Stay at Home Mom Burnout

Burnout is a thing.  

People talk a lot about career burn out - about losing enthusiasm, drive, and motivation.  What people don't talk about a lot is mom burn out.  And I think I have it.  

I've been a stay at home mom for nearly 5 years now.  For those five years, I have devoted pretty much my everything to my kids.  All my time, my energy, my body.  And really, isn't that what a mother is supposed to do?  Particularly when a mother's job, on a daily basis, is to be a stay at home mother?  I mean, what else is it that I'm supposed to do?  

Sure, I have done some work on the side.  I do see friends regularly.  A year or so ago I started exercising regularly and it's now become a part of my daily routine.  But for the most part, I am all mom, all the time - I eat, sleep, and breathe motherhood.  

I'm burnt out.  

It was brought to my attention the other day that I have lost the joy in parenting.  What a sad, horrible, pathetic acknowledgement, but it's true.  I wake up tired.  I loathe the morning routine of getting the kids up and packed for school, battling through teeth brushing, hair brushing, and wardrobe conflicts.  I go through the motions of taking my youngest to playgroup or to the gym daycare and feed him lunch and put him down for a nap, which he only sometimes takes.  And then around 3:30, I pick my two older kids up from school with a sigh and a hint of dread, knowing that shortly I'll be making dinner, dealing with combat of getting them to eat dinner, cleaning up after dinner, and then starting on the bedtime routine that is not quite, but almost, as tedious as the morning routine.  And then I will do whatever work I need to do, fold laundry, watch junk television, and pray I can sleep through the night without interruption to start the whole thing over the next day.

I hate admitting this apathy, because the truth is, I LOVE my kids.  I love them more than anything.  I am in awe of them and proud of them and think they are pretty much the most awesome human beings on the planet.  So reconciling these two conflicting emotions - burnout, and love, is a weird thing.  And I'm not quite sure what to do about it.  

Schooling a "Seasoned" Mom

There was a week this past October that was particularly shitty for me.  First, my husband had a seizure while jogging.  A few days later, my grandmother died. Notwithstanding these events, I was holding it together surprisingly well.

Then, two days later, I got a call from my kids' school.  Casey, my 5 year old, had bitten a classmate.  And with that, I went over the edge.  The tears, the exhaustion, it all caught up with me.

I picked Casey and his big brother Braden up from school that afternoon and I was forcing myself to be calm.  Casey happily skipped into the car, finding it shockingly easy to forget the day's events, which included a talking to in the principal's office.

Once the boys had secured their seat belts, I pulled over in the school parking lot.  Casey, I said, Do you have something to tell me?  

Casey lowered his head and confessed.  I proceeded to calmly spell out his consequences - how he would be getting no dessert, no iPad privileges, no TV shows, and how he could never, ever, ever do this again, and how he needs to use his words, and blah blah blah, and all of a sudden I hear crying coming from the backseat and I look back, and it's not Casey.  It's Braden.  The 7 year old. Who has nothing to do with this incident.

Stop being mean to Casey!  Braden yelled.  You're such a mean mommy.  

Yeah, you are a mean mommy!  Casey echoed.

The insults were flung at me like a chorus - loud and with resolve.  I can't exactly recall what was said, because at a point I stopped listening.  I was about to defend myself - to put my kids back in their place, to yell at them at the preposterousness of the fact that I was the one who was the bad guy in this scenario, but I couldn't summon the energy.  I was done.  Done.  Done.  Done with my week.  Done with my kids.  Done with managing the day to day.

To Run

This past weekend I ran a half marathon.

It isn't so odd to hear that these days.  It seems anyone and everyone has hopped on the marathon band wagon.  Young people, old people, skinny people, heavy people....  everyone and their mother has run a marathon (sometimes together).

But for me, this was a really, really big deal.

Running a marathon (or a half of one) used to be something I joked about whilst tipsy over cocktails. Yeah, lets run a marathon!  I would proclaim, full well knowing it wasn't true and finding the whole thing a bit humorous.  Running a long distance was not something I was interested in doing, and certainly not something I would enjoy.  Besides, isn't it arbitrary?  13.1 miles, 26.2 miles - why? Why not just run a mile or two and call it a day?  It seemed cultish almost - why engage in an activity that hurts your joints and your knees and makes you exhausted?  Surely there are better ways to spend one's time.

