My year of government mommy pay has expired. Yes, I’m back at work. Each morning I drive my little ones to their new daycare, lunches in hand. I have to remove the two of them from my arms like a strip of Velcro; crying baby and clinging toddler. At least Nathan has an understanding of what is going down. He knows the difference between “weekday” and “weekend”. But Cecilia on the other hand, is comfortably oblivious, at least until the absolute point of removal, when she wails like banshee.
My mind is torn. Part of me is in mourning every minute of the day that I’m separated from the wee ones, the other part is elated each time I get to; eat a relaxed meal, go to the bathroom by myself and just sit and think about work things. It is a mental dichotomy to which my very soul is fighting to come to terms with.
I have to remember that I’m privileged with choice. Many Moms are forced to have one or the other life; either full time job or full time mom, with no say in the matter. Financially speaking I could have stayed home with the kids, had that been my selection. I’d like to say that I consciously made my decision, but I can’t say that I did. Time marched along, and suddenly I was back at work and my mat leave was over. Sure, I thought and thought and thought about my options, but in the end I took the path of least resistance, and returned to status quo.
I don’t feel guilty, and that is usually an emotion most prominent in the mommy-brain battle. I know my children are well cared for at daycare – in some ways I think they are better off. I’m a chemist. I do not have childcare training. Do I know how to glue macaroni pictures? Definitely not. Can I make playdough? No. My idea of circle time is sitting around a BBQ and drinking beer. Hardly fun play material.
It is not that I don’t know I’m a good mom, it is just that at home I always felt like the kids had to compete day-in and day-out with all my other duties. Now THAT made me feel guilty. Mommy, come read me a story? Not now honey, Mommy needs to fold this six foot high pile of laundry. Mommy, goo-goo-gaa-gaa (translation: I want boob). Wait a minute Princess, Mommy needs to self-medicate with chocolate and alcohol. Okay, so I wasn’t that bad, but I’m guessing you get the picture.
In the end I know things will work out. They always do. Kids grow up, go to school, I’ll go to work and life will plow-on. I know my decision has made an affect of the dynamic of our family, but hey, I was raised in daycares and I turned out okay – right?
My mind is torn. Part of me is in mourning every minute of the day that I’m separated from the wee ones, the other part is elated each time I get to; eat a relaxed meal, go to the bathroom by myself and just sit and think about work things. It is a mental dichotomy to which my very soul is fighting to come to terms with.
I have to remember that I’m privileged with choice. Many Moms are forced to have one or the other life; either full time job or full time mom, with no say in the matter. Financially speaking I could have stayed home with the kids, had that been my selection. I’d like to say that I consciously made my decision, but I can’t say that I did. Time marched along, and suddenly I was back at work and my mat leave was over. Sure, I thought and thought and thought about my options, but in the end I took the path of least resistance, and returned to status quo.
I don’t feel guilty, and that is usually an emotion most prominent in the mommy-brain battle. I know my children are well cared for at daycare – in some ways I think they are better off. I’m a chemist. I do not have childcare training. Do I know how to glue macaroni pictures? Definitely not. Can I make playdough? No. My idea of circle time is sitting around a BBQ and drinking beer. Hardly fun play material.
It is not that I don’t know I’m a good mom, it is just that at home I always felt like the kids had to compete day-in and day-out with all my other duties. Now THAT made me feel guilty. Mommy, come read me a story? Not now honey, Mommy needs to fold this six foot high pile of laundry. Mommy, goo-goo-gaa-gaa (translation: I want boob). Wait a minute Princess, Mommy needs to self-medicate with chocolate and alcohol. Okay, so I wasn’t that bad, but I’m guessing you get the picture.
In the end I know things will work out. They always do. Kids grow up, go to school, I’ll go to work and life will plow-on. I know my decision has made an affect of the dynamic of our family, but hey, I was raised in daycares and I turned out okay – right?
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