“So,” asks the nice lady at church, “Have you found a job yet? Are you working?”
Huh, I think. There’s no shame in being a stay-at-home-mom, but I always feel guilty admitting to it, as if I’m not pulling my weight in adult society. I don’t want to answer until I’ve shown her my résumé, issued a disclaimer in triplicate, and introduced her to someone’s toddler. Specifically, mine.
Because, have you met Sophie? This sweet baby of mine has a personality that is one part movie star, two parts hurricane, and fifteen parts trouble. She is the reason I am a stay-at-home-mom rather than a stay-at-home-writer or a stay-at-home-gadabout.
And this is her afternoon schedule:
- Climb onto the bathroom shelf; dump out all the Q-tips
- Spill an entire sippy-cup of water all over the kitchen (how?!); repeat
- Get into the drawer of pony-tail holders; scatter across the bedroom
- Get the candles off my bookshelf; eat one
- Take off her pants and speed-climb onto Natalie’s bunk bed; pee on it
- Steal my makeup; randomly decide which to apply, which to toss, and which to taste
- Climb onto the kitchen table to get into the bag of cookies; take a bite from each
- Turn on MTV; dance
- Get napkins out of napkin holder; strew about kitchen
- Unfold clean clothes; place in laundry basket
- Dump out all the Q-tips again; pee on them
- Scream with joy until someone gives her an ice cream cone; eat it from the bottom up
- Sift through the trash; redistribute around house
- Dump out all the recycling; redistribute around house
- Steal my Microplane zester; lick
- Unpack the lower section of the credenza; run around with a casserole dish
- Ride her dump truck backwards into the kitchen; start the microwave
- Climb into the bathtub; wander the floor in wet socks
- Rearrange furniture so as to reach kitchen counter; dump out bag of sugar
- And pee on it
- Climb on top of the table at which Natalie is coloring; color arms and mouth
- Do three sit-ups next to me; sit on me for the remaining thirty-seven
- Run around the house with a limoncello glass; if anybody notices, throw it
19 months is adorable and horrifying, and I’ve never worked so hard at any job in my life. I thought teaching was a challenge, but it’s nothing compared to planters overturned on the rug or chocolate smeared across the wall, floor, and hair of a giggling girl. Or potty training. By the end of a normal weekday, our house is petitioning for disaster relief funds and my mind is curled up in bed sucking its thumb. If I’ve managed to edit an article or make it to the grocery store or shower, well… that’s just icing on the supermom cake.
“Well, are you working?” the lady presses.
“No,” I smile. “Not right now.”
Do you know the difference between a plant and a puppy? A 50-something former nun turned mama once told me. Some babies are plants. You water them, feed them occasionally, put them in the sun — they are find. Some babies are puppies. The pee places, they chew things, they dump over trash cans.
You, my friend have a puppy.
(Join the club. Some people have plant babies. But as Anne Lamott says, we don’t have to _like_ them. 🙂
Love your new site. Clean, pretty look and easier to find your goodies (by which I mean your posts.)
Cheers!
Fortunately (for her), I DO like Soph. She’s hilarious and entirely lovable. She just also happens to be a force of nature. 🙂 And fortunately (for me), my first daughter is a plant. Everyone wins… except the house!
While I read this post, our dear Sophie-PUPPY managed to climb onto the kitchen table to maje herself a Nutella sandwhich…which she is now smearing all over her face!
Oh, you’re working, baby. You’re working. And she’s working, too. Working you 🙂
I am *so glad* to be out of that stage. Look ahead to TWO. They say “terrible twos” and I say 18 months is so much worse that two looks GOOD! My kids (ALL three of them) were just like that. Thank God for nap time!
Dude, I must have a plant-kid. He’s really pretty happy to keep his destruction to his toys. At least, he’s 80% plant, 20% puppy. I can’t IMAGINE having a hurricane-puppy-wee-one.
Even though most people around here really respect the stay-at-home-mom-gig, I hate it when people say, “So, what do you DO all day?” It’s impossible to put into words. I mean, I’m raising my child, isn’t that enough for you, is what I want to say.
Bethany, you have my utmost admiration, potty training this kiddo so early (or at least it seems that way to me). Love that last picture of her. She and Thomas would have one hell of a dance contest together, for sure.
Hubbylicious – Apparently, my policy is “If you can make yourself a sandwich, you’re allowed to eat it.” But our tablecloth may never be the same.
Liz – I’ve heard before that the phrase work-at-home-mom is redundant, which, yes. Yes it is.
Megsie – I loved age 2 with Natalie, though she was never active the way Sophie is. We’ll have to see how things are going this time next year, but I have to think sanity will be easier to come by. 🙂
Sam – One of my friend’s husbands asked her that, “What do you possibly do all day?” when she was home alone with TWO babies. So she made a list of every minute she spent on every task… and taking multitasking into account, she figured out she was working about 40 hours a day!
(Oh, and about potty training early? That was entirely Sophie’s idea. She loves, loves, loves sitting on the potty and trotting around the house in her undies. Never mind that we haven’t had a successful potty trip yet… She’s so enthusiastic about being like her big sister that I can’t say no.)
I also have felt that same inner cringe when the what do you do question is asked. It seems trivial to explain the tasks, yet they are just as demanding, if not more, than a corporate job. And the importance of being there for your children trumps everything. I remember entering the daycare where my oldest son was during the day, and seeing him sitting up for the first time. I didn’t get to see the progress and I missed that terribly.
The title I utter when asked? Home Manager.
Now with my kids well beyond the above mentioned stages, it boils down to just that. Scheduling, cleaning, driving, cooking, shopping, fixing, oh—there I go listing the tasks. See! I still feel like I need to justify the position.
And your adorable little “assignment” above is a rolly-polly cutie pie!