Stir-Crazy

The downside of being housebound is that one loses a huge fraction of the independence that every working girl takes for granted. The most important of all being one's purchasing power.

During the two weeks I spent taking care of the boys, I sorely missed the freedom of dropping by the grocery store on the way back from the bank or after work, to stock up on the usual household necessities that we were running low on: bread, butter, coffee, mayo. Sanitary napkins. I cringed for every single time I had to text Atch to please buy this, and to please buy that. I was stuck at home, saddled with the boys, clutching at my cash, with nowhere to go.

Atch's text replies went from: "Which brand did you want?, How many?, and Where do I buy this?" to a single letter: " 'K". He must've began to see me as the proverbial ball and chain, and I began to see why thousands of housewives all over the country go stir-crazy and lit on their work-weary husbands every evening as soon as they get within inches of the front door. I feel for them, I really do.

And here was my husband, trying to strike a balance between a crucial full branch conversion and new site transfer at work, and having to deal with a hormonal just-turned housewife with two hyperactive kids at home. Poor Atch. Still, he managed to force a rare smile in the midst of his wife's seemingly endless discourse.

Tuning out the audio with a grin

Things came to a head on Labor Day when I presented Atch with a long list of grocery-ables. Eli was running out of diapers, the salt cellar was at an all-time low and there was nothing in the fridge save ice cubes. Atch sighed and packed us all into the car for a sortie into our favorite grocery stores. The kids had fun, and like a monkey let loose in a warehouse of bananas, I scampered eagerly from aisle to aisle.

Cart hogs

Woog builds the diaper fort and Eli drives with the instant noodles steering wheel

Woog: "Why does Eli always get to be top dog?"

Exhausted but happy, and for the moment, his wife silenced, Atch drove us home wedged among a month's worth of supplies. After a moment's reflection, I realized I was turning into someone I swore I would never become: a fishwife. How much of my mobility and financial independence did I treasure vis a vis this precious time spent raising the boys by my own hand? Would my mental health stand the rigors of becoming a housewife long term? Would I be a better wife and mom then? This is, after all, what this blog is all about.

Some wonderful mommy I am, having to go through an internal debate on having to chose between work and family. There shouldn't have to be a choice. Why can't I silence the disquiet brought on by choosing to work AND be a wife & mom? Men NEVER have this kind of guilt. Why would they, they're not the ones obligated to take a leave from work to handle family emergencies, whether or not they bring home the bulk of the bacon.

How I wish with all my heart that I were made differently, but if I don't get a replacement nanny and return to work soon, I'm bound to drive my husband (and sons) batshit, I swear.