Yesterday was the first day of my son’s extended summer program. Secretly (and not so secretly) I have been longing for this program to start to give me a break from my very busy three and a half year old. Granted, the school year only ended June 22, but the days have been long, even with a trip to the nation’s capital.
I loaded the double stroller with both kids, my son’s backpack equipped with change of clothes – just in case, even though he is now successfully potty trained – and a snack. We took the eight-minute walk to the school and waited as all the kids gathered. My son, a little clingy, seemed to be excited. He recognized a few people but when he saw his teacher he skipped over to her and held her hand.
I was proud of him. Only a few months ago he cried boarding the bus, and before that I couldn’t peel him away from me when taking him to his former preschool. I told him that his sister and I would be back at 12pm to pick him up. There were no tears. He seemed ok.
Surprisingly, I wasn’t ok. I felt a little awkward at the school where other moms all seemed to know one another and who were familiar with the program as their children had attended previously. As the mothers socialized I stood next to my daughter and watched my son take in his new surroundings.
Having worked full-time up until a few months ago, I’m still getting accustomed to this new way of life as stay at home mom, which is often marked by isolation and loneliness. I fear that I’m doing something wrong when my kids are crying or bored, or that I’m not cut out for staying home with them. At the end of each day I am exhausted, even more so than when I worked.
It occurs to me how hard it must have been initially for my son to leave his family and home, deviate from the comfort of his routine and go to school for the first time. In some ways, these past couple of months have been like the first day of school for me. These are uncharted waters for both of us, and we both have a lot to learn.
I haven’t been sleeping well the past week. While my teething 17-month old is partially to blame, I also have anxiety about the end of the school year and summer break. My three year old is so busy; I don’t know how I will keep him occupied daily till September, when school resumes. He will be attending a summer program for the month of July, but that is still two weeks away. And then there’s August.
I’m learning it’s not just me who is being affected by the change, however. My son’s behavior on Friday morning, the first day of summer break, definitely reflected his emotions surrounding the end of the school year. While he can’t articulate what he’s feeling, his aggressiveness toward his sister and more-defiant-than-usual conduct spoke volumes.
He really has become attached to school, his teachers and his classmates. After much transitioning, he even started loving the bus and the consistency of 5-day-a-week preschool. Already he is missing his routine.
And I am, too.
The recent media attention to the Pregnancy Pause made me think seriously about having quit my job and what this means for my resume. While most women feel the decision is detrimental to their careers and earnings potential, I am realizing that being a stay-at-home mom is providing me with skills to pursue other occupations if and when I return to the paid workforce.
For example, maintaining my kids’ activities and daily schedules certainly qualifies me as a personal assistant. The varying meal requests and coordination of adult food versus what’s acceptable to my kids surely is affording me practice should I ever work in a restaurant. One career for which I am getting ample experience is that of shepherd.
Going anywhere with my children – even places of their choosing – requires the herculean effort that I imagine is required for herding cattle. Just as I get my daughter’s shoes on my son decides he is going to run in the opposite direction away from the door. So I leave my daughter to go get him and she has unsurprisingly made a dash for the den and the television remote controls. Her shoes may or may not be on her feet. And, of course, both kids are laughing the entire time while I have perspired enough to need another shower, if I managed to get one in the first place.
More often than not, once we are finally in the car, I realize I have forgotten something for myself – shoes, a jacket, water. Yet, the satisfaction of having two kids strapped into their seats is a victory and nothing else matters, for now.
Surely such flexibility, determination and accomplishment are assets that any employer would seek out.
It’s been two months since I quit my job to stay home with my kids and strangely I have been feeling very un-mom-like lately. Women seemingly effortlessly care for their own children but it’s evident to me and maybe those closest to me that I am in over my head
A friend was visiting this weekend and commented that I seem more overwhelmed now than I did while I was working. He might be right.
A 27-year old nanny at my son’s gym class was commenting how hard her job was because she was “full-time.” I found out her hours are 9am to 7pm, and I really wanted to tell her she won’t have any idea what fulltime is until she becomes a mom herself.
There hasn’t been a single easy week since I’ve been home. The kids are both fighting colds/allergies and my son developed some rash about a month ago that is inexplicable even to the pediatrician and dermatologist.
