Mother's Day Out

Finally! I can breathe through my nose and my body doesn't ache like it's been hit by a truck...repeatedly. And I only occasionally cough up my lungs. There's nothing like feeling well again after feeling so, so terrible to make you appreciate your health. Thank you, God. Now please, please help us all stay healthy through Becca's birthday this coming weekend.

Some interesting things happened while I was fighting influenza. For starters, I had to get up at the crack of dawn to stand in the frigid cold and fight off other desperate parents to enroll Becca in Mother's Day Out for this fall. (Becca, in the meantime, was spending the night at my parents. Where she slept soundly through the night. OF COURSE SHE DID.)

So there I was, cold creeping into my boots, trying to make small talk with other parents without coughing crap up all over them. I was about the tenth or so person to arrive. We were all freezing, desperate to get our kids enrolled, and trading tales of parenthood. (We were nice to one another because one brilliant father had brought a pad of paper and a pen so we could sign up as we arrived. Then we were able to chat kindly, knowing we weren't going to have to elbow each other in the face for a spot in line. Did I mention this brilliant father's wife made him get there at 5 a.m.? This man deserved a medal!)

One mom and I ended up chatting even after we were let into the church building and led down a long haul to wait some more at round tables. She was older than I with a two-year-old son and a nine-month-old daughter. She asked if I was a stay-at-home mom, and when I said I was, she let slip words that cut to my very core: "You know, it was so much harder staying at home than I'd anticipated. I went through this identity crisis. I'd always worked, I always had that, and suddenly I didn't anymore. I felt like when I talked to people, I had nothing to contribute. And I found it very isolating, being stuck in the house at the mercy to constant feeding and nap schedules."

I wanted to hug this complete stranger. I wanted to scream, "AMEN, SISTER!" But I didn't. Instead, I fervently nodded. I get it all. The isolation. The crisis of identity. The feeling of worthlessness. The knowledge that the only thing I have to add to a conversation are the antics of a wee person, and most people don't care to hear me go on and on about poop, feedings, naps, and crazy kid antics. It was so affirming to hear that I'm not the only one--that this staying at home thing? It's not all cuddles and roses. It's the hardest damn thing I've ever done. And probably the most important, too.