Читать книгу The Mumpreneur Diaries: Business, Babies or Bust - One Mother of a Year - Mosey Jones - Страница 11

If I’m going to maintain this mania, I’m going to have to introduce some method to the madness. I’m going to have to figure out what schedule Boy Two is on. It certainly isn’t mine.

But, having done that, now I realise that I shouldn’t have bothered. Early indications that Boy Two was going to cooperate by sleeping nicely while I try to work are all false. In fact he is the world short nap champion. This, combined with his ambitions to contest for the ‘longest feed ever’ title mean that he alternates an hour long feed and an hour long nap on a two-hourly cycle day and night.

So after being tied to the sofa for 60 minutes, I have a further 60 minutes to achieve everything else, from ‘Muuuuum, wipe my bottom!’ to ‘Yes of course I can have 1,000 words to you by next Friday.’ No matter that I probably can’t spell my own name at this juncture, let alone opine on the state of breastfeeding across the UK for a page and a half. I was so sleep-deprived I put the phone in the fridge three times today alone.

Boy One isn’t helping matters. I spent a significant chunk of the end of my pregnancy trying to persuade him to eat something other than scrambled eggs for breakfast, lunch and supper. I know that most toddlers go through food fads but this was ridiculous, not least because a diet consisting almost solely of eggs and chocolate created some serious poo issues. On one occasion I found myself bent over the loo trying to – ahem – relieve the pressure in his bum with my little finger. It’s at moments like that when I fervently wish I was back in the office.

But blocked plumbing aside, the food fads were annoying because every attempt to create a fresh and wholesome meal was rejected, leaving me furious at the wasted time. I’d been determined to get him out of the behaviour because I couldn’t stomach the thought of trying to make five different meals a day and feed a newborn. Shortly before Boy Two was born I thought we’d cracked it, having expanded the repertoire to include cauliflower cheese, fish fingers and even pasta with pesto. But now we’ve regressed. And this time the only acceptable dish is cauliflower cheese (though we will accede to chocolate spread for breakfast). It’s a bugger to freeze, or even keep in the fridge, meaning a fresh dose of cheese sauce twice a day, which takes about 20 minutes and is an affront to Boy Two, who demands that Mother should be available for his exclusive use whenever he should feel the need. Which is always. Sigh.

Despite all this, I’ve hardly noticed that the Husband has gone back to work. I wasn’t filled with the sense of dread that I thought I’d be. In fact, despite his doing his very best to smooth the way for the last few weeks, it actually seems a bit easier without him here. Without shouts of ‘Where’s the—’ every ten minutes, I can get on with my own work, such as it is, even if it is in 60-minute bursts. Boy One is at pre-school for the morning, Boy Two is sleeping, if intermittently. So, I fire up the interwebulator and start to look for ideas to earn money from home, particularly ones that are a bit more long term than freelance writing, and that pay better. What are other women like me doing to earn money and stave off boredom? There is only so much conversation you can wring from the disposable versus terry nappy debate before rendering yourself unconscious.