Stay-at-home Moms and Working Moms, Part II: Our Story

Although you can't tell by looking at the empty comments section, a lot of wonderful moms have given me a ton of great input and advice to my burning questions on whether and when to be a SAHM.

Thanks to you all, I now have a butt-load of interesting research papers and website resources I can read about early childhood development--and best of all, some fun momversations about your own experiences.

So in the spirit of community and sharing, here's our story so far.

When Judah was born, I was looking forward to the 6 months of maternity leave I would take with him.  I imagined sunlit days filled with knitting and crafting while my sweet infant napped for the majority of my waking hours.  I even started researching local sewing classes, thinking it would be the perfect time to indulge my lifelong inner sewing-bug.

And then came the colick.  The amazing rivers of milk that spewed out of him every feeding due to his acid reflux.  And his inability to nap unless I was bouncing him entirely vertically in the infant carrier.  And his hatred of being put down.  Even for a minute.

During months 0-3 Judah was basically held every minute of every day.  Gone were my coveted 'nap breaks' as I spent every moment of his naptime in front of the TV, on a bouncy ball, with my baby vertically strapped to my body.  Eight long hours a day he napped like this.  Eight.  Long.  Hours.

Things got slightly better after the 3 month mark, but Judah was never a good napper.  And he was never good at just chilling out.  He wanted and demanded attention.  Constant attention.  Change of scenery.  Things to look at, things to put in his mouth.  New things.  More!  Newer!  More interesting things!  His appetite for novelty was insatiable.

It's no wonder one of his first words, around 6 months, was "Dat!" (translation: Show me that!  I want that!  What's that?!)  He used this word liberally, probably every 5 minutes, to get us to bring him all kinds of stuff, both high and low.

So yeah.  My happy vision of a relaxing maternity leave was dashed to pieces by this active, curious guy who demanded everything all the time.  I started to get seriously exhausted, and even depressed, trying to keep up with him.  I also started looking around enviously at other babies in my playgroups.  Not a single baby was even close to the high-activity high-need level of Judah.  Many were content to just peacefully sit on a blanket, gnawing away at Sophie the giraffe for 20 minutes.  Amazing.

At this point, you'd think I'd be chomping at the bit to go back to work.  On some level, I'm sure I was.  But on a more immediate and visceral level, I really didn't want to leave my baby.  I had a wierd stockholm syndrome addiction to him.  Maybe it's hormonal.  Maybe it's hard-wired.  I don't know.  I just felt incredibly sad as my work start-date loomed in front me.

I felt sad buying a breast pump.  I felt sad scanning craigslist for nannies.  I felt sad imagining long days without my little guy.  I felt so sad, in fact, that I don't think I would've gone back to work, had it not been for my sister-in-law.  She generously offered to live with us and watch Judah for the first 3 months of my return to work, and thereby solved my problem of being completely unmotivated to do a full-scale nanny search. 

You know how there are some critical moments that change your life forever?  This was definitely one of them.  If Judah's aunt hadn't stepped in at that exact moment, things would've turned out very differently for us (and likely very much for the worse).

Because as soon as I forced myself to 'detach' from Judah and go back to work, life became amazingly better.  First, I started to feel like a human being again.  The first day I actually sat still for 10 minutes.  Ten whole peaceful minutes!  I had adult conversations that were not interrupted every 5 seconds AND had nothing to do with babies.  I ate lunch at a normal human's pace--not scarfing it down in the 2 minutes I had before the baby would wake up from his nap.  And best of all, I peed.  Freely.  Without rushing.  Without holding it in until I thought I would burst.  I took my time washing my hands and luxuriating in a slow, gentle application of scented moisturizer afterwards.  Aaaaaah.  Lavendar, chamomile.  Serenity.

Second, I realized Judah was fine without me.  He was not bawling his eyes out, searching desperately for his momma.  He was happy, loved, entertained, stimulated, and totally well-cared for by his very attentive and intelligent auntie.  He never had it so good.

We were fine, he and I.  We were better than fine.  We were thriving!  I started looking forward to work.  I even looked forward to pumping at work.  I loved that quiet 20 minutes of peaceful break while I read fun novels.  My office was my sanctuary.  My sanity.  My space.  Aaaaah, space.

I should also mention at this point, that my joy of working was in no small part due to my 60% part-time schedule.  My very understanding firm and boss generously allowed me to ramp-up slowly and just get my itty-bitty feet wet while I adjusted again to civilian life.  If I had to jump right back in at full-speed, I really don't think I could've done it.  That's just way too much 'detachment' for me.

So things were working out swimmingly, but, sadly, we knew this state of bliss would only last for so long.  Judah's auntie was leaving us in a few months and work was getting progressively more demanding.

And this post is now way too long.

Stay tuned for Part II of Part II: Our Story: Trouble in Paradise.