Thursday, 23 February 2012

No Supermum

G & T - 26-and-a-half months  M - 4-and-a-half months

After publishing my last post, my husband went online to have a look and spotted two typos. I was gutted. An over-reaction, you might think, but spotting typos used to be my job. My whole career. I was paid actual money by people to ensure their magazines went out each week perfect and error-free. My husband is an accountant. A numbers man. But he spotted my errors straight away. Yes, I know you can never edit your own work, but I still felt deflated. Had I lost the touch? Would I ever be able to return to some meaningful career one day, where I actually use my brain for something more than remembering the words to nursery rhymes and analysing nappy contents? But then I thought about it. As I typed that post, I was holding a sleeping baby in my arms and trying to referee a disagreement over how to construct a train track. When presented with a 'broken' train, I actually got up to look for the screwdriver before I realised that changing the batteries in a Brio probably wasn't a task that was possible with one hand. As a woman, I think you feel you just ought to be able to multi-task. And as a mum, those tasks just keep coming. But contrary to what our offspring might think, we are only human. I might be able to simultaneously feed a baby, read a Pooh Bear book and identify the Seven Dwarfs, but perhaps I shouldn't then also be thinking about what to make for tea and if it's bin day. So, hubby has been enlisted to read every post before it goes live (hence any mistakes from here on in are his fault), and I'm going to keep the multi-tasking to three things at a time. Well, five. OK, ten. Max.