Isn’t that the saying? God doesn’t open a window without closing a door? Or is it the other way around? Either way, I’ve got a bunch of open doors and closed windows over here, and I’m spinning a bit.
I can’t say much about it, but my job abruptly ended. VERY abruptly. There was no pulling of the emergency slide and grabbing of beers, but there was some swearing and even an, “I fucking haaaaate this job!” in there.
I gave it my all, and in the end, the choice was made for me because I was too afraid to make a call, too terrified about supporting our family and what unemployment would look like with a baby and how we would do it, too worried about this new little person to do anything but freeze.
But! (My favorite infertility word!) Can’t I make it work? Can’t I stay home with my baby and cut a bunch of corners and just spend one year with her? Isn’t it crazy to work so hard to get her and then to trudge to some shit-ass-hoe-bag job every day where you can feel your soul being dragged out of you via your toenails?
But! What about the impact of that year on the family? A year without savings, a year without retirement, a year farther away from building the house we dream about. Is it selfish for me to ask for that year?
I know I need to take a couple of weeks to think about this, but my head is spinning and I can’t help but feel a little bit put in my place, because I believe I have scoffed before at people who make this decision rife with so much drama. It is drama, of the highest order! It’s like . . . do I shape this person or shape our family? Will I regret it either way? And, Dear, Sweet, Eight-Pound Baby Jesus, how do I make sure that I never find myself working for this type of person again?
I’m pretty sure the argument could be made that all of my turmoil is from being a rebel in high school. High school, man, it’s never over! I am confident that there is scientific evidence of this:
Girls smoking and making out behind bleachers = struggling with this decision.
Girls not smoking and making out behind bleachers = not struggling with these decisions.
So, there it is. Don’t smoke cigarettes and kiss boys behind the bleachers, kids. Because if you do one day you will grow up to have a really ugly troll of a boss, and she will screw you, and you will want to stay home with your baby but worry that you are ruining lives by doing so. JUST JOIN THE DRAMA CLUB AND SAVE YOURSELF.