"I am a stay at home mom. My husband works some crazy shift hours and I stay home with the kids."
When I tell people that I stay home, I get many reactions. Some filled with contempt for having the luxury to stay home, some jealous, and others pitying me for wasting my life. (Please understand... I am not the stereotypical ideal of a house wife. I am neither barefoot and pregnant nor a Stepford. I am a photographer and a writer, have earned my M.A. in English and work as an adjunct college professor from time to time.)
Then, the inevitable question that typically follows... "What do you do all day?"
What do I do all day? Those six words are filled with wonder, mystery and more than a little jealousy... as though having 24 hours to myself not to have to go to a nine to five job is so Housewives of Jersey Shore.
I used to think that if I were a stay at home mom, and didn't have to work that I would have so much time to get things done, and I would use the time to do something that I really wanted to do. I was so delusional.
My morning typically looks like this:
6ish: Wake up to Josh yelling at the top of his lungs to get out of his crib. Stumble into his room to find that he has once again pulled the changing table pad and everything that was on it to the floor. Side step the toys that are left over from last night as well as the monster bear that mocks me with his giant eyes, dead center of the room. I reach Josh, pick him up, only to realize too late that his bottle has leaked all over him, and that if only I would have remembered to take it away last night, he would probably still be sleeping right now. We turn to the empty dresser, stoop to pick up the changing pad, and get him settled to change his diaper. As I am trying to get my eyes to focus, Josh is pulling at the blackout drapes and helping mommy to see that it is, most definitely daylight. Now, I am blind and the mini-blinds are misshaped from his help. The thought flits through my mind that eventually, when we move out of our apartment, this is one more thing that will be replaced.
Sometime after that: Jake and the Neverland pirates takes up our tv in the living room, blocks and stackable toys are scattered everywhere, Josh is in his high chair eating cereal, or more accurately, throwing it on the floor to save for later. I think I have coffee somewhere, and am not sure I have made it to the bathroom yet. I would attempt to go, but am fairly certain that Josh would be climbing down from the highchair before I got sat. And, yes, he is belted in. Don't judge.
My son has learned how to climb. This morning he climbed up on top of our fireplace surround, which is a foot off of the ground, and on to the pack and play that is sitting on top of that. He has an interesting method of getting down. We have tried to teach Josh how to turn around so that he goes feet first, but he prefers to go down head first. It usually looks something like this:
Josh: Hand down, other hand down, HEAD to floor, slide to my belly
He does this every time he gets down off of something, no matter if he is on our bed or only a foot away from the floor. This boy is going to give me a heart attack, and the other kids aren't even up yet.
After breakfast, which is cereal again, dishes are washed, or at least put in the sink.
"Mom, is it hot outside?"
"I don't know, I haven't gone out yet." I say absently looking at the phone for weather details for the day. "Shorts today girls."
"Mom, Ana won't get out of the bathroom," Alex says.
"Go use mine." Alex makes a face and heads in the direction of my bedroom.
"Mom, I got dressed!" Ana says.
"Did you put on panties?" I ask. She walks back into her room pouting.
Josh bites my toes as I try to drink my coffee and look at the budget for today's errands. Post office, groceries, oil change...etc. Thank God I don't have any clothes that actually require dry cleaning. School is starting in another week, and then things will slow down a little. School supplies need to be purchased, since we only yesterday got the list for Ana, and won't be getting the list for Alex until after the first day of school.
Lunches are made, groceries got, nap taken, more food for Josh (who at 1 is already eating constantly.) Toys stepped on, picked up, pulled out again, blocks knocked down, barbies dressed, undressed and dressed again, laundry in the washer... or re-washed from yesterday. You tube videos watched with Alex, comments on minecraft and Supernatural.... I look at the clock and yep, time to make dinner. I think the clock must be broken. It was just 10:00 in the morning a minute ago. Start dinner, vacuum, wipe down the kitchen and make the bed. I have a headache, did I eat anything today? Yep, part of Josh's apple, I think.
Depending on which shift Carlos is on, dinner has been ready since 4 to go with him for the night, or will be ready to eat by 7:30 when he gets home.
After dinner baths are taken, and dishes washed, being careful not to do both at the same time, because our water is wonky and will scald anyone in the shower if the toilet is flushed. Josh is the first to go down around 8:30, then Ana around 9. It takes me half an hour to get each of them tucked in, and several trips to make sure they stay that way. Say good night to Alex, remind her that Grey's Anatomy will still be on Netflix in the morning, and look longingly at my computer, knowing that I should write something, but am so tired that all I want to do is lay my head down. By 11, I double check the locks on the door and head to bed, needing a shower and a drink, but opting for sleep. Everything else can wait.
And my husband wonders why I don't take the time to put on make up in the mornings.
It has taken me three kids to figure out how hard it really is to be a MOM. No, I do not go to a typical job. My job is in the home where I wear the different hats of so many women through out history. I am a nurse and a chef, a chauffeur and the maid. I am a teacher and the accountant, the secretary and the librarian. I am the monster killer, spider killer and the shoulder to cry on. There are no days off, no holiday time, vacation or sick days, no 401k and no pension. My toes know the difference between chewed up apple and soggy captain crunch cereal. I have no clue what the inside of a salon looks like, but Chucky Cheese and I used to be on a first name basis.
I chose to live this life, and would not trade it for the world. I love the time I spend with the kids, and watching them grow, so do not pity me. I am blessed to have a husband who will support this decision. But at the same time, if you are not living it, you have no idea what I am going through, and have no right to be angry that I am not working. I work. I work harder every day than many others.
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