(You ain’t no) Part Time Mother

I just worked my first FULL TIME, FIVE DAY week since Alfie was born and it hurt. I crashed hard on Friday night somewhere between 8.26pm and 8.31pm. I was zonked, my body ached and my brain was filled with way too much information. In short, full time working mums: you are fucking legends. Machines. Machines who are strong, amazing, powerful and admirable. May you rest your weary feet each Friday and treat yourself to a can of your coldest ale you can find. You deserve it. You’re excellent.

Here’s something I wrote JUST for you.

(You ain’t no) Part Time Mother

The morning is crazy: brekky, dressed and bag
Some kind of mascara so you don’t look like a hag
You drop your kid at daycare, brush the crumbs from your seat
Arrive at the station, the train you just meet.
You get straight to it at your desk: emails, phone and print
Shoveling a sanga at the same time, quickly grab a mint
Then it’s meetings and chats and it’s busy as hell
And all these new young acronyms: BRB and LOL.
Your mobile phone rings and it’s a daycare call
It’s your son, he’s being too rough and he’s taken a fall
You ask if he’s ok; ‘yeah he’s fine, just an egg’
The teacher reassures you, then you notice your ratty leg.
Somehow in the busy morn, you’ve gone and ripped your tights
You’re now dressed like a rotten punk who has had a real big night
You duck out in your lunch break, only to realise…
You’ve got no bloody veggies to go with that night’s pies.
On the way home to daycare, you’ve got five minutes to spare
The guilt rises in your belly, coz your kid’s always the last one there
You have three choices to fill your five mins, it’s all a little muddle
To buy the veggies, do a wee or dive in for a cuddle.
Fuck the veggies, fuck the wee, a giant hug will do
I’d take a cuddle any day, even over a solo poo
It makes sense when you feel the embrace, why you do all this shit

You might be tired, you might be zonked, but boy… it’s so worth it.

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