my identity crisis

May 2, 2008

To anyone not really paying attention (or the gainfully employed), it may seem that my life is one of relative leisure--swimming at the Springs, splashy parks, Wheatsville lunches, mama happy hours. And, while it is true that I spend a good portion of my time in flip flops and a bathing suit, I wipe A LOT of ass on a daily basis.

My babies are 18 months old, and are now becoming little people. They walk and talk and dance and sing and scream and kick, and live every single moment with eyes wide open. And, 90% of the time, those eyes are watching my every move. When I sing along to whatever's on the radio, they babble along in their beautiful falsettos from their car seats. Or when one of them gets into something they shouldn't, the other immediately wags his/her finger and says, "uh uh, Manu. No no no no".

So, a few months ago, when I started to lose my patience and freak out on them for clinging to my legs or whining when I left the room, I started to worry that the person they were watching was turning into a miserable grouch. It was rainy and cold, and I was stuck at home with two little people who wanted nothing more than my undivided attention. Meanwhile, I was bored and lonely, and wondered if I was starting to get depressed. Without a job to regulate my weeks, Mondays were no different than Fridays, and the only days I really looked forward to were the days when Jeremy was off. I'd never wanted to raise babies in a nuclear family setting. It always seemed so isolating and dull. Yet that was exactly what I was doing, and it was really starting to wear me down. My mind needed stimulating of the adult variety, and I could no longer stand the boredom of my domestic routine. Idleness, like kisses, to be sweet must be stolen. (Didn't someone famous say that?). Though "idle" is not exactly the right word when it comes to toddlers, I definitely felt like my star wasn't burning so bright...

Now, 4 months later, everything's different. I'm busy as a bee and happy as a clam. Though I'm really only working very part time and only two days a week. it's exactly what I needed to feel like a person again. For 10 hours a week, I can drive fast with the radio loud and pop in and out of the car in seconds! No strollers or wagons or babies to haul. I make phone calls without apologies for the babies in the background. I send emails with both hands on the keys. I eat lunch in peace and don't have to share a single bite! It's perfect. And, at the end of the day, when I walk through the door, they squeal out an excited "MAMA!" and run towards me with giant grins on their faces. Though it's only been 5 hours since we last saw each other, we have so much to catch up on--what they ate and read and played, were they good, did they fight? And I know that more important than the money I'm making is the person I'm remembering.

Before I was Mama, there was a person I was working on and I needed to find a way to bring her back. Going to work for a few hours makes me miss them, and make the most of our time together. Now my laptop is only open at nap time and after they've gone to bed. The occasional night out or singing with BEM energizes my social gas tank, so lazing around in the mornings and doing puzzles or reading books is just where I want to be. So, as cliche as it sounds when a mother says that she "did it for the kids", I can now truly relate. Because, ultimately, the happier I am, the better I am. And, from my vantage point at the tail end of this decade's identity crisis, I think I'm doing pretty good. And, as far as I understand their budding language, I think my kids think so, too.