But then something weird happened last spring.  I was starting to get into shape, while at the same time going through an existential crisis of sorts.  We had moved into a new house.  My baby wasn't so much a baby anymore, and we knew there were no more kids to come.  For the first time in a long time, I started to think about myself again and who I was and what I wanted to do when I grow up.  I also was not getting any younger, and for the first time in my life I was starting to see it - in gray hairs, in fine lines, in sheer exhaustion.

I needed to shake things up.

Lawyers are the Best Disney World Planners

Last month we took yet another trip to Disney World.  We are those people.  We go to far too often, and yes, we even went prior to having children.  It's fake and commercial and overpriced and lacking in culture and we all absolutely love it.

I've been going to Disney World every year or two for my whole life, so I know how it all works.  We used to book our flights and hotels with short notice and do little to no planning (my mom was known to book a Disney trip the day before - literally).  But in recent years, due in large part to the expansion of the hotels and the advent of the the smart phone and the internet and all that other stuff they call "technology," it isn't so easy to just hope on a plane, go to Disney World, and actually have a good time.  

Now, months of planning are involved.  People book their dining reservations 180 days in advance. Really.  They do.  I know this because I have waited until 9am 180 days in advance (instead of staying up until midnight), and I still was not able to book dinner at Be Our Guest restaurant.  People also book up to 3 rides per day up to 60 days in advance - this is called a fast pass where you get a certain time slot to go on a ride of your choosing.  This means that two months before your vacation, you have to decide what park you want to go to, and where exactly you want to be at a given time, on a certain day.  The popular rides are booked up immediately.  And if you don't have a fast pass, by noon the ride lines are exorbitant - at the time I am writing this (at 1:30pm on Thursday), the line for the Toy Story Ride at Hollywood Studios is 105 minutes (the Disney app updates wait times every minute or so).  And the hotels are a whole other story - if you want to stay onsite (especially on the monorail), good luck booking last minute during a popular time.

If you don't pre-plan, and you just show up at Disney World with no game plan or strategy, your time there will suck.  You will wait in line for food, for rides, and sweat in 90+ degree heat and high humidity.  You will be trapped by a parade coming down Main Street as you are trying to leave, you will walk needless miles from ride to ride, you will wait for what seems like an eternity for the transportation buses, and you will judge people like me that say it's the happiest place on earth.  

I am not one to brag, but here it is - I rock at planning Disney vacations.  And though part of it stems from my many trips there over the years, the other part comes from an unlikely source - my law degree.  

People often ask if I "use" my law degree at all in my non-practicing life.  To debate with people, to analyze scholarly articles, to negotiate with service providers.  The answer is no.  I hate talking politics, I prefer reading People magazine, and I tend to avoid confrontation.  But for Disney planning?  Hell yeah, I use the skills I learned from being a lawyer.  This is discussed in sections 1, 2, and 3, infra.

The Perpetual Baby Phase

For the past six and a half years, I have had a diaper in my purse.

Casey, my second child, was born before my first was potty trained.  Back then I had two different sized diapers in my purse.  

Colin, my third child, was born just as Casey was graduating to the potty, but I always had to be prepared.  So around that time I had two sized diapers in my purse too.  

Now my third is 19 months, Casey is 4, Braden (my first) is 6, and I have one size diaper that I carry around.

As the diaper quantity and sizes have shifted around in my purse over time, the majority of my friends have graduated from this stage.  They no longer carry around diapers in their purse.  They also don't cut up food in small pieces or carry around sippy cups.  They don't have to be home by noon for nap time, and scream bloody murder in the car to keep their toddler from falling asleep on the way home.  They don't have to worry about explosive diapers or sleep training or choking hazards, and all of their outlet covers have been removed from their home.  They, and their kids, have graduated to a different stage.  And I kind of want to join them.

The other day at our community pool I saw a mom I recognized from when my oldest was a baby. She was on a lounge chair, reading a book, while her son went off the diving board.  As I chased after Colin heading straight for the pool, and removed a rock from his mouth, I nearly cried.

I'm sick of the diapers.  I'm sick of the baby phase.  And I'm really, really tired.

Was Law School Worth It?

For some, like my husband, it's an easy answer.  Of course it was worth it!  He's got a great job in a great firm working with great people and he can't complain about his salary.  (Plus, he met yours truly in law school - does it get any better than that?).  

