On Work/Life Balance

I used to just ignore all the silly mommy war blah blah about staying home or working.

Don't know what I'm talking about?
Well you are lucky (and under a very comfortable rock). The basic idea is that women judge each other relentlessly about their parenting choices. And a big topic is working.

Before 'Lil D I assumed you should just pick a side and go with it depending on your personality. I have no dog in this fight. My mom was an excellent mother who worked outside the home (still does). My mother-in-law is an excellent mother who stayed at home (still is). And I think JTS and I both turned out just dandy. We both love and respect our mothers. I thought (and still think to some extent) you should choose whichever lifestyle best suits you and your needs and desires for your family. My mom would go bananas being at home all day. She still would. She cannot sit still for the life of her. But from a very young age I knew I was cut from a different cloth. A lazier, less driven cloth some might say. But I am what I am (to quote Paula Deen) and what I am does not fit into my previous simplistic idea of stay at home vs. working.

At this point I have no idea what I am!
Where is my black and white box to check?

I probably spend about 85% of my time being a stay-at home mom. I take care of the baby, I run most of the errands, I clean most of the house. I still only cook about 10% of the time because JTS is just better at it than me and enjoys it more than me. And I really like that I can do this. But I can't help but wonder if I'm missing something? When someone asks me what I do I still say graphic designer.

I spend the other 15% of my time agonizing over my "career" or what is left of it at this point. Am I missing something? Should I be trying harder to be career oriented now? Should I throw in the career dreams until 'Lil D is in school? Would I miss designing? Would I miss the idea of me designing? I have no answers. I still do about 2 small projects a month (which I enjoy) but I get extremely nervous now about meeting deadlines and being available when I need to be because you just never know when the darn baby will sleep!

It's been much harder than I thought it would be to put a lot of effort into even a part-time career without some childcare. But we did the math and unless I got a full-time job, child care makes a 2nd income net neutral.

And I simply don't want a full-time job right now because I do love being home with her and with some cost cutting initiatives (like living in our apartment) we have been able to make that happen.

So here I sit, as usual, straddling the fence.

I have dreams for myself and I have dreams for my family and right now they don't particularly align.

I still ignore the mommy wars but I can't ignore the one going on between myself.

Lets Get Physical, Physical

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I vowed never to go to the gym until I hit 30. I claimed my new thighs and I could live in peace and harmony for years to come. But then out of nowhere a horrifying realization occurred. It happened in Alabama over the holiday season (where many horrifying realizations occurred). I don't keep a scale in my house. Never have. What's the point? Weight goes up, weight goes down. Usually in proportion to how many bags of gummy bears you eat with your alcohol. You don't need a scale to tell you you don't fit in your pants. But my momma does keep a scale. A nice, expensive glass top one, scientifically calculated to be absolutely accurate (or so it claims). And one morning, nekkid as a jay bird, I decide to get on it and see just how much weight I've gained since I've stopped being able to get in my old pants. And the answer was shocking! 1 pound. I had gained one technical pound since I last weighed in when my pants fit. And suddenly the world came crashing down. It was all pure, unadulterated fat, with a capital F that has invaded my stomach and thighs. Fat that doesn't weigh one goddamn bit proportionally to how much space its globbish shape takes up around your waist. I was perfectly content to live in my body when I thought I was just gaining weight faster than Delta Burke in Season 3 of Designing Women. But one effing pound. You're kidding. Seriously? This is unacceptable. Therefore, your faithful author trudged to New York Sports Club, tail between legs, like all good New Yorkers and plunked down a huge wad of cash so that I can use the elliptical machine like a rabid gerbil caught on a wheel. But I promise you, dear readers, to make this gym experience worthwhile for everyone by wearing only 80's leotards with leg warmers. This I solemnly swear to you.

Hi There

So...all my friends have blogs, and not one to be left out I'm going to start my own. Just observations, rants, and rages about anything that comes up. I'm not the best writer and I'm definitely out of practice. Hopefully this will help. No matter, my momma is probably the only one that will be reading. Welcome!