Year One: being a stay at home mom + the word I can’t stand.

The other day I was filling out medical paperwork for one of the kids and it asked, as it always does, my occupation. A year ago, I was still writing teacher even though I had already quit my job. When I had paperwork a few months after that, I wrote homemaker. A few months after that, I wrote n/a. I’ve written self-employed, stay at home mom, and mother. And then the other day I landed on leaving it blank. Occupation: blank.

This week marks one full year (+ quarantine) of being a stay at home mom. One full year of three meals a day around our dining room table, of homeschooling and shelf set-ups, of jokes and temper tantrums, of bandaids and ice packs, of daily adventures and binge-watching Disney movies, of nail trims and haircuts, of cuddling on the couch and hiding in the bathroom, of playing in the yard and sports classes, of doctors appointments and Speech Therapy, of errands and laundry and preparing food and waking up too early and staying up too late (because it’s the only time of the day I can be alone.) One full year of being just a mom. Ah, there’s that word I hate so much. Just.

Due to COVID, it’s not often I see people. Not strangers and rarely people I know. But every so often that question on the medical forms comes up in real life. And I can’t say blank. So what usually happens is I smile (of course) and I say something like “oh, I’m just home”. So, “what do you do?” — “oh, I’m just home.” And then, always… ALWAYS the person says “oh, just because of the pandemic?”

But the truth is I longed for this, to be home, since Javi was a newborn. Even through postpartum depression and anxiety, I wanted to be home with him. I had guilt over leaving him and visions then of doing everything that I’m doing now. In the back of my mind I always thought other people are taking care of my children while I take care of people’s children. I wanted the patience used at work for my kids. I wanted the time back from my commute to be with my family. I wanted energy to play on the floor, and craft, and bake, and wash our sheets once a week. I wanted the freedom to go away mid-week, or take a trip any time of the year. I wanted connection, and to be fully present, and to live intentionally.

It’s not always so beautiful and simple. There are days when I feel done by 9AM. There are weeks that feel like years. To be honest, during February I didn’t think I’d make it. My most visited website was indeed.com. There’s no difference between a Sunday or a Tuesday or winter or summer. I’m touched out by nap time. If there’s even a nap time that day. There’s no lunch break, no quiet (if long) commute to and from work. No vacation days or sick days or paychecks or 401Ks. There’s no one around because everyone is working; no one to call or text. And when there is a conversation with another adult I can offer no added value to the discussion beyond I wiped butts all day and tripped over a hover board.

But then there’s the exciting stuff: like Lola riding a bike, having sleepovers in Javi’s room on a Wednesday night, and watching Eva water the flowers. There’s singing Shake It Off with Lola, and spending 20 minutes putting on shoes with Eva, and teaching Javi how to read. There’s ice cream dates in the middle of the day, and visiting the Library, and going for a walk just to walk. There’s playing hide and seek, and mid-morning bubble baths, and bird watching, and garbage truck spying, and running to the window at the same time every day when a neighborhood dog walks with its owner and Eva happily says “woof, woof”. There’s spreading out all the things we used to do on the weekends, throughout the entire week and knowing that if we didn’t do something today, there’s always tomorrow.

And then there’s the convenient stuff: like always being able to say yes when the receptionist at the doctor’s office offers an appointment. Or not needing to ask to leave work early to bring someone to Speech Therapy three times a week. Or ask to come in late to bring someone else to Early Intervention. There’s being able to volunteer to make the baseball team’s raffle basket, and arriving early for Kindergarten registration, and running out to grab red lipstick for the recital with plenty of time to spare. There’s hot lunches, and no lunch boxes, and knowing exactly what my children are exposed to every day. There’s the freedom to stay inside under the covers in bad weather, and spend all day in the sun when it’s nice, and go on vacation whenever we want.

Staying home is not a common thing in my circle of friends. It’s a financial privilege, an emotional roller coaster and an inspiring challenge. Most people tell me, flat out, I’m crazy. I’m told I’m giving too much attention to my kids, that they should have been in preschool and pre-k this past year, that they won’t know how to be social, that there are plenty of women who have 3 or more kids who continue to work and do just fine. I’ve heard about the lost years on my resume, the degrading pay scale, the missed earnings and the wasted degrees. I’ve heard it all.

And yet, year one is done and I’m onto year two and then hopefully year three and then year four. What other people think of as robbing my future, I consider investing in our present. Even in my worst moment, on the most difficult day — being at home with my kids feels right. (Even if I do need to sneak some M&M’s behind the fridge door.)

I’m not just home. I am home. I’m not just a mom. I’m a mom. And I love it. So, maybe in year two I’ll commit to writing in an occupation on all those pesky medical forms. There’s really nothing blank about what I do all day.