Part Two of Two Thoughts

I've thought two things every day since October 20, 2006. Actually, I've carried this particular thought with me since 9:56 pm on October 20, 2006. I've carried it with me each and every day for the last twelve and a half years. Some days it is a whisper over my shoulder. Other days it is a large and heavy weight upon my heart.

That October evening, 9:56 pm, I held my first child in my arms. Things were still happening to me, and around me, but I only felt and saw one thing: the pure and powerful, overwhelmingly beautiful love for a child.

Hours later, the room had cleared and it was just me and Caro in the dark quiet. I'd drift off into contented sleep to be awoken every hour or so, a new experience for me as, back then, I always hit the pillow at night and didn't wake up until the morning. As I carefully and cautiously held her in my arms, awkwardly changing her diaper and wrapping her back into a bundle, I thought, "I can never go back to work".

I can never go back to work.

These were not words I'd ever uttered before. In my small town bubble, I didn't know a lot of women my age having children, and those I did never mentioned leaving work after having their baby. I was acquainted with a few women who stayed home from work to raise children and I, honestly, thought they were professionally copping out. How un-glamourous of them to own a mini van and spend their days cleaning their house and lugging a toddler on their hip while organizing their kids' calendar of activities. Blech.

I tried not to think about returning to work during my 8-week hiatus that fall, even when I strolled her to my office to meet my co-workers. I didn't want to return to work because I hadn't figured out parenting yet, I wasn't sleeping at night, I wore netted panties and a huge pad every day, and showered and combed my hair quite infrequently. I wasn't ready to go back to work and do my job on little sleep, no shower, and a healing body. Not to mention, I was terrified to leave Caro in the care of anyone other than me, Andy or my mom. I was also terrified to take her out of the house for fear of exposing her to germs, so much that Andy and my mom fought with me in the parking lot of the grocery store because I refused to get out and go into the store with her.

I did go back to work but the thought was always on mind, so I did something about it. I left my job, a job that was a stepping stone in my museum profession, at a prestigious institution; a job that surely would have helped me springboard into a lifetime of fulfillment and success. I left my job, left the museum field and took a part-time job that was a lateral move. Andy, who had attended graduate school with me, and was first-hand witness to my professional motivation, was shocked but he didn't question my decision, sensing how strong I felt about spending more time with Caroline. It also helped that the part-time, non-museum gig paid more than my job at the museum, offered full benefits, and would allow us to save on childcare. During this time, I bought that mini van I'd previously loathed and I loved it.

Working part-time was a "happy medium", a lifestyle that I juggled for seven years. Yet, while I had the "luxury" of spending summers with my toddler and infant, my boss reminded me of what wasn't happening while I wasn't in the office, and the perfectionist in me felt continually conflicted. When I was home, I felt like I should be at work and when I was at work, I felt like I should be at home. If the kids were sick, I felt sick because I was only in the office four days a week. A few days home meant I fell behind in my work and I was letting people down. I'd often cuddle a feverish baby while tapping out emails and taking phone calls. A sick day with kids simply means charging time off while trying to overcompensate at work. Thanks, Technology!

The decision to continue to work allowed me to climb the professional ladder and eventually, I was asked to serve as the director of my office. I busted my butt and I was ready for the challenge but it meant working full-time again. Charlotte was four and Caroline was seven. I told myself they'd both be in school and wouldn't need me as much. I told myself we didn't need the childcare savings with two kids in school every day. I told myself I'd earned this, and deserved it, and couldn't pass it up because it may not come my way again.

Unfortunately, now, as a full-time working parent, my kids need me even more but in different ways.

They still get sick.

They have after school activities and nobody to drive them.

We still pay for childcare - after after school care, care when we work late or on the weekend, and in the summer.

I can't go to 2 pm assemblies because I commute and it would require me taking a half day. I can't go on field trips.

I ask to be phoned in to parent/teacher meetings.

My head is a bag of ping pong balls thrown around a room, bouncing off of the walls.

I'm up at 5 every day and my head races for 16 plus hours:

"Did I sign Caroline's permission slip? When is that field trip?"

"I still have to map out three weeks of Charlotte's summer but she hates where she went last year and there are so few options! What should I do?"

"I have to, HAVE TO stop checking email at night while Charlotte reads to me! She's going to be a teenager soon and will hate me and I'll have missed this time with her!"

"Dear god, please tell me this phone call interrupting my work meeting isn't the school nurse. I can't go home early today! I have four back-to-back meetings that were already rescheduled from last week's snow day!"

"Crap! I still need to hire someone to work with Caroline and I can't find anyone. Should I do a Facebook ad? Maybe I should make a poster? I'll make one tonight, after the kids go to bed."

Right now, I am the only person in my office with kids and I try to keep my kid talk to a minimum. I'm keenly aware that I have to flex, or change, my schedule at the last minute for things I feel are out of my control but others could say are completely in my control because I made the decision to have children.

So, each day, as I drive home, remembering all of the things I forgot to do, and the many ways I've let down my children or my employer, I think THAT thought that doesn't ever go away. I should quit my job. I should quit. Not just for my kids, but for me.

There's no time in the day for me to listen to me, for me to do what I want or do what I need to keep me sane, to heal my old wounds, to dream about the future, to remember what inspires me, to think. TO THINK! Since October 20, 2006, I, me, Melissa, went into hiding. I fell to the bottom of a very big pit of responsibility and obligation and I don't know who I am any more. I only know what I do and for whom I do it. I consider what I could eliminate to help me find me. Well, it's not my kids! It's not Andy! It's not cleaning the house! So, it has to be my job. No matter how fulfilling it can be, on those days when I am in a professional flow, or how important a paycheck, benefits and a retirement stash is, it still comes up as the answer.

Quit. Would it really be for me? Is it THE ANSWER? Andy says I would be miserable if I didn't work. He says I'd be bored or not stimulated. He says we wouldn't have the money we need to support our lifestyle, to pay off my school loans.

I reply, "I should quit my job."

I recently read an article where an author describes not a work/life balance but a work/life conflict and I can't agree more. I think I'm mentally exhausted because of the battle I've had in my head now for over a decade. It doesn't feel good to be in constant conflict with myself. How can I find work/life peace? Does it exist? It's an internal conflict I can not solve myself and my inability to fix it haunts me.

In preparation to post this essay, I asked Andy if he has ever felt the weight of the work/life balance. I asked him if he's ever felt that he is falling short as a parent because of his intense work schedule. I asked if he's ever felt like he has to overcompensate at work because of his status as a parent. I asked if he's ever felt like he should quit work to focus on the family.

His answer was no.