My baby son Reg is my new employer: I work for him now. I’ve had worse bosses in my time, but he’s certainly not the best. He can be demanding, seldom offers praise or constructive criticism, communication can be tricky.
He does allow me to get on with my own thing most of the time, but when he wants something I can’t help thinking that he overacts – there are no polite requests.
My employer before him was a real employer. He needed 40 hours of my time each week and required me to manage a team of people, which I handled semi-successfully, depending on who you ask.
It was quite a shock to the system starting my new job, mainly because I now work from home. Compared to my old job it feels suspiciously – dare I say it – easy? (I can almost hear the cackling mothers: “It might be now, love, but you just wait.”)
There will be a time when the tables will turn and I will become the boss (a promotion!). But I’m not sure when that happens, or how I will execute the switch.
I’m guessing that at some stage I will have to become relatively strict, something I never mastered in my old job and doubt I’ll be able to in this one.
Maybe I’ll be one of those bosses where it’s more like we’re best mates, and we’ll end up going clubbing together, or something equally cringe-worthy. “Yeah, you wish Mum,” says future Reg.
My job spec sounds a bit pants, I must say: ability to constantly multitask in an often chaotic environment, variable hours including all evenings and all weekends, must occasionally allow house to be wrecked in name of “fun”, must remain aware of exceedingly thin line between fun play and danger, must be willing to be periodically despised, must be able to understand trigonometry to help with maths homework, no salary (in fact you pay them), no training other than on-the-job, oh – and it’s for life.
Best job I ever had.