Been away from the blog a bit recently because I'm trying to set up our lives the way they need to be. Following on from my previous posts about work, I *think* I've got enough sorted to keep us going - a couple of different things that I can do from home, whenever I have available time, fitting entirely around my childcare priorities. I'd like to write about this properly, and will do (I've been loving the thought provoking posts by Cloud over on Wandering Scientist about balancing work and home), but what it's meant in the short term is a renewal of my obsession with making time USEFUL, rushing to do some work or other, I don't know, USEFULSTUFF, the moment Isaac nods off.
As I say, I think it can work, and I think that I only need a wee time turner to fit in 15 hours a week of work with 168 hours of babylove, and I think I can even deal with my conflicting feelings about whether this means I am mothering him enough, which demographic it leaves me in, etc (so many future posts here!).
But today, my boy is poorly, nothing awful, but had a rough night and woke up blazing hot and so so sad. I've given him paracetamol and lots and lots of love and possibly even more time on the boob (I have never been so earnestly grateful for breastfeeding) and at this moment he is conked out on the floor next to me. I'm not rushing to do anything; I'm not even going to try and work or write important emails. Sometimes, you're called to stop, and reflect, and wait, and give things time, and today is for being right by my boy, ready for the moment he needs me, and letting myself take the time to recharge a little too. It could well be a long day, and we both just need to get through it.