Nine til five

You know that feeling you get in the middle of a holiday, when you are having a really good time but you know it can’t last forever and thoughts of going home almost get in the way of you enjoying the time you have left? Well that’s the way I feel today. I met with my boss today to discuss my return to work and while I am pleased to announce that it looks like I’ll be joining the ranks of the part timers, it’s casting a bit of a shadow. Over the years I’ve read and written countless things about the plight of the working mum but like a lot of things you can never imagine just exactly how much it sucks until it happens to you. It occurs to me that as of February my life will be one long exercise in guilt appeasement; trying to justify my need to work for reasons other than the pressing financial ones and no doubt trying to make myself feel better for not being there by spoiling Bubs rotten when I can be. And that’s before we even get to the separation anxiety (mine not his this time). Quite frankly the thought of leaving him behind in somebody else’s arms while I head off to work makes me feel physically sick. What if he thinks I’ve abandoned him? What if he needs a cuddle and I’m not there? What if I need a cuddle and he’s not there? And in the midst of this I know that my going back to work is the right thing to do, and not just because we would have to sleep in the car if I didn’t. There is a part of me somewhere, underneath all the hormones and anxiety, that misses my job – the delicious tension of a deadline to be met and the sweet satisfaction when it’s done and dusted. I miss talking to grown-ups about grown up things (although I am slightly concerned that when the time comes I will actually have forgotten how to conduct a conversation that isn’t about babies). I’m looking forward to wearing heels instead of slipper socks and carrying business cards instead of wet wipes in my handbag. I’m looking forward to brainstorming sessions, bitching about awkward clients and tea breaks that don’t involve The Jeremy Kyle Show. And yet when I have all these things within my grasp I am depressingly, unswervingly sure that the only thing I’ll be looking forward to is 5pm and a squishy, dribbly, sweet-smelling let-me-examine-your-tonsils-please-Mummy cuddle from Bubs. My most demanding client, the deadline I will never meet, my greatest work.