I’m a working mom. So obviously, someone else raises my kid.
How many of you want to throw something at the screen right now? Or maybe you wanted to email Tracy to tell her that Shannon no longer belongs writing posts for LWM? Fear not, my favorite language is sarcasm.
I’m so tired of hearing this. Normally, when people make decisions for themselves and their children, I don’t judge. I don’t react. You want to cloth diaper? More power to you. Breastfeed til your kid is three? Go you. Carry your kid around papoose style while you’re at Target? Work it! Formula feed your kid? Do it up. Work full-time, part-time or not at all? Whatever works. My personal stance is that as long as your child is healthy and happy, certain choices you make really don’t matter to me. I’ll make mine, and if they’re different from yours, then let’s celebrate. Diversity makes the world go round.
I have plenty of friends who stay at home with their children. Even though sometimes our schedules don’t line up for play dates, not one of them has ever made me feel like less of a mother for my decision (or necessity) to be a mom who works. Because IT’S WRONG TO DO THAT.
I happened to be trolling Twitter and stumbled upon a conversation between two SAHMs. One of the mothers who has begun working part-time was reaching out for information about the cost of childcare. When people responded with percentages, the other SAHM popped up with some snide comment about how “it’s not worth it to pay that much for someone else to raise my kid.”
I’ve known mothers who work very hard and for very long hours. But even if your child is with someone else for 12 hours a day 5 days a week, YOU ARE STILL THAT CHILD’S MOTHER. Plain and simple. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
To me, comments like the aforementioned are not only annoying, but also incredibly untrue. My husband drops my son off asleep at his Abuela’s and I pick him up at 3:00 p.m. every day. Essentially, he’s spending time with my mother-in-law for maybe 6 waking hours. 6 hours. 5 days a week. 30 hours. 30 out of 168 hours a week. 17.8%. So I guess I’m a parent 82.2% of the time? Majority. Thank you very much. Not that I have to mathematically break down anything to prove I’m a mother to my son. He can’t even talk yet, but if you ask him, he knows who his momma is and that she loves him to the moon and back.
I thought about these comments, and about how hilarious it is to think that someone else is raising my son. Because I’m raising him. I’m teaching him. All day every day.
I teach my son manners.
I teach my son how to brush his teeth.
I teach my son how to eat from a plate and drink from a cup.
I teach my son language.
I teach my son how to throw a baseball and hit a golf ball with a golf club and throw a basketball in a hoop.
I teach my son our Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve traditions.
I read to my son.
I teach my son about his family members, living and passed.
I teach my son how to hug, kiss, laugh and be kind.
I teach my son how to feed and play with his dog.
I teach my son to be an individual.
And most of all, I teach him that he is so, so, so loved. So take that, Twitter mama.