Long before having kids, I fancied my future self as a cool working mum. It didn’t cross my mind that work and family didn’t have to be separate and opposing entities; that I could have a fun, fulfilling career not alongside or despite kids, but with / thanks to / for them.
Yet here I am: sharing a desk with my five-year-old and his felt-tip pens; prefacing Zoom calls by saying “you might hear a toddler or two in the background”; editing an article from my parents’ couch after a family reunion; attending a (pre-COVID) scientific conference abroad with my beloved while our eldest spends a few hours at the host institute’s crèche; bringing my mum and firstborn at a work retreat’s pub lunch (with no one batting an eyelid); writing stories for work inspired by my own family life.
I’m not saying it’s easy or blissful to blur boundaries between work and family: I’m saying it’s happening.
[Case in point: I just heard my beloved exclaiming: “Don’t go in there, mum’s working”, and my son started crying]
Just so I'm being honest. #SciMomJourneys pic.twitter.com/4yZMKtVxwP