Odd Broad Note: This post was written while I was in one of my "dark night of the soul" type moods. In my defense, I'd just gotten some stinky news regarding work about an hour earlier, hence the Too Much Information/Gloomy Glenda/Bitter Betsy vibe. Saaaaw-Reeee.
I was writing a message on a friend's Facebook page the other day when I noticed something that struck a chord with me. This person had delivered her baby about a week or so after mine, and a relative had told her the best advice she'd ever been given as a mother was to forgive yourself. She said she didn't understand what it had meant at the time, but years later she finally did.
Forgive yourself.
This advice wasn't intended for me, but I'm taking it anyway. Because as the end of my maternity leave nears, hovering over me like the most petulant of rain clouds, there is certainly a lot to feel guilty about. Returning to work is an ever-present reality, fluttering just under the surface of my skin, and if I were to be completely honest, it literally makes me feel sick to my stomach. And I feel guilty. Guilty at the prospect of leaving my baby to go to work for 8 1/2 hours, with a 45 minute commute on both ends, and guilty for not feeling enthusiastic about it. After all, I love my job, and I've worked hard to get where I am. I feel guilty because I know I should be very grateful to even have a job in this economy, and guilty because I realize a lot of women don't get thirteen weeks of paid maternity leave. Guilty because my family is depending upon my paycheck, and I sort of wish we weren't.
A voice in my head tells me I should be grateful, not whining! Shoulda coulda schmuda.
I consider myself a lifelong feminist. Smoke used to come out of my ears when my uncle Steve would tell me all women should be kept at home, "barefoot and pregnant." Whatever that phrase even means. Years later, I was as surprised as anyone to discover that I actually enjoyed being barefoot and pregnant (I worked full time up until the day before I went into labor, but I still liked being home in my spare time without any socks on). For me, being pregnant brought out my feminism in its purest form. Every day I was reminded of how radically powerful the female species is. I'd never been so proud to be a woman, truth be told. Our bodies were made to grow and deliver babies, to give life, and I just find everything about that amazing.
I inherited my feminist notions from my mother, who, alongside my dad, always worked extremely hard to help give my sister and me every chance in life. Truly, they did right by us in every way. Ma makes a good point, though. She figures the women's liberation movement earned us the right to go to work, but it sort of ended there, didn't it? Because after that, weren't women expected to do it all, and do it well? Women could go to work now, sure, but they still had households to run, and the majority of them were still considered the primary caregivers.
These days, some of us are lucky to have amazing, hands-on husbands like I have, but what about the ones who don't? If they also work full time, they're doing double duty. And if they want to complain about it?
They really should be more grateful.
Now, Hubby and I can't afford full-time daycare. He's just finished school and although he's scored an excellent job in his chosen field, the pay just isn't there yet. He's gaining great experience, so for him to quit his job before he's even really begun in order to stay home with our bambino just doesn't seem like a wise decision in the long run. Even with us both working, full time daycare just isn't financially possible for us at this time. Massachusetts is generally an expensive state to live in anyways, and their daycare costs are no exception. As we grapple to figure out a solution, I find myself slipping into a sad little abyss. The truth is, even if we could afford it, I don't want to leave my son in the care of a stranger at thirteen weeks. It pains me to even think about it. And do I feel guilty for saying that, because so many other women do it every single day? Yes. I do. But fuck it, I don't care. I won't forfeit my God given right to feel crappy about this because society (and corporate America) thinks us mothers should put on a brave face.
I really have to stop and wonder, if men were the ones who gave birth, or if the majorty of American men were the primary caretakers of children...would there be more childcare help and solutions in the workplace? I think there would be.
It's a little like breastfeeding. Everyone's got an opinion. I have friends and acquaintances who all put in their ten cents. Two work friends told me it's actually nice to come into work, that I'd get used to it quickly, that babies sleep all day when they're very young anyways, so I wouldn't be missing much.
"Oh?" I asked, feeling a small ray of hope. "So you put your kids in daycare?"
Um, no. Their mothers watch their children for them.
My mother would certainly love to watch my sweet baby, but she works full time herself. (And naturally, she feels guilty for not being able to help me!) There are no family members nearby who are available to help us.
I'm also weary of people from the older generation telling me it will be "okay," and that they went to work, too. Did they go to work when their child was three month's old, though? Because I've yet to meet anyone from that generation who did.
Another friend tears up every time she talks about leaving her two year old son in daycare. The fact that she's busting her ass at work to provide for him isn't enough to make doing it any easier. My older sister, one of the few stay-at-home moms I know, is quick to tell me how hard and sometimes maddening a job it truly is. It would be far easier to go to a job outside the home, she assures me, and there are a lot of days when she really wishes she could. I listen to her and understand that when she talks like this she probably feels...guilty. Guilty for not always wanting to be home full time with her two kids and guilty because she knows that I would like nothing more than to stay home with my lil' prince.
Since I'm already up on this soapbox, I think the phrase "full time mom" is kind of a stupid one. I mean, what about those who go to work outside of the home every day? Do they magically stop being mothers during those hours? Or are their hearts aching a little, or a lot, every time they remember saying goodbye to their baby that morning?
Any way you slice it, it's not going to be easy. (Or, to quote my sister: any way you slice it, you're going to feel like shit.) I know everybody does it, and I should suck it up, but that's of little comfort to me. I probably sound bitter and am maybe putting people on the defensive, but it's where I'm at these days. I'm not happy about having to leave my son, and I'm sick of feeling as if I have to sugarcoat it so as not to make anyone feel uncomfortable. Because this feels very uncomfortable. It feels like the hardest thing I will ever have to do. I haven't even written about it here in Odd Broad Land, because the issue is so close to my heart. But there you have it.
People often used to ask me if I was afraid of childbirth, and the truth is, I wasn't. I was never afraid, not really. The one thing I was nervous about, though? Finding a safe place to leave my baby when my maternity leave ended. And then, actually going through with it. Now that, that absolutely terrifies me.
These days I've spent at home with my baby have been the happiest of my life. Hard work, for sure, but the best kind of work. I am so grateful for every moment and I feel bad for sullying up even a second of it worrying about stuff like this. But the fact remains, we still need to find a child care solution. And working a few days from home, although I had high hopes for it, just isn't in the cards.
We'll make this work, though. We've got to. So I suppose I should just forgive myself. Over and over. And, like Jon Bon Jovi suggested circa 1992, I'll try to...keep the faith.
