Have you ever wanted to change your life? Have you ever had the feeling you were in the wrong place, but only to show you how to get to the right place? If you have then you intuitively understand the intersection of confusion and knowing that I have lived for the last eight years.
Motherhood is complicated, and first-time motherhood is arduous terrain. A few weeks after my son, who is now eight, was born his Godmother uttered chilling words I will never forget, "From now on your life will be dominated by the search for efficient and safe childcare." The joy and satisfaction I had holding my son after I survived 14 hours of labor leeched out through one of the folds in his blanket. Her words hit me at me at my weak spots. Between the two of us Ryan and I have five healthy parents. That's plenty of hands to go around! However, as days turned to weeks, months and years, I found the reliance on family for childcare was a pipedream. Compounded by the fact that we lived halfway across the world in Italy when Hunter was born, it dawned on me that Hunter's Godmother was prescient.
I viewed my career as an essential part of my identity. Independence is a requisite component to my happiness. It was why I worked so hard to graduate from college and grad school and secure a career. I could not, should not give that up to RAISE A BABY. EVER. No one I knew did this. My peers hired nannies or seemed to have a mythical set up that ensured their offspring were always cared for no matter what. What happened next in my journey was a surprise.
My resourceful nature was key to balancing motherhood and career. My aunt stayed with us for the first three months after I gave birth. Then Ryan's mother for three months after that. By then Hunter was ready for daycare. I cried that first day at drop off but prioritized getting back to work. I needed my identity to be tied to my career. The alternative title, MOM, more precisely STAY-AT-HOME MOM terrified me. Waitlist navigation became an essential part of my existence. When the list for daycare, preschool, kindergarten and later specialized elementary schools opened, closed and how many were on the list dominated my life.
One of us, typically Ryan, travels a few times a month. I juggled childcare needs and stuffed down any sense of guilt that tried to make its way to the surface. The juggling act was trickier Stateside. Although closer to family, they weren't as willing or available to us as we had hoped.
Most unfortunately, I became determined to prove I could do it all. Buoyed by Sheryl Sandberg's book Lean In, I continued to push for a defining career worthy of my experience, education and talent. I needed to be challenged and respected at work. I pushed, networked and applied until I got as close to my previous high-powered roles as I could. When I finally arrived at my cube back in Corporate America a sense of unease slowly began to creep over me like slug on the concrete after a humid spring rain. The title was impressive inside the organization, although coordinator had an administrative ring to my seasoned ear. The pay was better than any other since my arrival, but below my worth.
I tried to treat Ryan's schedule as a minor inconvenience (he travels two to six months out of the year). An event to be managed. Something to be worked around. I reveled in the idea that everyone was looking at me marveling at how I got it all done. "Isn't she amazing.," I hoped they whispered as they closed their eyes before bed. This was cold comfort as the pandemic forced me to re-evaluate what matters most. Until next time on The Cat Who Swallowed the Canary.
