Yup, my life as a rockstar down at the Pavilion has come to an end. And the freakin updates I'm getting on my phone from people on Linked-In are not helping. I don't even know why I'm on Linked-In after two and half years of being at home with the kids. I don't have anything filled in for a current job title - all it does is list my past places of employment with a ridiculous head shot that looks absolutely nothing like what I look like on a Tuesday afternoon when I'm still in my goddamn pajamas and somehow haven't even found the time it would take to put on a bra. I know. I'm horrified too.
That's right folks, it's back to work for this employee of Kids Incorporated. The biggest issue lately is that I don't think I'm qualified to work here. The problem is no one seems to care. From 9 to 5, there is literally no one else working here but me. And after two and half years, I've had no opportunity for salary negotiations because there is no salary, no supervision, and no performance evaluations. I honestly don't know how this place keeps its doors open sometimes.
The weirdest part? I keep getting promoted. It's the strangest thing. I have literally no background or experience in teething, nutrition, teaching a kid how to walk or use silverware, instituting an effective time-out, or potty training. But somehow, they just keep on promoting me to the next level. No one reviews my work, I have no idea if I'm meeting my goals, and I'm not even really sure if the two kids I work for even care how well I do in any one category of my job description. Oftentimes, I feel like they'd really rather I not show up for work at all so they can just scoot around the house and poop in their pants without me ruining it for them. As far as their concerned? They really seem to feel pretty confident they can handle this corporation without me. Sometimes, I think they might be right.
So, how did I get here exactly? As much as it feels like it sometimes, I wasn't grabbed off the street in the middle of the night, thrown into a white van with a bag over my head, drugged and then woke up with two children to raise. And even though I remind myself, literally everyday, that I wanted this -- what the hell is my problem and why do I feel so goddamn over matched and like I want to run away from it all so I can give being an aerialist in Las Vegas a try?
I get that my daughter's heart condition definitely played a roll in me staying home. Clearly. Before the diagnosis, I didn't have strong feelings one way or another about staying-at-home vs. putting my kids in daycare. After the diagnosis, I knew that if we could manage it financially, it would be better for my daughter to be at home so we could focus on feeding her around the clock and limiting her exposure to germs before her second open heart. That would be ideal. I could always go back to work after her second surgery (as long as everything went ok obviously) especially if that's what I wanted for myself and if we both felt she would be fine in daycare. But somehow,
Excuse me, are you hiring?
Um...not likely. So, at home with the two little ones while my husband tried to make two salaries in one....Oh, I see....it's all coming back now...now I'm starting to remember how I ended up working at this crazy place!
So...what's the deal with this stay-at-home mom gig, anyway? Why does it toy with your emotions so much? You kill yourself to cook these babies for nine months, you give up ALCOHOL for christ sake, you give BIRTH which is freakin nuts by itself, and then you are a sleep deprived, ungrateful, complaining emotional mess....for like YEARS. That's not how I pictured it, exactly. You?
I just read something recently that said, "don't complain about having kids after you've decided to have them." I definitely agree and yet I complain all the time. Not to mention one of my kids almost died. So, ya, that kinda makes complaining about having to deal with all this kid crap a little awkward to say the least. It's that whole Carpe Diem thing....."Sieze the day! Cherish every moment because it goes by so fast!" Like one of my girlfriends said to me, "Honestly? Today, it's definitely not going by fast enough." I hear ya sister. The reason people can talk about how much they miss their kids when they were small is because their kids aren't freakin small anymore. If they were home with two kids under three seven days a week they wouldn't be talking that kind of carpe diem smack.
Not to mention, you can feel ESPECIALLY bad after having a heart baby that there aren't permanent rainbows of gratitude shooting out of your ass while your toddler kicks you in the ribs and your baby pinches the skin on your neck while you're holding him. Not exactly a proud moment to have to admit to having a hard time being a stay-at-home mom after one of your kids almost didn't make it. It's actually kind of the worst feeling in the world. And then, my healthy son? What's my excuse there? He's a beautiful perfectly healthy kid. Is that not enough to keep you in a positive state of mind on your 912th day in a row at this? Freakin mind games. If raising kids isn't unrelenting enough for you -- the mind games and guilt that seem to be inherently tied to being a mother sure takes the cake.
I guess if you can't hang, you should consider handing your spawn off to childcare professionals to take care of -- people who actually know a thing or two about potty training and temper tantrums, people whose hormones are not attached to the baby's cry, people who I guess were born with just WAY more patience. Should I do that? Should I give myself a pink slip and lay myself off?
I don't know. Here's the thing. When I'm 60 and someone asks me, "So, how long were you home with your kids?" Am I really prepared to say.....FOR FOUR OR FIVE YEARS? Cause, Jesus H, that's where I'm headed. And I wouldn't be surprised if I was in a wheelchair by the time I'm 40 or at least walking around with a very severe limp and super gray hair. And I don't know why being at home with my kids for up to five years freaks me out so bad. There's nothing wrong with staying at home with your kids until they go to school if that's your thing-- I'm just trying like hell to figure out what my "thing" is....and I guess like a lot of shit in life -- I just didn't really picture myself at home as long as I already have been. I also didn't picture the heart condition or that my kids would be 18 months apart. But I digress. What I sure as hell didn't picture AT ALL is being a professional stay-at-home mom who pretends to know how to do THE HARDEST JOB EVER day in and day out.
And since I'm on an excellent rant here anyway, and for those of you who haven't tuned me out already, having the third open heart surgery pushed off has kind put a hair across my ass because I'm not sure WHEN I'll be able to ask myself honestly if I want to try and go back to work rather than be a professional potty trainer and child disciplinarian. With something that big in front of me and without knowing how her third open heart will go -- I have to admit -- I'm a little gun shy to answer this whole stay-at-home vs. go back to work question for myself. I just selfishly wanted the heart surgery behind me so I could even THINK straight about what I want anymore.
I know, I know....I don't have to answer this question right now. Don't put pressure on yourself like that!
But I tell ya, I keep feeling like one more 7AM-9PM day filled with "mommy why?"***pee in my eye, dried poop on my sleeve, aches and pains in places I didn't know existed, letting the dog out, letting the dog in, washing the dishes, washing the floor, trying to feed people who either don't want to eat or don't know how to eat, washing the dishes again, getting down on the floor when it feels like I have the body of a 90 year old lady, trying to get up off the floor when I feel like I have the body of a 90 year old lady, trying to be reasonable with a toddler who is naturally unreasonable, making bottles, cleaning bottles, eating goldfish as a meal, trying to explain why it's not ok to pee in your pants, peeing in my own pants because I sneezed, carrying a 21 pound baby while holding the hand of someone else who's only 34 inches tall, going up and down three flights of stairs about 300 times a day, and having to watch fucking Caillou, (god I can't stand that kid) and well....that's why I'm starting to wonder if I shouldn't let someone else step in and have a go at running things at Kids Incorporated.
Might be time for some new management around here.
No comments:
Post a Comment