Maa-maaa!â€ My two-year-old daughter, Alex, called from her crib. I bounded up the stairs, excited to have the whole day to play with her. I was now, officially, a stay-at-home mom. Lucky enough to have the option, Iâ€™d made a tough decision and quit my job as a registered nurse.
â€œReady for some fun?â€ I picked up Alex and gave her a tight squeeze, grateful to finally have the time to conquer all the â€œmommy-and-meâ€ projects Iâ€™d collected from parenting magazines. I could never get to them on weekends, and I was ready to catch up. Alex and I would make animal masks out of paper plates in the morning and homemade Play-Doh in the afternoon. My life could finally be full of the magical moments I imagined filled up the days of stay-at-home mothers everywhere.
While singing nursery rhymes, I poured pancake batter into heart-shaped molds, a breakfast that literally showed my love. By the time I changed her clothes, cleaned up the breakfast mess, started the laundry, changed a stinky pull-up, and answered two phone calls, I was already way behind schedule. When would I have time to fit in my list of magical moments?
On my way out the door,
I noticed a note from my husband telling me to please Express Mail the important papers heâ€™d left on his desk to our accountant. The note went on to say that he needed his shirts from the dry cleaners for tomorrowâ€™s business trip. I sighed. â€œWell, Alex. We better get moving.â€ â€” Beliefnet.com