Julie Jay: As parents of toddlers, now is not our time to thrive, but survive

Over the weekend, I had to cancel two professional engagements and made a bit of a hames of a third due to the baby being unwell and me having a serious case of CGMST (no, this is not a chatbot capable of writing your college thesis, but rather an acronym for a syndrome afflicting parents up and down the land, also known as ‘Can’t Get My Shit Together’).

One of the hardest parts of being a parent is the knowledge that you will inevitably let people down because the kids are unwell. Yet it didn’t make it any easier when I had to cancel two gigs because Fred was away filming something. 

Needless to say, I couldn’t in good conscience leave the baby with a childminder when he wasn’t well, especially if that childminder had chosen to wear a 4TH ARQ fleece which, though famously versatile, does not pair well with puke.

As a consummate people-pleaser, I find this new unreliability one of the most difficult aspects of parenting to accept. 

But the sheer inevitability of cancelling plans when you become a parent is also something I didn’t fully understand until I became a parent myself, and so I totally understand the annoyance with my failure to follow through on a work obligation, especially when I have to cancel at short notice.

In a previous life, I was always up for travelling cross country to meet someone for lunch in Westport, or driving to Shannon from Dingle just to give someone a lift, and save them the hassle of a bus transfer in Tralee.

But now, I have resigned myself to being a bit of a Cadbury Flake and totally unreliable for the foreseeable.

“You must be devastated,” said my husband as I explained my reasons for cancelling the second gig which was the one I had been shaving my legs for approximately six weeks previous.

“But sure, my feelings are completely irrelevant,” I said. “All that matters is the kids.” 

Despite getting a perfectly nice response from the person I had cancelled on, still the ache in my chest rose as I slooshed the baby’s cot sheets in the shower and my life in comedy flashed before my eyes.

While pregnant, there were a handful of occasions when I had to cancel work at the last minute, and I shed many tears over letting promoters and podcasters down.

However, last weekend, I didn’t shed any tears because, of course, in the scheme of things, this is a little more a first-world problem, and I don’t like crying in front of the kids. 

Many would say it’s important to do so, but I try to avoid it as a rule unless it’s just weeping at the John Lewis Christmas ad. 

While recently explaining my emotional response to their festive campaign, a friend pointed out that I don’t technically have a sister, to which I responded: “That’s exactly why I’m crying — stealing clothes from my brother always felt like a false economy.”

It’s no wonder so few professional women fail to progress to managerial and specialist positions despite their ability and qualifications. 

The regrettable reality is that for many women, when it comes to parental professional sacrifice, their careers will take the hit.

For anyone who is a mammy to a small child, now is not the time to shine. 

I’m hoping that time will come again, but for now, the odds of me knocking it out of the park with a sell-out tour or a breakout acting role are slim to none for the foreseeable unless Ridley Scott comes knocking at my door begging me to play Paul Mescal’s love interest in Gladiator lll.

A couple of weeks ago, an exceptionally perceptive friend, as if intuiting how much I needed it at that moment, sent me an Instagram reel where a content creator and mom, @mar1ssab, spoke of how being the parent of a toddler is ‘not your era to thrive’. 

This was very relatable for me, as somebody who is currently thriving at very little, bar getting vomit out of baby jumpers at the first attempt.

The ultimate test for any people pleaser is being a parent because disappointing people will be inevitable, with bailing on friends just par for the course as promises become little more than wishful thinking at best. 

Please bear with us while we try to keep our heads above water. We don’t want you to count us out of the race just yet, and know that we would move mountains to grasp every work opportunity if we could, except if that mountain has hand, foot and mouth disease. 

In that instance, we will regrettably have to pull an Adele on it and bail on our Las Vegas residency at the eleventh hour.

What I’m saying is that, as toddler parents, now is not our time to knock out the home runs, and while we are not expecting the professional world to stand still until we emerge from the fog, we just hope you don’t forget about us. 

Because, while not thriving, we are surviving, and sometimes that is enough.