By Amanda Elder of Stay-at-Home Panda
I never wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. I liked the working world, and I identified with my career. But before becoming a mom, there were issues I didn’t consider, like, who would watch my baby? How much would I bring home from my Caribbean island teaching job after the cost of child care? Even if I could afford child care, would I be willing to hand my baby over? My husband was a medical student, so we had already embraced debt. The decision to quit work and take care of our boy was easy at the time, but in it, I encountered both the deepest joy and biggest struggle of my life.
My husband was learning about infections and disease, and I was born anxiety-prone. Although many first-time parents are worriers, we were extreme. We didn’t want anyone to touch our baby, let alone hold him. We didn’t trust in the neck support given by others and feared their germs. The world was a scary, toxic place. We were afraid of illnesses and vaccines, sun exposure and sun block. The duty to protect my son felt so heavy and required constant vigilance.
Like any awesomely neurotic mom, I was obsessed with my son. I watched him sleep, and I kept my boobs out continuously for whenever he might want a little sip. I sang and talked to him so much that I got on my own nerves. It was no use to look at a clock to see when I would be saved from myself. The day dragged on like a snail crossing a wide road.
I looked forward to morning and evening walks and when Daddy came home, but Daddy coming home didn’t change much of anything—he had to study, and I had to keep the house quiet. However, his mere presence made me feel a little less alone. I looked forward to Javin’s nap times so I could do something for myself, but no time belonged to me. He seemed to wake up as soon as I got into something, be it a mess in the kitchen, a workout in the living room, or a thought in my blog.
I thought things would get better after leaving the island. At least being back in the U.S. would enable me to talk on the phone and chill out without my fear of the Caribbean sun and my baby’s white skin. But we moved to the other extreme—a mountain top in North Carolina during the winter. I was like Jack Nicholson in The Shining — a little fucking crazy.
Leaving the house wasn’t easy because the quiet mountain roads were often covered with snow and ice. The mountain clocks moved even slower than the island clocks. I was bored out of my mind, and a great unrest boiled in my veins. I knew I should have felt gratitude for the blessed life I lived, and in a tiny crevice of my heart I did. But mostly I daydreamed of going back to school, going back to work, going anywhere that would remind me I was a person all on my own.
By the end of that year, we moved to Long Island for the next part of my husband’s training, and things got somewhat better. I made mom friends and went out into the world more. But still, my life was mostly about killing time and fretting over getting this parenting stuff right. I missed having a reason to get ready in the morning, having important emails to check, and a sense of entitlement to pedicures and other luxuries that came from earning money. I struggled with balance. I was devoted to serving my family, but didn’t yet know how easy it is for a woman to lose herself in the needs of others. Once I realized, I tried to pay better attention to my own wants and now prioritized getting them met.
I thought my struggle would end when I went back to work, but to my surprise, it happened differently. As I neared three years of motherhood, I noticed something strange: I was enjoying myself. Life wasn’t lonely and suffocating anymore.
Instead of helicoptering around my child on a jungle gym, I chatted on park benches with friends. The quality of my son’s company also improved. We ate meals at restaurants like civilized people. I no longer had to bounce him on my knee, chase him around, or continuously pick up the salt and pepper shakers. I thoroughly enjoyed conversations with him and the way he complimented me for my matching outfits and princess hair styles. He was entertaining, thought-provoking, and funny. One day, while we were cruising in the car, singing along to music we both liked, and holding hands, I realized there was nothing else I’d rather be doing. The unrest that bubbled inside me for so long was simmering.
The simmer happened for many reasons: I was finally adjusting to motherhood. My son was becoming more independent. I chilled the hell out and allowed myself to enjoy parenthood. I wanted so badly to do things right that I made a full-time job out of worrying and controlling. Things got better when I stopped trying to be perfect. I started asking for more help and letting my son experience more frustration. I went out for massages and turned on the TV every now and again. I learned that my happiness as a mom correlated to my fulfillment as an individual.
Our second child came right around Javin’s third birthday, and my contentment as a stay-at-home mom deepened. Something about putting a baby next to our toddler made me realize how fleeting this all is. Javin looked so big next to his newborn brother, and I felt a strong, semi-nervous urge to hold on tight to them. Suddenly, I wanted those all-day snuggle sessions in our pajamas. I no longer wanted to rush them off to school so I could eat lunch at a quiet desk by myself. I wanted the chaos, the giggles, the airplane and horsey-back rides. I just wanted to be in the constant company of my sweet, young children, fearing that if I blinked they would be moving off to college.
After three years of struggling as a stay-at-home mom, I finally felt the gratitude I couldn’t muster before. I saw the big picture, the impermanence of every stage and phase, and I wanted to be present for it all.
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About Amanda Elder
Amanda is a teacher turned stay-at-home mom in Orlando, FL. When she’s not playing with trains or doing dishes, she is writing about it. Find her at Stay-at-Home Panda.