I think what made it a little easier for me to choose to give up my full-time job in favour of spending my days with Baby A is that, by profession, I am a writer. I should be able – in theory – to work from anywhere. I shouldn’t even need a desk – laptops balance quite comfortably on cushioned knees.
I had grandiose visions of the freelance life of my dreams. I would write beautiful, eloquent words of wisdom during Baby A’s naps. I would achieve the perfectly balanced life I craved. I would cook a fresh, healthy dinner and have it ready for Mr T and I to enjoy with our baby girl every evening, before we put her to bed and settle down for an evening of even more writing (for me) and something useful and productive (for him).
I would find the time to cultivate a thriving social life and an active schedule of extra-curricular activities for my baby, while earning a decent enough income from freelance articles and projects, and exercising regularly to maintain a healthy lifestyle and set an example for my growing girl. I would refocus my energies on my relationship with my husband instead of forgetting his very existence because I was missing Baby A too much. I had come up, I thought, with the perfect plan.
The reality is so far off, it’s ridiculous. Where’s all the free time I was supposed to have as soon as I gave up the structure and rigidity of a full-time, office job? How can a tiny baby require so much of my not-so-endless reserves of energy? Healthy dinners? It’s a miracle if I’m able to make it into the kitchen, let alone cook with Baby A underfoot. Last time I tried that, she upended a chopping board off the kitchen counter and finely chopped onions found their way into every crevice in the apartment.
And those mornings she’s in school? Laundry and cleaning and a slew of domestic chores await. I haven’t figured out how to cultivate that thriving social life. My only alone time is slogging away at a whirring treadmill. And as much as I preferred to describe myself as a “working-from-home mum” to everyone who asked what I was up to after I quit my job, the reality is that I am very much a “stay-at-home mum” who occasionally finds a smidgen of energy to write a paragraph or two before my train of thought turns into mush.
All this to say: it’s nothing like I thought it would be. And that’s not even touching on all the things I miss about being a working woman, from the social interactions with colleagues, to the active quiet of being engaged at my own desk (hot coffee in hand) in the middle of a bustling office environment, to the pleasure of getting dressed in the morning in something other than flip-flops and yoga trousers.
Then there’s how much I miss having a decent salary of my own to rely on. I’m still struggling with finding the right balance to my days. The “work from home” bit remains elusive and I need it desperately, if only as a way to care for myself and the person I was before I became “mama”. But this decision was made not just so I could be physically present in my home, but more so I could be emotionally present in my baby’s and husband’s lives, as well as my own. And no matter how much of a struggle it has been to adjust and adapt to this new life, I have not regretted my decision once. Well, except for those moments when I have to stop myself from purchasing a new pair of shoes, of course.
The writer is a freelance journalist in Abu Dhabi
