Wood and I had a long, rather heated, discussion Sunday or Monday before the new job began (Wow! it's been three weeks now). It wasn't on any new topic. No, it was just the continuation of an old one. One that we had not been able to make any significant headway on. It had to do with each of our responsibilities with regard to Twig. Bathing, feeding, dressing, diapering, driving, playing, and the list goes on.
When I left my last job, Wood was up for a promotion. While it would have well made up for the salary that no longer existed on my end, it would have been quite a lifestyle change. The job and hours would have kept him away from home a whole bunch. Early mornings, late nights, traveling, and the like. I was very conflicted about this potential gig. On the one hand, I really want him to pursue any professional opportunities (or personal) that interest him. This job would have taken him back to the Arts in a way that was very much like the first job he had in college and that would have been a good thing. But, on the other hand, I was concerned that the job would keep him away from Twig and I, who want and need him at home to participate in certain parts of our lives. I wholeheartedly support his love of the Arts (for work or pleasure) but I didn't exactly sign up to be a *single* married parent.
A couple of months before Twig was born I stopped working. It was a crappy gig and a bad match. We were able to afford a decent lifestyle without my salary. I was planning on taking as much time off as possible after Twig's arrival, so it seemed natural that I be a stay at home mom for a while. I had been long thinking that I wanted to focus on family and here was my golden opportunity. Problem was, once I got it, I didn't like it all that much. Oh, the housekeeping, grocery shopping, cooking, and cleaning weren't the issue. I honestly believe that when I wasn't working, my job was to be the goddess of our home. For me it was being home full-time with a baby that was tough. I couldn't communicate with him and had no clue as to what he wanted (besides my boobs - which is another post all together). Lets just suffice it to say that being a mommy, especially in the early days, has never been automatic or natural for me. I'm not like some of those women you see - you know the ones we envy and try and emulate - the ones that are clearly in their element with little ones...seemingly at all times of the day.
I started to work part-time when Twig was about a year old and it continued to be a breeze for me to be goddess of all things home and child. The garbage and bills were Wood's primary responsibility. Everything else - mine. Those of you that 'know' me, know that I can do a whole bunch with relative ease. Some might call me a type-A personality and that's fine with me. My expectations are high and I generally rise to the occasion. I like to get stuff done and I like to be the one to do it. But as my part-time job became closer to full-time, Twig needed to be dropped off and picked up at regular times, and it kind of just kept being my responsibility to do all things house and baby. As time went on, it became increasingly more difficult for me to keep it all together.
Part of the reason I married Wood was, not only because of his dashing good looks and fabulous personality but, because he 'did his own laundry', 'made his own bed', and 'cooked his own food'. He went to boarding school in High School so he learned how to take care of himself at a fairly young age. This was (and still is) totally sexy to me. I am an independent woman, always have been, and always will be - I sure as hell am not interested in wiping a grown man's ass. Excuse the imagery, here folks, but I'd had a few mamma's boys for boyfriends in my day and wasn't havin' it by the time Wood walked into the Lobby of my life. But something happened when we got married. He slowed down on the pitching in tip. By the time Twig was a year and a half old, I was working full-time, and he was frankly being lazy.
As I said in an earlier post, I yelled at Wood about 4 weeks after Twig was born and it changed our relationship (okay, maybe it was the culmination of changes in our lives that changed each of us and our relationship, but that is the event that I see in my minds eye when I notice the changes from the way it was between us in the early days). He told me the other day that that feeling - wishing that it hadn't been the way that it was - is regret. Because of regret (and the knowledge that to keep a marriage you have to be willing to gently compromise), I have worked really hard to approach my wishes for change in my relationship with my partner very incrementally and subtly. Yes, ME, with subtlety. As things became more difficult for me to manage between child, dog, cat, home, work, and lack of a sex life, I would express my frustrations, my tiredness, my feeling overwhelmed, the reasons for my lack of libido. But I wasn't terribly direct because he could do his own laundry (read: he's a big boy and doesn't need me to spell it out for him). But it didn't get me what I needed. He didn't help. Or if he did, it was only for a few days. Then it ended. I got more frustrated, more tired, more overwhelmed and started to be more direct. He didn't hear me. Well, if he heard me, he certainly didn't offer any help.
The conversation started to get really intense when I was looking for work this last time around. He said I could get a job in a coffee shop. NO, that would not be possible because Twig can't be dropped off at daycare before 8am and has to be picked up by 5:30pm. Wood can't drop off because he likes to go in to work early. Can't pick up because he can't leave the building before everyone else - he's responsible for the safety of people (doesn't matter that he gets there 3 hours before everyone else, too). So, it's Mami's job to do the drop off and pick up. But since Wood doesn't get home at the same time every night, I also have to do dinner. And since Twig spends a majority of his time with Mami, Papi can't put him to sleep, so I'm on for that too. God only knows why I fall asleep with the kid every night by 7:30pm... Wood sits in front of the television for a couple of hours after he gets home from work. What a luxury. In the morning, it's Mami who gets the kid dressed, teeth & hair brushed, fed, lunch made, dishes from last night done, dog fed, cat fed, etc. (what's a shower?) because again, I'm by myself with the little Won.
Wood said in this pre-Mami-working-talk that if he 'had' to share more Twig responsibilities that he'd never be able to climb the ladder at work. He said "when you make as much as I do..."I stopped him (quite angrily) in the middle of his sentence and said that that was not fair. "you have a Masters Degree" he said. "What you fail to understand Wood, is that my lack of a penis automatically means I will never have anywhere near the earning potential you do. First of all my profession doesn't pay much, even with a Master's Degree, and secondly, because I'm The Mami, and because I have to do the things that I do to keep our lives running smoothly - you can't even get home at the same time 3 days a week to make dinner - my job options are extremely limited. Yes, limited by geographic, time, and parenting constraints. Thus, my potential (especially for earning) for career advancement will be limited until Twig goes away to college. And the coffee shop just isn't a reality - on a few different levels. I'll do whatever I need to do for Twig, you, and me -I told you I'd suck it up if you got that promotion - but this is different. You need to decide what type of a relationship you want to have with your family. Just let me know what that is so that I can work it out for myself."
It's weird that it's taken this much time to come full-circle but it has all changed on a dime. He's doing so much more family/household stuff. And, as of my first day on the job, he picks Twig up from daycare every day of the week.
With his help, I'm less stressed, tired, and overwhelmed. And my libido's back. He really is a fabulous man. I can hardly find words to express how much I love him.
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