Week One of SAHMhood

After one week of staying at home with the babies, I feel, in (mostly) no particular order . . .

Guilt. I think this has been my overarching emotion this week, creeping up unexpectedly throughout the day. The first couple of days were the worst. I cleaned, did laundry, made mental to-do lists, over-played with the girls, searched for jobs.

After just two days, I broke down to Chris about my feelings of guilt. I felt — no, feel – horrible about not bringing in money. It makes me feel useless and guilty, like I’m not contributing in any significant or tangible way to the house. And frankly, when it comes down to it, I’m not. Is it great that I get to stay home? Uh, YES. Is it helpful? In a practical sense, not really. Without income, there’s no house to come home to.

Fear. Maybe paralyzing terror is more like it. I just realized that there are only a couple more paychecks coming in during the next month, and then we’re kaput on my end. Scary.

Separately, there’s the very physical fear of being home alone and vulnerable. What would I do if someone busted down the door — and I was nursing? What would happen if I took the girls out on a walk and some maniac attacked us at the lonely end of the park? What if we went out to run errands and I got in a car accident?

Loneliness. Toward the end of the week, I really just started feeling lonely. The girls are wonderful and amazing and beautiful, but having that many one-sided conversations with two infants can start to weigh on a body. I can see how so many women just become insulated in their homes. You feel lonely, you start to get paranoid, so you stay inside with the doors locked and chained. Plus, the thought of getting presentable for the public and packing up two babies just seems overwhelming.

Disbelief. I can’t believe I’m actually a stay-at-home mom. It feels like maternity leave again, except a lot harder.

Also, and honestly, I can’t even believe I feel this way at all. All of these conflicting emotions. The almost-painful love and tenderness I feel toward my babies. I never liked kids, really. And now I feel this way? To the point of quitting my job? I just can’t believe it.

Gratitude. Toward my husband, who is eternally supportive and optimistic. Thank you. I remind myself constantly of the women who would love more than anything to be able to stay home with their babies.

Toward my mom, whose feedback has been nothing short of amazing.

Relief. I have these horrible flashbacks of the look on Elise’s face when I left them that one day at daycare — that look on that innocent, wide-eyed face. “Ama, where are you going?” I left her there in that too-small swing with those indifferent strangers. My eyes were blinded with tears. My heart broke — no, ripped, burned and withered. That look. Good god, I’ll never forget that look on her face. If only to never see that unknowing look again, I would live under a bridge if I had to.

Finally. Finally. I don’t have to worry about who is taking care of my babies and how.