Women
Damned if I do, damned
if I don't by Monisha Sen
I
gave the little beings we brought to life my undivided attention and
care; I gave up my job and stayed home. While I did a pretty good job of
it (especially when my two children say so), staying home just didn’t
come easy. Privately, quietly I rebelled against my job definition of
“mom/ housewife”.
Now that the babies have busy little lives of their own, I ended my four
year sabbatical and got a job. Sometimes now, when I have a breath to
catch, I wonder why we women cant just let be!
For my twelve working years, life was about battling deadlines, meeting
impossible targets. Post-partum, life took an increasingly fast pace
behind one baby, then two. With their conflicting whims, illnesses, and
sleep patterns. Today, my four years as “merely Mom” seems a slower life
as I try to balance motherhood and career. Balancing deadlines, nap
times and 24 hours.
Once I used to carry an organizer, credit cards, a pen and a hair brush.
Neat! My post baby bag overflows with diapers, comic books, chocolates,
water bottles, baby wipes, tee shirts. Its time now to fit both lives in
one bag.
I sent in my report for the month yesterday. I thought I could take the
weekend off and teach my baby the color red, teach my daughter to color
within a circle. She is off to meet her friend in the floor above, and
he hooked off somewhere noisily dragging the red plastic chair. I wanted
to work, I wanted them independent, why do I feel like crying?
Twelve years of hard work, commitment and rising paychecks justified my
existence. Then came four years of justifying existence by the
linguistic maturity of my daughter, expressing herself fluently (and
vociferously) in three languages before she turned three. By the
physical development of my baby, who chased behind his sister at nine
months. Today I discovered I can read our daily story as I download data
on the computer – we are spending fun time together, right? I am not
such a bad mother after all, right?
For four years, I was on a fast track, coaxing a fussy eater to one more
spoonful, in wanting them asleep when awake and waking them when asleep.
In compulsively picking up toys, crayons, sweet wrappers and bits of
fossilized dinner from under the table. In picking one up from nursery,
and teaching the other to sit still in a car. In teaching my elder child
C.A.T spells cat, convincing my man of few words that the cat says meow
and not his ubiquitous bow-wow. In hauling the monkey off the window
grill while brawling with the fashion diva that the orange skirt does
NOT match a Barbie pink top.
I will
have to do it all again tomorrow, before I can even attempt a deadline.
Once, a lifetime and four years ago, I met clients, met colleagues, met
friends. After babies, all I met were other mothers; some
better-qualified and better home adjusted. We griped about having no
time for do much beyond our children, we lacked regular adult
conversations. Today, I still meet moms, but my gripe is about
neglecting the children (who don’t want us around too much anyway!)
For all my working life, I came home, had dinner and read myself to
sleep. Ready for the next days work. For the last four years, I have not
slept a night through, my husband and I have dinner in turns, I read a
line a day. Today I finish work and rush to two grubby hugs in the
sandpit, refreshed by our time apart to willingly postpone bedtime for
an extra cuddle.
I met a friend, an ex colleague the other day. I was able to tell him
where I work, what I do. Rather than my monologue of how children keep
me busy, how I don’t have time for anything else…. It felt good to be
seen in something other than jeans and the first shirt that fell out of
the cupboard as I hurried between chores.
Looks like I am damned if I do, damned if I don’t. And damned for trying
to do both.
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I
gave the little beings we brought to life my undivided attention and
care; I gave up my job and stayed home. While I did a pretty good job of
it (especially when my two children say so), staying home just didn’t
come easy. Privately, quietly I rebelled against my job definition of
“mom/ housewife”. 