So here I am. Again. I just can’t seem to quiet this nagging feeling that’s all but tugging at my shirt, asking if we’re there yet. That stupid pesky GUILT. You know, because I work outside the home rather than staying here with my preciousssss and teaching him all the things a secondary caregiver never could. Although at this moment I can’t seem to come up with what that would exactly be. I’m sure having a piano prodigy at two would be on that list somewhere.
So here I am. Scouring websites for jobs that might past muster, while being pissed off at the same time, annoyed at myself that I am bothering to look at all. WHAT AM I DOING. I should just stay home with Ollie. He’s so fun! He needs me! I can ENRICH his experience! I can take him out to the park, to the zoo, to gymboree, and play dates!
And then I just sit back, dejected and exhausted from this inner monologue. Isn’t it interesting that men don’t seem to feel this level of working father guilt? And yes, it’d be great to LEAN IN a la Sandberg, but goodness, I kind of just want to slump down and take a chill pill.
When did it become ok to expect the mom to do it all? Yes. Let’s work 8 to 5. And then take care of the children. And let’s not forget the home, it won’t clean itself. And what about dinner? That falls squarely in our laps too, obvi. Ollie is also a pro at sitting in the shopping cart now, bc yes, you guessed it. We need to do the grocery shopping too. So when did all this happen? Was it the women’s movement? Did we demand equity and equality in the workplace only to realize, hot damn, I gotta take care of the home front too? Awesome.
So yes, here I am again. Trying to decide, do I keep working? Or do I take the time to stay home with my son? Do I derail our Jeffersonian plans for movin’ on up? What about THAT guilt? You know, that we’d be so much better off if we were a dual income family guilt.
Who am I kidding. There’s no end to this. Guilty guilty guilty…
Shopping cart pro.