Good days and bad days

When I was pregnant with Henry, and fretting slightly about whether I could cope with being outnumbered by my children for big chunks of the day, a good friend of mine said, “The bad days are no worse. A bad day with two is just the same as a bad day with one. And the good days are fine!”

Yesterday was not a bad day, but it did have a bad few hours in the middle of it, in which Daisy and I drove each other to distraction for a while, and Henry woke up far too soon from his afternoon nap.

I indulged myself for a while, with worrying that I wasn’t cut out for the stay-at-home-Mum thing, that I wasn’t coping, and then a I remembered: there were days when I couldn’t cope with going to work, either. Maybe, some days, I can’t cope, full stop!

I got my act together, after that, and started playing with my daughter properly, and the day righted itself. But I think the lesson is important: just because I’m moaning doesn’t mean I’ve made bad decisions with my lifestyle; it just means that some days I can’t cope with anything!

3 thoughts on “Good days and bad days

  1. I totally agree with your conclusions. Sometimes I have bad days as well, and I start wondering whether I made the right decision to retire early, then I remember I had bad days in work and what was worse, they became very frequent before I retired! At least now if I feel like curling up for a while, I can!!!

  2. Quite so – there’s always somewhere to hide, at home. Hiding places were very few and far between, at work. Stuart seemed to have some really good ones, but he was never prepared to divulge…

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