Woof! Meow! Rrrrrr!

It was going to happen sooner or later. No-one can live with a combination of job uncertainty for 9 months (and ongoing), distinctly dodgy ‘female’ health AND being a mother of twins without it eventually catching up with them and biting them on the backside.

The incident with G that I mentioned last week was not an isolated one. The straw that broke the camel’s back occurred on Monday morning during a hellish drive to work and nursery. The journey which can take half an hour on a good day took 90 minutes, a good 30 of which G spent screaming her head off in the back of the car. I cracked and screamed and shouted and ranted at the top of my voice as I drove along. I banged the steering wheel in frustration. I made some undignified animal-like noises, ranted obscenities and basically lost it. What were R and G doing during all of this? Sleeping of course! Note to self: rant and rave when G is on sleep strike. She’ll be snoozing in seconds!

Anyway, I composed myself, dropped the girls off at nursery, went to work, sat at my desk and phoned my GP. I have an appointment with her on Friday afternoon. I hope they don’t cart me off to the funny farm. I’m willing to bet that I’ll get the ‘Everyone gets depressed in January’ speech but at least I’m trying to do something. Every couple of months at the moment, I hit a brick wall and everything gets too much. I’m pretty good at not letting my work life affect my home life normally but something has to give when I start going mental at my girls for no good reason.

For a laugh, I also phoned my health visitor. I didn’t have her direct number to hand so I phoned the Practice number (she’s based at a different surgery to my GP). The phone rang for about 5 minutes and I then sat in a queue for another 5 minutes. Finally, a ‘human being’ spoke to me. I told her (voice cracking with emotion) that I would like to speak to the health visitor. The reply? An audible sigh of boredom, followed by “You’ve come through to the wrong department. I can’t transfer you from here. I’ll put you down to reception” Click. Brrrr. The phone went dead. She had cut me off!

Tell you what, it’s a bloody good job I wasn’t about to do myself or my children any harm. I can see how families slip through the social services net. I know I’m not an urgent case. I don’t require extensive help. The girls are lucky enough not to need extra services. However, it would be nice to be treated sympathetically on only the second occasion I have contacted my health visitor in thirteen months.

The upshot of all of this is that I’m not at work at the moment. I have taken the rest of the week off as annual leave, with the support and sympathy of my manager. Dh is working so I am at home looking after the girls today and Friday. I’ll take them to nursery as normal tomorrow and I’m going to have a day to myself.

I’m not a fruitloop and I don’t want to be given an illness label. I’m just going through a difficult time and I’ll feel much better when various things are resolved. I haven’t shouted at the girls since Monday morning. I feel more able to deal with their foibles now. I’ll get there. I just need a time-out from work for a bit.