Obligatory mum blog about returning to work after maternity leave

It's been a while. There are reasons for that: Fred broke the laptop, I had to deal with moving a tenant out of a flat then selling it (the flat, not the tenant); the building work continued; the building firm went into liquidation (but didn't tell us); the planning application got refused; and I applied for, got, and started a new job (actually my old job). And this post is about the transition from full time stay at home mum to part time earner of lovely spondoolicks of my own. Mmm, lovely lovely spondoolicks, all of mine own.

So, I've re-entered the work force. This is great and wonderful on many levels, not least the fact that I treated myself to a shed load of new "back to work" clothes and a "back to work" haircut. The haircut involves a fringe which I rather hoped would make me look like an elfine Scarlett Johanssen (it actually just makes me look like a naughty librarian), while the clothes all involve necklines that are impossible to breastfeed in. (My job does not involve breastfeeding, which is also in many ways great and wonderful when you've spent most of the past 27 months with a child attached to your bosom).

I'm working two and a half days a week, job sharing with an old friend from university who's also done this job before and who also has a young son. It couldn't have been planned better. We both get the excitement of doing a job we love, without the wrench of leaving our children in childcare full- or nearly-full-time. We can both do the job pretty competently with minimal training. And we both get a long weekend every weekend. Helloooo mini breaks!

There are drawbacks to working motherhood, of course. I haven't yet mastered the art of preparing the child's lunch in advance of leaving the house in the morning, while interrupted nights leave me feeling fairly horrendous the following day, and perhaps worst of all, my office crush has left the BBC so I have no-one with whom to have frisson-laden chats in the lifts about BBC supplier rosters. But if going back to work was an exercise in how to be a better mother (and paradoxically, it really was), by jingo it's working. Time with the toddler is now just larks and more larks, when before it was turning into a little bit of a rut. Being a full time mum is really, really hard unless you have the energy levels of a teenager and the patience of Kate Middleton. And parenting is a complete doddle when you only have to do it for a couple of hours a day.

(Note however, that I don't only do a couple of hours a day. I'm bloody proud to do all the night-time parenting too. Even on days I work a full nine to five, I spend 13 hours with the toddler).

While we're at it, here are a few more pros of commuting into the big smoke:

- up to two hours a day of commuting time, which equals being able to read a newspaper or a chapter of a book
- working near Oxford Circus means regular solo lunchtime browsing at TopShop
- access to laptops that haven't been destroyed by a child's experiment in mashing a hardback book between the screen and the keyboard; and somebody else's Internet connection and an IT support helpdesk
- the satisfaction of doing a job that is interesting and fulfilling, and in which you can see the direct results of what you do
- a proper, real salary of all my own money (must. pay. decorator guy)

So, two weeks into the new job that's where we are. And no doubt in next month's instalment you'll be able to read about how dull spreadsheets are and how annoying BBC editorial policy is and how I can't wait to have more babies just so I can give up work. But for now, let's all do a little dance to celebrate the fact I've found a work-life balance that fits like a "back to work" glove.