How to solve a problem like an appendix

Near the end of March, on the last day of term before schools break up for the Easter holidays, I was woken at 2 or 3 in the morning by a tummy ache. Never mind, I’ll get back to my chapter on small publishers of Danish literature in English as planned later today, after I’ve had a bit more sleep. But… I couldn’t get back to sleep. Visiting the GP later that day resulted in no solution – no infection, no protrusion, not food poisoning – are you perhaps stressed? “It’s two months from your PhD submission date: you must be stressed?“. I could understand that interpretation, but – curiously – I didn’t FEEL stressed. After all, I had A Plan: finish writing/editing this chapter, then address the thesis as a whole including my Conclusion and Introduction, then at the start of May submit a full final draft for my supervisors to consider for feedback. That seemed realistic and achievable. Not particularly stressful. Plenty of time. So: home, bed, no more PhD until the pain went away, on doctor’s orders.

The pain didn’t go away. But I had plans. Such as the plan before Easter to visit London for another supervision meeting and a book launch. So, another visit to the doctor’s after the weekend in bed, just in case. Late Monday afternoon, and the practice nurse palpated my abdomen, went kinda quiet and said… I think it might be your appendix. After which, I was sent to hospital: “go via A+E, here’s a letter, they’ll be expecting you”.

The pain I was experiencing was across the front of my abdomen, through my belly button like a belt, reminiscent of labour contractions (those experienced with Baby Two, in any case). The surgical registrar in hospital listened to me describe my symptoms and said, doesn’t sound like appendicitis. Then prodded me a bit and pronounced “upon clinical examination, I think it IS appendicitis”. Later he briefed the consultant surgeon who looked puzzled and said, doesn’t sound like appendicitis. Then he prodded me a bit and pronounced “upon clinical examination, I think it IS appendicitis”. Both said “but women are complicated” and I signed a consent form for them to remove whatever was causing the pain when they investigated with a laparoscopy (keyhole surgery with a camera, under general anaesthetic), be it my appendix or an ovary (“complicated”). By all accounts, I was first into surgery the next morning. Then I stayed in hospital a few more days to recover (with IV antibiotics, and painkillers, and next to no sleep because I was running on adrenaline and ward staff kept checking my heart rate and prodding me with needles), and then discharged to a familiar bed where I slept and slept and came to terms with what on earth just happened.

Happy Easter to bed-ridden me.

What had happened was I’d had the Best Worst Appendix in the whole wide world – it had been hugely inflamed and gangrenous(!!!) and I even needed a colonoscopy seven weeks later to check it had done no lasting damage to my guts. Thankfully it hasn’t, but obviously the impact on my PhD and family life was HUGE, hence me writing it down here.

What do you do when you have to stop two months from your submission date?

