Back to work and back in the swing of things...
Hooooraaaaayyyyy!!! Am I allowed to say that? Don't get me wrong, I adore my children, but jeez louise I have been looking forward to this for months (since approximately the time I realised my second born was a turbo-powered, crawling, shouting, destroying machine that thinks sleep is for losers). Of course I was apprehensive about nursery and how the morning routine would go, and whether I would feel that pang of guilt at leaving my 'beloved baby' in the care of relative strangers. I didn't sleep all that well on Monday night, and was up before my alarm. I think I was mentally running through the chain of events all night, preventing myself from entering anything that resembled proper sleep. But the first morning went suspiciously well... My toddler was dubiously cooperative, eating all her breakfast and getting herself dressed. The baby slept through (NEVER HAPPENS) and woke up just in time for me to get myself and toddler fed and dressed... spooky. Then he proceeded to eat all his breakfast... this was getting proper weird.
I had too much time to spare... what could possibly go wrong? Poo explosion, that's what. It was like someone let off a grenade in his nappy, just as we were walking out of the door. Cue panicky nappy change on a screaming, contorting ball of fury, whilst desperately trying not get poo on my brand new work jacket. But I managed it and floored it to nursery just in time. Drop off went well and I was back in the car and en route to the office all on schedule. Miracles do happen. Best bit was I had no guilt at dropping off that little poo-firing, decibel-offending, ferret on steroids - he's a god damn nutter. Good luck nursery staff, I'm getting my money's worth out of you. Let's see if he can break you like he's broken me.
The short drive to work felt as I imagine a wrongly convicted ex-prisoner feels when they first get released... I was free. No longer cooped up with nappies and finger food, no toilet trips, no baby ballet, no soft play hell, no extortionately priced white noise gadgets in sight. Of course, this was a temporary relief and I knew from my KIT days that this sabbatical made me appreciate all those things more when I was home. So while this sounds terrible, it's not really - I'm a better mother when I can escape temporarily, and regularly... and it's better for my liver if those excuses to escape do not always involve prosecco and gin.
I hit the office, said my hellos, made a coffee, drank it whilst it was hot (novelty), switched on my computer and prepared myself for the usual January quiet time. This was the best time to reintroduce your ol' noggin to work - nice and steady, let the cogs turn in their own time. But oh no. What's going on here? Where's the quiet time? Lameness, lethargy, not eating, budget sinusitis case, EIPH, suspected fractured pelvis, suspensory rescan... whaaaat? I'm not ready for this - can't remember the dose rate for Karidox. How does the ultrasound machine work again - do you put the patient name in the surname field, and where's the split screen thingy button? Errrr... Use the force Luke, I know the info is in there somewhere. Unless it's been replaced with a fine tuned knowledge of Frozen lyrics and baby formula mixing ratios so you don't burn the baby... Oh yeah, that's what I've got my colleagues on speed dial for. Thank god for clever colleagues who don't sigh (overtly) at my stupid questions - gawd bless 'em.
So off I trotted, around the countryside seeing old clients and new, rekindling my relationship with the M-Turbo, learning how to stick a Steinmann pin in a sinus and bonding with the new staff over some tricky cases. It felt good. It felt so good I actually felt sad at the end of my last day for that week. But then I switched off the work mileage recorder and thought of the pooey nappies waiting for me at home, the toddler who wants to correct my knowledge of Disney princesses, and I felt a different kind of happy. Not the mentally challenging, clinical skill honing, pathology fighting kind of happy, but the warm, fuzzy, oxytocin-fuelled (red wine catalysed) happy. I might be enjoying being the 'old me' for a few days a week but I'm still enjoying being the 'new me', perhaps even more now. There's only one of me but I have two perfectly dove-tailed modes and I'm finding it surprisingly easy to switch between them right now (albeit with a few cans of Red Bull in the car nowadays). Being a vet might be tough at times, but for me, being a 'stay at home' mum would be the ultimate challenge - I'd take complex lameness or intermittent low-grade colic over that any day! Full-time mothers (and nursery workers) I salute you!
I had too much time to spare... what could possibly go wrong? Poo explosion, that's what. It was like someone let off a grenade in his nappy, just as we were walking out of the door. Cue panicky nappy change on a screaming, contorting ball of fury, whilst desperately trying not get poo on my brand new work jacket. But I managed it and floored it to nursery just in time. Drop off went well and I was back in the car and en route to the office all on schedule. Miracles do happen. Best bit was I had no guilt at dropping off that little poo-firing, decibel-offending, ferret on steroids - he's a god damn nutter. Good luck nursery staff, I'm getting my money's worth out of you. Let's see if he can break you like he's broken me.
The short drive to work felt as I imagine a wrongly convicted ex-prisoner feels when they first get released... I was free. No longer cooped up with nappies and finger food, no toilet trips, no baby ballet, no soft play hell, no extortionately priced white noise gadgets in sight. Of course, this was a temporary relief and I knew from my KIT days that this sabbatical made me appreciate all those things more when I was home. So while this sounds terrible, it's not really - I'm a better mother when I can escape temporarily, and regularly... and it's better for my liver if those excuses to escape do not always involve prosecco and gin.
I hit the office, said my hellos, made a coffee, drank it whilst it was hot (novelty), switched on my computer and prepared myself for the usual January quiet time. This was the best time to reintroduce your ol' noggin to work - nice and steady, let the cogs turn in their own time. But oh no. What's going on here? Where's the quiet time? Lameness, lethargy, not eating, budget sinusitis case, EIPH, suspected fractured pelvis, suspensory rescan... whaaaat? I'm not ready for this - can't remember the dose rate for Karidox. How does the ultrasound machine work again - do you put the patient name in the surname field, and where's the split screen thingy button? Errrr... Use the force Luke, I know the info is in there somewhere. Unless it's been replaced with a fine tuned knowledge of Frozen lyrics and baby formula mixing ratios so you don't burn the baby... Oh yeah, that's what I've got my colleagues on speed dial for. Thank god for clever colleagues who don't sigh (overtly) at my stupid questions - gawd bless 'em.
So off I trotted, around the countryside seeing old clients and new, rekindling my relationship with the M-Turbo, learning how to stick a Steinmann pin in a sinus and bonding with the new staff over some tricky cases. It felt good. It felt so good I actually felt sad at the end of my last day for that week. But then I switched off the work mileage recorder and thought of the pooey nappies waiting for me at home, the toddler who wants to correct my knowledge of Disney princesses, and I felt a different kind of happy. Not the mentally challenging, clinical skill honing, pathology fighting kind of happy, but the warm, fuzzy, oxytocin-fuelled (red wine catalysed) happy. I might be enjoying being the 'old me' for a few days a week but I'm still enjoying being the 'new me', perhaps even more now. There's only one of me but I have two perfectly dove-tailed modes and I'm finding it surprisingly easy to switch between them right now (albeit with a few cans of Red Bull in the car nowadays). Being a vet might be tough at times, but for me, being a 'stay at home' mum would be the ultimate challenge - I'd take complex lameness or intermittent low-grade colic over that any day! Full-time mothers (and nursery workers) I salute you!
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