Motherhood is a job {Period}

This is a post you can file under, "I can't believe we are still having this conversation".

Last week I read this blog post, originally from xoJane, now in it's crowing glory on Time.com. It's title, Unpopular Opinion: Being a Stay-at-Home Mother is Not a Job. The title alone boiled my blood, but curiosity got the best of me.I knew it couldn't be as awful as it sounded. The author obviously knew that it wasn't going to be embraced my the masses as the title suggests ("unpopular opinion), still I had to see for myself.

Here is the opener:

"I was able to do nothing but focus on giving my daughter 

the best early years at home that I could provide. 

That was a gift. Not a career."

Oh, boy.

Read the article for yourself. I'm not going to rehash it here. I can't. It would take me a year to make an argument for every piece of the article, which is what I really wanted to do, but that wouldn't solve a thing. If I'm honest I'm still analyzing it daily as I do more and more "motherhood" chores and think, sometimes this job does kind of blow. In case you are wondering I say that about my "outside" job too. Most of that doesn't matter, what does matter is the idea that being a Stay at Home mother isn't a job. Does that mean that being a Work from Home mother isn't a job? What about a working mother who comes home and plays a Stay at Home Mother on the weekend? I'm not rallying for awards or medals of honor, but lets be frank here,

Being A MOTHER, in general,  is a really hard job.

It doesn't matter if you work outside the home or inside the home, being a mother has been the hardest job I've ever had. And yes, I believe it's a job. Because I'm required to be here. I'm required to show up every day, and be kind and polite and graceful. I'm required to cook, clean, taxi, launder, powder, and raise tiny humans to be amazing big humans. Okay, fine, I don't get paid in real money, but I still work my ass off daily. I have two supervisors that I may never please, that I may never impress, that may never promote me. Sure they love me anyway, but my bosses are total hard asses and super demanding. Especially at three in the morning when they want a glass of water.

So yes, my dear friend at xoJane, being a mother is a kick your ass, never get a pay raise, beautiful, covered in sloppy kisses, wonderfully fulfilling JOB.

It's a position I did choose it, though I never had an interview. I chose to be a mother, and I also chose to be a full time Stay at Home mother for six years. It was my choice as a woman and a feminist. Did you all know that I was a feminist? It's not a bad word, hell it's the word that allowed my mother to burn her bra and wear pants to work. It's the word that allowed my Grandma to work her night shift to pay for school clothes and milk. It's the word that will allow my daughters to choose any job they want, including a Stay at Home Mother. Because supporting feminism means having choices, like the one to stay home, the one to work, or the one to become whatever we want. Including mothers.

Being a mother is the most liberating thing I have ever done. I admit that the early years were rough. I had to give up a lot of me time, and for a selfish only child that was tantamount. But in the end, having a choice, choosing to stay home was very liberating. I let go of so many of my hang ups. Staying home allowed me to immerse myself in a world I knew little to nothing about. As if I went to a foreign country and learned the native tongue. Being a mother made me brave, it finally made me see that I was beautiful and flawed, and it allowed me to love an be loved in a way that has changed my entire life. No job I have ever held has done that for me. No career will ever be as fulfilling. Not even writing, because, let's face it, those books will never love me back, not the way my two daughters do.

Maybe being a Stay at Home mother isn't a career, but damn if it ain't the hardest job I've ever had. When I think about it, being a mother doesn't have to be your career of choice. Like the woman in the article states, it's basically just a bunch of odd jobs bunched together. I've held lots of odd jobs that weren't my career, but that doesn't mean they weren't hard and almost broke me. Some of the odd jobs I've held were physically and emotionally demanding. Much like motherhood, which has almost broken me a time or two.

Can we just decide that MOTHERHOOD is a job? Can we allow those around us to consider it their career? Can we just say yes, and shut our traps and nod graciously as we agree to disagree? Because if you say that calling Stay at Home Motherhood a job is doing a disservice to women, you are doing a much greater disservice to all women. One woman's day dream is another woman's nightmare. Have we learned nothing from our friendships and mean girl movies? I love me some real housewives of (insert fancy city here), but I'd cry buckets if I had to hang out with those crazy bitches in high heels and lipstick every day. Forget it. I'll take these two year old leggings and sports bra (even though I don't sport), any day of the week.

