To work or not to work?

So I have decided to get over the whole writing-is-impossible-with-a-kid thing. I can read, I can Facebook, I can Whatsapp. Which means I can write.

So here I am, writing on my phone's notepad with baby fast asleep at the breast. Her little eyes fluttering every few minutes as she dreams her little baby dreams.

What a journey the last year has been. I find myself not overly excited about this December holiday because I keep expecting it to be like December 2017. 
I am still constantly stopped in my tracks, thinking back to times past and realising how freaking depressed I was. How did I not see it back then? I suppose this is where "You can't see the forest for the trees" is an appropriate saying. I was obviously too busy trying to cope with a newborn to take a good hard look at my own state of mind. 

Besides, everyone warned me about the first three months and how rough it can be.

But after the first three months is really actually when the depression started kicking in.

I was confused. 
Isn't a good ol' post partum depresh attributed to hormones? And aren't those out of my system good and proper by three months? 

I kind of believe what kept me going the first three months was the slow-burn adrenaline. The mild but incessant panic attack that lasted all three months of the very pretentiously named "fourth trimester".

The only trimester where you LOSE weight actively, partly because of breastfeeding and partly because the only food you're getting in are the m&m's your husband bought and that you can shove into your mouth at any time during the day or night. No reheating or refrigeration required.

After the first three months Dita, who was still just a little bundle of pooping, feeding and crying, screamed marginally less and my nipples had stopped cracking and bursting into invisible flames whenever she latched.

I had succumbed to bed-sharing even though the internet warned me profusely of its dangers.
I tiredly justified it by saying it is also really dangerous for me to stay awake for three months straight and start having acid flashbacks as a result and maybe forward-pitch my baby into oncoming traffic as an even further result.

Today I am so extremely grateful for making this fatigue-riddled decision because it is so unbelievably special sleeping with her in my arms, her baby breath tickling the fine hair on my cheek.

No she did not suffocate and yes my husband and I still have a healthy sex life because we made a conscious desicion to make time for each other.

Anyway, I actually wanted to write about how I came to take a job, when I specifically meant to be a stay at home mommy for my precious first born whom I prayed into existence.

I was lounging around the house, taking brelfies, marveling at how much less depressed I felt after starting a mild antidepressant, prescribed by my friendly family psychiatrist, when an ex colleague of mine phoned me up.

I stared at the ringing phone balefully, wondering if I should pick up because it's really hard juggling a breast-feeding baby and talking on the phone and this particular girl had a tendency to talk really softly and rapidly so I constantly either had to loudly interrupt to ask what the hell she just said or pretend to know and hope "yes" is the correct response to whatever she was saying.

I ended up taking her call.
"The Dental Warehouse is hiring! They need reps for Pretoria and Johannesburg. Wanna go for an interview with me? Just think, we could be colleagues again!"

I started getting excited, her enthusiasm was catching.

"What the hell, let's do it."

They probably wouldn't hire me anyway because I can't do country trips because of my little breastfeeding snow flake.

I sent my cv through, thinking they probably won't even bother phoning me for an interview, nevermind hire me.

They phoned almost immediately.

This propelled me into my full list-making glory.

First I had to find someone to watch Dita who was by now 7 months old en relatively easy to keep busy. Maybe I should start looking at creches, just for posterity's sake?

Yes, let's do that.

I asked my Pienk Voet whatsapp group for recommendations and they said Duifies, next to the church. I drove there and after sceptically eyeing the informal settlement also next to the church, decided against it.

Next up, Moreletapark Preschool. Sounded official enough. I was after all looking for a professional set up, not a nanny who might end up abusing my child (I had seen the video of the Ugandan nanny beating and kicking the little girl she was looking after and it killed all chances of me ever using a nanny in the foreseeable future).

At Moreletapark preschool a young brunette lady opened up the front gate and immediately made me feel welcome and at home. She even had the decency not to gape at my hastily scrubbed, make-up-less face, red-rimmed eyes and frizzy (but miraculously clean) hair, in open disgust.

"Let me take you to the baby class".

She lead me through a cheerful yet humble little school where I could see little kids sitting around tables, eating porridge or lining up against the wall to be measured or clustering in groups glueing things to other things or fingerpainting or playing with clay.

I was charmed.

The baby class was sunny and happy with a few babies hanging around, lazily sucking on toys or bottles and staring at themselves in the low mirrors on the walls.

"You're welcome to bring her for a half day or so to feel it out? Free of charge".

"Actually, I have an interview scheduled soon, could I maybe bring her then?"

"Of course, we will take excellent care of her". 

I prepared myself for intense heartbreak in dropping her off the morning of the interview, but the most amazing feeling of freedom and exhiliration washed over me as I drove off.

This is easy!
Why haven't I done this earlier?
Oh gosh, I am dead inside.
Am I a sociopath?
Or worse, a *shudder* bad mother?

In the interview I surprised myself by bringing out the big guns and selling myself like a champ.

"My worst attribute? I'm a perfectionist" I heard myself twinkle.

What are you doing? You're not actually trying to get hired are you? Why why why would you want to do that? You're living the dream! A wholesome (except for the m&m's), only mildly medicated stay at home mom and housewife extraodinaire (occasionally serving up a slow-cooked gruel with a bit of bread).

You're happy!

