Every so often I work through my social awkwardness enough to chat with a fellow mom, and when the topic of what I do for a living comes up, the responses are always the same:
“You’re so lucky.”
“Must be nice to stay home with the kids all day.”
“I want to be a writer too.”
And because I have no filter, this is when I usually launch into the story about the post I wrote that led to men saying they wished I would get sexually assaulted, and then suddenly I’m sitting alone at one end of the story time circle (I’m working on my people skills).
Crazy comments aside, working from home is anything but the idyllically solution to daycare so many believe it to be. Whenever I see a blog post with a carefully posed image of the writers “work space”, I snort, because this is what my “office” looks like:
I write standing, not for the cardiovascular benefits, but because any attempt to sit will lead to me being promptly swarmed but four little limbs trying to climb into my lap and press random buttons. My editors are very forgiving, but seeing aiglha0ew946j@*$&( mid paragraph is not going to win me any street cred with the readers.
The boys have been waging a battle against nap time recently, and I’m sad to report that their winning the war (though they lost the battle today, hence the time to dash off this post) so my precious afternoons where I would write the stories that matter most to be and secretly nibble Oreos seem to be numbered.
So yes, getting to wear yoga pants everyday is sweet, and so is the freedom to take a day off whenever one of the kids gets sick. But having to keep one eye on the screen and the other on the toddlers who are trying and failing to use their potties is the trade off when you’re trying to work and mom at the same time. I never worry about getting a large ego from my writing, because I spent most of the morning cleaning up poop and begging the kids to keep their diapers on.
I know I’m lucky to be able to do what I love while staying at home and most days I’m very appreciative of my situation. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing I had an office chair, at the very least.
image: Mine, all mine.