Bottom line: Motherhood is a job. A hard, easy, fun, boring, isolating, loving, amazing, life changing, heartbreaking, take up every spare moment of your life that you can't even pee alone JOB. I don't care if you work seven jobs or zero jobs outside/inside/beside the home, if you are a mother, then you have a job, and perhaps a career, that will take you to the ends of the earth and back. Twice. Maybe potty training, wiping snot noses, and singing the Itsy Bitsy Spider will never go down as "my life's work", but raising my daughters will. Raising my daughters will be the highlight of my life's work. Saying otherwise does a disservice to all moms and their little humans running around eating goldfish crackers. Because if I'm on call twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, then I'm calling that a job. And no one, not even Time Magazine will convince me otherwise.

So let's get back to work Mamas, where ever your office happens to be.

PS: Can we just take a moment to talk about Time Magazine? Come on Time Magazine! Did you learn nothing from your cover story a few years ago of that lady breastfeeding her ten year old? Are we MOM ENOUGH? Yes, for the last time, HELL YES. We are all working very hard at our "jobs" to be mom enough so you'll get off our backs! Go home Time Magazine. You're drunk.

The noise {no-reply commenters}

There has to be something poetic if not ironic about receiving a very negative comment on the same day your blog is having it's fourth anniversary. I mean four years ago, any comment would have made me swoon. But last Wednesday? Not so much. Negative comments can sting, they can piss you off, but more than that, they can really make you think.

I've never claimed to be an expert on anything, well, maybe Grey's Anatomy. But I sure as heck have never considered myself an expert on motherhood, stay at home or otherwise. Still, I can understand that sometimes I can come across as a know it all. This is also a problem in real life too, so when I wrote my Working Mom post last week, I was kind of nervous at how working moms would receive it. It wasn't that I was pitting one group of mothers against the other, I was just saying, Hey you warrior mamas, I get it now. I get that I was once a whiny cry baby about things that were kind of stupid, and it took becoming a working mom myself to realize how hard motherhood in general is, no matter what side of the grass you stand on...

But not everyone read it that way.

Here is the thing about last week's negative comment. It had an air of truth. I am a constant complainer. The Hubbs would tell you that I am constantly and consistently a "half empty" person. I fall into shame spirals daily. I am hard on myself. I constantly want to be perfect, even though I will preach day in and day out on this blog that perfection is stupid. Perfection is stupid, but that doesn't mean it still doesn't bug me and jeer me from the sideline. And so I complain when things are less than perfect.

I'm also lazy. I'll admit that too. And spoiled. I am an only child, so for the better half of my life the world really did revolve around me. If you knew my parents in real life you would totally understand.  I don't put my dishes in the sink. I never make my bed. I will procrastinate and check Instagram one million and three times before changing the laundry, doing the dishes, or starting dinner. And if one of my favorite shows is on, forget it. You will find me binge watching whatever marathon is on. That is just who I am.

So when I read some negativity last week about me as a person, I took pause. Then I got pissed, because there was some truth to it, but then I got really mad because I couldn't respond to the commenter. There was no way to start a conversation...

She's a no reply commenter.

Ugh.

And no, I don't want to reply just to rip her to shreds. I want to reply so that we can share more of our stories. She says that I should grow up, like her and her ten hour a day job, with two toddlers, that she made a conscious decision to have. That I should stop being a constant complainer, which is a major reason she quit reading my blog. And it's great that she has her own opinion of me, but what about my opinion of her? Can I really form one? Maybe that ten hour a day job is one that she loves, one that she put herself through school to do. Maybe she does it well, and maybe, since she's always worked her babies no longer cry for her on a constant basis. Maybe she feels zero guilt. Maybe she is living her dream, and stupid mommy bloggers like me shit all over her ideals and goals. Maybe she is a hero for us all, with clean baseboards, homemade baby food in the fridge, and kids who sleep in their own beds and through the night. Maybe this is what makes her happy.

Because if she is happy, then that is fantastic. I'm happy for her.

My story on the other hand is very different. Even though I live my life on this blog, maybe I haven't always been honest about how I got here. For this no reply comment to imply that I'm not an adult who didn't make a conscious decision to have children really ticks me off. I'll be thirty seven this year, and while I may be a thirty seven year old complainer, I did make a very conscious decision to have children. I also made the equally conscious decision to stay home with them. That has been the plan from the very beginning. But when we could not financially support that anymore, I made the conscious decision to go back to work so we could stay in our house and keep Mackenzie in school. Me working outside the home was not my dream, not right now anyway, and I get to be devastated and sad about that. I get to be disappointed that I'm not longer the room mother. I get to be disappointed that I've missed a majority of Mackenzie's years just before she starts school full time. I get to be sad about those things. No matter what some no-reply commenter has to say about it.

