Did I Say I Missed the Office? I Must've Been on Peyote
It's Day 50 of my being back in the office. True, that's counting weekends and all of the many days I have been out due to snow or illness or laziness or errand running, but I am counting those as work days because while they contain free hours, they are not free. They are only breaks in the soulless tedium that is my working-slash-breast milk-pumping life. Other breaks include frequent trips to Starbucks, and book reading on the subway.
One fortunate side effect of my return to the workforce is my newfound place on the battlefield of the Mommy Wars which, according to Katie Couric and other distinguished journalists, are raging across America. However, I am torn as to which side to fight for, as I have been self-loathing as both a working mother and a homemaker. So I have decided to remain a pacifying mediator. Why must we argue, when we are every one of us covered in baby puke? Can we not find some middle ground in the fact that our children do not let us sleep? When our babies yank our hair and bite our nipples, do we not cry out, do we not bleed?
When I was at home with Swaddlini, we giggled and cooed and rolled around on floor mats listening to Beethoven muzak. We also ate raw cookie dough and watched Starting Over and Judging Amy and sometimes took a nip from the cooking wine. Ok, that was just me. I was super efficient - making my own applesauce, doing a load of laundry every day, feeding the family on $150 a week. But I rarely showered or went outside. Swad and I kept student hours - never missing the Colbert Report or Conan, sleeping in well past morning rush hour, and napping in the gloaming.
Now I can't keep my eyes open past 10, I'm up with the sun dressing and feeding and walking and lugging - so much lugging - in an attempt to get out the door. I go nowhere without my trusty breast pump. And the bottles. And the icepack. And my big bag of miscellany that holds more than Mary Poppins' did. And did I mention that my work is pointless and boring yet lucrative? But bored as I am, I can't bring myself to write something pointed and exciting yet not lucrative. So I sit and listen to my "Left of the Dial: Dispatches from the 80s Underground" box set (which is excellent, BTW) and count the hours until Donald Rumsfeld leaves the White House or I get to go home, whichever comes first.
Why would anyone want to fight for or against either existence? Answer: No one does. The Mommy Wars are bullshit. We all would like to be fulfilled and make money and watch Judging Amy reruns in the middle of the day while playing with Swaddlini all at the same time, but it is not possible. Especially when the stupid dog decides to eat a bottle of Motrin and completely screw up your schedule while you force spoonfuls of hydrogen peroxide down his stupid throat and wait for him to puke but not on the rug and then he doesn't puke and the baby is in the crib crying but you can't do anything about it. Especially not then.
It's like Judge Amy Gray's stay-at-home friend said to her when Amy was conflicted about her status as a working mother: "Whatever you do, your kids end up hating you anyway. At least if you work, when they come to you asking for money, you have some to give."
I miss my baby. But I'm back.
One fortunate side effect of my return to the workforce is my newfound place on the battlefield of the Mommy Wars which, according to Katie Couric and other distinguished journalists, are raging across America. However, I am torn as to which side to fight for, as I have been self-loathing as both a working mother and a homemaker. So I have decided to remain a pacifying mediator. Why must we argue, when we are every one of us covered in baby puke? Can we not find some middle ground in the fact that our children do not let us sleep? When our babies yank our hair and bite our nipples, do we not cry out, do we not bleed?
When I was at home with Swaddlini, we giggled and cooed and rolled around on floor mats listening to Beethoven muzak. We also ate raw cookie dough and watched Starting Over and Judging Amy and sometimes took a nip from the cooking wine. Ok, that was just me. I was super efficient - making my own applesauce, doing a load of laundry every day, feeding the family on $150 a week. But I rarely showered or went outside. Swad and I kept student hours - never missing the Colbert Report or Conan, sleeping in well past morning rush hour, and napping in the gloaming.
Now I can't keep my eyes open past 10, I'm up with the sun dressing and feeding and walking and lugging - so much lugging - in an attempt to get out the door. I go nowhere without my trusty breast pump. And the bottles. And the icepack. And my big bag of miscellany that holds more than Mary Poppins' did. And did I mention that my work is pointless and boring yet lucrative? But bored as I am, I can't bring myself to write something pointed and exciting yet not lucrative. So I sit and listen to my "Left of the Dial: Dispatches from the 80s Underground" box set (which is excellent, BTW) and count the hours until Donald Rumsfeld leaves the White House or I get to go home, whichever comes first.
Why would anyone want to fight for or against either existence? Answer: No one does. The Mommy Wars are bullshit. We all would like to be fulfilled and make money and watch Judging Amy reruns in the middle of the day while playing with Swaddlini all at the same time, but it is not possible. Especially when the stupid dog decides to eat a bottle of Motrin and completely screw up your schedule while you force spoonfuls of hydrogen peroxide down his stupid throat and wait for him to puke but not on the rug and then he doesn't puke and the baby is in the crib crying but you can't do anything about it. Especially not then.
It's like Judge Amy Gray's stay-at-home friend said to her when Amy was conflicted about her status as a working mother: "Whatever you do, your kids end up hating you anyway. At least if you work, when they come to you asking for money, you have some to give."
I miss my baby. But I'm back.
posted by j.m. at 3:47 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home