I've been thinking about how last year at this time, I was getting ready to quit my part-time quality control testing/technical writing job. I feel like I'm finally settling in to the fact that I'll probably not be going to an office to do work for a long time. And it's finally starting to not feel weird. A year ago, I was typing up lists of all my job duties and descriptions of how to do them for whoever replaced me. My boss was forwarding resumes for me to sort through and almost daily bemoaning how they'd never be able to find someone to take my place and do as good a job. And as much as I liked to hear that, it really also made things a lot more difficult later on. And from the state of those job applications and the unintelligible phone calls I answered (though the ad said No Phone Calls), I could believe it. And I sure liked my coworkers. It was probably my favorite job just because everyone was so great: efficient, polite, friendly, and funny! So I was sad to be leaving.
But a few months later, Matthew was born! Yay! And then how I wished so hard I could just go to work some days. It would have been so much easier, so much more restful, than staying home with a tiny baby with mysterious wants and needs and erratic behaviors, including all types of crying and little noises and naptimes and diaper messes. And it was just so boring being at home. Boring + exhausting. I wished so much I could just not have to be in charge. Someone else could do such a better job! And they neeeeeddded me at work! They did! I'm so good at tasks! Give me a list, and I can do all the things! I can do them all better than you! But taking care of a baby... ugh. No lists there. I think I made some lists, actually, that said things like, Feed Matthew. Change Matthew. Cuddle Matthew. Wash diapers. Eat lunch.
Really, I thought all the time how I was failing at taking care of Matt––not physically, not failing him in any way, but just failing at being a mom in general because it was so boring and I wanted to be somewhere else. I don't think I spent a single hour gazing at him adoringly or counting his tiny fingers and toes or dressing him up in one cute outfit after another––you know, all the things that new moms are allegedly supposed to do because they are just so in love with their tiny baby and enjoying every minute. (Ha ha. That phrase is a joke in itself.) But of course, I did love staying home with him every day at least part of the time. Who can resist hanging out with a baby all day? And how great it was when Jeff got home at the end of the day or when people came over to visit!
But still, it was hard to feel any type of satisfaction since my whole life I've been evaluated, and to some extent validated, by the quality of my professional work. I mean, I went to school for a reason, right? People just don't put the same value on the work that parents who stay home with their kids do as that produced in the workplace, and if they do, I've certainly not heard about it myself that often. Especially before having a baby. Measures of success in our society, as widely discussed, are generally work related. (Brief example: A lot of female students at Auburn in the freshman composition classes that I and other grad students taught openly stated that they were at college to meet a guy, settle down, and start a family. Oh, the scoffing that ensued from the grad students on this topic. To be fair, if a guy said he aspired to start a family and settle down rather than excel in whatever profession he chose, he'd probably be scoffed at, too, possibly as sexist––or lauded for being so honest and caring, I suppose.)
So all that to say that I struggled so hard to think that the "work" I was doing at home taking care of Matthew was equal to the work I could be doing writing technical documents and mailing packages and editing user manuals and testing laser equipment. But now! Gah! What was I thinking?! (Double punctuation: you know it's serious.) My old company didn't nnnneeeeeddd me, no matter how much they said so, no matter how good of work I produced. My replacement may not be great, or may be much, much better, but certainly I'm replaceable either way. It's not going to matter at all if the next user manual goes out with bunches of typos or a ridiculous numbering system. If quality control doesn't catch something, the customer will just have to send the system back in for repair. No big deal.
But Matthew. He's a whole different story. I'm not replaceable to him. He could, of course, get used to having someone else take care of him all day, or for parts of days, or at least for a couple hours sometimes during the week. And since kids are so adaptable, he'd be fine. But now I realize––and fully accept––that no one else will do as good a job as I am (or as Jeff would do) since he's our baby! He's ours! Yay! And I get to hang out with him and teach him things and try to think of games that will make him giggle. (Of course, it's much easier to say this now that he's fun and not just a cute, immobile baby lump who eats, sleeps, pees, and cries.)
I'm glad I've made it past those first couple months where it seemed so much easier to go back to work and get someone else to do this hard work taking care of a baby. It's so rewarding now, even when it isn't. Even when it's boring or difficult or maddening, I'm still happy to be here, at home, to keep making it through to the rolling-on-the-floor-laughing-at-nothing moments.
No comments:
Post a Comment