Mom Track Mind

Priya’s and Mystic M’s posts have forced me to attempt some honesty, so here goes. The only reason I’m not a SAHM right now is because I don’t want to be at home forever.

I’m on the mommy track at work. Gave up the excitement and challenge of interfacing with traders and tackling high-profile projects. Scaled down to part-time, not so much because I can’t put in 40 hours a week, but because I’m not fully committed. Waved the London assignments adieu. Try to scramble into work by market open, but nobody really cares because if there’s a fire to put out, I’m not the man for the job. Leave work by market close, and my co-workers chirp, “See you next week!”, instead of the standard, “Half-day? Where are you interviewing?”. And I’m not complaining.

Sure, I’ve never been in love with my job, but I’ve hit record levels of apathy. It’s common, this apathy, at least in the corporate jailhouses I’ve worked in so far…but not for me. I can see lesser-experienced, newer colleagues elbowing their way up the ranks via exceptional diligence and subtle brown-nosing. And though I’ve lost the crown they dangled before me prior to my maternity leave, I don’t give a corporate rat’s ass. I’ll just do the bare minium required to justify the paychecks. And the spot on Wall Street that thousands desire.

Here I am, one foot in the career door, all mind elsewhere. Truth is, I’d love to give it all up in a second, and devote the same focus I once had for my career to my home, to Nibbles. So why can’t I quit whining and just stay at home? Sounds liberating. Sounds scary. Because I know I won’t be allowed back in the tech boy’s club once I’m done. And I don’t really know when I’ll be “done”. And I can’t swallow the idea of staying at home forever.

NP: “Ok, CoHo, what exactly is so scary about staying at home forever?”
CoHo: “I don’t know if I can deal with a permanent shift in dynamics of our home to traditional gender stereotypes”.
NP: “Cut the bullshit CoHo. ’sides, you’d rather fit into a modern gender stereotype even if it goes against what you really want?”
CoHo: *wrinkles nose* “It’s not that simple really. What makes you think we’ve reached a time where one can do as one pleases? And it’s not like I won the fuckin’ lottery”.
NP: “Take your potty mouth back to the trading floor. So you’re saying, you can’t afford to quit? Perhaps you don’t really need to stay in a condo by the waterfront” *snickers*
CoHo: “I stay in a fuckin’ condo by the waterfront so that we have a quicker commute to work and hence more time with Nibbles”
NP: “Whatever. And ordering take-out is a great way for the family to bond together”.
CoHo: “Whatever”

*muffled obscenities*

CoHo: “Ok, it’s not the money. I’m scared to think of what would happen in a situation where Big Byte would not be around.”
NP: “That’s just rich CoHo. If your star-studded resume can’t land a job, what can?”
CoHo: “Corporations don’t shed tears for a returning SAHM”.
NP: “There’s other jobs out there you know. Like start-ups. You always wanted to join one, right? Maybe you could start your own…it’ll be stimulating, fun, you could be your own boss instead of a lowly CoHo”
CoHo: “That would be a much bigger time committment. What becomes of Nibbles then?”
NP: “Forget it CoHo. Scurry away to your dusty corner and I’ll let you know when that dream job comes begging for you while you live your life in morbid fear.”

Putting the “dom” in momdom

They say if you don’t have anything nice to say, say nothing – or some such hogwash, as a result of which I’ve tucked my rants under the rugs, alongwith other stray litter I can’t be bothered to clean. But I’m rather nutella-starved today, so I’m bringin’ it.

Being a stay-at-home-mom ain’t no picnic…but it is a non-stop circus with fresh acts everyday courtesy Nibbles. Nibbles is an awesome housemate, and we spend hours giggling and rolling on the floor, destroying anything that dares to stop our momentum. While he moves from one milestone to the next, I delight in undoing my adulthood.

Then we break for lunch – I belt out archaic numbers from those long-lost convent school days to my biggest (and only) fan, Nibbles, who plays maestro with colorful spoons loaded with prunes, carrots and other goo du jour.

Come afternoon, and I decide to be social for a change and join the stroller mommies by the boardwalk, instead of tossing envious glances their way. Of course, by the time I’m done with my annoyingly long pre-outing ritual, a tired Nibbles rubs his eyes and decides to chill in bed, getting drunk on artificial air and breast milk.

Soon enough, my caffeine levels are dangerously low, and I decide to lose myself in a piping hot cup of ginger tea while surfin’ the net. I then see the cyclone of a mess that I helped create, piling sink+laundry and maggi noodle dinner on the horizon – and that blasted guilt sets in.

