Since returning to work a couple of weeks ago I've noticed how much quieter my Mondays through to Wednesday's are (the days my mum grabs the baby relay post, and keeps on running for 3 days straight. Where we'd be without her is anyone's guess!) My ears are on stalks all of the time, much like any other parents, surely, which takes its toll if you're a former fan of peaceful time out. Previously I was one of those people who needed an hour or 2 for myself each day. Mostly that hour was spent staring at a bedroom wall or zoning out to a couple of episodes of 'Friends', or a level pegged, 90s sit com. It was a literal shut off moment, a time to empty my mind, some days it was almost meditative.
Returning to work I was worried so much that I would miss Bb, and I do, all of the time, but... when I'm cleaning houses, wiping windowsill or vacuuming carpets, especially, a state of separated consciousness wafts over me. It's like that feeling you get when first entering a refreshing, Gin-clear pool, on a hot day. Obviously I'd prefer a pool filled with Gin to working every day but it's a fair substitute for some quiet time. Naturally, I feel guilty that splinters of enjoyment tease their way under my skin. When I get home to his massive grin and his realisation that I went AND came back I recognise that these splinters are the thing that make up the whole piece of wood that is us. And without them we'd simply be faced with a mess of wood-wormed afterthoughts and no content.
So, it seems the silence during my work day may just have turned the volume up on my parenting.