When I was a working mom, I envied my stay-at-home mom friends. From my side of the fence, their lives looked pretty cushy. Their husbands left in the morning to grind it out all day long at some complicated, grueling office while the moms got to wear their slippers and pajamas all day long, cook heart-shaped pancakes for the kids, and watch the morning shows and slowly sip coffee from a mug with their children’s faces on it. On the occasional day they wanted to get dressed before noon, they had adventure-filled playdates lined up or shopping days at the mall with a delicious lunch at one of the cozy bakeries all the worker bees could never enjoy. I was certain that children of stay-at-home moms were also better behaved because they received all that attention and love. Spending the days outdoors with my well-mannered, pleasant children while my husband worked seemed like a dream … until it actually came true.
Leaving my firstborn daughter at day care and going to work for a boss that put my stomach in knots became more and more difficult to cope with. One day, as I tried to gently tiptoe my way past my boss’ office without her noticing for the fourth time that week and squeeze by her just-as-evil secretary, it dawned on me that maybe I could find a way to stay home and become part of the special group of women who called being at home with the kids “work.” With a little corner cutting, coupon clipping, a few less pedicures, and more home-cooked meals, my family and I could make this work, right?
Two years later, a second daughter, and more playdates than I care to show up at, I have decided that staying at home with two children under the age of four is much more difficult than working for that micromanaging, perfectionist boss I used to have. On certain days, I would liken it to having paper cuts all over my hands and then submerging them into lemon juice. Now that annoying committee in my head is pointing out that I am in fact the world’s worst mother for even writing that. But putting it down on paper somehow makes the thought less dark and terrible. I am sure my husband has the same thoughts about parenthood from time to time because occasionally he says, “Okay, sweetie. I’m off to take a break at work! Good luck with the girls today.” He really should just shout, “Yippee! It’s Monday and I’m getting the heck outta here!” Although I am still in my slippers and worn, soft pajamas, I have already performed numerous tasks by 7 a.m. and my “new” bosses, the nineteen-month-old and three-and-a-half-year-old now have me tiptoeing past their offices as well! The glorious morning I envisioned is nowhere near the reality.
