The Challenges and Rewards for Stay at Home Moms

Whoever thought of that tossed around, worn-out title should be locked in a room and forced to listen to The Best of Elmo on repeat while whiney toddlers crowd around, searching for pant-legs to tug on. Stay at home, mom. It’s the only job title with a command built right into it. It sounds more like what you tell your dog than an occupation. Combine the catchy title with the fact that stay-at-home moms are required to use up every ounce of their patience, creativity and energy on a daily basis with no hope of monetary compensation and it’s understandable why this group doesn’t get a booth at the community job fair.

Before my son, Gabe, was born I felt “unsettled” about my decision to give up my spot in the working world. As the staff writer for a state trade association, I commuted over an hour each morning to arrive at a gray fabric-walled cubicle where I planted my butt in a squeaky office chair for eight hours before tackling evening traffic. A dream job it was not. But it did have several perks, such as grown-ups and sick days and ample time to stare off into space.

One of my girlfriends, who has two sons under age 3 liked to joke, “I go to work so I can relax.” That comment echoes in my head often, usually when I’m chasing my 16-month-old down in a supermarket or cursing our dogs for barking at an errant squirrel and bringing naptime to a premature end. Even when Gabe isn’t tearing around, running the house, I’m rushing to put dishes in the dishwasher, laundry in the dryer and scrub a toilet bowl or two. So far I’ve lost 10 pounds in addition to my pregnancy weight. I think they call it Elmo-cize.

I talk to my old work friends from time to time, but have found it difficult to maintain relationships with women who have had kids and returned to work. It feels as if a chasm has developed between “staying at home” and “working”. In reality stay at home moms don’t merely stay at home and working moms don’t merely work, but somehow the labels have stuck.

The first thing my working friends usually ask is, “So, what have you been up to?” This question seems to have a mental attachment accompanying it, depicting me beached on the couch, eating Spaghetti-Os and watching daytime TV. Then, when I get a minute to call a friend at work I picture them busy “working” so I don’t bother to call.

Not only are the labels misleading, they force us to make a choice and adopt a school of thought. The women I talk to who work all use the words “well socialized” when describing their children. “Karley loves daycare. She gets bored at home with me. You should hear her squeal with delight when we pull into the parking lot.” Sometimes they even take it a step farther and add, “I don’t know how you can stand staying at home.”

While, most days, I am happy with the decision I made for our family (giving up the hours on the freeway and the mind-numbing fluorescent lighting to raise our son) I still find myself trying to create my own identity. There are times when I struggle with loneliness. I look over at my son with turkey deli meat waggling out of his drooley mouth and imagine what the girls at work are chatting about over Tazo iced-tea and focaccia sandwiches at the favorite lunchtime caf�©.

There are days when I feel like I have the most demanding, least appreciative boss around, even if he is less than three feet tall and can’t speak English. But just when I feel like I can’t stand to fold one more sock, or listen to “Elmo’s Song” one more time, my son does something adorable like belly laugh at the dog or come bounding over to plant an enthusiastic, wet kiss on my faceâÂ?¦and I’m glad I didn’t miss it.