I like working. I like my job. In fact I really like my job. I am keeping my fingers crossed that this contract will turn into something more permanent. That said, I do have my moments. Mostly they are guilty moments. Moments when I think to myself "Why did I not enjoy my time at home more?" "Why did I give that up so willingly?"
Truth be told, I never quite found my groove as a full time stay at home mom. I always felt a little antsy, planning the next outing, diving into playgroup after playgroup, running to gymboree, music class, Target runs, anything to keep busy, to keep active. I never settled in enough to take a deep breath and just enjoy. And I don't know that I ever could. It isn't in my nature.
I realize that raising one's children is the single most important job that any parent has, and yet, when I was in the trenches full time, I felt somehow useless, bored and under-stimulated. I believe that I am better off a working woman, making money (so I can spend it), and leaving the cleaning to someone else. The undeniable truth is that I am just not good stay at home material, and I believe that I have come to terms with this.
But there are moments when I see a woman pushing a stroller down the street, or sitting at Starbucks with her toddler, that I feel a pang. A fleeting thought, that could be me, that was me. And I miss the whole thing. I mean look at these guys, why would I want to leave them every day?
I miss the trips to the park, being around at preschool enough to know all of the songs and all of the kids, nap time at 2. It wasn't all bad. Not at all.
But it just isn't me.