  • Communicate: I told my supervision duo what was happening straight away (well, we needed to cancel a supervision meeting because I was in hospital!). They were incredibly understanding and took it in their stride. I told the translators’ network committee I could not plan for our forthcoming meeting the next month quite as expected, and they also ensured everything got done without me.
  • Ask for help: When I was sent straight to hospital on the Monday, my partner came too, and my parents dropped everything and gave our kids their tea, bath, and bedtime routine. Throughout the Easter school holidays, the assistance from my parents living just up the road was immeasurable – the kids’ routine and lives were disrupted very little by me being away for so long unplanned, and in the end my partner took very little time off work. We are incredibly lucky to have ended up in this circumstance, partly by design, but also by their brilliance. Many friends stepped up as well: that first weekend when I had no idea what was wrong, a friend came round to distract the toddler while my partner and the eldest child went out to a pre-arranged commitment; another helped me to and from playgroup with both kids for the first time post-surgery (tying their shoelaces and ensuring I didn’t fall over en route!); another carried my suitcase and fetched me coffee(s) for my first trip to London; and a few kept me company virtually when I needed cheering up and chat when I was recovering, which at the time felt so important as it kept me from feeling too low. (All wonderful, of course.)
  • Apply for a deadline extension: Seems a fairly obvious step, but frankly admin and bureaucracy is the last thing I could have brought myself to do, except I knew I’d need more time. Thankfully the process at my university is led entirely by the supervisor, who kindly ensured everything went smoothly, and all I needed to do was provide medical evidence. (Though this was held up slightly by the hospital not writing up and sending my discharge notes until around 4 weeks after I’d left…). We applied for two months’ extension to give enough leeway for me to get back on my feet. Speaking of which…
  • Deal with stumbling blocks: After enduring what I thought was sudden back pain for a few days, I was diagnosed with a kidney infection (likely introducing during surgery)! A week’s worth of antibiotics and drinking a lot of water cleared it up, but doubly exhausting to have to get over that, too.
  • Stop. Stop.  No, really, STOP: That first day of intense misdiagnosed pain, I stayed in bed, figuring I’d “lose” one day’s desk time and make it up over the weekend. It soon became apparent that I would be losing the full weekend to the pain. No bother – it’ll pass and I will work extra hard on my trip away for my meeting and the book launch, right? Well, no. That didn’t happen either. In hospital, and in recovery, I had to completely put the thesis away and realise I could not work. No trying to fit in reading. Not even thinking about any of it, if I could help it. I just had to stop and rest and get better.
  • Prioritise: Days turned into weeks and soon it was time for an important meeting of the translators’ network, of which I am founder and chair. My <pun alert> gut instinct was to cancel my trip and send some kind of statement for someone to read in my place. Then I figured I might feel better enough to Skype in. Then I decided I really needed to be there, and, as most of the meeting was not being run by me anyway, why not give it a go? Mostly after the sudden stop to my routine and time being ill, I knew I would feel slightly happier and more like myself for getting back into Real Life. So, that week, with the PhD still on hold, I had a single task and a single focus – attend the meeting in London and cover what needs doing. And I did. Admittedly a bit wobbly and tired, but I made it. Having done so, I felt relieved and glad, and determined that I could indeed go back to my thesis before too long.
  • Rework Writing Plans: Once I got back to my desk, I found:
    • I had made much further progress on my chapter than I’d realised in the week leading up to my weekend-in-pain (a nice surprise!);
    • working towards a new deadline for my full final draft motivated me to manage my time well again, especially to prioritise what needed doing urgently, and what was less important (the “nice to haves” versus the “must haves” of content) – it is unlikely I would have done this without being forced to STOP and take stock, as the pressure had been ramping up;
    • a full week away from home in mid May (planned long ago) worked far, far better as a retreat to read my thesis in full for the first time, make edits, and assemble my final draft, rather than its original intended use as a week to digest and address supervisor feedback from that final draft (the latter plan was much more risky in any case, relying on timely receipt of feedback based around others’ plans, as opposed to managing my own workload).

As it turned out, my full final draft was well-received by my supervisors, and now I am working through minimal feedback/comments, FAR less stressed than I imagined I would be towards the end of this process, and aiming to submit the final thesis really soon this summer before a few weeks’ respite from the thesis in full health!


A break’s not as good as a rest

One of the most lovely friends I’ve made since relocating has a tendency to bid me farewell at the school gates with our toddlers in tow by fondly telling me, ‘get back to your two full-time jobs!’. The running joke, of course, is how the hell anyone has time to be a more-or-less full-time ‘at home’ parent and a full-time PhD researcher. I’ve felt mostly on top of it all this past year-and-a-bit since returning from maternity leave [Baby #2 just turned two!], with the regular pattern of informal and formal childcare, occasional trip away, and brilliant shared parenting to boot. I mostly feel defensive when people suggest it can’t possibly be done – even a compliment asking how I manage it can be interpreted as implied incredulity for its successful execution. Though in an online group of ‘PhD parents’, I regularly read people’s success stories of having completed the PhD with all sorts of challenges and commitments greater than mine!

But, sometimes, it does feel too unlikely. Almost straight off the train home from a supervision meeting right before Christmas, I came in the front door at half five when my partner phoned to say he would have to stay late at work; simultaneously my children were being ushered through back the door by their wonderful grandparents ready for tea [and bed, frankly] (quickest thing to make in 5 minutes? Ham sandwiches. “What did you have for lunch, eldest?” “A ham sandwich!” #parentingfail). Loaded too with a debilitating cold (how can a ‘bad cold’ knock me out that much?!), that was suddenly that until well after Christmas: no time or energy for studying, reading, reflecting on anything research-related, until I resurfaced a little near new year’s eve and then finally the routine is getting back to normal in January. Having enforced time off over Christmas didn’t work for me, even though I had resigned myself to it long in advance. Especially with my partner working over the whole festive period, it didn’t feel like a rest or a break.