For me, this is a particularly loaded question.  Because it comes with the following undertone:  

Was law school worth it, when now you don't even use your law degree and spend the majority of your time child rearing?  

And, more to the point:  

Wasn't it a waste?  

I've pondered this question from time to time, and it was actually posed to me recently by Annie Little, a blogger and writer for the website, Attorney at Work.  She asked me, as well as nine other lawyers from various different backgrounds, how we subjectively viewed the value of our law degrees.  The result was posted last Friday.  Here's a snippet of my response (to view the entire response, click here and scroll down to #5 - and also check out all of the other responses!):  

"When I graduated from law school back in 2005, a law degree meant money.  I hadn't gone into law school expecting that.  In fact, I had planned on going into public international law (whatever that is). But after three years of school, six digits of debt, and a multitude of offers in a booming economy, I went with the big ticket, big law offer.

But as the cliche goes, money doesn't buy happiness.  And at a certain point, I realized that following the money didn't fit me and what I ultimately wanted in life:  Children.  After six years of firm practice and two children, I quit.  At that point, I wondered if my law degree had any value at all anymore.

What a waste of a degree, I would think.  All that time, hard work, expense... for what?  I certainly didn't need my law degree to be a stay-at-home-mom.  Laundry, cooking, and running after two (and then three) small children didn't require any legal skills.  In fact, when people asked me what I did, I stopped telling them I was a lawyer.  

Or was I?  What makes a lawyer?"

To continue reading, click here.

Two Steps Back

When I left my job and started this blog, I was in some ways very lost.  I knew I had made the right decision for my family, but I wondered if I would ever work again.  For money, that is.  I wondered if I was "worth" it anymore - whether anyone would want to pay me again, given that I wasn't willing to devote my life to a career.  Would anyone want to pay a stay at home mom, who wanted to continue to stay at home?  

Slowly but surely, I did find paid work.  And it felt GREAT.  It wasn't even about the money, really. It was about a sense of pride that I was forging my own path, and making things work for me.  The fact is, working at a law firm does tend to make you feel powerless - powerless over your time, your priorities, and your career trajectory.  This new sense of control over my life was refreshing and, for lack of a better word, empowering.  

I stated off tutoring.  Then I lucked into some fairly well paid freelance work for a law firm. Then I joined forces with Montage Legal Group and continued to freelance and head up the group's DC efforts.  Then I started teaching an online legal course at a local university.  At the same time, my blog was becoming somewhat successful.  My readership was increasing, I was making a little (emphasize little) bit of money from it, and I was even getting media opportunities, like appearing on Huffington Post Live.

Things were happening.  And I was feeling more confident than ever.  

Then things got a bit derailed, most specifically, by this: 

Reclaiming the Night

Three months ago I said hello to my newborn, and goodbye to my evenings.

I cherish my evenings.  On hard days, it is always a countdown until the kids' bedtime at 8pm. After 8pm, my time is my own again.  For 2-3 hours, I can do whatever I want.  I can have a nice big glass of wine.  I can watch trashy shows.  I can clean or email or read or make phone calls all without children tugging at my legs.  It is glorious.  It's my only true "me" time, and I cherish it.

Alas, I lost it on November 13, 2013, when my third son was born.

Newborns take all of your energy, that's for sure.  They are an immense amount of work (particularly on top of two other rambunctious boys).  But during the day, it is much easier to handle.  Because I'm used to being busy during the day.  It's normal to be busy during the day.  But newborns are on an around the clock schedule.  And once my third baby entered this world, an all too familiar feeling descended upon me.

I started dreading the nights.

Five Years Ago Yesterday

Yesterday was January 26th.  I knew it was a significant day in one way or another, but I honestly couldn't remember why.  An ex boyfriend's birthday?  A graduation of sorts?  An appointment I was forgetting?

It clicked yesterday afternoon.  It was none of the above.  

January 26th, 2009, was the day that I went back to work after my first son was born.  Five years ago.  

It makes sense that the date is forever etched in my mind.  From the moment I gave birth to him, that date loomed - January 26th.  From a formal perspective, it meant the end of my maternity leave.  But it meant so much more to me than that.  It meant the end of my days at home with my baby.  It meant nannies and childcare and breast pumps.  It meant fitting back into business casual clothing and rejoining the professional world and continuing on with life as it was before, pre-baby. It meant becoming Shannon, the lawyer, once again.  

