The return of schools and nurseries this week has become a hot topic in the press, social media and between friends. I, for one, am desperate for my daughter to return to her nursery and for the time and space this affords me. Don’t get me wrong, it does her good to socialise with other children, she eats a more varied diet and tries a variety of different activities I have neither the will nor the energy to provide. But the primary reason I send her to nursery is for my own sanity. My wage barely covers the nursery bill – I don’t send her to nursery so I can work, rather I work so I can send her to nursery.
I know this wouldn’t make sense to a lot of people and might sound heartless. For me though, the best way for me to stay positive and retain any sense of myself is to have plenty of time during which I am something other than a mother. I have never found the role of “mother” a particularly rewarding one, and doing other roles helps me bear it better. I am happier, more able to cope and feel more positively towards my daughter. Partly it’s because I feel more fulfilled and worthwhile, partly I think because the weight of responsibility is shared with other well qualified people.
These all have a huge knock-on effect on my daughter, and to our family unit in general. It isn’t a choice between being selfish or selfless – sacrificing your own sanity to care for your child will only harm both of you in the long run. Everyone balances these demands differently and deals differently with the demands of motherhood.
In other news I managed a really slow jog round the village. I say jog – I think an asthmatic ant overtook me at one point, but I had a sports bra on and that’s what matters. Hopefully COVID has finally been vanquished in my lungs at least – it’s only been a matter of 8 or 9 weeks. I can only imagine how hard it is for people who fall into the vulnerable categories and how important it is we shield them.
Over the coming weeks I will start working with the government’s contact tracing service – a massive undertaking and one I’m glad to be a part of. I have also finished my training to return to the wards, including having my face mask fitting. That was a particularly surreal affair – I put on a mask which was connected to a machine that measured the integrity of the mask during a series of odd exercises – reading, marching, twisting and deep breathing. It was one of those moments where you imagine an alien landing on earth and trying to make sense of our bizarre rituals. I now have newfound respect for all those nurses sweating and puffing their way through shifts with these masks in place – they are hot, sticky and claustrophobic. Nurses are a pretty dehydrated bunch at the best of times so I can only imagine how dark their pee is now.
On that alarming note I’m off to lie down in a darkened room while my daughter sleeps – that way I can muster some of the energy her 20-month-old defiant, strident, shouty self demands.