I think I’m ready to go back to work…or at least do some kind of work.
I never planned to be a SAHM, it’s just kind of how it went, and I’ve done it for 2 ½ years now.
I think I’ve had enough.
I’m a bit bored.
I’m not really a Mumsy-Mum. I miss the relationship you have with colleagues. The sense of achievement when something is completed. A lunch hour. Sick pay. Holiday pay. Pay.
Feeling like ME again.
At the moment I just seem to be a serial house-tidier, bottom-wiper, clothes-washer/drier/ironer.
That’s not to say that I don’t appreciate my current lifestyle, I do. And I know that should I make the move to be a working mum again, I will look lustfully back at these days with jealousy. I mean, you should see the tan I have after being able to enjoy all the great weather we’ve had; if I was in work I would have been pacing with anger at being stuck indoors.
Not to mention that I no longer know what stress actually is.
I mean. I need to feed the kids and get them to where they need to be, but it’s not exactly stressful. Should I go back to work then I will know nothing BUT stress. Pressure at work, deadlines to meet, children to be dropped off, picked up and redistributed, let alone doing all the stuff that I currently do over five whole days.
And I won’t get my weekends off.
And I’ll have to work late nights.
And there will definitely be a stressy customer to deal with now and again.
In fact, writing all this out makes me wonder WHY do I want to return to work?
Well, for the money, I would love to redecorate two bedrooms, the utility room and also get a start on replacing the front porchway. It would also be nice to do a weekly food-shop and not worry about how much it will come too. I’d like to take the kids away on holiday abroad again as well.
I’d like to return to work for me.
To feel that I have achieved something. That I am capable of more than this time-honoured tradition of raising babies. Because, whether it is right or wrong, I don’t feel that what I am currently doing is very worthwhile. And I don’t think I am particularly good at it.
It is incredibly selfish. My husband and children would be far better off if I stayed at home. Their lives would remain consistent, they wouldn’t be disrupted, life would continue and they would be happy.
But a little voice, childish and petty, is whining at the back of my head ‘but what about me?’
Do I do what I want to do, at their expense? Or do I face up to the fact that when I chose to have children, I made a never-ending promise to put their needs before my own?
The holidays can wait. The bedrooms don’t have to be decorated.
I do need to find some sense of self-worth, from something that has nothing to do with my children. They are my priority, but I refuse to put myself in a position of potential resentment, and continued lack of fulfilment. That sounds unbelievably cheesy, but it is also true.
Balance is essential.
Finding it is the problem.