So I'm back at work after just six weeks off, one of them when I was still just a big belly instead of a mum. It's not too bad, so far. We're going to have to see how we manage. I love my job, which helps, and it's easy, which helps, and it's from home, which is indispensable, as Godzilla is boob-only until May or so.
I love my job a little more than usual today because I treated myself to a subscription to the Economist a couple of weeks ago, so as to have a magazine to read while breastfeeding - I'm managing books and in fact my attention is quite manipulated by the shockingly good Wolf Hall, a Christmas present, at the moment, but magazines are easier for those hands-are-busy, grizzly times. Since I'm a student it was much cheaper than usual - is that normal for these sorts of subscriptions, that they still cut deals for students? - and when I told my boss about it he told me to invoice the company for it. Alright then, please and thank you.
And then being a contractor I get to write it off, and write off all the money theory books by heterodox economists and anarchists that I'm so fond of. I think I'm extremely lucky to have such boring tastes. But then my self-regarding cockroach brain tells me that if I liked porn better than economics I'd find a way to be able to get that for free or write it off.
Slightly more stressful, though I'm looking forward to it very much, is my mother getting here for a month or so on Sunday. I have to do some things to get ready for that, and I have to do them, or nag the F-word to do them, which is almost as much trouble, as our housecleaner is still on holiday. Mum thinks she's coming to help, of course, which would include cleaning and all the stuff that needs doing that I'm going to do, but she'll be forbidden; after the medical emergency immediately following Godzilla's conception back in February I'm going to try to restrict her role to conversational/ornamental/cuddling the baby. She's flying through Auckland to get here so in my estimation an 18 hour plane ride is quite enough exertion, please and thank you.
I love my job a little more than usual today because I treated myself to a subscription to the Economist a couple of weeks ago, so as to have a magazine to read while breastfeeding - I'm managing books and in fact my attention is quite manipulated by the shockingly good Wolf Hall, a Christmas present, at the moment, but magazines are easier for those hands-are-busy, grizzly times. Since I'm a student it was much cheaper than usual - is that normal for these sorts of subscriptions, that they still cut deals for students? - and when I told my boss about it he told me to invoice the company for it. Alright then, please and thank you.
And then being a contractor I get to write it off, and write off all the money theory books by heterodox economists and anarchists that I'm so fond of. I think I'm extremely lucky to have such boring tastes. But then my self-regarding cockroach brain tells me that if I liked porn better than economics I'd find a way to be able to get that for free or write it off.
Slightly more stressful, though I'm looking forward to it very much, is my mother getting here for a month or so on Sunday. I have to do some things to get ready for that, and I have to do them, or nag the F-word to do them, which is almost as much trouble, as our housecleaner is still on holiday. Mum thinks she's coming to help, of course, which would include cleaning and all the stuff that needs doing that I'm going to do, but she'll be forbidden; after the medical emergency immediately following Godzilla's conception back in February I'm going to try to restrict her role to conversational/ornamental/cuddling the baby. She's flying through Auckland to get here so in my estimation an 18 hour plane ride is quite enough exertion, please and thank you.
