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CAUTION: Go get sustenance before reading this article. It's a VERY long RANT!
Recently, a well meaning "professional" suggested my home would be "more stable" if I got a part-time job to supplement our income. Along with running a household, my family, our finances, THREE WEB SITES and helping my sorta' elderly but very spunky Mom with errands, etc., plus raising our great-niece since birth (she just turned 2). OMG! Do I have a few things to respond to that one, just as soon as I can peel my laughing self off the floor!
I have been a stay at home mom since BEFORE the birth of my darling Rachel (over 16 years ago). Now let me tell ya' how that happened. Pre-baby days, I was a career woman earning the same amount as my wonderful husband (which was not the NORM back then) and we REALLY enjoyed a nice life. We also enjoyed a nice fat bank account. In addition to a well manicured, perfectly toned body (due to twice weekly visits to my stylists and work-outs at the gym), I had a nice home, nice CARS (note the plural there), and I had my own housekeeper who knew better than I did where everything went and KEPT IT THERE. I dressed nicely, had a well manicured lawn, and well, you know.... I had all the perks an American, politically correct, married, childless, career woman could want.
Along came a friend who needed a home for her unborn child (she picked us out) and we (willing victims) innocently and happily agreed to a private, OPEN adoption. Darling husband and I were (and still are) all about family and the more the merrier we thought. In fact, we sorta' kinda' unofficially adopted the birth-Mom (and her family, the equivalent of adding a whole new BRANCH to our family upon said baby's arrival) as well! I guess you could say we got SEVERAL for the price of one! Life was a merry go round and we had captured the brass (make that platinum) ring.
Sooooo, after months of planning, OB-GYN visits, sonograms, lawyers (expensive ones), home study, psychiatric evaluations, physicals, collecting every known piece of documentation in one's life known to man (to prove our sanity, lack of perversions and legal residency), attending classes (voluntarily) for parenting, birthing (I was the elected "birth coach"), collecting an astounding library of (expensive) parenting books and (7 subscriptions to) magazines, assembling "safe" (was it really?!?!) furniture, debating names and colors for baby with anyone who would listen (politely), scouring every baby store in a 200 mile radius with expectant mother in tow, covering every square INCH of Home Depot for color charts (learning more than I wanted or needed to know about non-toxic paint and floor coverings), learning more than I EVER wanted to know about custody law, sociology and psychiatry, figuring out how caps, bottles, nipples, and rings all managed to lose their mates even before the baby came, test driving diapers and polling every other parent in sight to insure I got the "right brand and the right fit with no leakage for MY child's tender bottom," finding the "perfect binkie" (in multiples) because EVERYONE said that was important, allocating storage (in EVERY room of the house and losing all "personal" space in the meantime) for said baby, gasping at the thought of how sticking a "syringe" up a tiny baby's nose to remove clogged nasal passages (ewwwwww!) or HOW a HUGE (it seemed) thermometer in an innocent baby's rear could possibly be done without injury, worrying about WHO would change the poopy diapers since I had a weak stomach, etc., etc., etc. ...... (with only 4 months to prepare) along came baby.
Now, before that glorious day which will forever outshine any other in our lives, darling husband and I, being the practical sorts that we are, decided I'd stay home for 3-4 months and we'd hire a nanny so our daughter wouldn't be in danger of some grumpy, inattentive day care worker (or catch who know's what ailment from the "other" kids). Nothing less than Mary Poppins would do for OUR little one, and found her we DID! We moved Nanna' Angie in two months early for a trial run to "make sure" she would meet our expectations (and also to determine whether she was a deviant pervert or not). Life was going to be ohhhhhh so sweet and perfect. WE WERE READY!! (Yeah right!)
It should be noted I'd spent several months toning my body, eating the most perfect of diets and avoiding anything that had a hint of anything "unhealthy" (while pregnant "Mommy" ate whatever the heck she pleased under the name of "cravings"). Who KNEW that pastrami, onions, peppers (sweet and not so sweet), garlic, pickles, all herbs, spices, mexican food and spaghetti (all staples and favorites of mine) passed through breast milk and would make my baby sick! It seemed I was only allowed pablum, but that was okay because my child was worth it! (NOTE: I've gotten even with Mother Nature since then. I REFUSE to eat another bite of oatmeal, no matter WHAT the benefits, as long as I shall live!)
On top of all that, I spent several hours a day hooked up to a breast pump to prepare for feeding our child "naturally." While my husband found this particular chore amusing, I did it because (in my travels to discover how to become the "perfect mom") I'd been convinced by the La Leche League (referred by birthing coach who was referred by parenting classes who was referred by social worker who was referred by psychiatrist who was referred by lawyer (all of whom are PAID professionals required by adoption law) who was referred by... errrrr... I forget) this was the only way to go or my child would be sick before the first week if I didn't provide her with immunities only breast milk could provide. And hey, truth be known, I wanted to be as natural a mother as possible for my little darling. Did I mention I was working 70-80 hour work weeks while doing all this? I don't think there's a man alive who can comprehend this kind of devotion!
