Another good one is this - “aww, it’s great when they can get ready all by themselves”. Um, NO! It’s really not. You try telling a four-year old that they can’t wear goggles and wellie boots out for dinner with the in-laws!
And, of course, here’s the lie of the century - “once you have had one the rest are a breeze!” Folk should actually have to do time for this comment, because it lures poor unsuspecting parents into a false sense of security…and then BAM! There you sit, with baby number three, feeling like you have just been hit by a freight train!
Anyhow, the reason I say this is because I think we all underestimate the fact that our gorgeous little bundles of joy don’t take long to grow into gorgeous little rascals (that have not so little opinions!) For example, just over a month ago, a new addition joined the Samuel-Napier household; a beautiful little tabby kitten who has, due to one thing and another, remained nameless. Until after dinner today, finally, I decided enough was enough,
“Family meeting!” I called, to my peril. “Right. We need to name this darn cat, and, more importantly, we all need to agree on it!”
(FYI, if you ever need to brush up on your negotiation skills, you should try chairing a meeting with a nine, six and five year old - oh, and your other half, who in this case may as well have counted as another 5 year old…)
Eventually, they came up with four names: Henry, Cecil, Peter, and Eustace.
I know right!? Whatever happened to Fluffy or Sooty? However, the last cat was called Edmund, so this one didn’t stand a chance. After about thirty minutes of chairing the meeting from hell (which involved tears, children storming out and my husband and I staring daggers across the table at one another) the cat is now lovingly been named Benjamin!
(Just to clarify - I absolutely love being a Mum, and it is the best most entertaining job in the world, but it’s also the trickiest. So, when you get your kids into bed in the evening (mostly) in one piece after a long day, don’t forget to give yourself a quick pat on the back.)
Back a few years now.
I found myself in the waiting room of the most beautiful old Victorian building, nervous as anything. It was the day of my interview.
“Hi there! Can I help you?” asked the friendly brunette receptionist.
“Yes, hello. My name is Louise - I’m here for an interview with Mr Grant & Mr Fitzsimons?”
“No problem. Take a seat, and they’ll be with you in a moment.”
God, Louise, please don’t mess this up, I thought, as I fanned myself with the Petplan leaflets trying very hard not to sweat through my top.
Eventually, I was ushered into the office, where there sat two relaxed-looking gentlemen eating lunch and radiating a distinct smell of horse.
“Hello, Louise, My name is Cathal and this is Liam.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, as I leaned over to shake their hands.
“So you want to be a veterinary nurse?”
“Errrr….yes.” Well you ought to now you silly mare, I thought.
Anyway after a fairly lengthy conversation that mainly consisted of me trying to explain my recent decision for a “career change” however very purposely failing to mention that it was, in fact, because I wanted to be a Vet (that would have been too much crazy for a first meeting).
One of the partners eventually announced that they would be more that happy for me to enrol on the course, and start work the week after next.
“Seriously?” I said, “Have I got the job?”
Next thing I know, I am sitting in a classroom on the first day of term with a very nice group of aspiring Veterinary Nurses, looking worriedly through the huge stack of notes we had just been given, still wandering how the heck I got myself into this. Then, to top it off, one of the vets came in to give us a brief account of the future career we were embarking on and she finished off (I kid you not) by saying - “basically, a lot of your time will be spent cleaning up after the vets.”
Wow, Wow, Wooow ! Sorry WHAT!?!
Since when did it become a thing that people don’t clean up after themselves? Yes, I know we all need a hand from time to time, but surely vets aren’t that inefficient?
(It turns out they are! Not all, might I stress, but definitely a fair few… *cough* mainly men…yeah…you know who you are!)
A few weeks later, I was settling well into work at the practice - so well, in fact, that I was totally oblivious to the storm that was brewing behind the scenes.
I had just sat down to ten o’clock tea when I was called into the head nurses’ office.
“Louise, as I’m sure you are aware that I really was not happy with the situation under which you started.”
What is she on about? I thought. She had been a little distant, but I assumed it was just because she was busy. “Um?” I said sheepishly. “I’m not quite sure what you mean?”
As it turned out she hadn’t quite agreed to this new teaching role she had landed in. In fact, she actually only found out about it the day I started (awkward!).
“Basically, I already have a huge workload as it is, and I didn’t agree to having a trainee vet nurse to supervise as well.”
“I see,” I said, panicking that I was about to be given the boot.
“But” she said, “I have spoken to the partners about it and, given that you work hard and seem very keen to learn, I am willing to give it a go and we can start afresh”.
“Okay,” I said. Really still quite confused about what exactly was going on. “So you didn’t actually want a trainee nurse?”
“Correct” she said, without hesitation.
“Hmmm funny you should mention that,” I said jokingly, “because I hadn’t actually planned on becoming one either .”
Suddenly, I wasn’t the only one looking confused…
