Domestic

Mostly everyone who knows me knows that I'm not so much the domestic sort. I enjoy my home space and I like it to be clean, but I'm not very anxious to do any work in that direction. I also love me some yummy home-cooked meals and am quite grateful that my husband makes them for me. I've never really craved having kids and truly believed (up until 2 years ago or so) that I would never have children. I sometimes blame that on my reaction to women who are enamored of the fairy tale life of having children around singing sweetly, sitting still so they can be dressed up in dolly clothes, etc. I have a bit of the opposite problem: all I could ever think about when considering kids was shitty diapers, no sleep ever again, carting around a boatload of crap everywhere we go, and incessant screaming. And that's just what I imagined for the first few years. After that it's never-ending schlepping of the kid to sports and lessons and school and no time for mommy to read a book or go shopping, or, god forbid, write anything ever again. And while I'm busy carting around a whiny kid, it's also busy beating up other kids in school and lighting shit on fire. Oh, and after that? A kid who hates me because I've ruined its life, getting pregnant (or getting someone else pregnant) at 14, snorting coke in their bedrooms, driving the car into trees, ending up in rehab or detention, etc. And then our child joins a cult, never to be heard from again. Oh no, it'll ask for money to bail itself out of prison. Or whatever.

So. Having said all that, our situation (being in the family way) may seem alarming and masochistic. Sure, a little. Someday I'll write about the mushy stuff that factors into why we are where we are and are so damn excited about it, but that's a hard thing to write in a way that seems genuine. So I'll stick to this disconcerting new feeling I'm having: I'm so done with work. Well, okay, most days I'd give up working to do something more entertaining-- traveling, writing, making art, taking more classes, working strictly as a volunteer--so many things to do when one isn't working. But I do love to work, when it comes down to what drives me every day. Strangely, I love to work a lot. Like, the more hours, the better. I feel very engaged in the world when I am at work both teaching and being a "counselor." There is so much energy in both. And yet, lately, I feel like hanging up my hat, because, damn, I can't imagine leaving the kid at home by itself. Woah. That is maybe the most outrageous thing I have ever felt. I never imagined that I wouldn't want to hop right back to work after the baby's born, much less stay home for any length of time. I've always respected parents who feel this way, but I didn't (and still don't) feel that it's not okay for mom and dad to go right back to work. Most have to. We do.

Here's the rub: I think we can survive on me teaching 3 or so nights a week and having my days to stay home and shovel poop, do laundry, and dust stuff. Hooray! I'm certain that it's a bit optimistic to expect that I'll get a ton of writing done, but I'm still expecting that too. The real trouble with this excitement right now is that I've left work already, in spirit. I'm blaming this shutdown on fatigue and nausea, but it's something bigger. The grand feeling is that I am thrilled to be able to spend time at home, to be there for every bodily function produced by the kid, to cook dinner myself, to home school the dogs, everything. Can't wait!

Oh, this is a strange land. It's a potentially very frugal land filled with rice and beans, but I'm ready. I hope the little bean (size of a grape--or in our case, a potato--now) is ready and willing. I would like to sound-proof my belly to educate the bean that the world is a quiet place: do not disturb with screaming.

xoxoxo
k