Being a Mom means your job will never, ever be over. Never. Ever.
I’ve quit jobs before. I quit my first job here in California. I worked for a wicked witch of a boss who would be kind and nice one minute and then scream and yell the next minute - all because I dared to go to the bathroom during one of her 10,000 daily phone calls to me.
I quit a design job I had because the woman I worked for would also scream and yell at me when she was angry that a furniture order wasn’t going to be done on time. As if it was MY fault. Hey, I didn’t build the stuff… I just placed the order.
I quit another job… another bitch of a boss… because she thought a letter I had written to a client was completely unacceptable. FYI… it was a rockin’ letter… I know how to write a letter!
My point? I’ve quit jobs where the “boss lady” was mean and nasty and yelled at me. It felt good to just walk away. Nobody deserves to be treated like crap. I’ve had some amazing bosses… funny, the really good ones all happened to be MEN!
So, here I am with not one, not two, but three little “bosses” who are mean and nasty and yell at me all the time. All. The. Time. I want to quit.
I can’t.
Sometimes, like tonight, I will sit and wonder… Am I done yet? Is my indentured servitude going to ever be over?
I’m a mother. I know what that means. It means I have the exact same responsibilities as a maid, a nanny, a chef and a chauffeur all rolled into one with the exception of one important fact: I don’t get to go home at the end of the day.
Sometimes I really just want to go home at the end of the day. I want to sit in a quiet house and eat my quiet dinner and watch the shows I want on TV. Instead, my house is full of screams and my dinners are full of “I hate this food” and shows like iCarly and Zoey 101 run repeatedly on my television set.
Am I done yet?
I will never be done. I am that crazy mother who wishes her kids would just grow up and move away at the very same time I’m wishing they were still babies I could rock and nurse and cuddle.
I’m that crazy mother who can’t wait for a weekend away without the kids… and 10 minutes into the quiet, I wish they had come with us.
I want to be done… and then I don’t.
It’s a fine line between wanting them to grow up and wanting them to stay small forever. It’s a daily juggle between the two… minute by minute. Back and forth.
They can finally help around the house… but you miss them being able to sit in one place.
They can finally eat real meals… but you miss being able to just nurse them.
They can finally go to school all day and leave you alone… but you miss them being there.
It drives me crazy.
It drives my husband crazy.
It drives my kids crazy.
Am I done yet?
Nope. Never. Ever.
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