Yesterday, my blogger friend, Whitney, announced that she has given notice at her office and will now be a stay-at-home mom. This has been Whitney’s dream. In fact, the full name of her blog is “My Journey Towards the Glamorous Life of a Housewife.” So, congrats to Whitney on achieving that goal!
After I read Whitney’s post, I found myself in a really bad mood for the rest of the day. I was grumpy and irritable. And you wanna know why? Jealousy. Pure, simple, good old-fashioned sour grapes. Whitney gets to stay home with her little baby, Levi, and I have to go back to work.
Its time I finally come clean.
I want to be a stay-at-home mom. I want to spend my days with Michael. There. I said it. Now you all know.
This may not seem like much of a confession. I mean, there are tons of stay-at-home moms out there. And who wouldn’t prefer to stay home over working everyday?
Well, me, for one. I’ve always been a worker. I enjoy working. Its more than just a job or a career to me. I take pride in my work – no matter how insignificant my job might be – and I find some kind of identity in having a career path and professional goals. Lately though, I’ve started to dread going back to work. It wasn’t something that got me down really. Just a thought I’d have every now. Like when me and the Bean are going for a walk around the neighborhood at 2:00 in the afternoon or when I lay down and take a nap with him on rainy mornings. At those times, I’d have a passing thought that wouldn’t it be nice to do this every day.
But when Whitney posted about giving her two-weeks notice at work, something just changed inside me. My heart throbbed. And not in the good way like when I see a Johnny Depp movie. In the way like I thought it might pop right out of my chest if I thought too hard about having to go back to work. Hearing about someone else making that dream happen made it all the more clear that it couldn’t and wouldn’t happen for me.
Unfortunately though, that’s my reality. I can’t be a stay-at-home mom. For one thing, I have this downer called a mortgage payment. And rumor has it that banks get pretty P.O.’d when you stop sending them payments.
And aside from the mortgage thing, there is the fact that I’m not very good at staying home. Chris leaves the house at 6:30 AM every morning and gets home at 6:00 PM every night. That’s a 12-hour time period. I should be accomplishing so much. There’s laundry and grocery shopping and cleaning and bills to pay and errands to run. And that’s not even including all the work that the Bean requires like feedings, diaper changes, play time, and endless amounts of cuddling. At any given point during my day, I have a million productive things I could be doing. But you know how I spend my days?
Kissing the Beanie. I kiss his cheeks. I nuzzle in his neck. I chew on his feet. I blubber his belly. And before I know it, Chris is home and another day has passed without anything useful being done.
I couldn’t do this every day! Think of all the chaos that would ensue! I’d have no clean dishes to eat off of. I’d have no food to put on those dishes in the first place. Chris would have no underwear. Beanie would have no burp cloths. Ask a real stay-at-home mom what she did all day she I’m sure she would be able to rattle off a list of accomplishments that would include some form of saving the world. Twice. Ask me that same question and you know what answer you’d get?
“Well, I nibbled Beanie’s ear. Oh, and I chewed on his thighs.”
But just because I’d be lousy at it, doesn’t mean I don’t dream of staying at home. I treasure every second I get to spend with the Bean this summer because I know in the fall, he’ll be spending his days babbling and cooing to someone else while I shuffle files around my office and try to look important.
So, that’s my confession today. I wish I could call my boss and tell him I’m not coming back in August. I wish I could pack up my heels and buy some more yoga pants. I wish I could be there for a 10:00 AM feeding instead of a 10:00 AM meeting.
I want to be a stay-at-home mom. Too bad my job seems to get in the way.