Taking the plunge…

I finally did it.  I quit my job to be a stay at home mom, something I never dreamed I would do. But I really had no choice.  My subconscious was literally screaming at me, telling me I had to make a change.  I was driving to work, late, as usual, when it first made itself heard. 

Baby had woken up several times during the night, I lost count of how many times.  My 4 year old son had had an accident in his sleep.  As I cleaned up his bed he looked up at me and said “Stop doing that with your eyes, mommy.”  What was he talking about?  I looked in the mirror, my eyes were little slits supported by deep, dark, bags.  “I can’t help it, honey.”

All the kids were tired, and didn’t want to be up.  Both boys had runny noses and a cough.  My husband always left before 6, working the early shift so he could pick them up in the afternoon, so I had to get all three kids and myself ready, alone.  No easy feat.  I dropped the boys off, wondering if they were going to be deemed too sick to go to daycare, feeling like a horrible mother for dropping off my sick children instead of keeping them in my own care.  The baby room teacher told me “You know, I pray for you every morning.”  What?  So, you’re saying I’m not hiding my stress very well?  That’s insanity, when a woman who faces every day with a room full of snot-nosed babies is praying for ME.

I dropped my 8 year old daughter off at the school daycare.  She forgot her shoes.  “I’m late, I’m sorry, I don’t have time to get them honey.  You’ll have to wear your boots.”  Tears.  Stress.  I left her, blurry eyed.   I resolved, for the hundredth time, to make time for a girl’s night out.  I wanted to take her somewhere special, make up for the guilt somehow, knowing even as I thought it that she needed more than one special night out.  So much more.  It seemed like this was all I said to her anymore… just Hurry up hurry up we’re late.  Hurry up hurry up we’re late…

I was driving past a Burger King, and realized I hadn’t eaten breakfast myself.  I had no time to stop though, and then traffic came to a grinding halt.  Trapped.  No place to get off the highway for a mile or so.  Trapped.  Trapped, trapped, trapped.

I turned off the radio, and sat in the quiet, something I had been avoiding.  From somewhere deep down in my gut, a scream welled up, and I just let it go.

A moment later, I looked around, sheepish, wondering if any of the cars near me had noticed.  But no one was paying any attention.  They were all in their own little worlds, drinking coffee, talking on cell phones.  I dug out my Kleenex box, and tried to compose myself.

Several nights later, I had a dream.  In my dream, we were in our home, only the house in my dream was different from our actual house.  My husband was where he usually is these days… in his basement office doing schoolwork, working on his masters.  I went up to our bedroom on the second floor, and I noticed that there were cracks in the walls, and the top of the stairs was pulling away from the floor.  The whole bedroom had shifted.  As I looked around, I realized that we had put way too many huge, heavy pieces of furniture in our bedroom.  The house simply couldn’t hold the weight.  It was starting to come apart at the seams.  I sat there, trying to figure out what to do.  In my dream, I thought, “I can’t call the insurance company, they won’t cover it, because it’s all our fault.”

I’m no Jungian scholar, but that dream is pretty easy to interpret.  I couldn’t ignore it anymore, my spirit was screaming.  I was killing it, but it wasn’t going down without a fight.

I spent weeks crunching budget numbers, talking to stay at home moms I knew, talking to my husband in the wee hours, reading books, reading blogs.  I began to start thinking “If I was at home, this would not be a problem.”  There were so many opportunities to say it, it almost became a mantra.  

I also thought about all I would be leaving behind, years of building a career in a tech field that wouldn’t be easily picked up again later, the satisfaction of learning and mental challenges of my job.  Yet, while there were reasons other than money to keep working, the money piece of the puzzle was one that just wasn’t fitting well anymore.  One night, my husband sat down with the numbers.  Finally, he looked up.  “Let me get this straight,”  he said, “You work so that you can spend 80% of your income on the costs of working??” 

Not too long later, I finally gave my notice.  I stayed another month, trying to leave things “in good shape.”  It became so…  surreal.   I wondered if I had actually given my notice or just dreamed it?   Had I actually had the guts to make that big of a change?  To set aside years of building this career to be home with my kids?  There were times I felt like I was on the outside looking in, watching with curiousity to see how this person’s life would turn out.  Like it wasn’t really me.

But it is me.  I’m starting my second week at home now.   I had another dream:  I’m in a mansion with my kids, doing normal stuff, eating dinner, taking baths, waiting for daddy to come home.  Only it’s not our house.  I keep thinking we’re going to get caught.  A woman comes in the house, I keep the kids quiet.  She looks like she’s suspicious, like she knows someone’s there.  I can tell she’s a nun, even though she doesn’t have a habit on.  (Amazing to me that after a mere 3 years in Catholic school, a nun is still the ultimate authority figure for me.)  I wake up, and chuckle to myself.  I guess it still doesn’t seem real. 

I’m still curious to see how this life will turn out.   Every day since I started at home my son has woken up and asked me, “What day is it mom?  Is it mommy day?” 

Yes, it’s mommy day!