The rat race

I had a bad day yesterday. One of these days where I feel like a hamster running endlessly and aimlessly in a little wheel. It was quite ironic actually because the day started with one more check-up at the Women Assessment Unit at Auckland hospital for these migraines I’ve been having lately. The senior specialist’s final prescription was to take things easy, work less, eliminate stress as much as possible, exercise more and make time for myself. All very good and sensible advice but the exact opposite of what my day ended up to be. Crisis meetings kept creeping up as well as urgent voice messages, the stubborn labour department lady dealing with parental leave couldn’t have been less helpful, our bank account went into overdraft, I got a nasty parking ticket and when I finally got home at 7pm, Little Poppet was having a bad day himself, screaming and whinging and just refusing to listen to anything while DP himself was trying to recover from a shitty day in the office. So all good advice Mr Doctor but how am supposed to achieve it? My mortgage won’t miraculously disappear and I cannot just drop my child to one of our relatives if I don’t feel like looking after him adn rather have a little break instead.

But today the sun is shining, I didn’t hear the alarm clock at 6.20 and only woke up at 7.10, feeling rested for a change and even though I’ve been running from one meeting to another, things are feeling under control. Phew. It’s 5.30pm, better hurry to catch the 5.55 train, get home, grab a bite, read “There’s a House Inside My Mummy” to Little Poppet and rush to Aquanatal class for the very first time. Bliss.