My thesis is on track to be submitted within the time allotted this year. I’m optimistic about what needs doing, but also see I have a struggle ahead to knock the whole project into shape… it’s really not quite there yet! So, I’m not yet proof of concept of this blog.

Balloons from the window

Occasional desk view

Reaching the limit

I’m a few months into my “writing up year” i.e. the fourth year of the full-time PhD process. The finish line is both tantalising in sight, but terrifyingly real and frustratingly not quite tangible. I am on track. I have a structure for my thesis and a lot of words written. I have a lot of data and research to work with – most of which I obtained in a frenzy of activity since returning from maternity leave last autumn (for instance, 10 interviews with translators plus a handful of interviews/meetings with other key individuals for my research… phew!). The PhD hangs over me a lot – constantly? – and interferes when I’m doing other stuff, like putting the baby to bed, making tea, and walking to playgroup.

I’m incredibly lucky to have a supportive family around me ensuring that I can do this. I get to the library, I get to these research meetings and interviews, conferences, trips abroad… some days the stress is HUGE, but some days I feel happy to be able to work on something I enjoy around all the utter busy-ness that is family life.


What’s working for me right now: 

Formal and informal childcare – it feels like we have more childcare than ever, and it’s more structured than ever. On the two days the youngest is in nursery, generally my mum collects the eldest from school to give me a full “working day”. On Fridays either my partner has a full day off with the kids (owing to his ongoing flexible working arrangements) or my mum takes the youngest while the eldest is at school. Since the summer I’ve committed to using a weekend day most weekends and a couple of hours on weekday evenings when I have the energy to keep up the momentum and get this damn thing done! We have a routine and we (I?) thrive on routine.

Living where we do – the eldest (the original “baby” of this blog’s title!) started school in September! She and we are happy with the school. The walk there is through the city’s biggest and most beautiful park. We’ve made friends locally, mostly via playgroups and other meet ups, but school too is ensuring we get to know people here and feel part of the community. I’ve also endeavoured to see “old” local friends when I can. Additionally, as made obvious above, we are massively benefiting from living near my parents! We feel settled here and like it was the right long-term decision for us.

Keeping everything ticking over – the kids (now aged 5 and nearly 2) are fed, clothed, bathed every day. I’m managing to get fed, clothed, showered every day as well! And every day the kids are read to, cuddled, chatted with, walked with outside, listened to, ignored a little (for the purposes of “independent play”, perhaps), wiped (oh so sticky), nagged at too. When we first moved out of London and my partner was still working/staying there 3-4 days a week, I roped in help from my parents as often as possible for the bathtime and bedtime routine (which, for those who don’t know, takes place at the “witching hour” when every participant is at their most tired and short-tempered!). But now, though he’s still away two nights a week, it’s fine getting on with it by myself – at least we’re mostly not all crying at once and everyone’s in the correct pyjamas and their own bed by the end of it.

Things I have limited brain capacity for right now:

Keeping the house tidy – I do the essentials including washing up, hoovering when there is a visible layer of crumbs under the dining table(!), but I simply cannot deep clean a bathroom or organise a bookshelf any time soon, and toys are left strewn on the floor overnight. Thankfully no one here thinks tidying is solely “my job”, and perhaps this level of mess and lack of motivation for tidying is true for anyone spending hours looking after small kids?! [She asks slovenly hopefully]

Planning for the (long-term) future – in the summer I briefly allowed myself to do my typical daydreaming/crossing my bridges before I get there, specifically in relation to job hunting, but I had to forcefully stop contemplating The Future in order to ensure I focus my mental energies on getting the PhD thesis done. No job or “what’s next” plan happens without the PhD being submitted and passed, so that’s all I need in my headspace right now. This has been a big challenge for me as it has required changing my usual thinking patterns! But career ideas and plotting how to get there was fuelling unneeded stress. (Frustratingly this has included putting off writing a journal article that I was massively keen to do, but again I shall leave that until after the PhD is submitted.)

