Yesterday I sat down at my desk at work and I worked, I mean really worked. I’m currently working through the lists of donors to the museum collections and I’m matching them up with the objects on our database. It’s a Sherlock Holmes style task as I work out where Mr Buckets silver pistol is, or where Mrs Simpsons stuffed cat now resides. By lunchtime, my concentration had vanished and I became distracted with conversations about various films. I took the decision to walk into the town and have a look around the shops.
As I stepped outside the museum I felt like one of those women in a Pantene commercial, except my hair is more straw like than glossy. I felt a strange sense of liberation. I wasn’t rushing, there was no buggy to push or child to drag. For the first time in a least a year, I was free. Well at least for an hour or so.
I went crazy, I shopped in H & M and Whistles, I made purchases. I had conversations with shop assistants. I felt adult and normal and liberated and myself. Then I returned to work; oh look Mrs Stamp donated a pair of bloomers in 1923. There was a bit of a spring in my typing. I felt as if I could breathe. How lovely it must be to have a nanny.
But no fear, this morning we were woken up before dawn with demands for milk and biscuits and a very determined effort to push me out of my own bed onto the Cold. Hard. Floor. I love my children, but I sometimes wonder if they have actually enriched my life or prematurely shortened it. The picture above sums up life before kids…