Mommyhood: Paradise or deserted island?

I once saw an episode of Oprah Winfrey's show where working moms and stay at home moms were doing battle over who had made the right choice.  This could have been any season as it seems this conversation comes up in some form every year.   Because I cannot work here in Barbados, by default I have fallen into the stay at home category.  I am home with Virginie 7days a week, helping her in her development, playing with her and cleaning up behind her, while also being entirely responsible for the household.  On the weekends, we just add Lily and hope that Didier has two days off in a row.  I certainly listened intently while watching that episode of Oprah, but I don't think I'd really taken a position either way.  Back in New York, I had a job where I could audition, even work for just a couple hours a day and still spend quality time with Lily, so I thought I had it all worked out. 

It seemed natural carrying Lily with me everywhere I went in the city either in the Bjorn, the Hip Hammock, or the stroller.  New York is a walking city or at least easily accessible on foot, by subway, or by taxi, and I still felt that I had a certain amount of freedom even though she was with me all the time.  I took her to many of my auditions whether for print, commercial or voiceover and the kindness of my fellow actors was always astonishing.  We could get in, get out, and get on with our day without too much fanfare.  Sometimes Lily would want to be with me while I was in the room or in the booth, but she had a portable DVD player with her and lots of actors around her to make faces, sing songs, or just chat.  However small, I did feel like I was making a contribution to my family's financial situation and I felt a sense of self and place.

The move to Barbados changed all of that.  I was suddenly a stay at home mother with two children, no freedom of movement, and really nowhere I needed to go, without even the possibility of working.  Not only is the market for my business minuscule, but I have no permit to participate anyway.  Overnight, I became the household maven for a three-bedroom house with a garden, guesthouse, and lots of heat and dust AND two children. 

Respect.  This job sucks.  Well, not all the time, but I can assure you that this job is tough and endless and often thankless. (Yes, I know, thanks comes in different forms and the hugs, smiles of your children blah blah blah.  People, that is the stuff that makes you think it is easy!  I ain't gonna lie to you!)  Before working as an actor, I worked in non-profit arts management which is a fancy way of saying that I worked for organizations that regranted government money to different arts organizations in both New York City and before that, in Atlanta.  There were reviews of organizations, both artistically and fiscally, site visits, peer panel reviews, sometimes long days.  I have been a hostess in a restaurant, manager, maitre d'.  All jobs required multitasking, thinking on my feet, dealing with difficult clients or guests.  Yet none prepared me for this job.  Motherhood.

Back to Oprah.  What I now find ridiculous is that this group of women were taunting, threatening, demeaning each other about making the wrong choice to either stay at home full time or work.  Working out of the home or staying at home, it's ALL work.  All the time.  I have friends here on the island who not only hold it down in an office or at a pool (One friend is a swimming instructor.), but also do the drop off and pick up of their older children from school, are primarily in charge of the food, clothing, shelter part of the equation, do the bathtime, storytime, nighttime ritual, and then clean up!  We are all dealing with the same things and sadly, guilt factors in for everyone.  The women who work feel they do not spend enough time with their children, especially the small ones while they are at work.  I feel guilty that I want a moment away.  That I want a break. That it is not all spun sugar and baked cookies.  That I miss work. 

We are all tired and the support I get from these women, the camaraderie, the commiserating helps me get through the boring, lonely quiet of my desert island. It's a long way from my life in New York.  This job is hard and whatever else one is doing on top of motherhood can break you unless you find a way to build yourself up.  For me, it is writing this blog, giving myself a pass when I go berserk over the first note of the Backyardigan's theme song, imagining how grateful the girls are to have me at their beckon call.  Right. 

(c) Copyright 2010.  City Mom in the Jungle.

Cutting teeth in the wild

We have been so preoccupied with Lily's foray into big school, the tears and panics, that I have all but forgotten my dear Virginie.  She's been going along for the ride and taking it all in stride, that apart from not being able to wean her, she has been easy.  I must have said it aloud, as it seems the fates were tempted and Virginie let out a huge roar!  Well, more of a whine and a scream and a constant hum like the air leaking from a stretchy, animal making balloon.  Our girl has six teeth coming in, four of them molars.  Oh the joy.

It had been a while since those first eight teeth in the front came in, so my memory of that torture seems to have faded.  When she started waking in the middle of the night screaming and nothing I'd offered could soothe her, I remembered.  For the past few nights I've tried all sorts of remedies--ice on the gums, Oragel, massive amounts of nursing (Say nothing.  I know.), serving soft foods--yogurt, oatmeal, hot dog chunks, ripe cantaloupe.  None of this has cured her from what appears to be immeasurable suffering.  And so I have returned to the amber necklace. 

I know it sounds like hocus pocus, but it works.  Apparently, amber has some sort of healing property and when Virginie is wearing this necklace, she is at peace.  Or at least not screaming the paint off the walls and the hearing capabilities from all within a 10 kilometer radius.  I have three necklaces.  She might wear two tonight.

Lily too was a monster teether and I remember our neighbor in Manhattan banging on the paper wall between us in the middle of the night begging us to abandon Lily and leave her on the subway.  I don't know what she really expected, but I did feel her pain.  Actually, it was my pain.  Lily too was an ear shredder.  In Barbados, we have relative peace and quite.  I have only to worry that the monkeys will find her screams enticing and coming running to see what all the commotion is about.  And I don't think I need to tell you again where I stand on the monkeys running over to the house.

Virginie is meant to be our last child, and as she passes each milestone of babyhood, I do feel teary-eyed and nostalgic.  Her teeth will all soon be in and she will continue her chattering away and the sleepless nights sitting with her while she screamed in pain will be in the past.  I see how the youngest child can get spoiled with love.  When you know there is not another tiny baby coming, that this is it, you hold on a little tighter, indulge them a little more, endure screaming fits of terror and torture in the middle of the night with a tiny little smile at the corners of your lips, heart filling with love. 

OK, I admit it.  I have gone crazy.  Call the authorities.  I do love these people so.  But man.  The days of seeing 3:00 AM at the side of one's lover are O-V-E-R.  After an intense conversation contemplating the secrets of life, D-O-N-E.  There is no more romance in three in the morning.  It is just the way station to the 5:30 wake up call.  I pray that this baby can get all her teeth in at once and immediately.  This mommy needs to get some sleep.

(c) Copyright 2010.  City Mom in the Jungle.