Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Remembering to be Happy to be Home

(Found at makeminepink.com)

At seven A.M., I don't envy the mob
Who rise, shine and shower and go to the job.
In rain, sleet or storm, whether snowing or blowing,
I stay home and savor the joys of not going.

Cheers to you dears out fulfilling yourselves.
I'll bake me a cake, and I'll straighten my shelves,
I'll write some light verse and I'll practice some Bach...
If my neighbor drops in, I'll take time for a talk.

I'd rather have a family than fortune or fame;
I don't think my apron's a Red Badge of Shame.
You're welcome to banking, computers and math,
Guns, plumbing and business. I'll take a hot bath.

Art, music, letters--the good things of life
Are no less my own, since I'm mother and wife.
If I scrub, mop or dig in the garden, I'm free...
Remember, the choices were all made by me.

Helene Lewis Coffer 

I found this poem at homeliving.blogspot.com and I really like it. I've been a stay-at-home mom since before my baby was even born. I finished teaching in June and that was it- Baby Ray was born in August.  It took me a while to realize I was struggling with my identity as a SAHM. Not that I'm a workaholic, powersuit type at all, plus, I knew I was going to be a SAHM and I want to be one, but going from working to staying home required a total re-evaluation. At home, I feel like I have endless time. I feel like I have endless work. I feel like what I'm doing doesn't count as work, even though I know full well it does. I feel like my husband doesn't think of it as work, even though he does. I know that I am incredibly lucky that we can afford (just barely) for me to stay at home, but I still miss having a place to be in the morning. Before, housework and cooking and errands were crammed into the few hours I had at the end of my day, almost as an afterthought. Now, these things, plus taking care of my baby (and the babies to come) are my day.

I recently toured an infant class at a preschool where I was thinking of getting a job. It made me so sad. There was a row of bored looking babies, swinging in their swings and sucking on their sussies. The room had that pee-and-apple-juice smell. I think of that and it makes me feel so lucky. Lucky I can hug and kiss and play with my baby all day. And lucky I can be there when she is crying and cranky and driving me crazy. Every time I need to summon my patience, I think of that. And I remember that I'm happy to be home.

Are you happy to be home? Does it get hard or lonely sometimes? How do you stay sane? What was your adjustment/transition like?

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