Shit on my hands

MH

This is what I have to say about combining part-time work and a 14-month-old: AVOID! I don’t know if it’s easier when your child is older, or if I’m just a crap multi-tasker, but I am counting down the remaining four weeks of the university semester the same way I used to count down the days of my period (which mercifully hasn’t returned since I was knocked up). This state of affairs commenced when, lacking the cash to even replace my desiccated old underpants, I applied for tutoring work at the local institution of higher learning. Before I had the chance to think, ‘Hang on, I’m struggling with motherhood and book publicity events as it is. Do I really want to work as well?’ I got a phone call from a subject coordinator welcoming me on board. Shit.

While M and were both delighted that perhaps we wouldn’t be living (his) pay cheque to (his) pay cheque for a couple of months, we were quickly bitten on the finding-childcare bum. From T’s birth I had instinctively known that being a working mother of a baby would not be my thing, so had neglected to put her name down at any reputable childcare centre. Buh-bow (that’s the Family Feud wrong answer sound by the way). Even if I did enroll her somewhere, she likely wouldn’t be offered a place until 2012.  Oh well, she’s got two semi-retired grandmothers who love her to bits. They’ll be happy to share minding duties twice a week for half a day, won’t they? Again, buh-bow. After a week of intensive negotiations, we eventually came to an agreement with both. I’ll say nothing more on the matter but this: Overestimate at your peril the preparedness of your parents to look after their grandurchins for any more than a few hours at a time. And fair enough too; they’ve already raised you.

 Right, so here’s what’s going to happen: On Tuesdays, drop T off at M’s mum’s several suburbs away, then catch the bus to uni from there. On Thursdays wait for my mum to arrive at our place, drive madly to nearest bus stop, catch bus. In the evening repeat in reverse. While at work, conduct tutorials in a lucid, engaging, inclusive fashion; stay awake during lectures; take part constructively in staff meetings. On home days do class preparation, administration and marking as well as all the usual housework, shopping and food preparation bullshit. At all times remain a calm, loving, non-cat-kicking mother and wife. The reality was almost exactly opposite: speeding tickets, missed buses, barking at lazy students, forgetting to bring marked essays to work, challenging T to a who-can-have-the-loudest-tantrum-on-the-kitchen-floor duel, almost massacring husband when he brings a cold home from work and infects us all. And the extra cash? It has largely been frittered away on stuff for the house and the baby, all of which we could have survived without. So great, I’ve done my bit supporting the economy but has it been worth the stress? Hell no! But I would like some new clothes for myself. I might just check if any lecturers need a tutor next semester …