I *used* to be the woman in your office who proclaimed, “I could never stay at home. If I didn’t work, I’d die!” A bit overdramatic? Perhaps. I was a newlywed who’d stay til 7pm – home life be damned! – to make a deadline, to perfect the wording, to tweak the color scheme on that pesky ad one last time.
Here I am, 10 months after the birth of our son, Oliver, the Today show on in the background (why?), musing about what outfit to put Ollie in, listing our grocery needs and mapping out the errand run. What time is Ollie’s doctor appointment? Is today a jeans day? Baked mac and cheese for dinner? A lounge-about romper?
In an unexpected twist of fate, my pregnancy ended abruptly, 3 months early. Not surprisingly, my priorities changed. I quit my 8-5 without a thought, to stay home with Ollie.
My boss is bald, (almost) toothless, wears diapers and drools, and I’m game for whatever he throws out (or up.) My home is now my office and my car is my satellite location, and a roll and a grin from my little guy is far more rewarding than that other job I used to have.
I proudly am the hovering, spit-up-wearing, sporadically showering stay-at-home mom I never thought I’d be.