During that time, somehow, my corporate usefulness seemed to wane (according to my immediate MALE
supervisor) because I became somewhat preoccupied (prior to the stork coming to roost on our roof) with binkies, diapers, bottles, "natural" food, non-toxic paints, going green (before that term was coined), parenting techniques and everything "BABY." The fact was I asked for a VERY SHORT maternity leave (even though I wasn't "officially pregnant" ) and it seemed to piss 'em off. (This was two years before the "Family Leave Act" was enacted.)
I didn't care. My store's profits were 38% higher than the projections because I was the happiest person on the planet and it rubbed off on my customers. It seemed (at least in my circumstance), having a baby was good for business! Alas, according to aforesaid supervisor, my profits would have have been better if I hadn't been OBSESSED with becoming a mother! I still think the "powers that be" were upset at paying me (a mere WOMAN) more bonuses than any other manager in my REGION during that time! ) At that point (and being the rebel that I am), I was exasperated with him and (not caring for the consequences) I started a pool! I created a store calendar counting down the days to the big "B-Day" (Baby Day) and I had a contest to see who could predict "the day." (WARNING LABEL to those who are pregnant: Regardless of intent, NEVER DO THAT! The fact you pay the "winner" out of your own pocket doesn't matter. If nothing else, they'll fire you for gambling (even if it's legal in your state)! LOL)
The day my daughter was born and I held her for the first time, I knew I could never leave her to the care of another. It had already started a week before when I had the last of my perm cut out and my nails done. My shrinks (a.k.a. hairdresser and the entire staff of Fantastic Sam's) and I were hotly debating whether or not I should keep the nails. Due to finances, and being the frugal sort, I'd been adjusting to a whole new realm of doing my own hair and nails, finding that darned "binkie," losing the housekeeper (not so bad the first year or so, if you can wade through 500 loads of laundry generated by one child with G.E.R.D. (term never heard of then) which I diagnosed before her 2 week check up and the pediatrician FINALLY diagnosed at 9 months, but only AFTER, at the age of 35, he labeled me "eccentric" because he didn't quite believe I knew the difference between "spit-up" and "PROJECTILE VOMITING"!). And then there was keeping up with dust bunnies and cobwebs I never knew existed, well-baby checks, boo-boos, lovies, finding that darned replacement "binkie" and getting the smell just right, plus teaching, nursing, nurturing, rocking, socializing, analyzing, cooking, cleaning, financing, BALANCING and well, lists, lists, never ending lists of those things I couldn't quite accomplish because children don't operate on approved corporate schedules, PLUS pulling money out of hats because I just didn't know how much one kid can cost until I had to meet her needs and finally finding the darn "binkie" only to realize my daughter is bringing my future son-in-law home for dinner... TONIGHT! All I can say is, "Where, oh where, does the time go?" ... and the sane ones (not to be confused with PARENTS) wonder why Mom's ramble.....
Add the fact that I knew too much the value of having a Mom at home. To this day, I don't remember a lot of detail about my childhood, but I carry with me very warm, fuzzy "moments" spent with my mother until divorce forced her into an arena that was NOT, at the time, very friendly to professional working Moms! There were little things like my coffee-milk in a bottle (1 tsp. coffee to 8 oz. formula makes a kid feel "grown up"), sitting on a porch with Mom watching the sun come up and waving bye-bye to Dad as he left for work. Those days Mom single-handedly managed to clean house, do the laundry, dry it on a clothesline, IRON the laundry, give me proper time and attention, balance the budget, cook 3 meals (making it all seem FUN), and then we'd leisurely(!?!) sit on the porch again, this time in her arms, without a care in the world, watching the sun go down, wondering where earthworms slept, recounting where the day went and being there waving when Daddy came home. Then, after putting me to bed, she started her next "shift."
Mom always had an answer for my never-ending questions, and if she didn't, you can bet (by day's end) she'd either read it in one of her books piled up in every room, gone to the the library for due and diligent research, or she had a plethora of other Moms who would have the answer lickety split. (And yes, my brother and I would test her! And yes, she ALWAYS passed!) And then there were lazy days drifting down the creek, or the simple joy of taking a long (instructive walk), having picnics or laying in some farmer's field soaking up the warm sun. There was bird watching or trying to imagine what each cloud in the sky "looked like" or talking about moving to Australia (or... name any country) some day to experience another culture. I knew things like what species most trees in the forest are and how much water they required to flourish, what herbs and flowers are named and their usefulness, my Cherokee heritage, what lived beneath the murky waters of the river, creepy crawlies that lived under the soil, and (it seemed) all the dimensions of life, from the time I could talk (which was EARLY because I "helped" with crossword puzzles before I could say "Ma-Ma").
