Extinction warning

I have a bank holiday feeling, despite being in work yesterday and today as usual. What it means, though, is that I am leaving the to-do list for another day. I am using my child-free morning to sit in bed with a cuppa and the laptop. I might even get creative and write a short story. Because I do occasionally. Then I send them off to magazines and never hear anything about them again.

I had a lie-in this morning. One of those where you wake up at 6am and through sheer force of will manage not to get vertical before 9.30am. I'm now seriously considering buying a teasmade, which has been suggested to me on a number of occasions after I have moaned about the one major drawback of not having a man around: no one to make that first cuppa of the day for you.

Whilst vaguely on the subject of writing, I heard on the grapevine that there are job cuts in the department I used to work in, pre-maternity leave. Some newspapers are trying to pretty much do away with sub editors, which is what I am. It's one of those jobs that you always have to explain when people ask what you do. So here goes: I check copy for fuck-ups, cut it to fit the space it's got on the page, make sure it's readable (and I'm not talking Times readable, I'm talking seven-year-old readable) and write headlines, straplines, picture captions and the like. Now that makes it sound pretty simple, but it's a fairly important stop between reporters and Jo Public. And it's a bit bothersome to me that some over-rich, non-journalist, greedy bastard guys in suits who own newspaper companies are trying to make me extinct. Because I'm lucky enough to like my job.

While I was on maternity leave and still endowed with a husband, I dreamt of not having to work at all while my children were young. Oh yeah, there was going to be more than one child in this daydream too. But now, I'm quite glad I go out to work, although I'm also glad it's only three days a week. I'm not knocking stay-at-home mums at all; I don't think going to work somehow makes you a better parent. It just gives you a break. From having to be constantly vigilant of what your toddler is climbing up now, where they're sticking their fingers, what they're putting in their mouth. From the constant fear that they're going to start whinging or crying inexplicably. From the wrestling matches when you want to get them dressed, change their nappy, get them in the car, walk along the street without getting run over. Being a mum is by far the harder job.