Now that I’ve traded my full-time job as a software engineer for a full-time gig as a domestic engineer, I suddenly feel like I’ve lost the right to vegetate. At work-work, one could stare endlessly at the dual computer screens, pretending to be immersed in sloppy code, occasionaly scratching one’s forehead, kicking the CPU and sighing audibly on the way to the vending machine for a candy fix.

At work-work, I could leave the bugs, e-mails and unfinished reports till the next day in order to keep expectations at comfy levels while I got acquainted with a bottle of wine.  At home, there really is no EOD (end of day). If I’m in bed, it’s because I’m defeated by the random chores that come at me like one of those automatic tennis ball machines gone berserk. If I’m in bed, it means I really should be glued to my laptop trying to squeeze in my daily 4 hours of part-time work, churning out magnificent code to impress those folks that have my soul. And here I am, blogging my responsibilities away. Bah!

As a domestic engineer, I know I can’t get fired, but my sheer ineptitude at it simply sucks; especially when I read how other mommy bloggers seem to keep at it, even if it means running on an empty tank. For sure, Supermomdom is a necessity not an option.

Big Byte has been perfect though, with well planted words of praise every once in a while, even if my rotis are shaped like the map of Timbucktoo and taste like cardboard. I for one have stopped getting all riled up about the fact that I’m performing traditional duties outlined for a “wife” and a “mom”.

I used to think feminism was about abandoning gender roles dictated by society. I thought that being diametrically opposite to those roles would support “the cause” further. Being a mother – and being sober – has certainly cleared up  the fog. (Can I have my margarita now?)

Score!

It’s about time I got off my keister and confessed – I’ve opted to work part-time, mostly from home, gracing The Office with my glorious self only once a week. After pulling the whole Goldilocks routine on Dream Company – no this schedule is too many hours in the office, no this one’s too many hours at home…ah, but this nifty schedule has the perfect balance of work and home hours. Slurrrp!

I know, it’s criminal to have so much luck concentrated into one person, but yup – I’m testing it to the max. My reasons for doing so have been beaten to first solids puree consistency and none of them have changed. This just might be the right decision for me because I’m no longer a bawling, slobbery mess when I come back home to my Nibbles and I can actually focus on work without the suffocating guilt.

Damn! It was so easy to judge every mom’s decision pre-Nibbles. Today, if I see a mom who’s been brave enough to make a parenting decision with her heart and mind intact, I say r-e-s-p-e-c-t sistah!

Thanks to the awesome Priya in Suburbia, I was able to chew on some SAHM-WOHM ideas.

Edited: This post was assigned an id of 42 by wordpress, and hence should be the answer to life, the universe and everything. Hah!

WOHM-SAHM? Damn! (done)

It appears as though I may finally heave that sigh of relief that comes from having made a decision, but a sigh nevertheless. I’ve decided to work part-time : 3 days @ work, 1 @ home. Yes, Dream Company did pull through for me. I still lose 33 hours of the week with Nibbles, at least 27 of which he will spend awake, playing and tucking one milestone after another under his lil’ belt. But at least the first thing I do when I get home will not be frantically logging in and catching up with e-mails into wee hours of the night, with Nibbles tucked under my breast even if he’s neither hungry nor awake.

This post is supposed to smell of closure, but I’m so mad at Dream Company for questioning my committment towards my career when I suggested part-time. They had the nerve to suggest, jokingly, that perhaps a career in teaching might suit my situation better. I love teaching, but for some reason I wasn’t laughing my ass off at their kind suggestion. What the fuck is up with having to prove myself a gazillion times over? Starting from proving that a girl does not have to sleep with her teaching assistants to pass her computer science major courses, to proving that a very pregnant woman can pull all-nighters and run (ok, waddle) across the trading floor to rollout a critical application ahead of schedule. And now they question my committment because I want one measly day with my Nibbles??? Fuck this shit!

Ok, so I didn’t say “Fuck this shit”, although that’s exactly what I should’ve said while shoving some mean, green dolla bills down their throats. I swallowed the shards of my pride and gushed appropriately when they okayed my part-time request. Maybe it’s because I didn’t have the balls to disappoint everyone by staying at home. Maybe it’s because I know that my post-partum blues are precariously close to a full blown depression and staying at home is guaranteed to accelerate the process.

It sucks that I’m already not Nibbles’ favorite person. Sucks that I can’t be a happy homemaker and nurture my family. It sucks that I need to be away from my Nibbles to be a better mommy to him. But a gal’s gotta do what a gal’s got to do. Now zippit.

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>