CYBERSPACE SYMPATHY FOR MY NEW CAREER PLEASE

In my old job I used to get applauded for my work. Asked for an autograph. A photo. 

Fawned over. Idolised…ok that’s going a bit far; in Disney’s Beauty And The Beast I was the dancing plate after all. Hardly a pivotal role, but the end of Act 1 would have been mighty boring without me.

Today (on account of Gregory’s slipped disc – no, no, don’t give him your sympathy, it’s me we’re focusing on here), as I was saying, today I did:

·               7 loads of washing including sheets, towels and a serious load of Q-poo nappies

·               Folded 7 loads of laundry, including restuffing the nappies

·               Remade all the beds

·               Made a loaf of multigrain bread

·               Filled Miss Q’s every need and desire (except for when she wanted to eat the bubble wrap because I deemed that inadvisable, which I still think was the right idea)

·               Made physio, doc and acupuncture appointments for my poor husband

·               Walked my crippled husband up the road to the doctor’s office

·               Listened to my husband bemoan his fate (bet he’s wishing he hadn’t used up his sympathy card on last week’s man flu)

·               Went for a run, pushing Miss Q in front of me in her chariot

·               Did a spot of work while Q took her nap

·               Made dinner – a delicious turkey slow-cooked casserole. For that matter, I made breakfast, lunch and snacks too

·               Cleaned the bathroom while bathing Miss Q, safely of course

·               Did sundry other tasks too pathetic to even list

And what did I get for it?

Nothing. Nada. Not a single thing. Not a standing ovation, not a chorus of cheers, not even a pat on the back.

(To be fair Gregory’s mobility is greatly restricted at the moment, but he tells me he was metaphorically patting me on the back all day long).

Small compensation that.

So where’s a hard put-on mother meant to go for sympathy these days?

Oh, I know, how about a self-indulgent blog, where she can write of her woes, her strife and the magnitude of her plight.

A place where she can share and be heard. 

Heard by people who are moved by her pain. Who truly understand her and the uniqueness of her distress. 

So go on people, get writing.