There is one sure way of making a mother feel guilty about working and being away from home, and that is to hear your child crying and calling out for you over the phone. Then you knowing there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.
I’m currently in waiting in Manchester airport after a long day out to meet with one of our distributors, which involved me leaving the house at 6am and returning …sometime soon I hope. At times today has been all too much for babe, which was unusual, she usually gets on with it and is fine. Now she’s getting a bit older, I think it might be getting a little harder for her to deal with.
She’d woken during the very early hours of the morning, so I got her into bed with me and bedded her back down to sleep with some milk. I then slept soundly till 5am busting for the loo, knowing anyway that I would need to get up at 5.15am. I was successful in creeping out of bed, getting ready and departing for my taxi pick up at 6am without her waking and wanting any milk. Phew, that was a good start!
Hubby then woke babe at 7.30am and she was fine until it was time to go to Brenda’s (the Tuesday to Friday childminder) and then she kept looking through the crack in the bedroom door hoping to find me. Luckily she was fresh as a daisy, despite having gone to bed late (a shocking 10.15pm) – so no toddler tantrums.
Then it comes to the witching hour, tea time – when she usually likes to go out and have a walk. Hubby decided that he wanted to make tea as usual, bad idea – does he know that he’s not allowed to eat when minding the babe 😉
He rang me up in a panic, but I couldn’t take the call because I was in the middle of a conversation with the guy who was giving me a lift to the airport – that was just going to be rude. So I turned the phone on mute. All while hubby was getting himself into a hot sweat as babe kicked-off. I saw he’d left a message. He very rarely leaves a message unless it’s urgent. Oh cripes, I thought, better check this….”erm excuse me, just need to check my voicemail”
Oh this just seemed cruel, it was just a VM of babe crying. I cut it straight away, this was too much. I know it was because poor hubby was wondering what the hell to do and wanted me to respond, and it worked. I called him straight back, and she was still crying. “Talk to Ava” he was pleading “Here’s mummy”… I chatted along to babe, conscious that I was sat next to a work acquaintance.
That didn’t work, I told hubby he needed to ditch the idea of eating tonight and just go out – that was the only fix. I delayed calling back for a while, afraid of what I might hear on the other end. Hubby soon put me out my misery though and called to say, that after she ran to the door calling mama, mama, pulling my jumper off the side, they went out to the supermarket and all was well…
Until, an announcement came over the loud speaker (as I sat waiting to find out when my gate would be open for boarding ) declaring that the flight had been delayed till 8pm, so I won’t be home till 9.15pm at the earliest. I’d only left them till 8.30pm before and this was on a good day, not when babe was exhausted and wanting Mama. My heart sank…I was going to have to ring hubby up and break the news. He took it remarkably well.
So here I am, sat in the airport, hoping and hoping that I don’t get anymore panic calls from hubby in a fluster and hoping and hoping that there delays don’t get worse.
And add to this, the cow needs milking!