Someday

I am sitting in the parking lot of the video store, with my suddenly flatter belly, tearing up because I have left my four day old baby in the care of my mother for this errand. A small errand, to be sure, but the absence seems so thick, I am choking. I am flashing forward in my mind to six, eight weeks down the road, when I will have to put my tiny little person in the hands of a stranger, in hopes she will not be harmed, or lost in a shuffle. At the mere thought, I could vomit, and when I look into Jake's very young face, I know I am not alone. We are, at that moment, in agreement.

Thus becomes my accidental occupation. Being a stay at home mom was not my plan. Growing up, I wrote stories, and planned my future down to minute details. Which car I would drive, how many children I would have, and coincidentally enough- that my husband's name would start with J (thank you twirled apple stems). And never for a moment did I waver in planning to become a doctor. And yet, just like that, Rhiannon burst from me after more than 30 hours of labor, and every plan was thrown out the proverbial window.

I was 21 when she was born. I had not yet finished school, had a lovely job that did not pay very well, and lived thousands of miles from people I loved. One could look back, and in retrospect say that my idealism bordered on ignorance and stupidity. But Jake and I had made the decision for me to stay at home, and so I did. We lived on his meager salary as a beer salesman, and wholeheartedly moved from Arizona in a quest for new beginnings. We had a sparse two bedroom apartment in Tampa. We had only one car, so stay at home mom was not just an occupation, but a complete and accurate description of my life. We set strict grocery budgets, welcomed hand me downs, and limited our entertainment to board games and basic cable.

Throughout the years, more children came, and finances were easier. jake finished school, got a good job, which became a better job, and then a better one. Occasionally I would reflect on my career choice, and wonder if it was self- serving, if it would be benefit anyone in the end. But I have been reaffirmed every time. I got to be there on snow days, and really-really-going-to-throw-up days, I got to witness every milestone, from first steps to first words, to first crushes. My kids always got to know I would be waiting at the door when the bus pulled up to the driveway, and there would always be cupcakes and chaperones for class parties. People sometimes ask me if "someday" I will have a "real job", and I know there are so many somedays when you are a stay at home mom.

Someday, my car will be spotlessly clean. Someday my road trips will be lonely. Someday, I will finish writing my novel. Someday, I will have too much time on my hands. Someday, I will embark on worldly travels. Someday, I will wish my children were traveling with me. Someday, I will buy white couches. Someday, I will yearn for spots and tears and a lived-in look. Someday, there will be quiet when I have to use the phone. Someday, I will be listening for the roar of squabbles, and laughter, and conspiratorial whispers.

Someday, I may have a "real job", one that pays and offers insurance, and 401k and every other bell and whistle. But knowing how hard I have fought for the job I have right now, knowing every sleepless night, every anguished tear, every panic attack, every sports game, concert, school play, every cuddle, every living room dance party, it seems that my resume is rather full. I have foregone vacation days and paychecks for this accidental occupation, when really it was my destiny, all along.