When Declan was born, I remember feeling a tremendous sense
of relief that I'd be, for once, a stay-at-home mom. I got a part-time job
teaching at a community college and split the time with Nick--every other day,
I got to be home with my baby. We were proud of our non-descript gender roles
and split every conceivable household chore. Then we moved to New York, and
money just wasn't as easy to come by as it used to be.
Classes at the dumpy community college in Brooklyn were hard
to come by, forcing us to re-evaluate our job situation. Nick took to the job
market, scouring for full-time gigs with benefits (wholly underappreciated and
necessary). Money troubles and job
stress threatened to cause problems, and despite our full effort to stave off
the storm, we were headed for a typical marital stress.
"Hurricane Irene" made its way to New York in
August. My brother came to stay with us so that we could take cover together,
and the pitiful excuse for a tropical storm (not that I'm complaining) gave us
an excuse to sit together, three thirty-something's, and to re-evaluate our
career paths. Despite a substantial amount of education between us, we bemoaned
our job situations, likening our job positions to sexually-abused starfish. And
that's when I got the call.
Or the text message, to be fair. A friend asked if I would
be willing to take a full-time teaching job in New Jersey. Full time. Benefits.
Salary. Consistency. Did I want it? Would I be willing to go back to work full
time, to leave Declan, to be a working mom? Would Nick be willing to take on
the "house-husband" role?
The "storm" raged, more like a tropical disaster
on Prozac, and I made the decision. As a few twigs shrugged and took a short
jump from our tree, I decided that it was worth everything I'd be giving up.
Sure, I'd miss out on being a stay-at-home mom, but at least we'd have
stability, insurance, and a retirement plan.
I will skip over the following events which led me instead
to a New York City charter school, and the security that we needed as a small
family living in the most expensive city in the country. I love my job, and it
has made everything more feasible for us, blah blah blah.
Now, I come home from work to Declan, who is noticeably mad
at me. He goes to Nick when he gets hurt, when he is scared, when he wakes up
in the middle of the night. Often, when I go to pick him up, he arches his back
and cries in the other direction, refusing to look at me. These nights break my
heart.
It isn't always like this. Usually it takes him a day or so
to warm up to me on weekends, so by Sunday afternoon he is perfectly content to
be with Mommy and to cuddle and all of those things that I've always wanted (as
a perpetual step-parent) from my child. But then I go back to work the next
day, and the cycle repeats itself.
Today I came home late, as I had grades to turn in and
teenagers to listen to, and as I gave him his bath, which I make sure to do
every single night, I asked him to say "I love you, Mommy." His response
was, "Nope." I asked him again and again, "Decky, please say 'I
love you.' I miss you so much all
day!" Instead, he grabbed his toy car and looked at me and hid it behind
his back with a defiant, "Mine." Ok,
I thought, he's almost two, no offense
taken if he doesn't feel like saying he loves me. And I put him in his
puppy dog jammies (and I add this for emotional, dramatic effect) and took him
to Nick to say goodnight. Nick gave him a kiss, and Declan voluntarily, after
looking directly at me and then back at his Daddy, responded with "I love
you!"
Did that hurt my feelings? Absolutely. Do I get jealous when
I watch Declan run around in the yard with his Dad, and see the spectacular
bond that they have? Yes, I do. But I also know that I'm doing what I have to
do for my family, and that, like everything else, he will go through phases as
a Daddy's boy and hopefully, some day, as a Mama's boy. Sometimes I feel
lonely, kind of like I did right after I gave birth and my stomach was empty.
But right now I just think that I'm lucky to have his Daddy taking care of him
instead of a stranger, who probably goes home and hates her job and feels like
another sexually abused starfish.
