Before I had Harrison, I was deluded into thinking (like all childless people) that I could just fit a baby into my old life. The reality is that the dance of juggling work obligations, parenting, the stress of parenting, and the maintenance of a home and household is unbelievably intricate and complicated and sometimes depressing.
I think the biggest deficit in my fantasies was not being able to account for how I would feel as a parent. I'm not just speaking to the infinite love that I feel for Harrison, but also the accompanying self-doubt, guilt, stress, and fear that is constantly nagging at my consciousness. I didn't really realize how mentally and physically tired I would be all of the time (and this with a child that has slept at least 6 straight nighttime hours since he was 6 weeks old). I didn't realize that simple things like taking a shower would require planning. I didn't think about how Doug and I would orchestrate shoveling snow, vacuuming, grocery shopping, doing maintenance on our house, taking care of our kitties, preparing dinner, doing laundry, gardening, or washing the dishes—all of these tasks we used to share that can now only be easily done either by one of us at a time, because Harrison needs constant attention, or after Harrison goes to sleep. I didn't realize how full the weekday hours between 2:30 (when I pick Harrison up from daycare) and 7:30 (when he goes to bed) would be and how once he does go to bed, I wouldn't always (okay, usually) have the energy to finish up the daily chores, or go to the gym or the movies with my girlfriends, or read a book without falling asleep after 10 minutes.
The longer I co-parent with Doug, the more I am in awe of single parents who manage to raise successful, well-adjusted, and intelligent children while maintaining their own sanity. Honestly, I don't think I could do it. The obvious reason for this is the sheer amount of time, effort, and attention that parenting requires. It's certainly not a thankless job, but it's an exhausting one. Add to that the necessity of working outside of the home 40 or so hours a week and I don't know how singles do it—financially, physically, or mentally.
Harrison has been fighting an apparently antibiotic resistant infection for the last month, and I've been so torn between the need for him to stay home and get well and a feeling of guilt and fear about taking more time off, given that I was out of the office with him three weeks ago, sick myself two weeks ago, and was in OR for two days this past week.
It's a dilemma that I'm sure many working parents are familiar with, and it's ridiculous, especially since I work for a very understanding company and am entitled to take as much sick time as I or my child needs. But despite the official policies, I hear people making comments and snide observations about others who've taken a lot of time to tend to their sick kids—people with children of their own who should certainly know better than to add to the immense pile of guilt that parents, especially working parents, already have. How is it possible that I can feel both guilt about going to work and sending Harrison to day care and guilt that I'm shirking work responsibilities by staying home with a sick child? As I said, it's ridiculous and it's maddening.
And, yes, it's trite and clichéd, but despite the stress and fact that there just aren't enough minutes in the day to do everything that needs to be done (to say nothing of the things that I'd actually like to do!), it is also really the truth that it is worth every minute. Well, most of the minutes. Not the ones where Harrison's screaming because I took away the clump of cat hair that he was planning to eat. Or the ones where I have to clean up the carrots that he hurled onto the kitchen floor because he just doesn't like carrots this week. Or the ones where I have to hold him over the grass in the front yard because he's throwing up after gagging on that piece of mulch that he just tried to swallow. Or the ones…Nevermind. I'll just stop there.
It's all good.
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