Like many of you, dear readers, I’m a working mother. [Cue applause.]
Although doing actual work is overrated, I rather like heading into the office for a chat. My aim is to distract my surrounding colleagues as much as possible in order to start solid gasbagging sessions as often as possible.
I always win.
What can I say? It’s a talent that’s never accurately captured in my Key Performance Indicators, but was always mentioned in school report cards. Funny that.
Anyway, back to being a working mother. Growing up, I never thought I would be one.
(But then, I also thought I’d have four kids by 24 and name them Taylor Tekawitha, Maddison-Rose, Morgan-Beth, and Regan – all followed by the surname of my high school crush, of course. I was growing up in Bundaberg though, so that’s my excuse for the latter.)
I digress. I am a working mother for one reason and one reason only.
When I wasn’t working, I was very envious of women trotting around with tiny handbags while I developed moderate scoliosis from lugging Betty’s baby bag around Westfield.
Even though Betty’s two, I still carry her bag with me during all child-outings because I’m a strong believer in being prepared for anything. In fact, I’m confident we could survive for a week in the desert between the amount of water, snacks, sunscreen, hats, and lip balm in there at any given time.
Furthermore, if there was a Toddlers & Tiaras pageant in the desert, we’d have a good crack at winning thanks to a teasing comb, hair roller, hair ties, bobby pins and approximately 72 lipsticks to be found within.
Remember Mary Poppins’s carpet bag? It’s like that, but with less hat racks and more nappies and wipes.
I yearned for the days when I could once again fling a bag over my shoulder that weighed less than three bricks.
Well, those days are here again – huzzah!
For those of you who are wondering: yes, the bag pictured is my small, dainty handbag. It’s practically a clutch compared to the baby bag and – although it contains my terrier-sized purse due to receipt hoarding – there’s not a Huggies product, tube of Curash or box of yoghurt-covered sultanas in sight.
Happiness encased in leather!
Moral of the story? Never underestimate the lure of a handbag for a working mother.
Now, why did you return to work? (None of those ‘it makes me a better mother’ of ‘for financial reasons’ excuses, please. I want the TRUTH: drinking hot cups of tea, eating sushi with reckless abandon, or ducking into MYER sans pram.)