My daughter, now 16 months, climbed up on the kitchen counter the other evening and set off our house alarm while I was upstairs in the bathroom with my son who had to go potty and needed help. I couldn’t initially remember the code to shut off the alarm because we haven’t had to use it before so the fire department called.
Once able to get high-level bankers to divulge details on private transactions with little difficulty, I cannot even get my son dressed for the day without chasing him through the house and pinning him down. I can’t help but wonder if I’m really cut out for this fulltime mom thing.
I don’t regret my decision to stay home. The saying goes, “Nothing worth having comes easy,” but there are moments I wish I felt a little more like myself and a little less like the snot-covered exhausted and frustrated woman that I’ve become.
Behind every great man is a great woman and behind every sane mom is a wonderful wine. I mentioned how the early evening hours till bedtime have become nearly unbearable now that my son isn’t napping. I’ve decided that the witching hour should really be called “the bitching hour” because all my son does is fight me and whine. Getting through an evening where I am faced alone with cooking dinner, feeding the kids, cleaning up the dishes and toys, giving baths and putting the cherubs to bed requires strength. And because the days are long, a little alcohol doesn’t hurt.
Wine is something to look forward to after 12 hours of nothing but kids and household duties. I take no shame in admitting I enjoy a glass or two, and there are copious articles about how many moms unwind this way after a long day.
Wine is more than an outlet for me, however. In a previous life I studied wine, worked harvest in Tuscany, vacationed in various old world and new world wine regions, and bought premier cru selections to stock in my Eurocave. Though these days I am content with affordable finds in the local wine shops or online bargains, I still am curious about vintage reports and tasting new wines.
Learning recently that frost in Champagne, Bordeaux and northern Italy has threatened the 2017 crop made me think how this vintage won’t go down as being my best either. It’s been a challenging year and we are barely halfway through it.
Perhaps there’s more to the wine-mom connection: We are susceptible to volatile conditions that can sometimes wipe us out, but there’s always the promise of a new day (or new year) to make us great again.
A funny thing happened after I became a mom. The body I thought I so badly wanted and worked out for in my twenties and thirties arrived at 40 without so much as a diet plan or exercise regimen. People ask me which gym I belong to and what I do to stay fit. My answer is simple: I’m a mom. There’s little time to sit and there’s always something to do. (And I realize I am fortunate and that genetics play a role, too).
Once wanting to look a certain way, I now want to be healthy in body and mind so I can keep up with my kids and take care of them. I attend a yoga class one or two times a week, but where I once did so for strength, I now focus on breath and recognize how vital each one is to my wellbeing. I seek a quiet mind because my days are anything but calm and reflective.
A decade ago I used to think that attaining a certain weight or clothing size might provide a sense of self-satisfaction, but these days I don’t want to be defined by the number on the scale or on the label of my trousers. Somehow, by switching my focus to something other than myself I attained what I thought I so badly wanted and now it isn’t all that important anymore.
I’ve lost more than weight on this motherhood journey. Once going out to bars and restaurants five nights a week, my social life has yielded to homebody status. Up until six weeks ago I was a full-time reporter, and proud of that title and my accomplishments. There’s some sadness and mourning of that old life.
Now I am just a mom of two silly, exhausting and amazing children. And for that I am grateful.
Without warning my three-year old decided to phase out his nap. The days have been much harder, particularly the evenings when fatigue sets in and he is falling asleep in his dinner. I tickle him and talk to him to keep him awake, but crankiness is inevitable.
He will fight me about everything now from washing his hands when he comes inside from playing to eating dinner and getting ready for bed. He loves bath time but he even fights me on that lately. When he starts to doze off, he screams at me, ” I just want to sleep.”
Trust me, that’s what I want too, but not at 4:30pm or 5pm.
The upside to no napping is that he is falling asleep quicker on his own and is sleeping until 5am most days. However, I’ll say it again, the days are much harder for me. There is no downtime whatsoever and my son and 15-month old daughter are both very busy. Even though he’s at school all morning, he comes home with renewed enthusiasm and energy, often asking, “Where are we going today?” And my daughter is into everything, especially the stuff she knows she shouldn’t be doing.
I had always considered myself a high-energy person, but I think I may have met my matches. I feel as though I’ve aged 10 years in the past several weeks of being home. I have no regrets in my decision, but I do question how I ever thought I could handle these two kids without assistance. I wonder how I ever could say that I wanted to have four children. (And while I have heard that going from one to two kids is much harder than going from two to three children, I’m willing to take the word of those who have gone before me and not find out for myself.)
