House Arrest

Due to the oddest chain of events, I am forcibly required to stay at home till my work authorization gets sorted out. I hope the grin on my face wasn’t too pronounced at work when my unfortunate situation was discussed. I do feel bummed out that I’m home not because I had the balls to quit, but because of circumstance. Yaaargh! Spinning in a cyclone of guilt is making me dizzy. I think chocolate will help.

WOHM-SAHM? Damn! (contd.)

I attempt to balance the SAHM-WOHM scale several times a day, and for the most part, the apples on one side cancel the oranges on the other e.g.

Finances: SAHMing could pose a financial burden. Sure, the loss of a second, sizable income will hurt, but with some lifestyle changes (no eating out, scanning coupons, giving up cable, giving up intern-Naaaah!…Ok,ok, at the very least, the deduction of commute and childcare expenses will help.

Responsiblity: I always felt I owe it to my family and myself to contribute to household income. I don’t know how I’ll deal with being financially dependent on someone again (to speak nothing of the vulnerability towards awful life events – but hey, an overpriced education can’t leave me on the streets…can it?). Big Byte tried to put in a word:
BB: “I get it, you want to be a housewife”.
NP: “Noooo! Don’t say that. Stay-at-home-mom.”
BB: “SAHM, housewife, same diff” (cowers under NP’s vicious glare) ”okaaay…homemaker?”
NP: (pictures self nose-deep in dishes sprouting multiple appendages to tackle dusty floors, stained carpets, gazillion loads of laundry while simultaneously preparing a yumm-o meal a la Rachel Ray as Nibbles explores the varied tastes+textures in the shoe closet) “uh-no. Not homemaker. Stay-at-home-mom”.
BB: “I don’t get it”.
NP: “STAY-AT-HOME MOM“.
BB: “Oh” (confused pause) “Ok”.

Validation: This one’s a biggie. The one thing I do love about work is acknowledgement and kudos for a job well done. At home, I could spend all day shining the bathroom tiles till I can see my own reflection, but the only thing that’ll get noticed is the toothpaste splotches on the mirror (apparently, grooming oneself on all fours is not an option, no matter how squeaky clean and mirrory the floor is. bah!). But if a slobbery giggle from a well-fed Nibbles is not validation, heck I don’t know what is.

Adult Conversation: Overrated. Once you filter the insipid conference calls/meetings, bitching and politics, there’s the much-awaited lunch hour, when ranting becomes an art form and barely post-pubescent geeks discuss the death penalty, flirt with number theory and share their favorite moments from last night’s Entourage episode. Of course, now that lunch/coffee/restroom contemplation breaks are replaced by pumping, I can’t wait to get home and coooo with my Nibbles.

Flexibility: Quitting would mean no more career experimentation for not just me, but Big Byte. And *poof* goes the decent insurance plan. And it means ignoring dropping interest rates and swimming in mortgage. And no more planning that vacation to emerald Ireland. But it means lots of walks by the river, lots of finger-painting, numerous iterations of peekaboo and secret escapes into magical fairytales of the Grimm brothers (what do kids read these days?)

Alright, I know, the balance is rather skewed in favor of SAHMing, but that’s because of the greener grass on that side of the fence. But still, if I were to be fair, there is one thing I can’t get my head (no, my heart) around – leaving my Nibbles in someone else’s care.

Childcare: Yes, I still leave him with Big Byte and the ILs when I go to work, but Big Byte is not “someone else” and the ILs are family. It is important for Nibbles to have them in his life – but I must confess I get insanely jealous and possessive all the time. So I can’t imagine what horrid thoughts will cross my mind when we get a nanny. This nanny who needs to be paid to take spend time with my wonderful Nibbles. What if she turns around as Nibbles rolls over on the changing table? What if she discards leftover expressed milk – there’s enough formula anyway? What if she tries home remedies of brandy on the gums for teething? What if she lets him cry it out or carries him around too much? What if she forgets to tell Nibbles about the wheels of the bus that go round and round? What if Nibbles looks at her and says his first word, “Mamma”?

WOHM-SAHM? Damn!

Thisworkingmomthingisnotworking. There. I said it. Happy? No, not really. Everyone else seems to have made peace with their decision to be a SAHM, WAHM or WOHM. Although they acknowledge some guilt, they ultimately believe that they are good mothers – no – the best mothers their kids can have. I wish I could say the same for my sorry keister. Like most major decisions I’ve made in my life, this one’s been a non-decision, a function of circumstance, the fruit of inertia.

