SAHM l-i-v-i-n

I quit my job when I had Jack. There are days that I can't believe he's already 2.5 years old, and then I always do the math and think "2 years 6 months since I've checked an outlook email account." Last week John was making coffee on his way to work and I said "Mondays, am I right?" And then had to pause and even question if it was Monday. 2 things I used to hate to my core, now blissfully are a thing of the past. I try to remind myself of this when I am elbows deep in someone else's poop. Not to get into specifics, but I've noticed that I somehow always have poop on my knuckles at least once a day. And it doesn't even phase me! Poop has reached some sort of repulsive plateau. I look forward to the day that it's able to disgust me again.

And here's the thing: I don't want to talk about poop! I used to judge the fuck out of parents who used to post poop updates on social media. But, I am nothing if not the world's biggest hypocrite. Besides, I cannot stress enough about how much of my day to day life revolves around poop. Too much, too little, too stinky, too hard- I am constantly monitoring. I am also methodically recording how many minutes my husband spends pooping. Who needs 47 goddamn minutes to poop? Not me. And certainly not our babies.

When other mothers find out I stay home with my kids, I typically get 2 equal reactions. Some mothers wistfully confide they wish they could do what I do, quit their jobs and watch Disney+ for 15 hours a day. Other mothers cheerily say "Good for you!" in such a way that I recognize that they don't think it's good for me at all and they're thankful they get to spend 15 hours a day with their outlook email saying things like "Per my last email" and "I've cc'ed your supervisor, Beth". And look, I get both sides, I really do. Part of me can't imagine missing one day with my kids, missing one tiny milestone. Ace is so close to crawling and I can't imagine missing it. On the other hand, sometimes I find myself fantasizing about being in some generic break room (they're all the same- gray walls, gray furniture, dirty microwave, chubby middle aged women) making small talk about the end of the quarter or whatever fucking bullshit I used to talk about. Instead, I just have a toddler yelling "Snack, snack, SNACK!" repeatedly at me as I frantically throw raisins and string cheese at his head. I miss other adults! (And as a self-proclaimed recluse, it has taken me well over 2 years to get to this point).

Being a stay at home mom is by far the hardest job I've ever had. And I'm not even saying that from a typical, defensive SAHM stance point ("I'm raising little MEN" or some fucking bullshit). I'm saying it's the only job I've had that I haven't been able to half ass. I used to online shop, social media stalk, pinterest-vision-board, google messenger through at least 80% of my work days. It is shocking that I was ever successfully employed as long as I was.

Having a toddler and a baby is more mentally exhausting than I ever could have imagined. Someone is always hungry, someone is always crying, and someone is always pooping (I think I already covered that). I'm really surprised most siblings are 2 years apart- I wish someone would've told me to wait at least 4 years to have another kid or you know... just don't... have another kid (Sorry, Ace!).

The real kicker, is that I still have no idea what I'm doing (as if that probably isn't already crystal clear to you). You can imagine my delight that everyday Jack talks a little more, learns a little more, jokes a little more, or is even alive and healthy. Kids are so resilient, man. Even with a highly incompetent mother, and a father who is constantly sitting on a toilet- they thrive.

I remember when I was pregnant with Jack, I was cleaning our house with the windows open. I heard a family outside, across the street at the park (I'm sure I could tell if was a family by the constant demands of "snack, snack, SNACK"). All of a sudden I heard the mother yell, "NO! Noooooooo! NO! We don't touch cats we don't know!" Without even looking (but I did, because I'm nosy), I knew it was my neighbor's cat Lily who is incredibly friendly, but a bit dirty. In my head, and maybe even out loud, I said, "No?!?! We don't touch cats we don't know?" Are kids not supposed to touch stray cats? And how could I, of all people, enforce that rule to my kids as someone who frequently crawls through bushes and under cars to pet stray cats? This seed of doubt was planted and it wasn't until I found my stride as a mother that I realized how stupid it was. Of course, all mothers are different. It makes the world go around. But I am absolutely, without a doubt, the kind of mother that lets my kids, and encourages them, to pet the stray cats. Just wash your fucking hands, k?