As I sit at home on this typical
warm Texas Saturday morning, I find myself experiencing an excited anxiety
which I haven’t felt in nearly a decade. No, I am not panicking over an
upcoming child’s soccer game or dance recital, nor am I consumed with endless
piles of laundry or dishes. This is an entirely different emotion stemming from
the fact that on Monday morning, I will become one of the many mothers out
there who gets up and goes to work.
A job, you say? Why, yes! Well…
sort of. An internship, to be exact, which will be the start of my career in
the mental health counseling world. Yep, I’ve finally decided to teach what I
know, and we all know I have a PhD in crazy. Here’s what’s shocking… I’m not at
all anxious or scared about working. In all honesty, I cannot wait. I feel like
a wild horse who has been corralled for eight years and is finally being let
out to run freely. As I wrote that sentence, I could feel the judgmental head
shakings from mothers or fathers who stay at home willingly with their kids and
love every second of Dora, bedtime stories, and potty training. Well,
shaking-head-folks, I envy you for the patience and dedication it takes to be a
happy and fulfilled stay-at-home parent. I have attempted to master the art of
the housewife and somehow managed to not ruin my children while doing so, but
it has been a struggle to say the least. I’ve finally accepted the fact that I
am terrible at playing make believe, don’t have the patience for Legos, and
cannot for the life of me make a gingerbread house that doesn’t fall apart
within five minutes.
Some may
think I sound ungrateful, but this is simply untrue. I recognize how incredibly
lucky I have been to stay at home with my girls these past several years. I
have witnessed every first step, every lost tooth, and wiped every ass that
needed wiping. I would not trade these experiences for anything in the world
(except maybe the ass wiping). However, while it has been amazing being around
for everything, the downside is that I have been around for everything. No,
that is not an unintentionally redundant sentence. Think about it…When my child skins her knee, I am there. When my child has a stomach ache, I am there. When my child needs to find a potty NOW, I find one. It is our job as parents to be there for our children and to make them feel safe and loved, but my children have now reached the point where they depend on me to guide them in resolving problems which arise in their day to day lives. While I love the fact that they trust me with every fiber of their little bodies, I also see that my being here for everything has stifled their independent thinking and behavior. My sweet little girls have been on maybe two play dates in their entire lives where I wasn’t in attendance (side note: this is not because I want to be there to watch them… this is because I only surround my children with mothers who like wine and gossip as much as I do). There has been one, yes ONE, soccer practice that did not include the presence of myself or my husband the entire hour in the beating hot sun or biting cold. Why? Because my children believe that some horrible, yellow-eyed monster is going to emerge from the ground and swallow them whole if I am not there (that, or they’re afraid of having to poop and there is no bathroom at the practice fields). This is the routine in every arena of our lives. Field trips, check. After-school pickup, check... and being late is 100% unacceptable. These kids have had a parent in attendance for every school party since pre-school, and it has now become the norm. Absence is not an option. I see other children show up at birthday parties practically pushing their parents out of the way to get to the fun. These children couldn’t care less about hanging out with Mommy, and I am envious. My children attach to me like I’m still feeding them with the boobs anytime we’re anywhere. I pry them off of me with all the strength I can muster, promising them I am not leaving, promising them that I will be there if they need to go to the bathroom, and that I will let them know if and when I go to use the bathroom myself. It is RIDICULOUS. Go live, children! Get hurt! Get in trouble! PLEASE!!
So now you may understand why I’m feeling a mixture of anxiety and excitement about starting my job. I know that I will not be in attendance for every sneeze any longer and this makes me so happy and so scared at the same time. I have taught these children to rely on me, and now I’m teaching them to rely on themselves. I used to shudder at the thought of someone else being there to sweep up the pieces of my children’s mishaps, but I now see that the independence I am eight years late in teaching is coming back to bite me in my self-wiped ass.
My point? I see so many battles over the stay-at-home mom vs the working mom. I have always leaned towards the stay-at-home mom for obvious reasons. Now I’m beginning to see how a little time away from the kids will not only benefit me, but will teach them to make decisions on their own, run freely at birthday parties, and always, ALWAYS, wipe their own asses.
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