These days, Big Byte and I continue to be up till wee hours of the morning due to non-stop, inconsolable bawling. Oh no – Nibbles has started sleeping through the night. He’s a keeper, this one. It’s my barely coherent snorts of “I think I want to be a stay-at-home mom” that kills any hope of some shut-eye. If it weren’t for Nibbles’ toothless grin that’s specially reserved for Big Byte, I’m sure he’d have said, “so long, and thanks for all the maggi”. I think I owe it to Nibbles, my marriage and myself to spew forth some bytes on this space in an attempt to figure shit out.

Why did I return to work?
Answer: Because my maternity leave ended.
Yes, just like I blindly applied to grad school on the last week of undergrad finals, returning to work after my maternity leave seemed like the most obvious course of action. And yes, I work for the dream company with awesome maternity benefits and awesome career oppotunities and the only way they could shut my mouth after announcing my huge raise was by shoving a sinfully large bonus into it. They say everyone would kill for my job, so I’d be crazy to even think of quitting. I hope all this italacizing is helping you see just how fortunate I am.

The Problem: 
Call me an ungrateful wretch, but I don’t want it. I simply don’t love what I do and I’m not fabulous enough at it to contribute something meaningful. Deep down I know that my buggy lines of code slowly but surely aid in Wall Street’s games of controlling markets, thereby controlling lives. Corporate  whoring ain’t my bag, baby. Ok, so even if I were doing government-aided stem cell research I’d focus on the paid, human “volunteers” that make it possible. That surely doesn’t mean I should sit at home and do nothing. NOTHING??? Nothing is more important than nurturing a child and provide him/her with all the love he/she needs…before being thrust into the world, a sheep amongst wolves.

I’m sorry if they say my overpriced education goes down the drain. I’m sorry if my young female colleagues feel I’ll set a horrible precedent. But I’m sorrier still when I miss a pumping slot because some lousy hack brought down the production server with inconsiderate connections. I’m sorrier still when my Nibbles wakes up screaming (from a nightmare?) just before I head for work, and gets even more flustered when I attempt to hold him. I’m ashamed when the doc says Nibbles has poor sleeping habits. I’m heartbroken when my dwindling supply can’t catch up with a ravenous Nibbles and always always always dries up when he needs it the most. So much for the breastfeeding bond. I wonder how many nights Nibbles has cried himself to sleep because I felt that an empty boob is better than evil formula.

So What?
Ok, so in an ideal world where Null Pointer is Queen and nutella has no calories, one may choose to work only if one loves one’s job. One may also use the remaining 24 hours in the extended 36 hour days to cheer their offspring as they hit one delightful milestone after another. Ah, but such is not life. Plus, it’s not fair that I get to be the one to stay at home and take care of Nibbles while Big Byte possesses as much venom for his job and love for Nibbles as I do.

<bf duty calls and this post could use a breather>

blah

Breakfast is overrated. And I need chocolate now.

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So much for not turning this into a whine-space *sigh*

Goo

Lately, I’ve been obsessed with increasing  my milk supply, thanks to half empty pumped bottles I bring home for a starving Nibbles. Naturally preferring remedies of the edible kind, I decided to try my hand at some galactogogues. I enjoyed pigging out on fenugreek (methi) paranthas and sipped cups of yogi tea, but I must admit, my surprise favorite is Oatmeal. Yes, oatmeal, in all its soggy gooeyness, with random bites of raisins and granola and a swirl of brown sugar to punctuate the yumminess. I’ve always had a weakness for goo, and I’m so glad it has such a healthy form. Let’s hope this miracle food has some advice for the ol’ mammary glands. Can’t wait to share this with Nibbles once he gets started on solids *slurp!*

One Hand Typing

Must learn to bfeed and blog. It’s not so much the mechanics/ergonomics of it, but the need to force a mind-out-of-body experience and ignore the fact that Nibbles is on my lap. Not sure why I need to distance my blogging self from my mommyness, but I do. Of course, it doesn’t help that a curious 4 month old Nibbles is constantly distracted by the tap-tapping of keys and grabs my crawling fingers instead of sprint-nursing like a veteran.

Oh crap! Nothing like a poopy diaper to disrupt a barely steady flow of thoughts. I hear you Nibbles, multi-tasking is the cornerstone of  mommyness, and my utter inability to do so, uh, stinks.