I’m usually against burning books, but if someone could sneak into Harry’s room & torch this one, I’d be much obliged.
I’d probably even make you cookies.
See, I can’t hide it or give it away without an insane amount of guilt. So I’m going to need someone else to blame Chicka’s doom upon.
A little over six months ago, I made a startling confession.
When I wrote it, I was all “Blair, you can’t write this. There’s almost a year of ramblings that point otherwise.” But I wrote it & it felt good & I compared the emotion to a warm Snuggie. & I’ve got another confession.
I like being a work-outside-of-da-home mom.
After a solid year of relunctantly dragging my ass to work & fuming that I was missing Yogurt Mountain playdates with my besties & their kiddos, I have come to the realization that my career life is pretty swell. I’m pretty good at it. & I like it.
It comes when I start thinking & discussing career growth & opportunities. I get that adrenaline slug that I used to get every day when I walked through the business school doors. I start thinking about learning & kicking ass & I get all tingly inside. I always knew I wanted to be in business. I always knew I’d be a working mom. It’s about damn time those two reconciled.
It’s there when I close a sale & know that I just put money in our pockets & even more money in my employer’s pockets. (far, far more money)
I owe a lot of it to some pretty amazeballs friends of mine that prove you can still be an amazing mom with an eight-to-five. You just make up for it on Saturday mornings with playdates in the park. The strength in numbers that comes from my growing posse of working mommas gives me confidence to face the world with a “Yeah, what of it?” when people ask if I work.
& my stay-at-home-momma friends who have never once given me judgment or flack. Once I pulled my head out of my ass, we started making dinner dates at Chick-fil-a & they make sure I’m invited to events, just in case I might be off work. (it’s a true story that I do not deserve my friends)
It has it’s challenges, of course, & if you’re interested in hearing me bitch about getting my house clean & finding time to work out or worrying that my kid will need therapy, the blog archives are calling your name.
But when I think about staying home…it just doesn’t feel so completely “right” for me anymore. Harrison is happy & loved during the day by his auntie. I am growing comfortable with my time limits. I’m setting career goals. We have a routine down that suites our personalities & lifestyle. I wouldn’t miss the commute, of course, but I would miss the meetings & weird typing sounds in the still of the office. When I get frustrated & have the moments that we all do in the office where I want to throw up my hands & walk out? I can admit that I’d probably be job hunting within 48 hours.
& of course, working outside of the home means I have legit reason to order groceries online that nobody can argue. I really hate grocery shopping.
It’s not to brag. It’s to simply say that I’ve made peace & even gone a step further passed general acceptance of my fate into really grabbing it by the balls & making it my own.
I stayed home sick today. I have been quickly reaching a breaking point, wondering how I can keep going. (we all have those moments, right?) I like to think that the Powers That Be knew I needed a break & wouldn’t take one until forced, which is why I spent four hours in the wee morning making friends with the toilet in the guest bathroom. (you know the kind where you barter with God that you’ll never, ever, EVER utter another cuss word in your entire life if He’ll make the stomach pain go away? yeah, that.)
This morning has been complete with trucks being vroomed over my legs. Feeling him nuzzle my shoulder as we watch Veggie Tales. Laughing over the pun of “America’s Got British Judges” & realizing that’s better than any forced office humor. Making peanut butter & jelly sandwiches & sippies of milk. Pretending to be a monkey as I lay on the couch, bringing out belly laughs from a little boy. Doing the math of hours since the last dose of Motrin to help with a cutting molar. Sitting in the grass & blew bubbles as he showed off his sliding skills on his playground. He is breathing steadily in his crib now as I settle down into a blanket with a cup of tea & a book.
It makes my heart ache to return tomorrow. Watching him laugh & play & explore warms my heart as it does every other mother on the planet. I know this can’t be forever. I know that even if I stayed home, the feelings of today won’t last forever. The grass is only greener because it’s not the one I stare at day in & day out, finding flaws. & I know that I’m a good working momma – I do well in the office, I do well at home, & we have found a routine that makes our little family happy.
But I miss my little boy during the day. I enjoy watching him play in the sunshine & being in our home brings me peace. Today is one of the most healing days for my soul, despite a tantrum at the street corner when he didn’t want to turn back or the dog scratching at the back door or the pile of dishes in the sink.
I think it’s okay for me to say that.
Today I’m guest posting over at Just Another Manic Momday & talking about why being a working momma has its perks. Join me, please?
