[This is in no way a commentary on the working mama/stay at home mama debate as I don’t think there is one. Being a mama is a tough job regardless of how you do it. This is solely a post on my feelings about ME.]
I’m not gonna lie. Sometimes I scroll through my dash or Instagram feed while taking a little breather at work and my breath hitches. I see tons of photos of mamas at home with their kids partaking in everyday mundanities and sometimes I want to cry. There are days that I wish that mama was me.
There are days when I wish I was wearing sweatpants and snuggling on the couch with my boys. Where I was covered in unidentifiable sticky goo. Where I was stuck singing stupid kids songs over and over. Where I spent hours coloring or blowing bubbles. Where I was the one soothing them after an owie or dealing with a tantrum.
Some days there is nothing I want more than that. Those days where I feel stretched so thin that I feel like I am half-assing my job both at work AND as a parent. Days where I feel like no one is getting the best of me and I just failed. By the time I get home to enjoy time with my children I am spent. I just realized that most days my commute eats up 2.5 hours of my day. That is 10% of my day! 10 PERCENT!!!
On days like those I remind myself of this:
· The great job I have provides my family with healthcare coverage and affords us the lifestyle we currently have.
· We chose a house further out from the city that has outstanding public schools and resources and also a yard large enough for us to have all the things we’ve wanted for in the past [large vegetable garden, fire pit, swingset, and chickens in the future!]
· I love my dynamic job and the people I work with on a daily basis. The friendships I’ve made here over the past almost 7 years are some of the best I have.
When it comes right down to it, if you were to ask my 6 year old if he felt he had a half-ass mama, I am confident that he would say “Heck no!”[And probably trail that singing “I’m sexy and I know it.”]. While he may tell you that he deserves more Legos and more time playing video games, he will not tell you that he lacks quality time with his mama.
And really, that’s all that matters. So why do I have to constantly remind myself of that? No one is pressuring me to stay home or guilting me in any way about working. Yet, I feel it so strongly sometimes. What the hell is that?