How many times have you heard someone say “I don’t know how you fit it all in”? And no, I’m not referring to that pair of skinny jeans you bought in a moment of hope all that time ago.
I get it quite a lot. And I suppose I do quite a lot what with work, the boys, making stuff, chores etc. but the real answer is I don’t fit it in. It spills out over the edges of my day, into my evenings, into my dreams and onto my ever expanding to do list. And then I get worried about what needs to be done. And worry affects my PD symptoms which reduces my ability to get on with things and so it spirals downwards.
I know the answer is twofold, prioritise and ruthlessly prune that to do list. But what’s more important, picking blackberries with the boys and little friend so we can make crumble for tea or hanging out the washing? I bet you know which one I chose (it was delicious btw). By the end of yesterday I had two happy children, filthy, full and sleepy. I also had a pile of laundry, a sink piled high with dishes and a playroom that looked like several bombs had detonated in unison within it. Oh, and a body that decided to ignore the principles of gravity and act as if the ground was tipping upside down. Saves on roller-coaster tickets.
OK, you may say, no problem, stay chilled, just do the chores once they’ve hit the hay. That’s what I did but then I ended up so tired I could hardly move, didn’t get to see the Other Half properly and generally felt grumpy and Cinderella like (pre Fairy Godmother I hasten to add).
In the immortal words of Mumsnet, Am I Being Unreasonable? To a certain extent, yes, I think I am. Raising a family is hard graft and I signed up for it, twice. Mea culpa. But then again, there is another part of me that wants to shout, NO! It is not unreasonable to have a life where domesticity is enlivened by a little bit of ‘me’ time. I’ve got a pretty serious condition and I need to manage it, physically and mentally. I have to confess I’ve failed on both counts recently and it’s damn frustrating. This redundancy threat isn’t helping either.
I’m sorry for whining but I can’t even step off the merry go round and use my Disability Leave Allowance because they are picking the poor unfortunates who will be canned this week and so I need to be seen to be working hard, drone-like. Ffs. I don’t often get proper cross but I’m fair boiling at the moment about this little irony in my life.
I know as the boys grow I’ll have more time – those interminable waits at various after school clubs and weekend birthday parties spring to mind. But tbh that feels a long ways a way right now. I’ve cleared my plate of so much I feel like Oliver Twist but it doesn’t seem to be enough. For the moment however, I’m planning on being my normal, stubborn self and so I refuse to sacrifice my making. I won’t scrimp on playing with the boys either, I’ll never get that time again. So that leaves work, of the house and economic varieties.
Quite frankly, I am at the point where I want to say good riddance to both of them. I know I can’t but I am going to rationalise. I am also going to see how much a cleaner costs. Then, if I keep my job I’ll get someone to help me at home. And if I fall on the sword of redundancy, I have started my research into an alternative career.