But of course, I wasn't only Shannon, the lawyer, anymore.  I was also Shannon, the mother.  

  

Skipping Back to Work

The timing of Colin's birth coincided almost perfectly with the holiday season.  He was born just a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving, and then of course Thanksgiving ran into Hanukkah which then ran into Christmas and New Year's.  As a result, I've been fortunate enough to have a lot of family come to help, and my husband was also able to take a few weeks off of work.

That's the good part of having a baby over the holidays.

The downside is that the older boys have been off of school.  A LOT.  AND WE ARE ALL GOING STIR CRAZY!!!!

Winter break sucks.

What I've learned in my five years of parenting boys is that they have to be run.  Like dogs.  They need to burn energy and have space, or there will be repercussions, generally in the form of obnoxious/violent/alarming/crazy/annoying/relentless behavior.  What this means is that you have to get boys out of the house - to parks, to open areas, to activities, to something.  Unfortunately, with the cold weather and the around the clock nursing, we haven't been able to get out as much as we've liked. Thus, the boys have excess energy combined with idle time, which is a recipe for disaster.  Add to that the fact that I have a seven week old baby to contend with, and I'm kind of losing my shit.  

What I Do All Morning

Since the beginning of September, I have had my mornings "free."  By "free," I mean that both of my kids are in school.  They leave the house with my husband at 8am, and I don't need to go pick up Casey until 11am.  That is three hours sans kids.  Free.

I was VERY much looking forward to this time.  It would be, after all, the first time in five years I would have no children to look after on a regular, consistent basis.  I also had the pregnancy card on my side.  I find that many times, when stay at home moms send their kids off to school, the first question they are asked is:  "So what are you going to do with all of that time?"  It's a stressful question, and one that comes with all sorts of expectations and judgments and stereotypes.  But my pregnancy allowed me to avoid this pressure, because my "free" time is obviously finite.  In fact, in approximately three short weeks, I'll have a newborn at home, and it will be another three years until I can look forward to any sort of "free" time.  

I had all sorts of visions for this time.  I envisioned perhaps sleeping - getting up to help the kids get ready, and then coming back to bed once they were out the door.  I could doze for an hour or so with the Today Show on in the background, or watch the DVRed shows from the night before.  

I envisioned getting housework done - the kind of thing I usually put off and then have to face at 4pm. I would empty the dishwasher, put in laundry, go grocery shopping, and perhaps even prep that night's meal.  Maybe I would even make the beds - something  I have not done in five years. Or maybe ever. Actually, now that I think of it, I have never, ever been a regular bedmaker.  Maybe I would turn into one.

Validation

I don't write that much about my decision to leave my law firm job anymore, for a couple of reasons: 1) I don't want to be a broken record - I've written about it A LOT; and 2) I don't think about it that much anymore.  Truly. This whole blog started as a way for me to vent and find connections and, in all honesty, seek some kind of validation about the whole thing.  But in the years that have passed, I have stopped thinking about it all that much.  I have found new connections, new outlets, and I no longer feel like I need validation.  I am at a place of peace about the whole thing, and in fact, I sometimes look back at old posts of mine and cringe.

Lately, however, I have been inundated with emails from women asking me for my advice about their own career path.  Some ask if I think they should leave their current jobs.  Some have recently left their current jobs and ask me what I suggest they do to maintain a network.  Others have recently found out they are pregnant and are in a state of panic as to how they will balance their career with a family.  I am, in many ways, honored that people are seeking my advice, but in some ways I don't feel I am necessarily the best person to give it.  After all, who am I?  I am just your average girl that happens to write a blog and also happens to have left a career to stay at home.  But I try my best to put myself in their position, and give honest, sincere advice.

To really understand where these women are coming from, I have to put myself back in time.  I have to remember the struggles I faced, what it was like when I left, and all the insecurities I felt.  I have to remember that I felt so alone and unsure and, in many ways, like some kind of failure for even considering leaving my job.  I have to remember the main reason I started this blog - for some kind of validation about my ultimate decision.

Child Care Woes

When I got the news earlier this week that I had to devote four hours of my day to the glucose screening (which came back negative, by the way), my first thought wasn't of the needles or the discomfort or the ramifications of gestational diabetes.  It was - who is going to watch the kids?  

