I float, I drift, I can happily Be

Exhilarating and exhausting. That’s how I describe being a stay-at-home Mom. I would never call any mother part or full- time. Those labels annoy me. Right now, I find myself in a pretty predicament. Do I dive headlong into temperamental and muddy media waters, or enjoy playing with two very excited, loving bundles of energy I call my sons? It’s actually a good position to be in, thanks to my husband, who has always held down the fort. He is, so I am. That isn’t some reinforcement of a patriarchal notion of a woman following a man, whether in ambition or achievement. But right now, if not for my husband, I would not be able to take the time off to just bathe in all the love and hugs that my sons so generously shower on me. A lot of women I know cannot afford this luxury, and so I am, thankful for mine.
Do I miss work? Hell, yes. I miss being important and in charge. I miss the banter, the girl talk sometimes. I do miss the news. Being privy to stories before everyone else sees them, seeing much more than everyone else gets to ( that’s a mixed blessing when it comes to morbid, blood-curdling pictures from Syria for over 3 years straight ), seeing someone mouth the words that were conceived, gestated and delivered by me, all in less than 4 hours. I do miss the nervous energy.
But while I was feeling important and thriving in the thick of things, I missed so many firsts. I missed my first borns first sentences. I missed being home on Thanksgiving, and Memorial Day and all the other holidays in between. I missed my second borns first roll, first step and so many other milestones. To me, missing those was criminal.Part of me felt guilty that my work eclipsed those moments. The other part of me thought that some sacrifices needed to be made. I love being divorced from that emotional, schizophrenic dilemma now. I can just enjoy the moment. I get to see summer like a little girl-, going for bike rides, blowing bubbles, trying to find sticks to use as catapults, playing with playdoh, while also being designated chauffeur for train and tram rides, and how can I forget the trips to the supermarket in fun red fire engine carts! I would not trade these in for any breaking story. Choosing to be with my boys now, hearing peels of laughter that lift my soul, sharing cuddles that warm the cockles of my heart, doing puzzles, writing first sentences, reading and re-reading books, sneaking in pieces of chocolate in the middle of the day… No job, no story even comes close. Consciously choosing to step back, may seem like a suicidal move for my career, but I cannot put a dollar value on making memories with my sons.