For the first two years after my first child was born, I commuted to work every day. I dropped him off at daycare when he was just five months old, along with bags of frozen breast milk, a backup formula canister, diapers, and a change of clothes. Each morning around 7 a.m., I’d tearfully say goodbye, feeling my heart break as I drove to my office, often crying the whole way there. My evenings were a whirlwind of picking him up between 5:30 and 6 p.m., preparing dinner, and juggling the chaos of bedtime routines.
It wasn’t easy. I had only recently met my husband before we became parents and married (in that order), and adjusting to life with a partner was challenging. We argued frequently. On top of that, I was navigating the steep learning curve of motherhood, which was far from simple. My job didn’t help; my boss was a living caricature straight out of The Office.
In those days, I often envied stay-at-home moms. I imagined their lives to be idyllic, filled with time to cook, clean, engage in intellectually stimulating activities with their kids, and reclaim their post-baby bodies. I sighed at their posts on social media whining about trivial issues like park visits or the difficulties of motherhood. “Oh please!” I thought, “You have it so easy! You have no idea what hard really is.”
When my second child arrived, I made the decision to leave my job, feeling exhilarated about all the things I could finally accomplish – like tackling the dishes, cleaning the floors, and pursuing my own creative projects. But boy, was I in for a reality check!
I quickly realized that my house was likely cleaner when I was working. Now, I had about an hour to myself each morning before the kids woke up. Sure, I could spend that precious time cleaning, but who in their right mind would do that when I could carve out a moment for myself? So, I found myself trailing behind my children, tidying up after little tornadoes all day long. Eventually, I just threw in the towel. Why bother?
As for the dishes? They were an endless cycle. Just when I thought I’d conquered the kitchen, someone would need a snack or a drink, and just like that, I was back to square one. The sink always seemed to have something in it.
More than just the state of cleanliness, I had envisioned that being at home would allow me to wrap up personal projects and redirect my career into something marvelous. But in reality, I had merely swapped one set of demands for another – trading a boss who wanted pointless reports for two (and eventually three!) little ones who required constant attention, nourishment, and playtime.
You might expect me to conclude with a heartwarming message about how becoming a stay-at-home mom was ultimately rewarding. But honestly, I can’t say that. I often question whether I made the right choice by leaving my job, and I wonder if my kids are better off with me at home than they were when I was working.
But one thing is certain: the dishes are still not done.