One of my brothers is back from overseas and attempting a career change after ten years in one field. Never having gone for a real job myself, I am watching from the unemployed – pardon me - I meant full time mothering sideline, completely fascinated by the rigmarole and bureaucratic hoopla our friends in HR are making him jump through. He has had two interviews (one involving an emergency trip to Melbourne to meet the chief in charge of something), several psychometric tests, a couple of maths exams, an impromptu presentation of material he received only ten minutes previously, one medical involving half an hour with a nurse and another half with a doctor and now a third interview at the airport because this time they’re flying the chief in charge of something up here instead.
All for a rookie position that commences with 9 months of training.
I know I’m not the first to highlight this irregularity, but no one even checked to see if I could spell my name before I took on this job of being Miss Q’s mum.
My brother is being grilled because he is a novice with no direct experience.
I am most certainly a novice with no experience, direct or otherwise. My saving grace is Miss Q doesn’t know what she’s doing either.
I too had nine months of training, at the end of which I graduated whether I was qualified or not.
And now I’m in the thick of it.
Instantly promoted from carrier to chief carer, a job with a list of responsibilities ranging from entire food source (no small feat if you think about it) to expert entertainer (often involving the singing of such hits as ‘you are my girl I love you so’ and ‘what colour nappy would please you baby’).
The job is vast and all encompassing. The hours are arduous, monotony is commonplace, and the salary is absolute rubbish.
But the bonuses cannot be beat.
Find me a job that starts every morning with a delicious smile from the person you made, and ends each workday with that very same human as you cradle them in your sleepy arms.
And the best part is absolutely no one else in the entire universe could go for this job. There are other mothers for sure. And other women who could do what I’m doing and quite possibly do it much better, but there ain’t no one else who can claim to be the mother of little Miss Q.
The job is unavailable. Now and always. I’ve got my KPI’s, I know the targets, the job called for commitment and stamina and I’ve signed on for life.
Sure, there was a bit of preparation. I was required to enter the trade with a man assisting me, and there’s an element of the uncontrollable that made things a little dicey, but it’s funny how in the end, the toughest job I’ll ever have was the easiest one to get.