jexia | Week 29: Gauntlet

Four and a half years ago, I went to work.

I had five-month-old twins.

And a five-year-old.

And no car. Every morning, I would somehow manage to get everybody out of the house at 6:15am. We'd walk to before-school care. On a good day, it would take 20 minutes. On a bad day... ever seen someone endeavouring to push a tank-like double pushchair while piggybacking a tantruming five-year-old?

Most days, I cried on the walk from before-school care to the train station. The train was never the same way around; some days the carriage with a pushchair area would be at the front, sometimes at the back. The best I could do was wait in the middle of the platform, and try to get there before all the seats were taken.

On a good day, people would deign to move over so that I could put the pushchair in the designated area. On a bad day, I got sworn at.

The express train took 50 minutes. On a good day, the babies would sleep, or at least babble to themselves. On a bad day, I would do my best to soothe two fractious babies, usually by feeding them. If I fed them, I got glared at. If they cried, I got glared at.

I'd take them to daycare, hurriedly feed them, and rush to work, getting there around 8:30am. I juggled my schedule so I could feed them, but that meant my only breaks were spent with babies' mouths on my boobs. I tried not to drop crumbs in their eyes.

Come 5:30pm, we'd join the crowds rushing to the train station. The trains ran on time, sometimes. The commuters relaxed, slouched in their seats, and I anxiously worked to make sure that my children didn't disturb them. Then I'd walk home, barely in time for dinner and a goodnight kiss from my eldest, before frantically trying to keep up with housework and laundry.

I'd fall into bed, so exhausted that I couldn't shut my brain up enough to sleep properly.

Did the twins sleep through? Did they hell. They were up three times a night...

...each.

After paying for daycare, before- and after-school care and train tickets, I was going through this hell for $140 a week. I couldn't do it. After two months, I came home one night, having contemplated how much easier it would be to be under the train, and wrote my resignation letter.

While working out my notice, I was assaulted by one of the "passenger operators" for daring to breastfeed while I sat on the floor of the train because nobody offered a seat. I'd been abused too many times to dare to ask for one. And then his supervisor came and told me that I had no right to bring my children on the train and that I needed to stay in town until the rush cleared at 7:30pm.

He told me not to cry.

It was cry, or punch him in the nose. I think he was lucky that I cried.

It took some adjusting to being a stay-at-home mum. My career, my brain, was essential to my self-image. I struggled through feelings of despair and uselessness. Hubby paid off his student loan, and while I congratulated him, I secretly mourned my untouched debt.

Four and a half years later, my children are all at school. Suddenly the financial balance of childcare and wages has started to tip in the other direction. There's still lots to organise if we're both working; what about sickness, after-school activities, and school holidays?

But we'll make it work, somehow.

We'll have to.

I went to work today.

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While working out my notice, I was assaulted by one of the "passenger operators" for daring to breastfeed while I sat on the floor of the train because nobody offered a seat. << ughhh that attitude towards breastfreeding iis so disgusting omg

Edited Date: 2014-11-24 02:58 pm (UTC)

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Week 29: Gauntlet

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