Tuesday, 23 September 2014

Bye bye work!

What a roller coaster. I've been working at a full time job since May and then working on my own business at weekends and in the evenings. All of this is perfectly doable, providing you have a supportive husband who picks up the McBaby and drops him off, and if you're not that bothered about seeing your child.

However, it's all about to change. Despite working hard and delivering above and beyond, someone I was working with started screaming in my face, quite unreasonably (is it ever reasonable? We're talking about some marketing material I'd delivered which she thought had the wrong name on it (it didn't). So I quit. Bye bye long hours, bye bye salary, bye bye working with mean people, bye bye people taking the credit for everything and blaming the rest on me.

I felt bad about my decision; I hate to let work down and it was nice to bring in a regular salary, but after going for a long walk with the McBaby on Saturday, I know I've done the right thing. Unlike work, he is a joy to be with, so kind and thoughtful. This is how he persuaded me:

On Saturday:

1. I held his tiny hand and we went for a gorgeous walk along the canal.

2. He could sense I wasn't happy with work and hugged me, saying: "Don't worry, Mummy!"

3. We were waiting to cross a road when we saw a car coming. Unfortunately, there was a cat sitting in the road. "Come on cat!" he kept shouting urgently.

4. He sang "I'm the King of the castle" while standing on a tree stump. I haven't heard that for ages and didn't even know he knew it - I didn't teach him.

5. He told me that he needed a dinosaur poo. It turned out to be a very apt description.

The moral of the story is that no job is worth your health, no matter how good the salary. The moral is also that spending time with a gorgeous baby is more important than earning money which just goes on diesel, tax and childcare. The moral is that it's so much more life-affirming to spend time with a happy child than with rude, demanding colleagues. Enough is enough. I'm choosing happiness over the nine to life.

Sunday, 14 September 2014


is the word we use to describe the McBaby when he gets upset. For he does not get upset in proportion for the amount of hurt he is feeling - whether it's the fact you've asked him to hand you his croissant because he's about to get into the bath, or whether you've turned the TV off because it's time to go to nursery, he will cry like his heart is truly about to break, like he is experiencing pain hitherto unknown to the human race.

But the tables turned this week. Maybe it's because in the last few days, I've felt knackered to the point of exhaustion and on the verge of tears. (Definitely just the past few days - and no longer than that), he's said two things that have given me the heart break.

1. "Mummy - my tummy is too big."

Don't know where to start with this one. Someone suggested I'd said that to him and I nearly ripped their head off. I would never say this to him even if I believed it to be true. Where did it come from? Did someone say it to him as a joke?

2. "Go away mummy. I want Daddy."

I knew this would come one day, but when he said this while pushing me in the neck, I might (might) have gone outside and wept in the car.

Monday, 8 September 2014

One man went to Mow.

How do I know it was time to cut the lawn? Because in a manner of speaking, my three-year-old nephew told us. He said to MrM: "don't you have a lawnmower?"