When I worked, I worked a lot. I was, essentially, the worker bee of a very small marketing and public relations department of a manufacturer of some really cool products. A little bit of everything, I designed some ads, bought ad space in publications, figured out the inner workings of tradeshow booths, wrote some press releases…I was busy.
But I loved it. Like superloved it. My workmates were cool, my product was something I was interested in and I was busy, which prevented me from ever feeling bored. In my last year at my company, I was often in the office at least 30 minutes before I was supposed to be, but didn’t often leave when the whistle blew at five. More than a handful of times, I worked from home in the evenings, and when pregnancy insomnia kicked in around five months, I admit to sending work emails at 3am. Yes, I was that girl.
And then Ollie was born, and I quit. Without much notice or thought, I quit my career to stay home for the Ollie-gator to prevent him from being exposed to possibly deadly (to him) daycare germs and other issues. (PS: while we didn’t do much research, it’s kind of hard to find a daycare around here that wouldn’t balk by a child needing a heart/apnea monitor and extra oxygen without costing us waaaaaaay too much money.)
And now that Ollie is getting to the point where daycare wouldn’t be deadly and he’s probably suffering from boredom and the kind of kid-isolation he’s always lived, I start thinking about working again. I mean, Tucker’s immune system is pretty top-notch, I’d say, and his lungs aren’t at all compromised by an early birth, so why not start thinking about maaaaaaaybe going back to work? Especially since I’ve been out of my career coming up on three years now, and I have the feeling that’s not going to make it easy to find a position. And, if I were to stay home until Tucker goes to school, we’re looking at seven or more years out of the industry. That, I would say, would equal career suicide.
But I’m not sure I want to.::whine::
At least not in my chosen career field. Now that I have a couple of children, and not exactly sure we’re done having kids, the idea of staying late to make a deadline is pretty low on my Things I Want To Do list. The idea of not getting home until 6:30 or 7 and seeing the boys for an hour just doesn’t seem awesome. Toss a little bit of travel in that salad and it’s like, Dude, I totally have new respect the other parents I worked with that have to leave on a regular basis and miss milestones like rolling over or walking.
I’ve done some research on going back to school, but the truth is, I have no idea where my next steps will take me. I’ve thought of some kind of education that might help Ollie…maybe some kind of Early Childhood therapist, perhaps speech. I’ve considered nursing, thinking I can help other tiny babies (and maybe their parents) in a NICU, but I’m not sure I have the emotional fortitude for the situations that don’t turn out as well as Ollie’s. (If you read most of my posts here, you’ll notice my emotions generally manifest themselves in tears…maybe not the best nurse you’d have at your bedside, I’m not necessarily cool under pressure.)
So, I guess the moral of the story here is that I’m not sure what I want to be when I grow up. I guess I am still 18.