Damn It Feels Good to be a Gangsta

Sorry for the vulgarity, Mom.

Well, it’s official. After 15 years of working hard for my money, I will soon be a stay-at-home Mom. I gave work 4 months notice this week. They’ve always treated me well so I felt like it was something I should do in return, stick around and train a newbie. So I’ll continue to work full-time up until something gross happens like water breaks/mucus plug exits/membranes get stripped. (Sorry, that was for my non-pregnant friends that can’t stomach these things). That’s about 4 months of having to pretend I care about my work and 4 more short months of keeping my mouth zipped shut when all I really wanna do is tear someone a new one. But it's also 4 months of seeing the light at the end of the working gal's tunnel. The light that means you don't have to deal with cubicles and pc-load letters and showing your boss how to scan a document for the umpteenth time. The light that is synonymous with winning the lottery.

It’s both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. I know I am extremely fortunate that I’ll be able to stay home and raise Blinky and Blinky juniors when they come along. Every mother I’ve ever talked to has said that they wished they could do this. Of course, in my head right now, it’s all workouts and house projects while baby’s napping. It’s playdates and crafts when kiddies get a little older. But I know this isn’t reality all the time. I know it’ll be a struggle to find time to shower. It’ll be heartbreaking to go to Target for dipes and wipes and not throw a pair of cute shoes or table runner in my cart just because I “used to be able to”. It’s terrifying to think about being at home all day, every day, by myself (essentially).

I don’t want to become one of those mothers posting their kid’s bowel movements on my Facebook status update. I don’t want to bore the crap out of my friends with just darling spit-up stories. That’s not gonna fly with me. I’m scared of becoming one of “those” moms. Ones who are so engrossed in their child’s life that they have no other interests and can talk about nothing else besides Hayden/Brayden/Jayden. Eff that.

Then there’s the financial aspect of being a SAHM. That’s the truly scary part. One salary. Me, most likely, on some sort of allowance. Picture me with hands over ears, eyes closed, lalalalalala. I don’t want to think about that part. I’ve never been a coupon-clipper or budgeter. Combine that with the fact that my husband is a label-whore and we’re in for a rude awakening. When I walk in with Target brand swiffer duster sheets and he questions why I bought Target brand because he thinks they don’t work as well, you know it ain’t gonna be pretty.

But like everything else, we’re just gonna wing it. We have the opportunity to do this and we’re gonna try it. Just believe that down the road, I’ll be that annoying mom, covered in spit-up, reminding everyone that “I have a degree though!” “I was worth something once!!” “I was paid to use my brain for something besides Candyland!” You’re all in for a real treat.