Babe In My Arms, Babe In My Belly, Babe In My Heart, Blogs, Uncategorized

Step Into My Office

September 1, 2020

Written by Not a Fictional Mum, Guest Blogger

Is there some reason my coffee isn’t here? Has she died or something”
The Devil Wears Prada

You can’t have a baby; You throw yourself into your job. 

You get promoted.

You get promoted. 

You buy another handbag. 

Five years down the line, you’re still throwing yourself into your work because it’s better than throwing yourself anywhere else.

Payroll Sharon is telling everyone ‘you’re a hard-faced cow, who doesn’t like kids and just wants to expand her collection of expensive shoes and bags. ‘   (less gossiping, more focus on the accuracy of my pay packet please Sharon.)

Time. is. money. Actually, whilst I’m on this topic can we STOP MEASURING WOMEN’S SOCIETY CONTRIBUTION LEVELS BY HOW OFTEN THEY PROCREATE!!!

Because you could argue (Sharon) that these women are selflessly allowing your gene pool to benefit by not adding to the increasingly, overly- populated planet. (Hi Greta, HUGE fan)

Could. Argue. My belief; You get one life, that’s a fucking privilege. You must do whatever it is YOU want to do.   I can remember the early days, the fun ‘trying for baby days’ when you didn’t have to set an alarm by it or threaten your husband to get back to the house within the next 30 minutes ready for duty OR. ELSE!!!! 

I remember taking a promotion during these days, turning to NFD saying;  *And I quote; “Yea, I’ll take it. Will only be about a year before I’m pregnant anyway, the extra money will come in handy for all the baby stuff.” Let me tell you; the only thing that money came in handy for was fertility bills followed by holidays to soften every blow.  The only part that shames me about this period in my life, was that I used to sodding well go along with it!!!! Somehow, it became easier to play along than tell anyone the truth.

I was living such a lie. Secretly, I was in so much pain. I’d actually lost my voice, my real voice. I know what you’re thinking;  ” She’s got no problem finding it now.” 

I went into work the day after Mother’s Day.

The day prior to this, I’d miscarried.

A colleague turned to me and said; ” She’s not interested in hearing about what people got up too with their kids at the weekend, she’s practically allergic to them” 

I laughed. 

I cried. 

I Cried. 

I Cried. 

*For the rest of my days, nothing will top watching payroll Sharon’s face when I waltzed on in explaining I would be off on Adoption leave by the end of the week.
Drop. The. Mic.

*Payroll Sharon is a fictional character based on . . . .someone else.

If you’d like to connect with Not a Fictional Mum, you can find her on Instagram or her blog!

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