New Phase

I quit my job on Monday. The day after I posted my first entry, actually. I spent last Sunday writing in my journal, writing in my blog, and taking time for myself to reflect and be quiet. It's amazing what happens when you have time to listen to your heart.

Not that it just took an afternoon of journal writing to come to this conclusion. We've been thinking about this option for quite awhile. It just took a long time to decide what to do.

I feel rather embarrassed writing about this topic. We are in a global recession, the economy is reeling from a series of major mistakes, and I am about to wax poetic about how good it feels to follow my heart. I have to begin with saying how grateful I am for the opportunity to consider my options, and to choose between two meaningful realities: working at a great job or staying home and raising our baby and working on my own writing. I know there are people who are battling far more difficult decisions, who work two or three or even four jobs, who have families to care for, and difficulty putting food on the table. But that does not change the reality I find myself in right now, one that allows me to spend time with my daughter and watch her grow, to give her all my love and attention, and to spend my time writing this post instead of hurrying to finish a project, meet a deadline, send an email, or dash to a meeting on the East side.

My heart feels so full with gratitude. I feel as if I am on the cusp of something personally significant. I feel like I have been battling logic versus dreams for a long time--left brain vs. right, the voice that tells me that I should never give up a job that pays almost six figures, that it is nonsense to believe that someday my efforts will lead to publication, that it is wrong to remove myself from a system that our entire economy depends on. And certainly I have been fighting the voice that says being a stay-at-home mom is weak and boring, isolated and indulgent, a sign of being too old-fashioned or domestic, too controlling to share my child with other skilled people. The reality is that I know my daughter would be fine if I didn't spend every day with her. She would thrive and prosper. But I want to be there to see it. Every small thing about her is precious and tiny, a little sprout of life that changes every week in ways that amaze me.

Cora and I were grocery shopping yesterday, and it was nearing the end of the day and her 11-month-old eyes were getting red-rimmed and dark-circled, and her pale little face was sort of peering around the store, trying to take it all in--the people, the noise, the smell of stinky cheese displays and bakery chocolate. She was perched on my hip with her little legs bent tight around my waist and her arm holding on to my shoulder (a pose that I will remember all my life, and will surely cry about when she heads off to her first day of school). We were in the checkout line, finally it was our turn to pay, and our cashier asked us how we were doing. "Oh, just fine, how are you?" I asked. "I'm okay," she said. "It's kinda been a long day." And my little daughter blew her a kiss. Which prompted the cashier to say, "Oh my gosh, a kiss for me?" And Cora blew more kisses, which made the cashier exclaim over and over again that she had just made her day. And Cora just smiled her gummy, 6-toothed, teething smile, and blew more kisses as we said goodbye. And then she hugged me and kissed me on the mouth all the way down the stairs to the car.

I need to firmly believe that mothering is a personal act, and that I will manage to make my mothering experience my own--filled with all my own successes and failures. And while I know that Cora will certainly find things she doesn't like about me and her dad, I just hope that she will still want to come home and spend time with us, will want to bring her friends, and will feel comfortable around us--and maybe even proud. More than anything, I want her to feel respected and loved. It is a huge undertaking to raise a child. They are vulnerable and fragile members of a family that was nearly formed before they arrived. Sometimes I watch Cora interact with us, and it hits me that she has no idea that we used to exist before her.