I technically don’t work. I’m unemployed. I’ve taken on the role of Mother with both hands, rolled up my sleeves and got stuck into this life of leaky nappies, toilet training slobbery kisses and everything in-between. But, lets say this was a ‘job’, you know, one which I received payment in a form other than stale crisps, who’d be my boss? Because if I knew who they were I’d have taken them for every freaking penny they’re worth by now.
I’ll tell you why…
This past couple of weeks I’ve had more than the usual back aches I endure every day. Back aches are to be expected. I spend a lot of the days with a two stone child on my hip, swinging from my neck or attached to my back. It’s back breaking let alone back aching.
I also spend a lot of time bent over.
I know exactly where your minds just went because I live with a man that can create an innuendo about absolutely nothing. It’s an art. But c’mon, this is a family blog.
I’m forever picking those death traps of Lego bricks on the floor, everyone’s shoes (I’m looking at you, Darren), bending over at bath time and sometimes I’m crouched down just to hear what they’re saying.
It’s not fair is it that our everyday motherly duties cause us pain. Maybe that right there is a suable offence, I could at least get signed off for a few weeks. Signed off from what, I’m not sure, because Mothers aren’t allowed sick days, remember.
We get sick, we get ill, but we can’t succumb to it.
Otherwise before you know it you’re cursing the mother loving Lego bricks that no-one has thought to pick up and your children will be eating the crust from their sleeves. Because if you’re having a sick day, in theory, you should do nothing. Everyone in this house would be hungry, bored and dangerous if I kicked back with a cup hot lemon all day.
That’s certainly something you wouldn’t have in the workplace. You wouldn’t have your boss calling you at 11am asking where they left Mr Teddy and if they can have another snack. They’d get in trouble for that.
So if I could find my boss, there’s one final thing that I’d for sure mention. I’d maybe mention it in passing as I hand over a cup of raisins.
Look, I can deal with the backache, it gives me something to moan about, and we all know how I love to moan. I can just about manage the lack of sick days. I can get by living off my children’s father. But I can’t accept this neck ache.
Someone has given me whiplash and by God if I knew what, or who, caused this I’d be logging it into the accident book and having the person responsible hung drawn and quartered.
Neck pain, or a potential trapped nerve, is a freaking nightmare. I can barely turn my head, which is a fantastic incapacity when I hear children throwing what could only be described as bricks behind me. Instead of simply, you know, turning my head, I have to rotate my entire body which takes twice as long, not sure why. And in that time you can almost guarantee something will break.
It wouldn’t be an issue if both children stayed in front of me. But there’s two of them. They separate.
When they’re not driving each other to tears they’re disappearing into various corners of the house. Even on my best days it’s hard to keep up with them both, make sure they’re safe, happy and are mentally stimulated. It’s near on impossible keeping up with these tiny beasts when I can’t move my neck or my arm without pure pain shooting through my body.
It’s affecting my sleep too, which is in turn affecting my mood and productivity.
Productivity is really important in the workplace, it’s what separates you from the average worker. It sets you apart from the rest. You know, the other mothers. Or in my case, Darren. I can get three people washed and dressed in the time it takes him to get off the sofa and brush his teeth.
So I want to be on my best mothering A-Game but I can’t with this injury which has happened inside the workplace. Only, I have no-one to complain to because I haven’t a clue who my boss is.
Some days I feel like my children are the boss. They demand things from the second they wake up and I feel like a stressed employee trying to juggle multiple tasks at once without upsetting those I answer to.
Then some days I wonder whether it’s Darren. Is he my boss? He earns the money, he pays me monthly and he keeps us as a family afloat. But he’s like a silent partner in this company. He never has much to say about anything and he also answers to those mini dictators we call children. Perhaps he’s more of a shareholder in the company.
Then there’s me. Am I my own boss?
I like to think I am. I’m the mother, I run this ship and keep things in working order. I keep kids alive, that’s basically the highest responsibility anyone can have. I make decisions, unless it’s the weekend because by then I’m officially brain-dead. Plus it’s the weekend, everyone deserves a little respite at the weekend.
The only problem is that if I’m the boss, that means I only have myself to answer to about this neck injury. That’s not what I want, I want to pass the buck, share the blame, point the finger at someone other than myself. I need someone to take responsibility for this pain I’m in because if being a stay at home Mum were a ‘job’, I’d then be able to sue. Where there’s blame, there’s a claim.
Unless you’re the boss. Then you just gotta suck it up.
This isn’t how I wanted to conclude this post. I was actually hoping I’d end with a paragraph about how my children are the boss of me, or they at least think they are. But in reality, it’s me, I make the decisions, I set the goals and I enforce the policies (house-rules).
It’s not the worst role in this household, I guess. So all the while it feels like someone has shanked me in the side of my neck, I’ll just have to put on my black hat (because every boss wears a black hat) and continue my role as the chief alongside my silent-partner/shareholder.