When it was becoming obvious that I was heavily pregnant, many people at work questioned what the hell I was still doing there. In fact, I had to get a medical certificate from my doctor to work beyond 34 weeks, that’s how much they don’t want heavily pregnant women in the workplace!
My logic for working to 38.5 weeks was thus:
- Darwin is hot. All the time. Work is airconditioned. This means I kept cool and earnt money doing so
- I work an office job. It’s not too strenuous pushing paper around a desk
- There has been perpetual construction happening at the front and back of my apartment since we moved here. It’s really fecking noisy and extremely dusty
- I have no friends. I don’t have work colleagues – I have work ‘friends’. Thus work = life for me – bit depressing, no?
Now that I am home day in, day out with little Harrie, I am being driven slowly nuts by the constant construction noise. We’re not talking about the repeitive tap tap of a hammer on a nail or the slushy grinding of a concrete truck.
I’ve been on mat leave for six weeks now, and out the front of my apartment – i.e. where the balcony and living room is – there has been some intensive groundworks taking place across the road. This has involved a crapload of jackhammering because it seems that most of Darwin City is built on solid rock.
So I’ve endured it for six weeks, mostly surviving by shutting the doors and windows and living in a cooped up dark den, happily veging out with the telly and those one-hour-long newborn feeds. But everyday that passed was another day closer to them finishing. That’s what I told myself.
So we’ve had a reprieve from the jackhammering out the front of the apartment for about a week now.
And then this morning, the construction site at the back of the aparmtent decided to start jackhammering. And they’ve been at it all bloody day.
I think the jackhammering has taken up residence in my head. All I can hear is chugga chugga chugga, ad nauseum.