I also take offense to the fact that because I complain about things on my blog it must mean that I complain about them all the time at home. Sure, I do complain at home, but this blog is my release. It's where I come for therapy. It's where I write all the ugly down, and then let it go when I hit publish. To imply that I'm setting a horrible example for my girls is just plain bullshit. I'm setting one hell of an example for my girls. My girls will always know that they have a choice and a voice. They will always know that they can express their emotions, even if they may not be favorable, let's say for example, if they are complaining. My daughters will always know that Mommy has multiple endeavors at any given time that include, motherhood, writing, working, or career. My daughters will always know that I love them and that this choice is temporary. That one day, Mommy won't be in this season. They will know that love is unconditional, and that life is hard and sometimes a little foggy.

All of that is okay. Because life is okay. And my life will always be different from yours fellow reader and/or no-reply commenter. Because we want different things, like different things, and believe different things. And all of that is just fine. In fact, my daughters will be better for it.

The most important lesson though is that my daughters will always know that they can use their voice. Just like I'm using mine, and always sign their name to it. You see, for every no-reply commenter, there is a person, behind a screen, silencing her own voice. Silencing her very own opinion. That is not the lesson I'm teaching. I'm teaching my daughters to use their voice, put their stamp on it, sign their name to it. I'm teaching them not to hide. I'm teaching them to shout from the mountain tops. Even if their opinion is unfavorable. Even if it sounds like they are complaining.

Receiving a negative comment was a bummer. In the four years I've been blogging, I can count the negative comments on my hand. That can't be a bad thing. Because for every negative comment, I receive four more. Four good, thoughtful comments, oftentimes thanking me for using my voice. For writing down the things that others are too afraid to say. Thanking me for talking about the hard stuff, even on the days it sound like complaining. Yes, that's right, sometimes I'm thanked for all the complaining that I do...

Who am I to complain about that?

WTF are "Sick Days"?

It's late. I should be in bed, asleep, waiting on my four a.m. wake up call. Instead I'm here, because I couldn't go another day and leave this pretty little blog empty. The face lift looks pretty good don't you think?

I'm currently recovering from some kind of flu virus. The kind that hurts from your ears to your chest. The kind that makes you want to die every time you swallow. If I was a better person, I wouldn't complain at all. But I'm not, so here I am. I think my biggest complaint is that as a mother, I don't get sick days. Not really. Especially when one or more of your children is sick at the same time, which is totally what has happened over here. And yes, for a bit it totally sucked, and then it was kind of awesome, since we spent all day Saturday on the couch, watching Edward Cullen of all people. I was able to get a little sick time from work, but still had to log some hours Saturday night. It happens I get it, but really, a few sick days would be nice. 

Which brings me to the NyQuil commercial I saw last night. You know the one of the man, who says, "I've got to take a sick day", and then you see who he is talking to and it's his small son in a crib. Then it says something like "Dad's don't get sick days", as the camera shows the Dad peacefully sleeping. Okay, fine. Dad's need sick time too... But wait, immediately following that commercial was a DayQuil spot, of a woman asking for a sick day, then you realize she is asking her toddler aged daughter, then you see her during the day, with her daughter, and it says, "Mom's don't get sick days". I'm sorry, what? Are you telling me that Dad's get to take NyQuil and get a good night's sleep, but Mom's are designated DayQuil to make sure she puts on her big girl pants and can finish her "job", without sleep, or a nap, or even a hot meal? The Hubbs assured me that it was just a spot for cold medicine and that Moms or Dads or both can use NyQuil or DayQuil or whatever the hell they want. But I know. I see you "Ad-Man" I see you bending those gender stereotypes. I want a good night sleep, I deserve a good night's sleep... Or maybe I'm just bitter that I still don't get any sick days...

So as two of us are on the mend, and one of us is in the thick of it, we are slowly making our way towards Thanksgiving day, which is a ridiculous notion, because wasn't last Friday Halloween? I promise my next post will be less ranty, or what my bloggy friend calls, "Bitchy-Bitch".

Mostly I just wanted to write something in this pretty little space from Dream Thinker Designs.