Growing up, I often imagined being a stay-at-home mom. Carriage strolls on balmy days, cookies in the oven, a pottery business on the side. Not that I've sculpted much beyond some Play-Doh worms, but I liked the idea ...
Flash forward a few decades to an editing job that was often rewarding, but also very stressful--especially as the economy tumbled--and I'd long to be, well, napping, with a cup of tea and a cat nearby. Hell, even in my car. But for years, I also longed for a maternity leave--three glorious months of, yes ... not working! And, of course, bonding with one of the greatest joys in the galaxy--a squeaky, lovable (and, admittedly loud) new baby.
My hubbo and I tried for that baby. And tried and tried. And tried some more. After six exhausting, expensive, exasperating years of trying, coupled with hundreds of appointments, needle stabs and breaking hearts, we finally reached that dream--a robust and healthy 9 lb. , 11 oz., 23.5-inch amazing boy. (Can you say PUUUUSSSSSSSH?!) And, I got my glorious, sunny 12-week maternity leave!
Two years, another boy, and another maternity leave later, we were feeling really blessed and incredibly lucky--only a tad bit like worn, tattered dishrags bouncing around in the dryer.
Then, one day last November, my ultimate fantasy came true: I became a stay-at-home mom. I was laid off after 18 years with my company, trading in my skirts and boots for jeans and fleece, and all the stroller rides and home-made cookies I could stomach. Plus, some artistic side thing yet to be determined (Interior design? Painting? Macaroni wreaths? Diaper castles?). The missing paycheck stung, no doubt about that, but I'm enriched in another way: I'm home with my boys, now two-and-a-half and nine-months old.
There's just one thing: If I had wanted to be a stay-at-home mom, hubbo and I could have figured it out three years ago … right? Then again, maybe I was afraid to ask myself, Would I be good at it with my renowned (Bahaha!) patience and adolescent sleep needs? Would I like being Domestic Dottie puttering all day around the workshop … on a strict budget? Would my brain turn to mush? Would I feel disconnected? Would my kids benefit? How would hubbo adjust? And my biggest concern, at least at the moment: Will I ever figure out how to use the @#*%$@# double stroller so we can have a proper excursion outside of the house?!
I don't know all the answers yet--they'll probably change day to day. But so far I've learned that not knowing is just fine. It's part of the experie … wait, I have a better word. It's part of the adventure.
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