Planning for the (short-term) future – My present inability to plan ahead for the Big Stuff also covers not thinking about whether we might move house within our city soon and other practical life plans… it seems such a bad use of my time and mental capacity to even contemplate this yet. Right now I cannot even bring myself to “plan” anything for Christmas – I’m hoping to delegate 90% of this to others, though Christmas is also a busy time at work for my partner, so we will see how it goes. There’s some guilt too, for instance my daughter’s birthday cake and special tea (with family) was purchased at the supermarket the same morning as it was planned!

And, finally – Updating this blog – time is extremely pressed right now, hence updates being even more sporadic than usual.

18 months, mark 2

The baby (our youngest) is 18 months old. A year and a half. A culmination of three neat, significant, yet also arbitrary, segments of six months each. He is walking and signing (baby sign language ie. a mish-mash of visual communication that probably offends those who actually sign) and makes strong attempts at saying terribly important words (including car, dog, highchair, trousers, flowers, and baby). He dances and laughs a lot and follows his sister around – mostly to try and copy her – and loves his food (every day I’m grateful that my kids are good eaters!) and loves going outside and tries every time to put on his own shoes and gets terribly frustrated that he can’t and tilts his head to the side if there’s a questioning tone and looks adorably cute!

Eighteen months old the first time round was a huge milestone – for me. Before that I wasn’t coping. But I did cope, especially to most outward appearances, because you have to. You can’t not get out of bed when you have to look after a baby. The hardest challenge I’ve had mentally was the first year and a bit of motherhood. Possibly physically too, because of the rather mixed relationship I had with breastfeeding (felt it compulsory otherwise branded myself a failure… not an unusual story). 18 months was the tipping point into this glorious stage, where the baby truly becomes a toddler, a little being with a distinct personality and preferences and proper communication – thank god, the silent dictator phase is nearly over – and for a brief moment every day you think, this is alright!

At 18 months first time round for me the balance tipped from mostly drudgery to significantly a lot more fun. And I got it. I finally got why people had children. Not why they might have more – that obviously clicked a little while later – but definitely why so many parents seemed content and like it wasn’t the end of their lives. I could breathe again. Try and be me again. Come out of the fog and see everything my partner and I had worked so hard to build and maintain.

  • As is apt, in fact the baby has now turned 19 months, and this post has been languishing ignored in draft form for weeks. The PhD pressure has ramped up as The End is both in sight and requires an almost insurmountable amount of work! Thankfully light evenings have made it plausible to work for a few hours then on top of the usual combination of childcare arrangements. This blog will no doubt continue to be sporadically updated/neglected…


Sustainability of positivity – on hoping the bubble won’t burst

Not long after my fantastical conference trip to Canada, I spent a week in Denmark for research and some serious future planning for the translators’ network.

Since returning from my trip to Canada I’ve been on an absolute high. It boosted my perception of my own progress with the thesis, but also made me feel connected again to the field. Working from home can be a lonely place. It’s good to get reassurance that you’re studying something interesting and relevant (or, more importantly, that other people find it interesting and relevant!). Since the trip I’d also had a positive supervision meeting in which the whole thesis structure looked to be taking shape; scarcely imaginable to me nine months ago when I returned from maternity leave.


The week in Denmark this month was full of meetings – including two interviews, and the translators’ network meeting (which was the primary motivation of the trip) – and a full day’s library visit. With a “whole week” to myself I’d also pencilled it as a solid writing opportunity – I mean, all that time alone, away from the kids, what else could I possibly do? Turns out that was brightly optimistic. A full week is rather shorter when you factor in travel time and looking after yourself (meals, fresh air…). Every day had one thing planned and to my surprise the rest of the time filled up. But still, I felt so positive, to be “doing” research and “being” there in meetings. Doing and being. Not exactly living my regular life with the PhD around edges.

The comedown, of course, is that now I can’t hide from myself and my work under the guise of being busy “doing” research or “being” present. The trips are an amazing privilege – admittedly with bonus fun thrown in – but they create work: writing up my conference paper and finding somewhere to publish (well, tentatively…), interviews to transcribe and their content to analyse and integrate into chapters, notes from reading to add to chapters and more reading to start as a result of that reading, and a reassuringly long to do list following the productive translators’ network meeting. But the action stops and the fear of the blank page before me gets ushered in. Where will I find time and focus again to write? Around the kids, the nursery runs, the household, preschool summer holidays, my eldest starting school in September (wail!), adjusting to my partner’s new pattern of working from home more/away from home less…

The Fear today is prompted too by me receiving my final stipend payment from my studentship. I’m in my writing up phase and there is no money or job on the horizon. I have to make the last few years worth it. The countdown is on to submit a coherent 90,000 word document within a year!

