Week 1: survival

It is with a sense of smug relief and sheer EXHAUSTION that we reach the end of Week One - Back at Work. Noone has died; noone even had a nervous breakdown. Well, Paul nearly had one, I think, but he covered it well. A few tears have been shed by all of us, each for their own very different reasons. Me, because I'm the person who got fat and carried these children around in my belly for nine months, pushed them out into the world and breastfed them, yet I'm the one walking up the drive every morning going... well, it doesn't matter really - just, going somewhere else which isn't with them. I don't actually know whether Paul cried, but he probably did. He turned 50 last december, he just had minor surgery less than two weeks ago, and his probably insane wife thinks he should be skipping with joy at the prospect of looking after three children under the age of six for at least the next five years...Then, Eden, she cried because right now I'm the No 1 person in her life (long may it last) and, I think, she does miss not having me around all the time. Though with Eden it could just as easily be that she sniffed the inate sense of drama in the whole affair and reckoned it was time to turn the taps on, big-time. Nath, he cried because he fell and bumped his head, his sister took his favourite car, Bob the Builder had been switched off ...or whatever. And Ava, she cried because she's a baby and that's what they do. So, most of the tears were easily dried. And they hardly noticed at work that I am almost delirious with lack of sleep - heinously strong coffee served me well, there. And I really quite enjoyed myself: the buzz of being back in the office; adult conversation; tackling thorny business issues; gossiping about silly colleagues; getting through the day in the same outfit without it being sicked on.... that kinda thing. The weekend is upon us, and we survived Week One. Phew.