Keep Calm...

When I decided not to go back to work after my maternity leave, I knew that it would mean some changes in our lifestyle – although, not that many more than if I had gone back, given how much of my salary childcare would have swallowed up.

So I expected that we’d have to tighten our belts, watch the pennies a little closer, and that we wouldn’t be able to go out so much, which we were too tired to bother with anyway. And I knew, intellectually at least, that I’d have less contact with other people than when I worked in a busy office.

Still, I’m quite a solitary soul, so it didn’t bother me too much in principle. But my husband started to get a little concerned when in answer to the question, “What have you been up to today?” I started saying things like, “Well, I had a long chat with the man who came to read the gas meter about his holiday in France,” and, “I’ve changed our electricity supplier again. Claire who rang from Scottish Power is from Wales too, you know.” He’s still a little concerned that I welcome the Jehovah’s Witnesses in every week, even though I’ve made it clear that my religious priorities are already set. It’s just nice to have someone round for a cup of tea now and then.

Regardless, my mother in law staged an intervention, and insisted I do something to get out of the house. Something besides the occasional toddler group I force myself to attend, even though I don’t think my daughter even likes it all that much. Something away from screaming children. Something with actual adults who aren’t trying to sell me something.

So, after some consideration, I joined a choir.

This isn’t as abstract as it might seem. My whole family has always been very musical, and I sang in a very successful girls’ choir in school. I chose a ladies choir, because I already know how to sing in parts with other women, and men just make this sort of thing messy, anyway. And I’ve been loving it. For two hours once a week, while my husband babysits, I focus on notes and rhythms and tempo, and forget about nappies and nursery rhymes and tantrums.

And tonight is my first concert with the choir. I’ve got my long black skirt (hemmed by my husband) and my black top, and my pink corsage. I’m hopeful that I’ll manage to remember the words, and maybe even the tune, to all our songs.

But to be honest, the concert is the least of it. I’ve got two hours a week where I’m something other than a mother, to other people. And that is very valuable indeed.