Please note: this is an old post. I have been blogging for a really long time: since my childhood, in fact. Bear in mind that any opinions stated may have changed, any code snippets may no longer be considered safe or secure, and my personal circumstances are almost certainly different to what's contained herein. You have been warned...
There, I said it.
Yeah yeah, I’m a poster girl for work at home mums, running the community and all that shit. I am supposed to be helping mums stay at home and work etc etc. But it’s not what I wanted, it’s not what I see as a solution long term.
When I read smug, bullshit articles from “those” stay at home mums who think working mums are all that is wrong in the world, articles telling me how great they are because they manage to raise their 30 children and homeschool and bring money into the home and do all the housework and somehow manage to maintain a relationship with their spouse, all whilst blogging their adventures with their perfect little family & pinterest-perfect homes, I want to headbutt my keyboard.
I love my children.
That shouldn’t need saying, but hell it’s true. I love them but I am not fulfilled by them. I don’t find myself sitting here basking in the glow of baked goodies, with a clean house and polite well dressed children. Jeez, most days I’m lucky if they’re dressed at all. My house is a bombsite 23 hours out of 24. If I just manage to get by each day without strangling them I celebrate, and that’s the standard I aspire to: surviving. Sometimes we even manage to get through a day where I don’t shout once, but that hasn’t happened in a long time.
I miss adult conversation, hot coffee, and actually getting through my daily todo list. I miss challenges that amount to more than “will I make it through the day without getting poop on my clothes”. I miss the anticipation of seeing my children because I’ve actually been away from them for longer than 5 minutes.
And yet I keep going. I keep going because we can’t afford childcare for 2, because on the good days where I somehow manage to not shout AND manage to do some work AND my house looks slightly more tidy than usual, I like to at least pretend that I can do this staying at home thing. I like to think that the smug mums who question the motives of any woman who dares to need something more than offspring aren’t talking about me.
But I still I miss working outside the home.