These days, with frequent OB appointments and occasional work demands and a lack of school/camp, I find that I am asking myself that question more and more often.  And given that I am adding one more kid to the mix somewhat soon, it is stressing me out big time.

One of the things I hated the most about working and having a child was the child care issue.  We opted for a nanny, and for the most part, things went smoothly.  But there was always the occasional hiccup - when the nanny's mother died and she had to leave for two weeks unexpectedly.  When I needed help later into the evening and she couldn't stay.  When the nanny got sick.  When I needed to work on what was supposed to be my "day off," and the nanny had another job.  Ultimately, my job was the one that was sacrificed, and I would work from home, or take a day off.  Other times, family from out town would come to visit and fill in. It always ended up working out, but the anxiety of a child care fail hung over me at all times. When I quit my job, I had a huge sense of relief that I didn't have to worry about "those kinds of things" anymore.

But alas, I was wrong!  In some ways, the child care issue is harder as a stay at home mom, because when I need someone, I don't have someone waiting in the wings to go to.  I have gone through countless babysitters, ranging from high school to college to middle age, and no one has really stuck.  Some have gone away to college or moved or taken on other full time jobs.  Others have flaked out so many times I have blacklisted them, or have passed out on the job at the sight of blood (true story), or, most recently, have stolen my husband's spare coin stash (very disturbing).

What Kind of "Opt-Out" Poster Child Will I Be?

Is it just me, or is the whole stay at home mom/working mom debate EVERYWHERE now?  It seems like every other day there's a new article in the Atlantic or the New York Times or Huffington Post or [you name that news medium] about women leaning in, opting out, or scaling back.  Don't get me wrong - I think it's great.  I love the debate, and for the most part I love the articles.  When I find good ones, I share them on Twitter and Facebook.  Occasionally, if one particularly strikes me, I write about it.  Like today.

Earlier this week the New York Times ran an article titled "The Opt-Out Generation Wants Back In."  This article profiles several women who, over a decade ago, decided to opt out of the work force to stay at home with their kids.  (They were profiled in an article back in 2003, which you can read here).  Most of the women left high paying, highly successful careers because the balance between work and family was too hard.  They did so willfully, and hopefully.  They wanted more time with their children.  Sound familiar?  The article asks, and answers, the question - what became of them?

Missing my Boy

Braden started full day camp last week - eight solid hours.  If I'm honest, I was counting down the days until he started.  He has been home with me all summer long, and it has been a bit of a challenge.  That kid knows how to push my buttons better than anyone, and I am embarrassed to admit that I allowed my buttons to be pushed too often than not.  Go toe to toe with a four year old on their level, and you will always lose.  Always.

I felt that not only did I need a break, but Braden needed the activity.  Every day, in the middle of the day, we were confined to the house for two solid hours while Casey napped.  It's during that time that I usually get my work done, and Braden being home didn't change that.  As a result, he watched Toy Story 2 a ridiculous number of times (as in, every freaking day).  I felt guilty about the reliance on the TV, but not enough to change it.  After all, by that time of day I was usually out of energy and exhausted and regardless of if I had work to do, it was hard to muster up the energy to entertain him.  

Like all new things Braden embarks on, I think I had more anxiety than he did on the day of his first day of camp last week.  Eight full hours!  Wouldn't he get tired?  What if he got too hot?  Too tired?  Too thirsty?  Would he make friends?  Would he have fun?  Who would reapply his sunscreen, specifically to that part in the nape of his neck that is so easy to miss?  Who would help him put on his socks?  Who would hug him if he was scared?    As ready as I was for him to start, I found relinquishing control over my baby boy for eight solid hours to be nerve wracking.  

He started camp last Monday.  He did fine, as he always does.  But me?  I took it a little harder.  

Despite my eagerness to get him off of my hands, I have found myself missing Braden this past week.  I mean, really missing him.  I see him in the morning, of course, and then the day goes by.  I have Casey and we do activities and eat lunch and rest, and then at 4pm I pick Braden up again.  By the time we get home, there's barely any time for playing before it's dinner, bath, and bed.  

I miss my boy.  