Oh Canada!

This PhD has taken me on some amazing adventures, the likes of which I can’t imagine I would have been doing in a “regular job”. I reported at length on my brilliant whirlwind first ever trip to New York three years ago (was it really that long ago?!). Last week I got to visit Canada for the first time and – oh my – was I not disappointed.


I was attending the Association for the Advancement of Scandinavian Studies in Canada annual conference to present a paper on my latest research into Danish literature and culture in the UK. The conference takes place as part of the rather mega Congress of the Humanities, which this year was hosted by Ryerson University in Toronto.


Beforehand, two separate Canadian friends had told me Toronto is “the New York of Canada”. I wasn’t quite sure what they meant until I got there. But it soon became clear: tall buildings. Hipster coffee joints. Fab foodie hangouts.

I stayed in an apartment relatively near downtown (well, it felt completely downtown to me, but Torontonians have a strange sense of scale about their city: they considered the area a little further out). I flatshared with a fellow PhD student from another UK university – our frugal choice was between shared dorms in a potentially grotty halls of residence (and we’d been burned before by that at a conference that shan’t be named!) and the path untrodden of an unknown apartment found on AirBnB. It turned out to be an excellent decision. The flat was well-furnished and spacious, and overall it was more fun.


cute little lights on the subway

We could walk more-or-less everywhere. The subway was so-so, much less grimy than the New York subway, but came in handy for slightly longer trips. The streetcars ie. trams were also handy as well as being adorably quirky and retro.

As well as wandering and sightseeing and eating (okay, that admittedly feels like the most of what I did!), the conference itself was very welcoming and interesting. Unlike larger conferences, there were no parallel panel sessions, so everyone from various disciplines attended each panel, meaning there was a good mix of input from different perspectives. My piece about hygge and Britain’s white middle classes was well-received, even by a North American audience which still has to wrap its head around quite how ingrained the British social class system really still is in our society. And it was excellent to meet so many other people in the same niche field who I might not have encountered in Europe. There’s something to be said for funding application justifications which then ring true!


I think it was the longest I’d ever been away from my children. 5 whole nights, six days, and a whole lost day to jetlag upon my return. While I was there I didn’t fully recover from slight discombobulating jetlag and I ended up waking at around 5.30am every day… not terribly helpful when I naturally struggle to drift off in the first place. I was running on adrenaline all week, in hindsight. We managed one video call between me and the family – unusually for my trips away – but it seemed appropriate as it was a particularly long time apart. I was up at 6am (as was my flatmate/friend/colleague/pal – insert correct nomenclature – so I wasn’t disturbing anyone) and the UK was 5 hours ahead so it seemed as good a use of the time as any! The baby seemed entertained by my face on the screen, but my eldest found it hard: it seemed to upset her, so I think I’m right to usually avoid video calls on my trips away – out of sight, out of mind.

As I already knew from my last North American adventure, me and planes and sleep don’t mix, so I ended up a weepy mess by the end of the return flight and again over lunch when I finally reached home. Then I slept for 13 hours straight and it was awesome.

Finally, despite the length of the stay and the time apart from the kids, I utterly failed to get any solid PhD writing time in. I don’t know how realistic I was being thinking I might find time. The conference was really engaging, and the bits round the edges were well worth it as I’ve no idea if and when I’ll be going to Canada again soon. Back to earth with a bump this week.

Do you even though?

I almost cried in frustration in January when my dad suggested I use some of the time my kids are at nursery to go to the gym. We’re paying for that time in childcare! I can’t fritter it away on an activity for myself! I need to get some bloody work done! But with my partner working and living away from home 3-4 nights a week, and two kids to tend to, I would never find enough time during the week otherwise to make it worthwhile joining the gym, and I desperately wanted to rediscover that part of myself.

I never had myself down as a gym goer. If I recall correctly, I first properly started going to a gym when I started my job as soon as I graduated from my first degree. I’ve always hated running so I joined the gym with the intention of doing anything but. I’m at a pretty good level of fitness now, yet still running makes me feel like I’m about to collapse! I was always better at sprinting than long-distance at school sports days, maybe that has something to do with it.

