After three days back at work I am already guilty of wistfully viewing the last six months of maternity leave through rose tinted spectacles.
The mornings now need to be organised with military precision. In order for four of us to get out of the house with something resembling sanity, everything needs to be completely prepared the evening before.
All nursery bags ready packed, lunches made, clothes laid out, work clothes pre-selected for the grown-ups. (Particularly Mummy, as the stuff that she used to wear to work no longer fits quite properly, so a high degree of creativity is required to generate a working wardrobe...) And the cars need to be properly arranged in the driveway so that I can make the first getaway, leaving Daddy to do the nursery run.
Even so, the first few days have been slightly fraught and I have made it to work with only seconds to spare.
And when I get home there are a mountain of domestic things to do before I can even begin to relax. Stuff that used to take me all day now needs to be crammed into a couple of hours; less if there is to be any chance of some fleeting relaxation during the evening . I know that this will all calm down and that we are only a few days in so not yet fully into the swing of things. I know that life will regain a more sustainable rhythm - but right now it is all quite hectic. So I look back lovingly to last week and the week before, and the week before that when:
The house was always clean (I picture it with freshly cut flowers in most of the rooms); I was completely on top of the laundry and ironing; I managed to bake bread and even mince pies; I cooked nice meals regularly; I read books, played imaginative games and did various puzzles with Gertie all day long; there was time to do my blog; I read plenty of improving novels.
But anyone who has been reading this blog for longer than a week will know that there is not an ounce of truth in this. In fact, there were plenty of days where simply managing to get dressed by mid-morning was cause for extensive celebration. My iron and I do not have the best working relationship, and any day where there was baby sick on only one side of my head was considered a good hair day.
This is written in response to Writing Workshop 10 by Josie at Sleep is For the Weak.