I have a confession.
(No, not that.)
(Or that, either, sicko. EW.)
(Okay, maybe that, but it was in college and, well, ya know.)
In December of 2007 I may get everything I’ve ever wanted. I may get to quit my job. Retire. Go home. Reclaim my house and be the ever loving Stay At Home Mom.
For years I’ve worked – sometimes far from home, sometimes at home, but always out of the home. I’ve had nine titles, upteen different compensation packages, made ridiculous amounts of money, traveled and seen the inside of several industries. I’ve been in highrises, boardrooms, on Wall Street (a personal best), with a dot com (a personal WTF), sat in a hallway, argued with men twice my age and earned the respect of C-level executives all over this city.
But the thought of figuring out how to get two kids to two different schools or how to go grocery shopping with a baby by myself scares the ever-loving shit out of me. And I could freak straight the hell out trying to visualize living my life without “intelligent discussions” day in and day out.
(Oh, stop it. You know what I mean.)
And HOW in G-d’s name do you find cool women to hang out with that have kids you don’t want to turn over to Super Nanny?
Yesterday, before the THREE AND HALF HOUR wait at the doctor’s office with the Swimmy, we went to the grocery store together. She helped check things off the list. She even remembered that we needed coffee and that it wasn’t on the list. And then, she proceeded to lead me around the store pointing out all the things that go WITH coffee – you know, in case I was wondering. She was funny and charming and smart and I want more of that in my life, not just mornings, evenings and weekends.
And then there’s The Mighty Mighty Benjamite. We are only just beginning to see his wonderfulness. Who knows who he is going to become. But I can’t wait to see it.
I want the park, playdates, cooking, boo-boo kisses, walks, schlepping, peek-a-boo and dusting. (Yes, dusting. I love dusting – it makes things shiny and smell great. And vacuuming. It’s the patterns. Am a complete geek. You can keep the bathtub, though. I hate that.)
The “business” part of my mind wants to approach this like a project. Organize, analyze, allocate and execute. The realistic part of me knows I must be high to think I can approach kids like a billion dollar sales pursuit. Somewhere in between strategy and lullabies must lie the answer. I just don’t have it yet.
But I’ll get it. ‘Cause I think I’m getting everyone I asked for.