Loving the office slavery

Three and a half weeks in, I can report that I am loving being a slave for the money.

Little E is, as far as I can gather, having a brilliant time running her grandparents ragged. As far as I can gather, they don't mind too much. I can report, somewhat guiltily, that I don't think about her much at work, but that I am very glad to see her when I get home. I enthusiastically dispense dinner and bath and stories, and look forward to the next day spent at home with her (the at home Monday, work Tuesday, at home Wednesday, work Thursday, at home Friday formula is a winner). I put more effort into Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Hanging out in the park, doing multiple loads of laundry and acquiring groceries, interspersed with story and sandpit time, all of a sudden seem to involve much less effort.

The work side of it is good, too. I'm learning new stuff. Because I'm not managing my own files I don't get constantly interrupted like I used to. I get hours at a stretch where I can work on one task. The ultimate responsibility is not mine. When I don't know stuff, it's ok. No one goes to jail (although they do wind up paying extremely large amounts of money to each other). I go to the gym on Tuesdays.* My boss is not nearly as annoying as I thought he might be; in fact he is positively pleasant to work for.

Thank you, grandparents, for making this possible.

* It is yet to be established whether this is a good thing. Last week I went to my first Pump class in more than two years, wobbled down the stairs afterwards and hobbled my way through the next five days. Because I am a sucker for punishment, I went to another one today.