It's 6pm. The chicken is taking longer to cook than expected. The potatoes are almost overdone. My beer is sitting on the table getting warm in front of me, I think I opened it about two hours ago. My crying son only wants me. I am dicing tomatoes for my husband who is covering his bloody finger in bandages.
From down the street a neighbor walks over for a haircut...but not from me.
A lump appears in my throat as my chest gets heavy and eyes threaten to leak. I continue dicing tomatoes, fighting all these things, trying to hide any hint of being even just a little upset. I don't know why I bother, G can always tell, especially when my face looks bunched up as I'm sure it did.
After about three denials that something was wrong, a tear finally burst free and I crumbled into a mess in my husbands arms.
I was barely 19 when I graduated school and was officially set on my career path. Now I've been in my field for nearly 8yrs. For a typical woman my age, it is unusual to have already accrued that amount of time and experience in the field of work that you actually went to school for (not to mention most don't graduate their respective schools until at least 21 or 22.)
8 years. That's a long time. And I am good at what I do. I have worked in very high end salons and big towns, super cuts-esque shops, small town shops where I'm not sure how anyone makes enough to live, shops that see hundreds of people in and out, and shops that have been around over 40 years that are dead due to a stale clientele.
I love what I do. I'm good at what I do. And I hate that right now I am not doing it.
I hate that right now, all I feel is useless. And yet what I'm doing is one of the hardest things I have ever done in my whole life. From the minute I wake up to the minute I fall asleep...just kidding, I don't get even that kind of break. But in the middle of the night when I'm sitting there in the dark for the third feeding of the night, I silently think to myself of all I did before this, and the little I can manage to do now.
I feel stuck. Stuck at home, hiding under piles of laundry that has needed to be put away for weeks, or switched from washer to dryer. Struggling to feel productive other than making sure my kid gets his diaper changed and maybe his clothes, too. Wondering if I'll get the chance to finish my coffee before it's been cold for hours (spoiler, I won't), or if I'll be able to make myself breakfast, lunch, or dinner, or all three.
I'm not sure what these naps are that people keep telling me I should be taking. So if you see one, let me know. I'm pretty sure that even If I did sleep for a whole 8 hours I would still be exhausted.
Because keeping a tiny human alive is really hard work. The smiles and squeaks he makes fill my heart with joy, and I just love him so much...
But then there is the bitterness that I feel as well when I see people walking to my neighbors house for a fresh cut, or when I walk through someone's hallway that seems clear of laundry baskets and cat hair.
The bitterness over my desire and plans of returning to work, at least a little bit, before we pick up and move next year and there is less likelihood of finding a job.
And the frustration that comes over me when my son refuses to take a bottle. All I can think of are the bags of milk in my freezer that I worked hard to pump so that I could have a break, or go to work, or go on a date, and someone else could feed him.
Not every day is like this. But when it hits, it hits hard, and is so good at making me feel small. And it's good at making me forget that what I do is not easy. That what I do is actually terribly hard and unique. I keep this child alive. I feed him, cloth him, bathe him, change him, and most importantly of all, love him. What I do is something no one else can. And there is strength in that.
...But it's on these days most of all that find myself hugging my boy and saying, "I miss my mom."
From down the street a neighbor walks over for a haircut...but not from me.
A lump appears in my throat as my chest gets heavy and eyes threaten to leak. I continue dicing tomatoes, fighting all these things, trying to hide any hint of being even just a little upset. I don't know why I bother, G can always tell, especially when my face looks bunched up as I'm sure it did.
After about three denials that something was wrong, a tear finally burst free and I crumbled into a mess in my husbands arms.
I was barely 19 when I graduated school and was officially set on my career path. Now I've been in my field for nearly 8yrs. For a typical woman my age, it is unusual to have already accrued that amount of time and experience in the field of work that you actually went to school for (not to mention most don't graduate their respective schools until at least 21 or 22.)
8 years. That's a long time. And I am good at what I do. I have worked in very high end salons and big towns, super cuts-esque shops, small town shops where I'm not sure how anyone makes enough to live, shops that see hundreds of people in and out, and shops that have been around over 40 years that are dead due to a stale clientele.
I love what I do. I'm good at what I do. And I hate that right now I am not doing it.
I hate that right now, all I feel is useless. And yet what I'm doing is one of the hardest things I have ever done in my whole life. From the minute I wake up to the minute I fall asleep...just kidding, I don't get even that kind of break. But in the middle of the night when I'm sitting there in the dark for the third feeding of the night, I silently think to myself of all I did before this, and the little I can manage to do now.
I feel stuck. Stuck at home, hiding under piles of laundry that has needed to be put away for weeks, or switched from washer to dryer. Struggling to feel productive other than making sure my kid gets his diaper changed and maybe his clothes, too. Wondering if I'll get the chance to finish my coffee before it's been cold for hours (spoiler, I won't), or if I'll be able to make myself breakfast, lunch, or dinner, or all three.
I'm not sure what these naps are that people keep telling me I should be taking. So if you see one, let me know. I'm pretty sure that even If I did sleep for a whole 8 hours I would still be exhausted.
Because keeping a tiny human alive is really hard work. The smiles and squeaks he makes fill my heart with joy, and I just love him so much...
But then there is the bitterness that I feel as well when I see people walking to my neighbors house for a fresh cut, or when I walk through someone's hallway that seems clear of laundry baskets and cat hair.
The bitterness over my desire and plans of returning to work, at least a little bit, before we pick up and move next year and there is less likelihood of finding a job.
And the frustration that comes over me when my son refuses to take a bottle. All I can think of are the bags of milk in my freezer that I worked hard to pump so that I could have a break, or go to work, or go on a date, and someone else could feed him.
Not every day is like this. But when it hits, it hits hard, and is so good at making me feel small. And it's good at making me forget that what I do is not easy. That what I do is actually terribly hard and unique. I keep this child alive. I feed him, cloth him, bathe him, change him, and most importantly of all, love him. What I do is something no one else can. And there is strength in that.
...But it's on these days most of all that find myself hugging my boy and saying, "I miss my mom."
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