When You Come to a Fork in the Road, Take It

I’ve been writing and rewriting and editing and deleting this post over and over in my mind. It’s kinda sorta big news, I guess, at the same time that it’s not really news. It happened several days ago but I just haven’t had the time or the words to say it.

So I figured I’d just go about it the way I go about most things in my life: with blinders on, eyes wide open, not sure about the future but ready to tackle the now. 

I quit my job.

Yes, in this economy. With twin infants. Severely upside down in a mortgage. I consciously quit my job.

Why? Because of these.

It came down to this: We simply couldn’t afford childcare for two infants that I felt safe and happy with. One infant? Totally could have done it. No problem. With money enough for Burger King, even with me only working part time.

Two infants? Not a chance.

I exhausted all avenues I could think of for in-home and out-of-home care. I did find a daycare I really liked that had a part-time program we could afford, but that schedule didn’t fly with my employer. So I had to quit. Partly my decision, partly forced.

It’s the less-than-adorable reality of having twins.

The decision feels so . . . severe. I keep wondering if I cut off my nose to spite my face type thing. (Though I have a perfectly lovely nose. The rest of the face? Debatable.) I keep telling myself, You could have settled. I could have settled for that hell-hole of a daycare I took them to, where they didn’t even ask the girls’ names, let alone what to do with them. I could have kept the nanny that smoked and talked about avoiding a DUI with a child in the car when she planned to go out partying. I could have put them in a place that cost more than I earned and gotten a second and third job to bring in $50 a week after the cost of childcare. Surely, I could have done something else. 

Right?

But here’s the deal. Not that anyone really does, but . . . I absolutely, 100%, without a regret in the world refuse to knowingly settle for less than the best childcare for my kids. These girls can’t speak. They can’t tell me if something is going wrong. They can’t defend themselves. They eat their hands for entertainment. I know the feeling of crying for help and being ignored, and there’s no way I’d ever ever ever put them somewhere less than wonderful out of convenience.

Sure, I made an extreme decision. It wasn’t an easy one. It may not have been the smartest one. But it was the right one. Chris totally supports me. (I hear the fear deep in your voice, babe. I promise I’ll work my hardest. Thank you.) 

So?

So. It’s the world of stay/work-at-home mom-dom for me. I hope to remember to shower regularly, wear shirts without spit-up on them and occasionally wear a bra. I might vacuum when the dog hair begins collecting into tumbleweeds. I will make my husband lunch. I will likely gain back all 7 measly pounds I’ve managed to lose in 8 weeks by stuffing my face with too much sugar-free candy (because hey, it’s sugar free). I will join a mommy group.

I will compete with other out-of-work writers and editors for low-paying jobs. I will cook up horribly misled money-making schemes to keep us afloat. I will worry about how to afford food and clothes and gas. I will hope and pray and hope and pray and hope and pray that my husband doesn’t lose his job.

I will play with my babies. I will see them learn to crawl. I will see them learn to walk. I will hear them say “mama” for the first time. They will outgrow their infant tub in the kitchen sink and I will bathe them in the big-girl bathtub in the bathroom. We will read books. We will watch television, which may or may not include children’s programming, but will definitely include over-acted telenovelas and afternoon talk shows.  

I will hopefully keep my sense of humor about it all, because hey, these two sure have.