A Working Mom: Staying Home

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What you are about to read may just spark some Mommy Wars conversation. Don’t worry, I am armed with medicine, good coffee, and am ready to bring it on. Because I am in the midst of an internal Mommy Wars conversation with my angel and devil (not the kids! the conscious on my shoulders) about the right balance. And fair warning, I haven’t had my workout today, so the good mojo may not be within.

You’ve been warned. 

Take a glance into my current state. I am wearing a super comfy t-shirt, way too big yoga pants (that someone really should take away – they are plus size maternity – way overdue for being sent away), and my hair in a ponytail because it hasn’t been washed. Evan is beside me, covering his ears, yet not able to turn his eyes away from the tv (there’s something spooky on it). My laptop is on top of the blankets the cover us. Coffee (bought from the chain up the street from Arianna’s school to wash down the breakfast sandwich I bought) is by my side.



The worst part of this working mom’s dream? It feels like a nightmare to me. I couldn’t imagine spending my every day like this (even if, I’ll admit, I imagine Greg spends a bit of his time doing this).

The thing is, I am a horrible stay at home mom, and I knew I would be. I am meant to be working, to get a “break” from having to be on 100% all.the.time. I learned this during my maternity leaves and days like today, even if only two hours in, make me realize that YES, I should be a working mom.

Major kudos to my husband. While I am sure he gets a fair share of snuggles, kisses, hugs, and giggles throughout the day, his bosses demand things NOW (whereas mine prefers to give me a deadline,  most of the time). Sure, he gets to browse the internet, but he doesn’t really have much time to wash the dishes that pile up from the 10 zillion snacks these kids want (maybe if the ‘lil one had ate his delicious dinner last night, hunger wouldn’t be an issue this morning?). He doesn’t have time because there’s always a ‘lil person demanding things be just.right.right.now. While some working folks feel tied to their desks, I am sure stay at home parents feel chained to their kids.

Even worse, he has to be sure Arianna gets to school on time. This morning was a struggle, so I am telling myself that snuggled up in bed with Evan (and my laptop) is justified. You see, normally she is pretty self-sufficient. Today, that was not the case. “Where’s my Daddy? He gets me to school. I am not going to brush my hair or get dressed by myself.” It went on and on and on. Precious minutes ticked away. We pulled out of the parking spot at 9:08. Her school door closes at 9:10. This was not going to happen. But somehow, thank you God, it happened. I got all green lights and the last three kids were walking in the door as I pulled Arianna out of the car.

I have no idea how Greg (and other stay at home parents) pull it off, being responsible for not only themselves but the ‘lil ones. And for them, I have major kudos. It’s just something I cannot do. I really think I was made to be a working mom, and truth be told, it’s probably better for all of us.

In all honesty and fairness, I should mention that I am very appreciative that Greg is a SAHD. He didn’t have to be, but he does it. And it (for the most part) works for us. And beyond that? He really deserves the Mancation he’s on while I’m spending vacation days with the kids. For reals. He should take one more a year…I think…

2 thoughts on “A Working Mom: Staying Home”

  1. No mommy war flames from this SAHM/and sometimes WAHM, you are giving respect to what your SAH counterparts put up with every day while being honest that it isn’t for you.  There are definitely days that the walls of the house seem to be closing in on me and I crave that nice quiet office where there are no cartoons in the background and no legos on the floor, but the grass is always greener and all that jazz.  The world needs working mommies who can kick butt at their jobs to inspire and keep opening doors for the girls of the next generation.

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