As I gear up for my new role with eager anticipation, I’m socializing my plan with other stay at home moms I know. Interestingly, the feedback I get on most things from my working mom friends is more palatable. It’s “don’t be so hard on yourself” vs. “you’ll get the hang of it.” If you’re a mom, you’re nodding as you read this (either with knowing or exhaustion, or both).
Knowing this, it shouldn’t have surprised me that some of the feedback I got was less than encouraging. So much (less) so, it threatened to color my whole weekend, and momentarily even my resolve to stick with The Plan ™. The warnings of what I’d be giving up, including my sanity, dignity, fashion, and more speckled my mind like mold on the one orange in the fruit bowl, and all I could think was ‘should I throw the whole thing out?’ The mold spread. What will happen to my marriage when I’m hanging around the house in stained, worn-out sweats? When I can’t afford, or care less, about lingerie (okay, that’s already happened but God, can that get worse??) Will I go insane without an annual review, not to mention a pretty healthy fiscal bonus? Will our decision to have a 3rd child be a predetermined no?
Just because you can’t see the mold on the other fruit doesn’t mean it’s not there.
What am I thinking giving up my income, my “me” time (e.g. my 6 hours of commuting each week)? Will I be relevant? Valuable? Remotely attractive? if I stay home with my kids?
And then I sheepishly read a chapter of the final Twighlight book and quickly drifted off at the end of what turned out to be a great Saturday: Swimming, smores, and catching “Fly Flies” with my boys. And I woke up with a new resolve (that and a vague but pleasant memory of dreams about vampires, ehem). I cooked breakfast burritos with cleverly re-purposed sausage leftovers and the first gnarly little bell pepper from my 3-year-old’s vegetable garden. A grilled peach, scrambled organic egg yolk for my 8-month-old, and copious amounts of coffee. ‘I can do this’ I thought. And my ruggedly handsome husband, smiling across the table at me, agreed.