There are some things you just can’t fathom until they occur to you. For instance, you don’t know how you’d react to a car accident or fire until you’re t-boned at an intersection or your flambé goes awry. I think being a parent is a lot like that. You know things, but you don’t know them.
Case in point, I always admired women who were “full time moms.” For the record, I hate that term. I work, but there’s not ever a moment I’m not thinking of or working for my kid. Likewise, I always chafed when women get asked “do you work, or do you stay home with your child?” It’s all work. And I’ve come to realize that those that “don’t work” have it much harder than I do.
As I telecommute every Wednesday and Friday, I usually do ok. I feel I have a great balance of home time and work time. I get the benefit of spending lots of good time with the offspring, yet get to converse with grownups on a daily basis. This past week, the lady that watches our kid had a sick child of her own. As such, I stayed home on Thursday as well and just took a personal day.
By Friday I was a mess. I was depressed. I was pissed off. I was stir-crazy. I’m horribly embarrassed to admit this, but I ate a whole box of Girl Scout Cookies (Tagalongs, if you must know). Not because I was hungry, but because I was just bored (I think). I’ve never done stuff like that in my life. Maybe had an extra glass of wine or two, but not eaten a whole damn box of anything. It was disgusting.
I have such a new respect for women who either choose to stay home or must stay home. You are really the heroes, ladies. I wish I could afford to pay our child care provider triple what we pay her now. It’s so not easy and I so couldn’t do it.