I realize this sounds ridiculous.  Many parents, including my husband, and including myself before I quit my job, spend their days away from their child.  They are fine with it, as I was.  But being a stay at home mom has changed my sense of normalcy.  Braden, for the past two and a half years, has been my constant companion. And apart from a weekend away here and there, eight hours in a day is the longest he has been away from me since I quit my job.   

Eight hours is a long time.  

I miss him nagging me.  I miss him pushing my buttons.  I miss his hugs and his laugh and his sense of humor.  I miss his noise.  I miss his constant presence.  Casey does too.  We are fine, of course, but it is an adjustment.  A big one.  I miss our days as a team of 3.  

Braden starts school at the end of August, and it will be a full day program once again.  In fact, for the rest of his life, until he leaves home, Braden will be in school for the better part of the day.  I have known this, obviously.  But until last week, I didn't feel it.  And I certainly didn't expect to feel so sad about it.  

The weird thing about parenthood is it's ever changing.  You get used to one thing, and then BAM, it shifts, and you adjust to a new normal.  Until the next new normal comes.  As I become a more seasoned parent, I am realizing it's okay to mourn the end of one normal as you embark on a new one.  The new one will be fine, and one that I eventually will mourn once it's over.  But today - today I miss my baby boy.  I miss him a lot.  

I end this post in tears, which I didn't plan on!  I find myself mentally shouting at myself - GET A GRIP, SHANNON!  It's only camp, for God's sake!  But the fact is, it's just the tip of an iceberg towards a growing independence for my boy, who I am so incredibly proud of.  It's what I want for him - to go out there into the big world and find himself.  To not spend every minute with me. To find other people to rely on and other people to bond with and ultimately, to not need me so much anymore.  

But it leaves me so sad, in a bittersweet way.  Where is the time going?  Where did my baby go? Sometimes I feel like if I hug him tight enough, and long enough, he'll stay just like he is and never grow up.  

But he has grown up.  So much.  And he just keeps on growing, and changing.  

Two and a half years ago I left my job, in large part to spend my days with Braden.  From this point on, the majority of his days will be spent elsewhere.  That's okay, and it's exactly how it should be.

But I miss him.  And as a mom, I will probably never stop.  

Frantically Filling the Resume Gap

I am coming off two weeks of wonderful, relaxing vacation.  It was a vacation where I did my best to leave all my cares behind, to be stress free, and to live in the moment.  And in many ways, I did just that.  But there's always the wretched reality of coming back.  And today, with my husband back to work, two kids with fevers, and a variety of freelance and part time gigs that are all coming to a head, I am feeling that reality.  The feeling that I am taking on too much is flooding in.

When I left my job at a law firm over two years ago, one of the burdens hanging over my head was that of a resume gap.  The notorious resume gap!  It seemed to be the number one concern of those I spoke to at the time: What are you going to do about your resume gap?  How long will the gap be?  Make sure you don't have too long of a resume gap - you'll never get another job - ever, ever, ever!  

I tended to roll my eyes at the time.  In dealing with the change and shock of going from a full time worker to a stay at home mom, a resume gap wasn't a short term concern of mine.  In addition, on principle I resented this.  I am who I am today, and I will be that person tomorrow.  Of course, my skills and knowledge will get stale, and I expected that to be taken into account.  But to suggest that a resume gap would doom me, and render all of my previous accomplishments moot? Bullshit, I told myself.

But I'm not going to say it didn't occur to me.  After all, I had been a resume builder extraordinaire for most of my adult life.  My resume went linearly from 1996 on - with no gaps, and with many prestigious internship enhancements, awards, and recognitions.  I made many a decision with the reasoning of, that will look good on my resume, and as a result, it was a pretty good resume, if I do say so myself.  I had spent more than a decade perfecting this resume of mine, and there I was, abandoning it.  GIVING IT A GAP FROM WHICH IT WOULD NEVER RECOVER!

"Girls Don't Work"

Last week, while visiting my dad in North Carolina, my four year old son asked me if my step-mom could accompany us on an excursion to the pool.

"Nana has to work," I told him.  "We'll see her later."

"Girls don't work!" my son quickly replied.

I was at first speechless, and then retorted without much thought: "Of course girls work!  You know how Mommy is at the computer sometimes?  Mommy is working!  And your teachers, your teachers last year were girls.  Being a teacher is work, right?  And the lifeguard at the pool - she's a girl, and she's working!"