The induction at the gym focused on building a programme and, fortuitously, the personal trainer I had was very keen on women understanding the benefits of lifting heavy weights. Some women are apparently put off lifting heavy weights as a false stereotype prevails that it will lead to a masculine physical body type. This is generally impossible without serious hormonal imbalances (artificial or otherwise). Lifting heavy weights makes you STRONG and lean (although any weight loss is a bonus incidental side-effect for me) and generally gets you feeling more in charge of your body. IT ROCKS! [In case you’re interested and don’t know where to start, I recommend Girls Gone Strong and Nia Shanks]

Lifting weights is my time out. It’s the only time I seem to be able to check out. When I’m at the gym, nothing else fills my headspace. For a chronic over-thinker with insomniac tendencies and a cerebral ‘job’, it is blissful. The visceral sense of focusing only on what my body is physically doing is very freeing. I can’t worry about babies and relationships and family and books and writing and money while I’m there. I can zone out and entirely decide on what I will challenge myself with today, whether I deadlift or squat, whether I can lift slightly heavier, how my muscles and energy levels feel.

I love the incremental improvements and achievements that I can’t find anywhere else in my life: for instance, right now, I am deadlifting more than I ever have before (that is, lifting a barbell loaded with weights from the floor to standing). That’s even after having had two kids! I’m not going to go full hippie and rave about the wonder of the human body, but it is such a satisfying hobby as it’s unlike anything else I do (I’m far from a manual labourer, even as a mother who tends to walk a minimum of 1.5 miles a day) and I’m only comparing myself to myself, so I get to fistbump me every time I have a great workout.

And strangely, I have made and found the time, and still get my work and parenting done. It’s worth it for the boost to my mental health.

(all meme images stolen from interwebs)

CV and what fits in the gaps

Today during the baby’s naptime (and while the eldest was at preschool) I decided to update my long-neglected CV to make sure I didn’t miss anything out from the last few years. This was prompted by a perhaps foolish move on my part to glance at another PhD student’s CV. A PhD student without children or similarly life-dominating commitments. It initially got me down that (s)he had seemingly been able to take on more work experience around the edges of the PhD: teaching and translation and other publications. So I decided it might be best to record what I have actually done while I remember, and it turns out it is quite a lot after all. By the end of this calendar year, I will have actively presented at 6 academic conferences since 2013 and attended still a few more. I’ve written a published chapter. I’ve founded and coordinated a professional network. I’m on track to submit my PhD on schedule. That’s no small feat.

When people discover I am doing a PhD in translation studies, they often ask whether I fit in any freelance translation ‘on the side’. It’s all I can do not to scream, WHEN?! But usually I demure to explaining that any ‘spare’ time I have around the children is for my PhD. Any time I have not caring for small people and all related aspects of parenthood is necessarily devoted to my studies. So when the kids are at nursery (part time), I do not lift a finger to do any housework until they return. Laundry and washing up can be done with the kids running around, transcription and reading and writing and high-level thinking cannot. Maybe I could do translation in my evenings? But, yet again, if I have any energy left in the evenings – and it’s rare that I do – it really should be for my PhD. After all, I have a studentship.

I studied for my Master’s part time and worked full time in a commission-based graduate level job (4-5 days) alongside it. I managed to fit in freelance translation then. And volunteering as an events coordinator for a local community group, and web administrator and trainer for the group’s website. And going to the gym, and evenings out with my partner and friends, and weekends away. That is how it is without kids, your time is your own and seemingly never-ending. I enjoy being busy – my mental wellbeing thrives on being busy – and it is hard to reconcile that productive feeling with the less self-absorbed enforced busy-ness of parenthood.

I have made peace with the fact that being less ‘productive’ for my CV right now is okay. This is how it is at the moment. In future, whatever job I have may well be mostly be conducted outside the home, where the line between parenthood and ‘work time’ is more clearly delineated. Parenting is time and tasks impossible to record on the CV.

