Multifaceted

I've been working outside of my home for two weeks, now.

I grew up wanting to be a stay-at-home-mom.  I thought I'd be good at it; wanted to be there for my kids and all, just like my mom was for my siblings and me.

I used to even judge those who chose to work and didn't have to.  I never understood why they'd want to give up this precious and ever-fleeting time they were missing with their kids.  I felt sorry for them in their poor choices.  I haven't been this way, for a while, but once upon a time, I was.

Thinking back to when I had my first baby, I had it very stuck in my head that nursing was it; nursing was the very best thing a mother could do for her baby and that's what I was going to do.  Nurse.  No pacifiers, no bottles, nothing of the artificial nipple sort of any kind.  Strictly nurse.

Then I had my baby... and tried nursing.  For two months, even.  He cried.  And cried.  And cried.  He was never satisfied, never seemed to latch on properly, always took forever on each side, just to be hungry, all over, again.  I was frustrated.  And stressed.  And not sleeping.

One night, my mother-in-law, after probably listening to us struggle, yet, again, for what seemed like hours, came downstairs (I lived in her basement, at the time) and offered to make me a bottle.  I was feeling quite defeated.  I accepted, reluctantly.

And you know what? It worked.  My baby ate.  And slept.  And I slept.  And this continued for pretty much his whole liquid diet career.  He was happy.  I was happy.

I still think nursing can be the best thing for a baby.  If it works.  It just didn't work for me.  And that was ok.  I bottle-fed all four of my kids and they turned out just fine.  We bonded just fine.  They are all healthy and well-rounded individuals who are seriously turning out just fine.

I mention this because staying at home just hasn't been working for me.  I have always felt restless, but didn't quite know what to do about it.  I couldn't work - that would mean putting my kids in a daycare.  That word's been like a four-letter word to me and I wanted to avoid it with everything in my power.  I'm a control freak and didn't want anyone else raising my kids.  That was MY job.

But I'm working.  And my kids are in daycare.  And they're fine.  They're happy.  They love it, even.  I love doing something I'm (getting) good at and getting PAID for it, even.  It's great!

And we're fine.  We still get time, together.  I still get to have the biggest influence on my children.  We're still bonded.

It's all good.