A Small Thing That's Mine

The bit no one prepared me for between work and motherhood

I spent months preparing for birth. Attending classes, downloading apps, accumulating spreadsheets, packing bags, washing each tiny little piece of clothing, meditating, visualising, exercising. And as we are near the end of maternity leave, I start preparing for the return to work too. Budgeting, planning, meeting and sifting through 10 months of unopened emails.

Only when I popped into the office for a chat about it all this week, did I realise how unprepared I was for the bit in between.

The night before, I run through the plan with Ed one last time.

I’ll leave at 9:10, catch a 9:20 train, carry the pram up the stairs while he’s awake, he’ll sleep on the tube. The movement should help, right? Ed nods. It’s 17 stops, so around half an hour, and we’ll be at the office by 10:15. He agrees. After breakfast, I’ll heat his lunch and pack it in the thermos to feed on the tube home. Ed says this is a good plan.

Straying from Nico’s strict cot-nap schedule shows me how much of a crutch this routine has become. And what a bore I’ve become.

On the tube my eyes flick between counting the number of stops left and the minutes on the clock. Nico sleeps the whole way. I wonder whether this is down to my meticulous planning or if I may have underestimated his innate ability to sleep when he is tired. I tell myself it’s the former to validate my approach to mothering so far.

Walking from the station to the office I suddenly regret every social media post I’ve uploaded over the past year. None more so than the performative proof-of-life LinkedIn updates where I felt compelled to share my Substack. I hate the thought that they think I take this writing thing seriously. I hate that I know I’ll post again.

I loiter in reception with the pram and Nico turns on the charm at anyone who looks his way. I’m told a new lift has been installed and feel excited that the office is more accessible than most London tube stations. Then remember that this is the first and last time I’ll be here with a pram.

We sit down on the creative department sofas for a cup of tea. The last time we were here Nico was tucked inside me and I couldn’t imagine what he’d be like. Now he’s wriggling around whilst my colleagues talk about projects and I can’t imagine being here without him.

Before long the tea is finished and people have things to do. Just as well as I have a flask of chopped up spaghetti bolognaise to see to. As planned, it fills the journey back quite neatly. And soon enough we’re home where business resumes as usual with a nap, then softplay.

Later at softplay I bump into a friend with her friend and their babies. I tell them I’ve had a busy morning visiting the office with Nico. Sweet! How are you feeling about going back?

Sitting on a big primary coloured foam star watching Nico lick his reflection in a mirror, I try to answer but the words get caught in my throat. Whatever emotions I buried beneath the pragmatics of the morning come out as tears. I don’t want Nico to notice so I distract him by throwing a few balls in the air and pulling a silly, no doubt terrifying face.

I liked, even loved my job before I went on leave. Some days I fantasize about going on a shoot again. Others the thought of leaving Nico even for a day feels too much. Until now I have not had to contemplate making that choice. But something’s gotta give.

I know I’m not alone because of the sigh I’m met with whenever I ask other mums when they’re going back to work. We all seemed to miss the antenatal session on figuring out your future after maternity leave. I spent 9 months bombarded with information on how to care for a baby but gave next to no thought about what would happen next.

I feel lucky that much of the baby part came instinctively. The optics of balancing a full time career with present parenting, less so.

But maybe the problem isn’t choosing between one or the other. It’s in thinking that those are the only identities on offer. If the past year has taught me anything its that I need something that exists outside of both. That isn’t measured in salary or milestones. That isn’t for anyone else.

I don’t know what the right balance looks like or how I’ll feel about it all when I’m back in a few weeks. But if there is one thing I’ve learnt from the past year, it’s that writing will make me feel more like myself than anything else.

Whether it’s knocking out a few hundred words whilst Nico’s asleep or tapping away at my phone with whichever hand isn’t steering the pram, these little bursts have nourished me and made the whole experience more joyful. It’s not work, or parenting, it doesn’t pay and it’s far from polished. But it’s mine and somehow that’s enough.

So if like me you’re feeling a little wobbly as you navigate this in between, I hope you’ve found something that’s yours too. It might not fix things but it may just steady your next step. And the one after that. Because sometimes the smallest thing is the bit holding everything else together.

If you’ve got a thing of your own I’d love to know what it is in the comments.