Helen's blog: Mummy's new job

After 3 blissful and exhausting years as a full-time mother since the birth of our daughter, I decide to return to work and am delighted when I’m asked to join the Citymothers Operating Committee.  Feeling both eager and apprehensive about rejoining the world of work, I dig out my old work clothes from storage only to discover that half have gone mouldy.  That feels a bit close to the bone. The other half look old and worn with suspiciously small waistbands.  I decide to invest in some new clothes.  Feeling high on retail adrenaline after shopping purely for children’s clothes in the last 3 years, I buy a couple of expensive items (by my standards) on the basis that I’ll be working mostly from home so I can wear pyjamas when I’m not required in London.  I’m promptly flooded with guilt for being so frivolous as to spend money on myself.

The day before my first work meeting, I explain to my daughter that while she’s at nursery, I’ll be going to work. ‘But Mummy, your job is looking after me’ she states simply and implacably.  I explain that before she was born, I worked ‘just like Daddy’ and didn’t stay home every day.  A look of worry floods her little face as she says tearfully ‘but Mummy, I don’t want you to go to London every day’ and I rush to reassure her that I’ll only be working on the days she’s at nursery.  I feel a deep sense of guilt to be so excited about returning to work and rediscovering the professional ‘me’ outside of being a mother.  My head tells me it’s the right thing to be doing, for many reasons. But my heart tells me I’m abandoning my child.  I go to bed worrying.

In the morning, I wake my daughter.  ‘You look pretty in a skirt Mummy, are you going to a party again?’ (Again? When did I last go to a party?). ‘No, I’m going to work today, remember’. ‘Oh yes’. And she hops happily off the bed cheering that it’s a nursery day. Clearly only one of us is still traumatised by her tears from yesterday.

The nursery run along the country lanes is flooded in several places thanks to a rainstorm during the night.  I’m the last parent to drop my child off and the only one wearing a suit-and-wellies combination.  I just make the train, soggy and stressed. I retrospectively feel waves of admiration for former colleagues who regularly managed the school drop-off and turned up on time, gleamingly smart.

The meeting goes well. Despite feeling like I have a neon sign on my forehead flashing ‘I’m rusty’, I manage to avoid saying anything too daft that gives away how out of practice I really feel.  I leave feeling exhilarated and refreshed for being able express my opinion without prompting a tantrum in response.

At home, my daughter solicitously asks me how my day went. ‘It was good thanks darling.  Would you like some tea now?’.  She’s rummaging in her toy cupboard, then pulls out her plastic laptop and plonks herself down at her playtable with it.  ‘In a minute Mummy. I’ve just got to do some work in my office and send some emails’.  I chuckle. This could be good for both of us.

Helen Beedham is a member of the Citymothers Operating Committee, helping with the day-to-day running of the network. She worked in management consulting in London for 15 years, primarily full-time and subsequently part-time.  She is married with two step-children aged 21 and 19 and a daughter aged 3, and lives in rural Kent.