Maggie had a well child visit the other day. We got some breakfast on the way to the doctor. She brought her Minnie Mouse and waived hello to all who entered the Kolache Factory. She was the happiest two year old in the whole world. Even at the doctor's office. She giggled during the whole exam. She sang "Heeey, naked baby. Whoop whoop whoop" for the doctor. (That's what we sing during Gangham Style when Psy says, "Hey, sexy lady." As if taking off all their clothes wasn't already on their list of their favorite things, it now has its own soundtrack.) It was a fun morning. I just kept thinking how far she has come and fun she has gotten since her colicky, never-put-me-down days.
And then Maggie and I got in the car to go to daycare and work, respectively. And she must have known it was coming and started asking me to take her home. And it broke my heart. Big time. Like she thought she was going to have this fun mommy-daughter day and it wasn't even nine o'clock yet and I was cutting it short. Or maybe she didn't think that at all and I'm just projecting all of my working mother insecurities and guilt into this situation. But either way, I felt awful.
Luckily, I really like my job. A lot. And I support a mom's right to work outside the home just as much as I support a mom's right to work inside the home. What I don't support is the holier-than-thou bickering and Fundamental Attribution Errors that surround this topic. Even though I don't support them, I still sort of do because I carry them around with me when I get these awful feelings of guilt, and uncertainty, and maybe a little regret. But it is really hard to talk about without opening up this whole Pandora's box of mommy war crap. Yes, I hate being a working mom sometimes. A lot. But yeah, I'd probably hate a lot about being a SAHM mom too. Being a working mom is hard. Being a SAHM is hard. Because, bottom line, being a mom is hard. I just wish we didn't make it even harder on ourselves by making talking about how hard it is so freaking hard.