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When my son was 13 weeks old, I slipped back into a black pencil skirt & three-inch stilettos to take my place in the corporate world once more. Every day for the next year, I tearfully kissed my little boy goodbye & bitterly plowed through paperwork & client calls. I hated being a working mother. I was wracked with jealousy over my stay-at-home-mom friends when they held play dates & lunches. I struggled with finding balance between work, marriage, motherhood, home, & myself. News articles hounded home that the children of working mothers were fatter, sicker, & worse off than children of mothers who stayed home. & it didn’t matter if Charlie Sheen himself wrote the study, I believed that I was failing my child by working.
Slowly, that cloud of despair has lifted as my postpartum depression healed & my little family settled into a comfortable routine. I met a few fellow working momma friends that helped me feel less alone as we shared tips for managing it all. & you know what? I realized that it doesn’t suck. Sure, being a working momma is HARD. You’re “on” 24/7, not only meeting the demands of a family & toddler tyrant, but also the demands of clients, bosses, products, & everything in between. But it definitely has its perks.
A mere few months ago, I made fun of every television/DVD player that I saw glowing in a minivan on the commute home. I scoffed at today’s youth & why they just can’t sit in the car for freakin’ 15 minutes without being entertained while they pop their Adderall & Zoloft at the tender age of 8. WHO NEEDS TO BE CONSTANTLY ENTERTAINED?!
See, that’s what is wrong with today’s youth. The need to be constantly entertained with zero effort. DVD players! Playstations! Trucks that make noises & move based off a remote control, rather than a good ol’ push around the carpet! Battery-operated scooters rather than a two-wheeled Schwinn!
& parents? You’re the problem. You’d rather flip down the television screen in your Town & Country than carry on a conversation with your middle school son, but then you wonder why his friends are the ones teaching him about girls & cigarettes & how often you should change your underware to be socially acceptable. (the answer? every day. no exceptions.)
I used to think that way. But then I had a baby toddler.
Excuse me while I go eat my words around the foot in my mouth. mmm, tasty toes.
We commute at least 30 minutes each way, five days per week. That’s roughly 5 hours in the car for Harrison at best. If there’s traffic? Double that. Because of the incredible amount of traffic we are in on a daily basis & the research supporting it, we have decided to practice “Extended Rear-Facing” with Harrison in his carseat. Meaning, he’ll be facing backwards until he hits the height & weight limits for his carseat (he still has several inches to go & about 10 lbs).
Note that I’m not being an asshole regarding my opinion on Extended Rear Facing. Please don’t be an asshole about yours.
Harrison rear-facing really wasn’t too big of a deal in the summer. He could happily see out the window & his shade helped keep the sun out of his eyes. He squawked occasionally, but it was tolerable. & then…
dun-dun-dunnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.
Poor Harrison. Hours of his day, facing backwards in the pitch dark with nobody to interact with. He screamed. So we tried putting a parent back there with him. He screamed even louder, reaching for me against his harness. The torture of not being able to be with Momma? Far worse than being alone. I migrated back to the front seat. We played loud music that we thought he would enjoy. I rubbed his cheek & patted his head to comfort him. We gave him a blanket & lovie to hold. & still, he screamed.
After one particularly hellish week, Nate threw up his hands. “THAT IS IT,” he hollered. “I can’t drive like this. I’m turning him around this weekend.” My stomach lurched but I completely felt his desperation. Being screamed at daily after a 9-hour day at the office is ZERO FUN.
Long story short, lots of brainstorming & consideration later, The Momma & I snagged a DVD player on a Black Friday deal & I installed it the very next day. On Monday morning, I popped in Madagascar, said a prayer, & we headed out into the dark morning. 40 minutes later, we arrived at our destination. My ears weren’t bleeding from the screams & Harry was happily sucking his thumb while watching the lemurs do that crazy “Move it!” dance.
I’m sure someone is looking over at a red light, judging me for having my kid entranced in a Disney movie at 7am. Because they don’t know that the DVD player is STRICTLY for the morning commute & not every single time he gets in that carseat. & they also have never had brain matter almost explode to the roof of the car from ear-piercing toddler cries.
I am not wild about my kid having that much television in his life. But I choose it over internal decapitation or distracted driving from the screams. We all make our parenting decisions & this is mine.
Moral of the story? Don’t knock it before you live it.
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