sneaking from his bedroom, I’ll start the washing, pack the bags for tomorrow and tidy from the day. It’s 9pm, I’ve made it to relax time, on opening the dishwasher, I notice it reads e05 (oh f*%k).
My list is never ending and everyday I feel like I fail at adulting. I am no longer exceptional at mum duties, I am no longer phenomenal at work duties and my house no longer looks outstanding. I am fully half assed, jack of all trades and master of nothing. I try harder, I achieve more, I am more important than I have ever been, yet I am average at absolutely everything.
So for all you phenomenal people, grading average. You have minimal support, you have minimal money, you are close to tears everyday and you have your shirt on inside out, but you are so much more impressive and competent than you used to be. You are never alone, all parents are underachievers.
**please note my partner helps all of the above and we still drown, but where we both work their are days, all of this is on one of us**
Honestly surviving parenting 