The House that Mummy Built

Me: Nairobi, Kenya

Him: Stellenbosch, South Africa

F: Nairobi, Kenya

Distance: 5,215km

I can't say for absolutely certain, but I am fairly sure that my husband has never been told he can/should aspire to 'have it all' and my brother has never been told to 'lean in'. And - well, I have. But, to be brutally honest, even if it is valid to say it is the media and society that tells me this, I am probably the greatest driver of this narrative inside me.

Since F was born, I have really struggled to find a balance in my new identity. Of course I want to be a great Mum. But I also want to continue to do my job well. And drink too much wine with girlfriends. And go the gym. And occasionally have clean-shaven legs. Is that too much to ask?!

A few weeks ago I spent some time distilling what really matters to me at the moment. I am trying to move away from the need to have and/or do it all, and instead have/do what is most important to the life I want our family to have. Because I'm a strategy geek with a penchant for arts and crafts, I decided this needed a model illustrated with felt-tip pens on the back of some recycling. (Blue Peter badge eat your heart out). I really do have a long-suffering husband.

My model is a house. F is the roof. Right now, he has to be the number one priority, and without me, he won't be held up. (Although on a side note, happy three month anniversary, breast pump... I hope you realise that means you are half way to being discarded and forgotten in the back of the dingiest cupboard I can find). My husband is the master bedroom, where I need to unwind and spend lots of time. Exercise is in the kitchen, and without this, the rest of the house falls apart. Close friends and family are the sitting room, where I need to hang out to find myself again. And relegated to the box room is work (although I am fighting a constant battle to keep work from dropping emails on the stairs and clogging up the toilets with grant applications).

We recently moved house and our new place has all sorts of problems; the newest being we are electrocuted in the shower. My model house is also imperfect and has metaphorical electrocuting showers. On Saturday night, I pretty much cried myself to sleep at the thought of my husband being away (I MEAN SERIOUSLY, HOW IS IT FAIR HE HAS A CONFERENCE IN A VINYARD?!) for five nights and needing to solo-parent whilst also working full time. So on Sunday, success looked like getting an hour to myself to go and drink a hot chocolate in peace. But today I have found my way back into the house. I did the work I needed to do, I ran home from the office, I bathed and fed F. At the risk of TMI, I even managed to shave my legs.

This post could probably use a good edit and some ruthlessness to straighten out the metaphors liberally sprinkled throughout. However, in my new mantra of only doing what is important to me, I'm going to say screw it and pour myself a glass of wine.

(Random picture nothing to do with the post, but makes me crack up every time I see it, and right now, that is gold).