Week on, week off

We had two weeks out of routine this month. My partner and I swapped places in the first week – currently he works (and lives) away for most of the week while I hold fort at home. But he took holiday from work while I went away for a few days to study, meet colleagues, conduct research, visit the London Book Fair, and facilitate a translators’ network meeting. He stepped into my shoes of running the household – the usual rinse-and-repeat routine of meals, laundry, washing up, nursery runs, waking up early, and so on. I had a brilliantly productive week and created a bunch more work for myself to get on with! While we as parents swapped, the kids were not out of routine and everything went smoothly. Then we went and lived elsewhere for a week in order to visit family.

I won’t call it a “holiday” in hindsight, although I appreciate that sounds unfair – it rained almost solidly, Kid Two spent half the week oozing snot from his nose, eyes, and ears (impressive) and Kid One was a treated to a 24 hour upset tummy (possibly from the on-site restaurant where food was served perturbingly quickly). Most pertinently, Kid Two regressed to waking a couple of times a night and then at 5am for the day, in turn waking both parents and Kid One who is usually an excellent sleeper (they were sharing a room) and on top of that I’m a terrible sleeper at the best of times and had two insomniac nights lying utterly awake. Yes, I’m ungrateful to complain and sound terribly privileged. But it was exhausting. So far, so typical of any trip with preschool-aged children, I guess.

Because of our usual living/working/studying arrangements, my partner exclusively uses holiday from work for me to [bugger off and] do my PhD work. A friend remarked beforehand how unusual and perhaps lovely it would be to actually see each other while he was on annual leave! (Perhaps the first time in a couple of years?!) This hadn’t crossed my mind for long enough to dwell, thankfully, as the luxury of time together for a week was immediately muddied as we both bumbled around in survival mode and used evenings to try and top up our sleep.

I freely admit I hated losing PhD time after such a busy productive week mere days earlier. The change of pace was challenging. I didn’t officially schedule a “week off”. I was fantastically thrilled for the full day I got child-free for transcription, and the snatched hours on a couple of other occasions.

Our week “off” brought into focus that the kids and I have really been thriving on our weekly routine this calendar year so far. In fact, maybe I’ve been more productive than ever: drafting and redrafting three chapters since Christmas. I’ve managed trips to London, library time, supervision meetings, and research interviews with various professionals for my research, and had two conference paper proposals for later in the year accepted (woot!). My weeks have fallen into a pattern of two days full childcare (combination of nursery and grandparent help), plus every other Friday as a PhD day (when my partner has his flexible working day “off” ie with the kids) and usually a few hours – occasionally a full day if necessary – at the weekend. I feel like I’m on the right trajectory. It’s all rather invisible from the outside though as evidenced by someone recently asking me whether I was still studying. I’m able to say yes, despite appearances while at playgroup or the park.

It is perhaps the busiest we’ve been though, both fitting in full-time work – however you define that – around the equally full-time job of looking after kids, without full-time childcare arrangements. The pace has really picked up for me. And I feel this desperate pressure that we need to keep up the pace to ensure that I actually submit my thesis on schedule. Back to normal again this week and I’m finding it hard to hit the ground running. Trying to kick myself out of feeling paralysed by the pressure and instead glad to be back on track. The routine is in place and I need more weeks on than off!

The Valley of Shit

Sigh… just realised I went through the Valley of Shit before Christmas! This bit of this blog post totally resonates:

“The problem with being a PhD student is you are likely to have been a star student all your life. Your family, friends and colleagues know this about you. Their confidence in you is real – and well founded. While rationally you know they are right, their optimism and soothing ‘you can do it’ mantras can start to feel like extra pressure rather than encouragement.”

Things are really back on track now. Though it’s tough to find time to update my blog!

The Thesis Whisperer

I have a friend, let’s call him Dave, who is doing his PhD at the moment.

I admire Dave for several reasons. Although he is a full time academic with a young family, Dave talks about his PhD as just one job among many. Rather than moan about not having enough time, Dave looks for creative time management solutions. Despite the numerous demands on him, Dave is a generous colleague. He willingly listens to my work problems over coffee and always has an interesting suggestion or two. His resolute cheerfulness and ‘can do’ attitude is an antidote to the culture of complaint which seems, at times, to pervade academia.

I was therefore surprised when, for no apparent reason, Dave started talking negatively about his PhD and his ability to finish on time. All of a sudden he seemed to lose confidencein himself, his topic and the quality of…

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