I ran into my mother’s friend this past weekend who assured me it gets easier. She was a stay-at-home mom of four kids and eventually watched other peoples’ children out of her home. There’s hope in that.
I suppose in a lot of ways, my son and I are at a similar crossroads: navigating new territory. Perhaps for my son making it to bedtime also will get easier as he becomes more accustomed to life without a nap.
Being home allows me to witness moments with my children that I wouldn’t otherwise get to experience. Sometimes these occasions involve something of great fun for them such as going to the park or a friend’s birthday party, but for me capturing the ordinary has been the most interesting and rewarding.
One of my favorites: My son and daughter sit on the bench before the school bus comes and he puts his arm around her and says, ”I have to go to school now.” So matter of fact. Like a little old man.
Or my daughter trying to climb up on the couch all by herself to reach the stuffed dog and, when she gets there she cuddles it and laughs in delight, as if it was real and returning her affection.
In these moments my kids do not know the evils of the world and I wish I could keep it that way forever. I wish I could shield them from the truths that they will undoubtedly encounter one day.
For now I’m reminded of the poem Good Bones by Maggie Smith that seems so perfectly to express the struggle that I imagine many parents fear because these ordinary, simplistic, innocent moments are far too fleeting.
Good Bones by Maggie Smith
Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.
It’s 11 on a weekday morning and there is quiet in my house. My son is at school and my daughter is napping. I’ve done the laundry and have cut up the vegetables for dinner already. There is a calmness I’m not accustomed to.
Generally I spend every waking moment doing something productive but lately motivation is lacking, partially because I have contracted the cold or virus that has circulated throughout my family the past month but also because I am feeling paralyzed by my new role as stay at home mom. It is sinking in that this is it. My days are very mundane. There’s no big leveraged buyout financing to detail or egregious dividend being paid out to private equity firm at the expense of a corporate issuer that needs exposing.
Shouldn’t I be doing something purposeful? One dilemma is that there’s not much time to accomplish any great task. Naps are never predictable in this house – one might be 45 minutes or 2 hours. And usually by the time my daughter goes down and a few chores are done, my son’s school bus will be returning him to us.
I should feel relief and enjoy these few moments of peace and tranquility, but I can’t. Where I once felt guilty for working and not being available to my children when they needed or wanted me I now feel guilty if I steal a moment for myself when there’s work that could be done in the house, or if I divert my attention from either child throughout the day to check e-mail on my phone or a text message.
In my pre-kid life, I don’t recall ever feeling guilty. Does mom guilt ever go away or is it just redirected?
Hold that thought. My daughter has just awoken.
My son was late to walk and talk but he was definitely early to embracing the terrible twos. We are now well into the threes and there seems to be no let-up when it comes to tantrums. He has started preemptively shouting “No” before we even ask him to do something or deny him of what he so badly needs.
While these occurrences are exhausting and frustrating as a mom, I’m trying to find humor in some of them. For example, when my son was angry that I wouldn’t allow him to play outside at 7.30am recently he looked for something to throw, choosing a very soft, quilted baby book. I found the disappointment on his face too cute to resist smiling. He was not as amused, however. When he realized his effort was innocuous, he started going for the hardcover books. Before I allowed him to hurl any at my daughter or me, I removed the remaining ones from the shelf.
More frequent occasions on which my son protests ostentatiously include: coming indoors from playing outside, offering something he doesn’t want to eat at mealtime and telling him he must wait to have something that he really wants. When I say something he doesn’t want to hear, my words are often met with “Stop it!” and “Shut up!”
These outbursts once were reserved solely for the enjoyment of me and my husband; however, recently my son’s been a little more comfortable with manifesting his emotions while on playdates, at the park or in stores. It’s embarrassing at times, but it’s also something of a rite of passage and I am trying to embrace it calmly. It’s teaching me a lot about myself and how to handle situations that are beyond my control. Let’s face it — there is no controlling a toddler mid-tantrum.
Other moms have warned me that three could be worse than two, but have assured me that four is fantastic. While I know we aren’t supposed to rush these years, I am hoping for an expeditious end to these terrible twos.