Pru (you don't know Pru? Go stop by and say hi. She's pretty private and paranoid, so that oughta send her right over the edge) recently blogged about something that has been fucking me right off, too.

Judging.

Not judging as in "starring guest host of X Factor", but people judging me.

I got it on our Thanksgiving, when people kept complimenting my stepmom on her cooking. "Your apple pie was fantastic!" they'd tell her.

Hang on, I'd cut in. I made that.

You? They'd say, their eyebrows going up. But you have work and twins! You can't possibly cook as well.

It's easy. You just bunk off work and ignore your children and let your house cave in under the dirty laundry and tell your boyfriend to fox trot oscar. Then - and only then - can you make the perfect apple pie.

I've been getting it a lot recently. The first occasion was an incident between myself and Angus- sister-in-law, the one married to the sanctimonious one that I call The Minister. This sister-in-law (let's call her Terry) was a stay-at-home mum for years. Now that their second daughter has gone off to school she's studying children's education at university. And she's very, very opinionated. When I went back to work she had her husband call us to tell us that children "in care" don't bond with their parents.

To which I say: Complete, total, utter, unbelievably thick and heavyweight bullshit.

She made it sound as though my children would wind up wandering the streets, hugging on to the knees of any available person who might possibly offer them any scrap of affection. Instead of asking for a quarter they'd beg for a cuddle. Instead of asking someone for the time they'd make unintelligible monkey grunting noises, as no one spent any time teaching them a form of language. There I was, busy clawing and killing my way up the corporate ladder, and I would have to be held up by a little thing called nurturing.

I went wild when Angus told me this (he was the one who took the call. It's really best that he did). He handled his brother and sister-in-law and I firmly requested that this issue never come up again. Ever.

Flash-forward to a month ago, when we met up at Angus' Mum's house. We went over to the house on a weekday, having taken the afternoon off of work, and took the babies with us.

In comes Terry and her youngest daughter, a 5 year old for whom the word "handful" is putting it politely.

"Hello," she says breezily. "I'm home today because my daughter is sick. Children take priority over work when they're ill, you know." she said pointedly, looking at me.

It was one of those slow-motion moments for me, one where my mind had only one thought:

Oh. No. You. Dih'unt.

She's lecturing me. Me. Me, who took days off of work to deal with rounds of chicken pox. Me, who was off two days just last week to be with my sick daughter. Not once have I left my children bleeding out of their eyes at the nursery. Never would I let them cough up a lung without me around as I had a meeting to go to.

And I take a hit at work each time this happens - now that I have to go to work the laundry piles up. Dishes take more time. I get my quality time with the kids but the chores I would've done in between conference calls now need to be done when the babies go to bed. And Angus' workload has increased to the power of ninety, so the housework gets done when the babies nap during the weekend (also? Hey, the blogging has been hit hard by the new job.)

I love spending time with my kids. They are brilliant fun. They are also an incredible amount of work - they're into exploring, so you spend a lot of time chasing them around. Nappy changes have become a challenge as they like to try to crawl while you're changing them, and not only are you trying to change one of them but you've got to keep track of the other. And there are days like this past Sunday, where they're not feeling well and nothing you do is right so all they choose to do is shout and cry. There are times - regular times - when I'm honestly glad to drop them off at nursery. That might be a horrible thing to say but it's true - when the babies are in a bad mood I'm actually glad to hand them over to their carers.

Because the truth is the babies love their nursery. They like their carers, who know how to handle kids and are still sought out by children who have graduated into older rooms and want to come by often to say hi to their former nursery carers. The babies often have a grand time at nursery and they feel completely secure. I've dropped in unannounced and by surprise a number of times, and every time I've come in the babies have been having fun, the majority of time sitting on their carer's lap and getting lots of attention.

My one biggest issue is that I want the babies to feel secure and loved. I know, absolutely, that they do. I can see the joy in their faces when they encounter whatever new activity the nursery has set up for them in the morning. I also get the benefit of seeing them positively light up and hurtle towards me when I show up, grabbing on to me and giggling. I love picking them up from nursery, it's one of the best parts of my day.

I got it again today - I went to a doctor appointment for my wrist and the consultant looked at me over her papers. "It says here you have young twins," she says reading off of my hospital notes. "So you must be an unemployed stay-at-home mum."

Yes. Yes I am. That's why I'm wearing a skirt, heels, and carrying a laptop bag. I sweep softly and carry a big PC. "No, I work," I reply. She looks at me and raises her eyebrows. I can feel her judging.

I work because I have to, and since no one is privy to my financial affairs just trust me when I say that I have to work (and don't feel the need to tell me how I could cut back on things and quit my job. Once again, we need to have two incomes here.) But even if I didn't have to work, I think I would still choose to. I think it's right for our family - I love the babies to bits but sometimes I need a break, just as I think it's good for them to be with othes. It's my choice and I'm not for one moment saying that anyone should do what I do. I think we all need to make our own choices for what's right for our families, and is it too much to ask to just support each other on the decisions? What, is it more attainable to ask for world peace? Eyeliner that seriously, honestly won't run?

At least I didn't, until I came across an old friend on Facebook. She's clever, well-educated, and talented. She's now a stay-at-home mom to her 8 year old daughter, lives in Texas, and spends her time taking care of the house and has a small side business sewing rah-rah skirts and is, apparently, a born-again. I read that and thought: Jesus, where did my friend go?

Then I smacked myself, because just as I bitch that people judge me, there I went, judging her.

Maybe we all need to stop judging, full stop*.

-H.

* Except for my sister. It's totally ok to keep judging her.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 07:18 PM | Comments (17) | Add Comment
Post contains 1349 words, total size 7 kb.