Today was my first miserable day back at work after a wonderful two weeks off with my boys. Moments after my boss broke the news that I was required to give up my Saturday night to go and meet some visiting dignatories at the airport, I came to the realisation that I'd far rather be at home teaching the boys how to belch and cleaning up vomit (usually in that order).
Until today, I'd always been secretly glad to have some time out at work. It was nice to have some adult conversation, get that brain into gear, and yes, I admit it, have a break from the kids. But today I really missed them. I mean really. And I realised, who cares about adult conversation? We've got a TV for that. And so what about the brain? I've done what I was put on this earth to do, so I don't need its 5th gear anymore. And as for having a break, yes they're hard work. But most importantly they're a whole lot of fun. And for some bizarre reason they seem to love me unconditionally.
So yes, Zoe, the cat's out the bag. I now know that being a stay-at-home mum isn't as difficult as it's cracked down to be and I would gladly change places. Even if it would mean sacrificing that new surf board I had in mind to pay for a maid. Because I'm not doing the ironing.
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