I recently went back to work. I like my job a lot. I work with smart, nice, and hard-working people. I enjoy using my writing skills, and the office environment is positive. I hunted for a job for a long time, and I was thinking I was this close to becoming a mail-order girlfriend for some guy in a foreign country when voila, a job came along. Finally.
Yet going back to work is not without its costs, but what can I do? Money doesn’t grow on trees like every parent from the beginning of time has told us.
My mom stayed at home until I was of kindergarten age. When she went back, I was not happy. I hated the fact that she worked at night. At least I saw her, but not for too long. She worked a graveyard shift, and so I remember on Hannukkah opening gifts and then leaving a thank you note for her to read when she got home. It felt sad doing that.
The first time I really angry about her being gone was when my 1st grade class had a dinosaur contest and she couldn’t make it.
That morning, she handed me a little brown felt teddy bear pin with a black bow. He was adorable, but I hated him with a passion.
“Stupid Bear,” I thought, knowing that no bear could take the place of seeing your parent’s face in a crowd full of nameless faces as you sing awesome songs about TRex and Brontosaurus.
I especially hated going to babysitters’ homes, although they were all pretty nice. I especially liked one woman who had a quiet home and two sons my age. Still, I couldn’t wait to get home and be in my house, with my things. It annoyed me.
Now, the shoe is on the other foot. My kid is 2.5 in just a few days. She’s younger than I was when my mom first left me, so in some ways it means she will get used to it, but on the other hand, she’s too young to complain to me like I did to my mom.
My industry is rather far from my home, so I have to make quite a trek to get to work, at least until we move.
Both Grandparents and Dad helps with the pick-up and drop-off at school. Montessori was the program we chose, and so far, we are all happy. It’s just not the same though. It’s not the same hearing about your child’s day from other people. I feel cheated knowing that everyone is getting so much time with her, yet I am not. And on the weekends and evenings when I am not home as late, I eat up the minutes I have with her.
Walking through the bus station today, I saw a little girl that reminded me of her, and I felt like I could cry.
Being a mom is crappier than the books make it out to be sometimes.
If you are working, you are missing your child, and feeling as if you’re not the best worker because you may have to leave early to get your kid. Or maybe you’re on the phone with daycare or the school about your child. Maybe you are worried he or she is sick.
When you are home, you are so happy, and try not to think of work, but that can be tough.
When I was little, many moms worked, but a lot stayed at home as well. For my daughter, the tables have turned. Many moms are working as compared to staying home.
I just feel as if working has made me a “mom on the sidelines,” and the worst aspect is relinquishing control to people who may mean 100% well, but just aren’t you.
I know Dads are awesome, but the title of Mom is one that’s earned through pregnancy and beyond.
I feel as if I should always be there, and not that I cannot always be there, somehow I have decided that this means I am less worthy of a mom.
That I am failing in some ways.
Yet work brings such satisfaction and money, that I know these things are pivotal for me, and in turn, my kid. I’m a role model, yet I wish there was a better way to balance things, as so many of us moms do.
I remember the crazy feeling I would sometimes get as a SAHM, and it truly can be emotionally draining and lonely, but man, SAHM cherish the time with your kids while you have them. Soon enough, you will be getting reports on your child’s daily life from a teacher, stranger, or family member, and while it’s great for my kid to be socialized, have a village of people around her, and learn at school, it feels as if I am slowly saying goodbye before I am ready.
I guess that’s what being a parent is though: slowly saying goodbye while teaching our kids to be independent