But was I happy? My sweet, dear husband did give me an allowance and helped me pay my share of the bills so I can have a little bit extra to "spend on myself" but the idea of being a "kept woman" still kind of bugged me.

I didn't want to spend up all his money but I also wanted to spend a lot of money on my little angel. The shops were overflowing with adorable outfits and accessories and whatnot for babies. High chairs, mobiles, toys and little dresses blinded me with their buy-ability.

But the fact that I was earning zero cash plagued me and guilt was my constant companion, even if I just spent a little bit on something crucial, like diapers.

I also considered the feeling of freedom I experienced, leaving Dita at daycare (bad mommy) earlier.

Fudge. 

Parenthood is full of lovely moments followed by crushing shame.

I remembered in my younger years, asking a bunch of women who had had children and either stayed at home with them or went back to work, a multitude of questions, trying to discern which path is better for one's mental well-being, in the event of me finding a good man, settling down and producing offspring. I might as well have been sporting a clipboard and taking down notes as they answered, so researchy was I being.

I guiltily remembered coming to the conclusion that women who went back to work seemed more balanced and happier in the long run.

Conclusions are much easier come by in the theoretical sense than the practical.

I was not seeing the forest for the trees again.

They probably won't call for a second interview anyway...

Right?

Wrong!

"Yes, hi Elmien. They were impressed with your first interview. Can you see the Director tomorrow for your second interview?"

"But... But"

"Awesome, see you then, bye!"

Click.

What? But how? Must have been my little quip about being a perfectionist, I thought sourly but also a little excitedly.

Fine, I'll go see the Director and then I won't get the job surely. I organised with my mom to babysit as I didn't want to take advantage of the little school by "trying it out" another half day free of charge.

And off I went.

The Director didn't ask many questions. He prattled on happily about his time with the company, leaning back in his chair, relaxed and smiling. He told me about his wife and kids, his time in Oz and how South Africans stand out like sore thumbs because they are all obsessed with "north facing houses" and insist on deconstructing menu's, e.g: "I'd like the Cajun Chicken tramazini but with beef instead of chicken and olives instead of peppers, please?".

At the end of the interview I thanked him, and he looked surprised.
Was I not supposed to thank him?
Did I mispronounce his name?
Probably won't call.
Do I want them to call?
What if I get the job and abandon my little girl to a bunch of militaristic preschool teachers and then the job sucks ass and Dita ends up being a Marijuana abuser because of abandonment issues and everything is ruined and for what?
Money?
Am I trading my time with my daughter for money?

It was a Wednesday when I found out I got the job. I know this because they wanted me to start the following Monday and I was horrified at thinking I only had four more days with my baby before going back to the salt mines.

And yet I heard myself graciously accepting their offer and confirming that I will be there bright and early Monday morning.

What have I done?

Over the course of the next four days I cried and cried and cried like I haven't cried in years.

I cried everywhere. In the kitchen, in the garden, on the toilet, whilst eating m&m's, changing Dita's diaper, bathing her, feeding her.

She kind of eyed my quizzically. It was the first time she saw me like this, not that I had been a bundle of laughs before.

The day finally dawned where I had to drop off my sweet, innocent little girl and drive to Johannesburg to start my training.
It felt horrible. None of the excitement, sense of freedom or exhiliration showed up this time.

I just felt like a really shitty mommy and a really stupid woman for giving up my chance to not work and lounge around the house raising my kids and baking gluten free granola cookies.
Ah who am I kidding.
I can't bake to save my life.
And raising kids so far definitely did not involve lounging of any kind.

Training was complicated. I had a terrible feeling I was going to suck at this job and be miserable while I'm at it.
So many products.
So many customers.
Such complicated commision structures.

To top it all off, I had to express milk three times during the day because my breasts were so engorged my whole chest was on fire. The cleaning lady didn't want me pumping in the bathroom and instead led me to a weird, dusty kind of store room where a myriad of people barged in on me, blinking confusedly at the breastpump pressed to my chest and then hurrying out as realisation and embarrassment dawned.
I desperately missed my child.

What have I done?

I surprised myself by surviving my first half week.
Dita surprised the hell out of me by surviving it also.

Soon it was weekend and I was crying again. Whenever someone visited or phoned, I cried and cried and they akwardly patted my back and made soothing noises.

My parents brought Steers and I soaked my burger in tears while eating it.

"What if it's like the previous job and nobody ever buys anything from me, ever?!" I implored my husband.

"Then you quit and come back home?"

This made me want to marry him all over again but my stingy self would never permit such a gross waste of money.

"But I already serviced my car." I said as if it's a jail sentence.

"Then work six months and then quit?"

"But the guy that hired me will be so disappointed in me!" little did I know that he would be leaving the company in six months' time himself.

"Just take it baby steps. One day at a time" he told me and so I did.

Oh boy and how glad am I that I stuck it out. 

Once I started seeing customers, orders were flying in, I was fielding queries left, right and centre. I was cruising all over Pretoria, making deals, driving while talking on my cell, feeling cool with my aircon on full blast, my self-esteem rising like bile in my throat. 
But in a good way.

I got paid and the sweet, sweet nectar of receiving a salary made my head spin.

In the evenings I held my daughter close to my heart as we slept and I felt very very happy indeed.

I was a working mom, earning the good monaaay and still caring for my family while doing it.