I remember bloody boo-boos getting kisses (regardless of risky "pathogens"), pats on the head when I broke a glass trying to "help" clean up, Mom's laughter when I'd just soiled my brand new dress making mud pies, Mom saying how "neato" my pet snake under the porch was instead of running for the hills, an old tire swing, being embarrassed (or jealous) when Mom had the coolest, goofiest Halloween costume, getting angry because all my friends had more fun at my house and they never wanted to go any where EXCEPT my house. I remember the adventures of Sunday "rides" and getting "lost" every week-end rain or shine (my brother and I choosing which way to go at every highway intersection and Mom never getting truly lost because she "seemed" to have some inner compass) and the fun of food adventures (a.k.a. eating out at hole-in-the-wall restaurants we'd never been to along the way). I remember going to the drive-in for triple plays every Saturday night (in a car packed to the hilt with many loud-mouthed, laughing children hidden under blankets just to save 50 cents, as if the attendant never knew they were there when SOMEONE inevitably giggled).
There were many nights spent sitting on the edge of Mom's crowded "communal" bed after she'd worked 12-15 hours listening to me and my girl friends babble about high school and boys and everything under the sun and then to the next "shift" as my brother and his friends talked about girls and football, wrestling or whatever it was that pesky little brothers and their friends talked about. To us, it seemed she was always waiting impatiently to finish that last chapter of her favorite book or grab a shower before she crashed. Looking back, I realize it's a wonder she could find time to read back then (which, to us, it seemed, was all she did).
There were regular game nights with all the neighborhood kids drinking 5 cent bottles of Coke and nights spent crying myself to sleep in her arms because some girl had made fun of my hair or my home made clothes (little did I know I had designer clothes and I STILL wonder where she found the time to make them!). But more than anything, I remember the sense of safety and security she always gave us. No matter what, she was always there for whatever life threw at us. We were never jealous when Mom "adopted" all of our friends at one time or another and sealed it with her "Notary Seal" which made it official. They all got equal billing for her time and attention when their parents were to busy to notice they were falling apart, even when we knew she was exhausted. She was just there and many counted on her.
All of these things were swimming in my mind the day my daughter was born. The day I entered MOTHERHOOD. Enter one well meaning social worker who said (right about the time I was re-considering going BACK to said well paying career), "Carol, WHY would you want to adopt a child and then have her raised by someone else?" Enter the Guilt-Trap! She had me hook, line and sinker! Aside from that was the fact the universal populace of wild elephants and the entire United States armed forces COMBINED couldn't have torn me away from my gummy grinned, blue-eyed, slobbering little angel! Her every move was an absolute, positive miracle to both of us. I couldn't stand to miss even one hiccup, much less pry myself away and my live-in nanny had been reassigned to "companion" (for me) status because I couldn't tear myself away from this curious, entertaining wonder called my daughter. For the first time in my life, money didn't seem near as important as her first tear, her first smile, her first EVERYthing.
For 18 years, in addition to being a "stay at home Mom," I've had various "jobs" working from home, like building/rebuilding computers for profit (mostly not for profit), writing the occasional article for profit (mostly not for profit), counseling people caught up in the foster care/adoption system (never for profit), advising people on what resources are available for troubled families, three foster sons over a span of 5 years, various and asundried children (and adults) in and out of my life, some "in distress" and some not (most of them just hanging out because they love us), crisis intervention and referrals, helping my mother and her husband maintain their farm, helping my brother and his wife with their problems and their brood, and (oh yeah) running this website for the last 10 years! Since her birth, we have lived and breathed only to see our darling Rachel smile. During times of adversity, we've taken the opportunity to instruct her on how stand up, stand tall and face life as it comes without fear. Most importantly, we taught her that, while life isn't always fair, we have it within our power to try and make it so and, no matter what, her family is always here to support her. So far, it appears we have done our job and in just a few months, we will send her on her way to college and her own adventures.
It is here we get to start all over again at paragraph 1 above with our great niece if you just replace the word adoption with custody. It wasn't planned or expected, but I must say, I wouldn't trade a day of our destiny or any sacrifice we have made (or will make) for anyone we love. I'm 53 years old and I may not remember all the details of my childhood, however, the things I definitively DO remember are how much time, nurturing and love my Mother gave me as a child. How could I give my own daughter (or anyone in my life) any less? And by the way, my daughter was just born yesterday, I'm not a perfect parent and I'm still a kid in the school of life! I'll go "back to work" when my husband, my daughter, my niece, my mother, my family and my friends no longer need me. Until then, I'm too damn busy with my current jobs (note the PLURAL here).
So humbly I say to that very young, "professional," childless woman who meant well:
"Ma'am. Motherhood IS a full time job! I may not have a fat bank account and my cars may be old and rusty, but they're paid for. My husband and me are getting older, but we're NOT rusty yet. We have a quiet country home away from the RAT RACE. Kids can breathe and be kids here. The fact is, we have riches the tax man can't touch. Take that to your bank and deposit it!"