Before I met my husband, I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to have kids. Having had chronic hypertension since age 17 and having encountered doctors who warned of the impracticality of pregnancy for me, I questioned whether I really wanted to go through the stress of carrying a babe in a body that was not best designed for it. I pondered the possibilities … perhaps my future prince charming and I would adopt, maybe we could beg one of our friends to be the bearer or we could spoil our nephews and forever be the cool aunt and uncle. The last postulation seemed most likely because while I loved kids, I was never really good at the little ones. I’ve always had a quick temper and my sister was the nurturer of fam — not I. Being the cool aunt seemed like an achievable goal to me.
Then I met Adam.
Adam Brehm was a catch for sure. He opened the door for me, was freaky smart, didn’t mind me sans makeup, made me laugh like a maniac and of course, I found him wildly attractive. He was unlike any of the boys that I had met previously and most like the man that I compared all boys to — my dad. I knew that when just four weeks in, I was uttering three very big words, I was a goner. I was 19 and I fell so into love that there was no getting out of it. I wanted him to be my lova, my favorite part of every day and much to my surprise, the father of our children. I’m sure it’s cliché, but Adam was everything that I never knew I always wanted and my whole world did a loopty-loo. Thank goodness his did, too and so, three-ish years later, we vowed to do forever together.
Once I decided that I did, indeed, want to be a mom, I often mulled over what kind of momma I would be to our babe. I determined that I would definitely want to stay home full time {just as my mother and mother-in-law had done}, that I would definitely be the mom who has gifts for Groundhog’s Day and lessons for President’s Day, would gladly prepare meals every day and have them ready for Adam’s return and surely never leave the house wearing a sweat suit and a ponytail. I’ve certainly never played the submissive wife role {just not my bag} and am a firm believer in splitting the duties of the household but somehow, the thought of staying home with my perfect little peanuts made me think I’d morph into a Stepford Wife.
After having more fun than a barrel of monkeys for the first couple years of our wedded bliss, we realized that due to my BP boiling over, we needed to get on it and set out to expand the fam. Apparently, along with Adam’s many other desirable qualities, his fish can swim with the best of them and so, I was pregnant in two seconds flat {maybe not flat — but you get the gist}.
After the initial excitement subsided, I freaked out. Was I really going to quit my job that I love and adore? I thought I had more time before this was all going to transpire. I thought we’d more financially prepared when this all went down. While I was certainly fortunate that I found myself with child so quickly, perspective was lost in that moment. I was, however, reminded by Adam that I had 9 months to figure that out and that for now, I didn’t have to make any decisions. After a fabulous pregnancy, our son, Barrett was born a month early in a tiny package and I still hadn’t made my mind up regarding working outside or inside the home. I thought, “Really, just three months to make this lifetime decision?”. Just two and a half months later, I tendered my resignation to the best boss friend, mentor, person} in the world and changed my Facebook status to Stay-at-home momma. And as we all know, once it’s on Facebook, there’s no going back.
As someone once noted about me, I get really excited about change but am often a bit unsettled on the outcome of said change. The first six months, I vacillated nearly every day between finding a way to go back to a full-time job, finding a part-time gig and sticking with the stay-at-home situation. I was happy to be with B but I missed social interaction terribly {and the paycheck}. In Barrett’s second six months, my opinion changed week to week and before I knew it, we came upon a year. All the while, I’ve been trying to find that mythical perfect job that offers flexibility, ideal hours and of course, a hot paycheck. One year of questions and I still don’t know what I want to do with my life now that my life includes Barrett.
I guess I just didn’t anticipate that being a mom would present such juxtaposition… that I would want to be with Barrett but want to be at work. I thought that you were either all-in or all-out. Most moms I know really love being at home or really love going to work. I always thought that I would be the stay-at-home mom. I thought that I would wake up daily {or at least weekly} feeling ready to have teachable moments… that I’d have craft projects and playdates galore… that I would be one of those moms who had it together.
Instead, I am the mom who is likely to be found in her pajamas at 11:30 in the morning. I am the mom who goes to the gym and the store without a stitch of makeup. I am the mom who makes up games and activities on the spur of the moment and they rarely make any sense at all. I am not a great chef, housekeeper and am definitely not put together.
Of all the things I do not know about being a mom, I do know that, as a mom, I am simply trying to do the very best things I can for my situation. I’m just attempting to be as much of an inspiration to my babe as possible. I’m just trying to become a fragment of the mom I thought I’d be. And in the meantime, I can only hope that the mom I am {as opposed to the one I had pictured} is just what Barrett needs.
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