My heart aches for them. I now work a forty hour work week and the ache in my heart is not figurative.
I am one guilty momma.
I never intended to be a working mother. It snuck up and bit me like the bullet that hit Forest Gump in the ass with our family business. It was an invoice here and a phone call there. Eventually, I was working all of the time and parenting/wife-ing in between. I suppose you could flip that over and it would mean the same thing.
During my quick on the job training as a self employed business owner I began to peek into the non profit world. First working to advocate as a member of the Genocide Intervention Network. Eventually, I joined the Board of the Michigan Darfur Coalition. I tossed around the idea of applying for a fellowship or going back to school for a degree in some sort of third world country development. Every time the ideas surfaced, a reason to delay covered them and pushed them under.
I love my job. (blah, blah, blah…here she goes again…)
However, I did look my husband in the eye and ask him if I was a selfish, horrible mother. To which he wisely said no and then recommended that I wake up early to spend more time with the children in the mornings.
My job has made me keenly aware of how precious my time with my children is. How my eldest wants me to watch his
boring as hell video game just because. I notice how my middle is willing to dance with me in the kitchen any time I ask. I hang on the newly formed words of my two year old which tonight included an unreasonable amount of requests for more bacon. (as if it’s possible to request too much bacon)