monday guilt

I know it's all about your attitude and how you decide your day is going to be before you do it.

Yes, we've all seen the memes and the inspirational quotes on a background of sun-dappled waves, you know the ones - telling you just how to solve 'Monday.'

Well, sometimes it's nothing particular, but everything in particular, that makes Monday the shitshow it really is.
It's when your toddler has a fever of 39 degrees, and is miserable and crying, from the moment you have to wake his peaceful little sleeping body, to the moment you have to drop him off at nursery, clinging onto you wild-eyed and screaming.

Every bone in my body tells me I don't want to leave him there after he is feeling so poorly, and that work can wait and the guilt - the guilt of leaving him there to catch the 7:53 via Charing Cross, because it's the one train that may even fit my ever-growing body into the carriage because the finance wankers prefer to take the Bank branch.

And I wonder, morosely, as I swipe my Oyster Card out if this really is the life I envisaged for us and my children - a working mum, managing to 'juggle it all,' while having to leave my child at a nursery all day. Most days.

But then, in equal measure, I have to work, for myself and to pay our bills frankly, and I am lucky enough to actually enjoy what I do and where I work.

But then I stand in a tube, my feet all but on the ground, squashed to the brink where I'm battling to breathe, my hair looks like it's been through Hurricane Katrina, and while no one cares about my bump, nevermind giving me a seat, it would be great if i could breathe and that the women would stop prodding her handbag into my belly.

And I've pretty much been in a bad mood since then. All day. Compounded by guilt and pregnancy hormones.

Monday gets its bad rap because its fucking Monday.

PS: In 11 days time, my little boy will be two years old. 
Hold me. No, hold me.

He can scream all morning, wake us up a hundred times in a night, throw his food on the floor, but the love I feel for this little person is directly proportional to the hard work he is. I love him so so hard.