friday facts: this is not my dream job.

When I had my son almost 3 years ago, I assumed I would go back to work.  I had a mom that had worked, and it was what I KNEW.  I think that makes a difference when women decide what they themselves want to do.  I wasn't particularly in love with my job.  It was a job.  I liked the people I worked with, and I liked waking up and having a sense of purpose, of structure. 

But.  When we did the math, we figured that once we put Fletcher into daycare I would be lodging slightly more than half my paycheck into that daycare.  I guess I could have found a cheaper place, but is that really a time to bargain hunt?  Probably not.  My mom came and watched my newborn for a month after every last millisecond of my maternity leave ran out.  But at the end of the month, we had nowhere to put my little baby boy.  And when I looked down at him I realized, jeez, he is sooo very little.  He will never be this little again.  And so I agreed to what my husband wanted the whole time- for me to stay at home and watch our son. 

I did not ride off into the sunset with my baby.  I struggled with staying at home.  Alone.  With just a 3 month old to talk to.  We watched our savings account dwindle to nothing and I felt anxious knowing I'd have to start from scratch again finding a job to help us support our family.  I did find some free lance work that kept us afloat a little bitty bit.  But my husband and I were facing down the fact that I would have to get a real job.  And I had no idea what it would be like trying to find a job in a super bad economy with a scatter-shot-military-wife resume.  Then I got pregnant.  And then, miraculously, my husband found a job getting back into the military that would put us back where we were when I was working full time.  And then some.  Sigh of relief, right?

Well... being a stay at home mom is not my dream job.  Maybe I'm a crappy mom for admitting this, but this is HAAARRRDD.  They are these tiny little vessels of neediness that practically never let me read that book I want to read, to watch that show I want to watch, to cook that meal I want to cook, to sit down with that cup of coffee before it is stone cold.  And they are always needy.  They are always needing food, a diaper change, entertainment, or consoling.  They wake up in the middle of the night squalling for food or love or to sleep in mama's bed.  I don't sleep well, I don't eat right, some days I don't shower, and I have to sneak time to read or to write my blog.  This is my heart being honest about my life.  I would really really like to read that book.  I would really really like to watch that show.  I'd like to cook something more impressive than vegetable soup.  I love coffee.  And I love it HOT. 

But.  While that is my heart being honest, I also know I could not go back to work while these babies are still, well, babies.  They are so small.  They are so pure and unsullied by everything.  When we play with other kids and someone pushes Fletcher, he has this look of utter shock that something like that could ever happen to him.  I love that.  I want to hold onto that for as long as possible.  My priorities have shifted so far from where they used to reside, I sometimes don't recognize myself.  I am trying.  Every day I am trying to be something that I still fall short of, but I am trying.  And I pray more now than ever before.  Nothing about this comes easy.  I love my kids, but they are hard work.  I've had to work hard at everything, from breastfeeding to bedtimes.  I sometimes have to remind myself of the fact that they are just little people that really only need love from me.  That is all they are really asking for from me (besides food and diaper changes).  Who but me can do this for them?  It would cause me anguish to leave that job to anyone but me.  And although it's not my dream job, it is my honor to stay home and watch these littles grow.  I'm not even sure what my dream job is anymore.  Maybe I'll find out sometime.  But for now I'm too busy taking out my trash and building on my treasure.

{meeting Fletcher}