Tuesday morning

 

Nothing to report here it’s just a rainy Tuesday. I’m just your standard single working mother operating a one-woman private client service infrastructure held together with caffeine, spreadsheets. I am drawn forwards by the sheer force of love, and driven from behind by the repulsive force of the past. 

Before work each morning, I ran the one woman band that is a small but committed organisation providing Hospitality taxi and support services to a teenage client sitting 2GCSE exams today, while also managing Type 1 diabetes, which is frankly a full-time job before you even add quadratic equations.

So before 8am I had already:
checked blood sugars,
monitored an overnight hypo,
updated the diabetes team,
chased a prescription,
made breakfast,
made sandwiches,
located school equipment that was “definitely in my room yesterday,”

Then — in a plot twist no one sees coming — I go to my actual full-time professional job.

But also with love.

Because I can’t take the diabetes away from him.
So I try to carry as many of the other things as I can.

Anyway. Godspeed to all the working mums operating several public services before most people have opened Outlook.


  • hospitality services (scrambled eggs division)

  • packed lunch logistics - nutritionally balanced, carb counted with High protein carb free snacks for round 2.

  • taxi and shuttle transport

  • medical monitoring and emergency response

  • prescription acquisition and pharmaceutical procurement

  • finance and housing administration

  • educational support services

  • motivational speaking

  • occasional hostage negotiation with a teenager

  • and, where permitted by the client, counselling services


So before 8am I had already:
checked blood sugars,
monitored an overnight hypo,
updated the diabetes team,
chased a prescription,
made breakfast,
made sandwiches,
located school equipment that was “definitely in my room yesterday,”
and conducted the daily tactical operation known as “getting out of the front door on time.”

Then — in a plot twist no one sees coming — I go to my actual full-time professional job.

People sometimes say “I don’t know how you do it.”

The answer is:
poorly,
with lists,
and the sort of adrenal function usually reserved for people fleeing wild animals.

But also with love.

Because I can’t take the diabetes away from him.
So I try to carry as many of the other things as I can.

Anyway. Godspeed to all the working mums operating several public services before most people have opened Outlook.


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