My Monday looks a whole lot different as a SAHM than it did as a working mom.
When we had our daughter, I was a full-time working mom. Every Monday I would head off to the office like the rest of the world. I was luckier than most in that I had an amazing boss and a flexible-enough job. So although I worked full time, for the first 6 months of her life, 1-2 of those days each week I was at home.
Our typical Monday used to start at 5 am! I drove an hour to drop her off with my parents and back to the office. I’d work a full 8 hours before another hour drive to pick her up. Then was dinner, laundry, play time, lunch packing, and starting all over again. My husband was rarely home (those darn police schedules) so most of the responsibility fell on my shoulders for .. well, everything.
I remember sitting at my desk or climbing into bed at night and dreaming about being a SAHM.
I would think, SAHM’s have the life.
But then I got my chance to stay home! And boy was I in for a surprise.
Stay-at-home-momming is HARD.
I recently read an article entitled Why She’s Sad on Sunday’s. Kristen Glover shares that as SAHM’s, we never leave work. We struggle all week to keep it together/get things done, and on the weekends we’re free! Not to relax, but free to complete a task without a child hanging off of our limbs. Have you ever tried to get something done while your toddler screams, “watch mommy, waaaaatch”?
We’re sad on Sunday because we know that Monday brings a whole set of new challenges. We’re not going to be having adult conversation, we’ll be wiping butts and answering to the demands of toddler tyrants.
So yeah, sometimes it’s hard to be a SAHM. And while I whole-heartedly agree with everything she says, she’s not telling the whole story. The one that shows how being a SAHM brings renewed joy on a Monday.
Because come Monday morning when my husband is suited up for work and out the door before 8, I’m the one snuggled into bed watching cartoons with my little one nestled under my arm. I enjoy her every moment of life. On Monday, I am happy.
It was probably a Monday when I saw my daughter crawl for the first time, walk for the first time, say her first word, count to ten, and learn her colors. And on Monday I get to hold her hand when she’s scared, hug her tight when she has a boo-boo, and relive the awe that comes along with viewing life through the eyes of a child. I get to see her every waking happy moment.
Everyone is talking about why they’re sad on Sunday, but I’d much rather talk about why I’m happy on a Monday.
I may not have laundry piles complete, my floors probably need to be vacuumed, and if you call and tell me, “I’m in the neighborhood can I stop by” my house
may definitely will not be in perfect company-ready shape. And yes, I traded my Monday meetings, for mommy-and-me classes. My conference table for one covered in crayons and finger paint. And lunch dates for play dates.
But my boss loves me unconditionally. I get to teach her what life is about. And although some days I’m run-ragged, I yell too loudly, or slam the door behind me and lock myself in the bedroom, I wouldn’t give it up for the world.
These years are short. They’re already flying by. My daughter isn’t always going to want to hold my hand, sing me a song, sleep in my bed, or think I’m the coolest thing (yes, even cooler than Belle or Snow-Man White as she calls her).
So on Sunday I may be sad, but come Monday I’m happy. And thankful.
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