It’s been a while since I’ve written a blog post, and the reasons aren’t exactly succinct.  I can sense a real bewilderment in my own mindset, I’m struggling to focus.  I find myself going through the daily grind, shaking my head and rubbing my furrowed brow at my complete inability to achieve anything outside of what I call the “ho-hum Mum” stuff.  I’m not unhappy, maybe a little frustrated, okay a lot frustrated, but I feel like I’ve been catapulted back to the 1950’s and I can’t find the secret door back to the future.

My eldest daughter Miss S is now four and half, and undoubtedly in need of more stimulation and interaction than ever before. She wakes up every day with a ‘ready set go’ attitude and promptly says “I’m hungry, is it breakfast time?  What are we doing today?”.  This morning I replied, “Okay.  Yep.  It’s Monday, we’ve got swimming lessons this morning.” To which she replies, “And then what?  Can we renovate my kitchen when we get home I want it to be pink and it doesn’t have a microwave?”.  I simply can’t keep up.

Together with her boundless energy, she is also a professional chatterbox.  Truth be told the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree on that one so I feel slightly hypocritical, but she seriously doesn’t draw breath all day.  This morning while driving to swimming we covered what a gravitational force is, how to tell a crow from a magpie and why anyone would ever want to buy horse poo.  “Mummy what does that sign say?”, she asks.  “It says horse poo for sale, $2.50/bag”, I reply.  “Eeewww yuck!”, she squeals.  Cue lengthy and almost circular conversation about garden fertilization and what other kinds of poo people sell in bags.  Each topic just runs into the next, and it never stops.  When I remark to my husband that her constant chatter is invading my head space and I can hardly think straight some days he replied, “Just tune it out like I tune you…err”.

My eye is still twitching from the death stare I launched at him.

My ten month old is equally unrelenting.  Not that we are sitting around talking about gravity or renovating her baby walker, but she’s hit the “whiney-whiney hold-me hold-me” stage.  So as long as I can get on with things with a 10kg weight hanging from my hip it’s all systems go on the mummy to-do list.  It’s not that my wish list is particularly challenging either.  Take for example the hedge outside of the front of our house.  It is all but dead due to lack of attention since Miss C was born, so I’d really like to get stuck in and replace it.  Last week I managed to measure the garden bed with a tape measure.  That’s it.  I mean it sounds simple enough, but all the while Miss C is in tow devouring handfuls of dirt, attempting to scale meter high retaining walls and hitting her head on the driveway during a tumble.  Case in point, an hour and half to measure a garden bed.

I’ve raised the point several times with my husband, that once you become a Mum the “glass ceiling” effect is very real.

And I’m extending this metaphor to apply not just to women’s achievements within the workforce but to their everyday lives.  My husband doesn’t necessarily agree with me, he is of the thinking that if you have the passion and determination to reach your goals then you will find a way to achieve them.  My argument in return, has always been that putting anything else first will be to the detriment of my children.  Since becoming a Mum, something within me has changed.  I want to be the best Mum I can possibly be. This means not tuning out my four year old when she’s talking to me (well most of the time anyway).  And it also means sitting inside belting out nursery rhymes with Playschool style enthusiasm instead of flinging a pick and shovel around in the front yard man-wife style.

I have to admit though, that occasionally doubt creeps in.  I catch myself thinking, am I using my children as an excuse to not achieve my goals?  I tell other Mums all of the time that being a Mum is a full-time job, and that it is one of the hardest jobs you can do.  But secretly, some days, I don’t believe my own advice.  As if my self doubt needed any encouragement, I recently went with friends to see a local comedy style MC duo interview some equally talented TV personalities. It was a great night out, with lots of laughs, a glass of wine and great company.  But part of me went home in disbelief.  The two presenters were both women in their thirties, who have young children, who look absolutely fabulous and are carving out self made careers.  They have launched this business idea in recent years, and managed to sell out five hundred seats to their latest event.

To see their success was amazing, inspirational and an ever so small but equally fabulous slap in the face.

So maybe, on this vary rare occasion, my husband is right.  Not entirely right of course, because I’m always right, but maybe he’s a little bit right too.  Maybe I need to look within, find my mummy-mojo again and put it out there for all to see.  Maybe I need to smash through that glass ceiling, and instead dance all over it like no one’s watching.


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