By that point my son's attention had turned to other things, and he was making flying noises for his Buzz Lightyear toy.  He had moved on.  But I couldn't seem to.  The sentiment haunted me all day.

I couldn't help but think:  In becoming a stay at home mom, what have I done?  

I decided to leave my full time job mostly for my own reasons - to alleviate stress, to focus on motherhood, to be able to spend more time watching my son grow - all reasons that would benefit me.    But I'd be lying if I didn't say there was a part of me that thought it would also be best for him.  Best for him to have me pick him up from school, me take him to playdates, me care for him when he was sick, me be his constant presence.  I guess in some ways it was an egotistical sentiment, but I really thought that I could do the best job for him over anyone.

But had I created a budding male chauvinist in the process?

A Co-Parent

As is typical, my trip to Disney World has been followed by a bad case of post-vacation depression.  This tends to happen every time I return from a trip, to varying degrees.  I'm used to it, and I'm prepared for it.  But this one hit me hard and is still lingering, 8 days later.

Ugh.

I have really been analyzing this phenomenon this time around and wondering, WHY?  There are the obvious things of course - the fun, the warm weather, the casting aside of concerns about money and routine and a well balanced meal.  But really, at its heart, I think I have figured out what makes me so sad about coming home.

I miss having a co-parent.

When my husband is around, he is very hands on.  We alternate who changes poopy diapers and tag team bedtime and share meal and bathing responsibilities.  I have a partner to deal with the meltdowns and a co-spectator when the kids do something adorable.  The highs are that much higher, and the lows are not as low.  It's just better, easier, calmer, more enjoyable, when my husband is around.  And when we're on vacation, he's around all the time.

When we're in our real lives, he's not around so much.

Stepping Out of My Comfort Zone

When I worked in big law I allowed stress to take over my life.  I was stressed about deadlines, stressed about pleasing the client, stressed about meeting the firm's expectations, stressed about defending depositions and giving presentations and finding the perfect case and making sure everything was always just right.  I felt like there was always someone counting on me, always some kind of performance to orchestrate, and a million opportunities to let everyone down. There was little rest from this pressure, particularly because so much of it was self inflicted.

Leaving my job was driven by my desire to be with my children, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't relieved to leave some of that responsibility behind.  It's not that all responsibility went away - obviously kids come with a whole new set of obligations, commitments, and burdens.  But my duties to them didn't intimidate me - I knew I could do it, that I WOULD do it.  I had a faith in myself as a parent that I never had in my myself as a lawyer.  

A trade off to being a stay at home mom, I always thought, was that any sort of professional satisfaction I had would cease to exist.  And despite the stress and the pressure of being a firm lawyer, I certainly did experience notions of achievement - particularly after I overcame an obstacle or a fear: getting through an oral argument, negotiating a settlement, making my colleagues proud, or just finishing a project that had hung over my head.  I figured those senses of accomplishment would be replaced by something even more profound - the joy of being with my children, every day.  

It is joyful and rewarding and gratifying and worthwhile.  But generally, being a stay at home mom is predictable and routine.  It certainly is stressful at times, but it's a different kind of stress than the stress I felt as a lawyer.  As a parent, I rarely have to get out of my comfort zone like I did as a full time professional attorney.  

I think it was a matter of weeks into my role as a stay at home mom that I realized maybe I did need something more.  After all, isn't that what this blog was about?  About "professional" satisfaction? About feeling like I'm still adding something real, something thoughtful, outside the confines of my own home?  About putting myself out there?  About stepping out of my comfort zone?   

A few weeks ago I really put myself out there.  

Getting Through The Witching Hours

By far, the hardest time of day for me is 5-7 pm.  This is when the kids start getting whiny, when dinner has to be made, when the kids refuse to eat dinner, when I fight with them over it, when I ultimately clean up the huge mess that was made by them not eating dinner, and when I have to face and deal with said whiny kids until the bedtime routine begins.

It's during this time where I call or email my husband begging him to come home to provide me some relief.   It's during this time that my patience gets worn thin.  It's during this time where I am simply beaten down.  I lose all capability to experience emotion - no happiness, no sadness, no anger, no impatience.  Just blank, spent, flat.  Kind of like Goldie Hawn in Overboard when all she does is say "Buh buh buh buh."  (Click here for the clip.  It's classic).  

I have found some ways to mitigate these difficult hours.