Crocodile tears

Regular readers will know I am not a girly girl.  I have no great love for pink, glittery things, and a somewhat abject hatred of clothes shopping.

But the thing I detest most of all?  Shoes.  Especially new shoes.  Oh, don't get me wrong, I can admire them, sitting there in the shop like a gleaming work of art.  I get that.  What I don't get is why the buggery bollocks I would want to put them on my feet and balance improbably like a dog on stilts.

And let's be honest, most "stylish" shoes hurt.  I mean really hurt.  Anyone who says that they feel more comfortable in heels than flats is either mental or lying.  Or both.

Being on maternity leave has been brilliant as I have literally worn three pairs of shoes, depending on the weather:

- Cold weather = UGGs
- Intermediate weather = trainers
- Warm weather - Crocs

With an actual, real-life summer happening at the moment, Crocs have been my staple.  I love my Crocs.  I bought them in Singapore in 2007, and they don't even look like Crocs.  Just a lovely pair of sandals, but comfortable like walking on clouds.  And because they're rubber, you can wear them on the beach, in the rain and I love them.  Love them, love them, love them.

So yesterday I was in the garden with the baby, wearing the Crocs.  (I was wearing the Crocs.  The baby had bare feet).  The baby was eating her lunch, so I went to sit with her on the grass, and kicked off the Crocs.  I could do that, because they are so easy to put on and off.  Whee!

Me and the Crocs in happier times

Anyway - believe it or not, the baby managed to entirely dress herself in yoghurt; rather than put my shoes back on, I just picked her up and came back into the house to hose her down.  So far, so routine.

Last night when TheBloke (TM) got home from work, he said to me, "Your Crocs are outside if you are looking for them."  I meant to go and get them, I really did.  But I didn't.  And I doubted it was going to rain - and even if it did, the Crocs would have been fine.  That's how good they are.

But this morning at 5 a.m. (because that's when our days start these days), as I was spooning porridge roughly towards the baby, I noticed the Crocs were gone!

I knew immediately what had happened to them.  Roving burglars?  Nope.  Jealous neighbour?  Well, she's 89 years old and not very likely to pole-vault our 11 foot hedge.

A fox stole my Crocs.

We have had foxes in the garden ever since we moved here - and this year we see them almost every morning.  Young ones, mostly, playing with any toys we leave out (such as footballs) and eating up any scraps that the baby leaves on the lawn.

But come on.  Both of my Crocs?  Bad foxes.  I am planning on sending TheBloke (TM) into their lair tonight to see if we can get them returned.

I feel like I'm writing a Dr Seuss book.

The naughty foxes
They stole my Crocses
A naughty fox
Hid them in a box
A box with locks
Just like Fort Knox
My poor Crocs!

I'm swiftly changing my opinion on fox hunting.

Project in its infancy

The return to work is looming.  Not for a little while yet, but I'm more than two thirds through my (generous) maternity leave.  So it makes sense to start thinking about it.

Over the years I have been astonished as clever woman after clever woman at a wide range of different companies tells me that they're treated differently on their return to work - as if they can't handle difficult situations, complex problems or multitasking.  They are seen as a "mum" who comes to spend a bit of time in the office, before going home - presumably to lick the kitchen clean and bake cupcakes with soya milk.

This is a real shame as over the last ten months or so, I have definitely had the opportunity to hone some skills and to practise some new ones.  Yes, stupid spell checker, that is "practise" with an "s" because it's a verb.  Honestly, you can't get the virtual staff.

Here are the skills I've polished up since having a baby:

Patience

Never a strong suit of mine, this has probably been the skill brought most sharply into focus.  Be it trying for (literally) the fifteenth time to get a pair of tights on a baby who would really rather not be wearing a pair of tights without shouting, slapping or throwing either the baby or the tights down the stairs - or be it saying, "Shh, shh, shh" in what started as a soothing voice (but started to become very slightly threatening after sixteen attempts at settling the baby at 4 in the morning).  I have patience sorted.

How will this transfer to the workplace?

Managing Director: Laura, this performance is unacceptable.  You have missed your deadlines and come in over budget.  What on earth were you thinking?  Shouty shouty shout.

Laura: Oh dear, someone's cranky.  Do you need a nap?  Shall we go and see your teddy bear.  Who's got a tickly tummy?  You have!  You have!


OK, well, moving on...


Problem solving

Once a baby is past about four months old (before that they like to practise random demon screaming at nothing at all, just to keep you on your toes), generally there's one of the following list wrong: hungry, tired, too hot, too cold, nappy needs changing.  If it's none of the above, they're probably teething.  Stick some Calpol down their fat little neck.

Actually, that paragraph above could save you a lot of time reading all those wanky baby books.  You're welcome.

OK, so back in the office, it's mid-morning and a perfect temperature.  We will give the senior management the benefit of the doubt and assume that they are toilet trained and not currently teething.

Managing Director: Laura, this performance is unacceptable.  You have missed your deadlines and come in over budget.  What on earth were you thinking?  Shouty shouty shout.

Laura: Hmm, well you aren't tired or cold or hot...  Someone must be a hungry bungry!  Who's a hungry bungry?  You're a hungry bungry.  *Whips tit out to give breastfeed*

That could either go really well or really badly.  I stand a 50-50 chance of being promoted, I reckon.


Time management

Those early days of having a baby are so horrific.  You can't put the thing down because it yelps.  So in order to do anything - and I mean anything - you need to plan about fifteen steps ahead.  For example, let's say you need to go to the toilet.  You are holding the baby.  Your internal process will go like this:

- I need to go to the toilet
- But I can't put the baby down because she'll cry
- If I fed her first, she might fall asleep
- But I can't feed her before I've expressed because I won't have enough milk for later
- But I can't express before I've sterilised the equipment
- So I'll unload the dishwasher and put the stuff in the steriliser.  This is tricky one-handed but achievable.
- Oh dear, she's pooed again.  And it's leaked again.
- So whilst the steriliser is on, I will change the baby, put more laundry on, come downstairs, then express some milk, put it in the fridge, feed the baby, put the baby to sleep and THEN I can go to the toilet.  And whilst I'm expressing, I'll order some useful baby equipment from Amazon.

There isn't a mother alive who couldn't give a PRINCE2 project manager a run for her money.

I would promote me immediately.