Staying at Home

I will be the first to admit that when I first tossed out the idea of becoming a stay at home mother, I didn't think it would be all that hard. Like, come on... it's just a baby. I'll play dress up, and take naps, and cook delicious food... Such a lovely thought.

Now, don't get me wrong. I definitely played dress up with the girl child when she was a baby - such fun to dress up a baby girl. And yeah, we took naps... together. Oh, but I didn't know how to cook. It was A LOT of trial and error, mostly error, before I could cook decently. There were lots of other things I discovered I had to do, because I stayed at home and "had the time". Here is a list of things I "had" to do when I just had one child:

wash the laundry
fold the laundry
put away the laundry
pick up dog poop
throw away dog poop and put it inside a plastic bag, double bag so the bears don't get into the trash can        (we lived in Alaska when girl child was a baby)
shovel the driveway, and the side walk
walk the dog
run with the dog
teach girl child to eat
teach girl child to crawl
teach girl child to walk
teach girl child to talk
teach girl child to eat with spoon and fork
teach girl child ABC's, 123's, colors, shapes, and animals
teach girl child manners
teach girl child how to wipe her butt
go to the gym
loose weight
eat healthier
sweep the house
mop the house
scrub the toilets
change all the bed linens
dust the house
sanitize the kitchen, because kitchens are gross
go to FRG meetings, pretend to be warm and sweet
make real friends
make fake friends
read for fun
read to girl child
drive to the store and shop for food, for fun and because I am bored


I don't think that actually does it all justice... there are pressures, placed upon me by myself and by society, that are hard to articulate. Many people, mostly other women, that work and manage a household, will and have scoffed at me when I was having a hard time. The difference between a person that works full time, outside of the house, and a person that stays home full time is the expectation. For someone that works outside the home, and has children, it seems to be more acceptable for those people to have a bit of a messier life. If you stay home, and everything isn't exactly perfect, people wonder why you are having such a hard time... "it's not like you work".

I want to say, fuck you.

Last night, middlest was up at 1:00, 3:00, and then 5:00 just because... he refused to take a nap today, even though he was obviously tired. He did fall asleep for twenty minutes during a car ride, and woke up screaming because he thought there was a "yuck bug". He demanded dinner a full thirty minutes earlier than normal and screamed until it was finished being cooked. If I went to work outside the house, you want to know what would have happened? Someone else would have dealt with his insanity all day long. Instead, I have the truly amazing, spectacular, grand opportunity, to raise him myself and deal with his insanity. I love this kid, these kids, and I would not trade this time with them for anything. What I do need is for people to stop thinking I don't do anything.

On a slow day, I am a nurse, a chauffeur, an artist, a chef, a laundromat, a typist, a dog walker, a fitness buff, a blogger, a baby wearing, cloth diapering, waiting for daddy to come home, All Star. You don't get to judge me, because I stay at home with these delightful children I created. You don't get to judge me because of how many delightful children we chose to create. You don't get to judge me ever, ever, EVER because you don't know me.

  

Breastfeeding, Babywearing and Clothdiapers

I will admit that little baby was maybe, kind of-sort of, definitely the most wonderful accident. It was not our intention to become pregnant while middle child was 4/5 months old. The boys are a glorious, hellishly spaced, 13 months apart in age. When little baby was born, middle child literally started walking. As in, the day I went in to have him, my girlfriend sent me a text message asking, "How long has J been walking?"

Awesome.

Little baby was a boob man. The other two children, tried as I might, preferred the bottle. I'd like to say I handled that with grace, but the truth is, it stung badly that they didn't/couldn't nurse. Girl child basically refused me, and middle child took up too much grief in my heart that I just couldn't. Plus, he has a BIG dairy issue. Hello screamer. I liked that little baby was good at nursing. I hate nursing. Really. I mean, it was special, and something only I could do for him, and "breast is best" and blah, blah, blah. I don't care how people feed their babies, I care that they feed them. Babies should be fat.

Little baby very usually got stuck in the Ergo. This wasn't because we ascribed to the idea that baby wearing was THE thing to do. I've read the studies - babies that are strapped on to mom or dad cry less, they talk earlier, they walk earlier, they can solve the Pythagorean Theorem. Little baby got shoved into the Ergo, because I needed my hands. I needed them to wipe noses, to walk dogs, to cook dinner, to wipe butts...

So. I'm not sure if you did the math. Middle and Little are 13 months apart. Each child is in diapers. DIAPERS. So.Much.Poop. For serious, we were spending over $200 in diapers, wipes, and creams for these two a month. Per month. Do you even know how much wine, beer, and cheese that can buy?! Lots. Thus, the cloth diapers came into our household... and cloth wipes... and homemade butt paste. The upside of this is, we definitely have more wine, beer, and cheese in the house. The downside of this is, I have to clean shit out of a cloth diaper and wash them. The entire laundry room smells like piss when the diapers are going through the wash, and I haven't quite figured out the best way to get all the laundry done.

........

I shit you not, I was at Lowe's a couple weeks ago and the lady checking us out had me pegged. I was wearing little baby, both boys had their stupid, ineffectual baltic amber teething necklaces on, and she said "Oh. You cloth diaper.". Soooo.... Wait, what? All of a sudden I have become an easy to solve word problem in math - "If child one and two are wearing X article of clothing, and mother is wear one of two children, then obviously they must all Z."

I wonder if people look at me and think I have my shit together. I wonder if they are jealous. If the judge. If the hate. If they envy. If. If. If.

Hey. I don't. Have my shit together. Don't be jealous, don't judge, don't hate, don't envy me. Wanna know what? My belly is flabby. My dogs don't get walked nearly enough. I can't bake to save my life. I do my best cleaning ten minutes before company is scheduled to come over. I can't sleep with my husband if he is snoring, but I also canNOT sleep without him... and his damn snoring. I cried for almost six weeks straight while nursing Little, because he.would.not.leave.me.alone. I hate wearing him... he hates being strapped on... he tried to throw himself out of the Ergo. Seriously, he did.

People, don't let yourself be pigeon holed into a certain category. Fight.