O.K. The secret is out; I like to work.
It is true.
I am a mom and I enjoy working outside the home.
Don’t get me wrong; when Omar and I hit the megamillions (and we will — it’s just a matter of time), I will not be working a 9-5 job or punching a time clock. However, I will do some sort-of work outside of the home (I also plan on hiring a personal trainer, masseuse, nutritionist and housekeeper but that is a post for another day). I don’t like that I NEED to work to pay our mortgage. However, there is a part of me that has always enjoyed working.
I enjoy the satisfaction I feel at the completion of a writing project or teacher workshop. I love the clear and concrete feedback that I receive from my employers or clients. I co-facilitated a workshop today and received impressive evaluations from all of the participants (okay– must of them– but it still felt pretty good). I love that when I am working I can begin a coherent thought and actually follow it through to its conclusion.
But then I begin to feel guilty and sad…
I feel guilty that I was away from Becca for most of her waking hours today. I feel sad that I didn’t get to chase her in and out of the kitchen until she fell on the floor giggling. I feel guilty that Becca refused to eat dinner until Omar took her upstairs and showed her that I wasn’t hiding up there somewhere. I feel sad that I need to get up early tomorrow and leave for a presentation just as Becca is waking up. I feel guilty that I will enjoy making that presentation and having the opportunity to collaborate with my peers.
Feeling guilty and sad (and a little happy)