Every Friday, I look forward to reading the Social Q's column in the New York Times. It's found in the Style section, and the columnist answers readers' questions about etiquette. It's hilarious. But it's also scary how often it is published.
You'd think it's a whole week. Seven complete days and nights. All those hours and minutes, and yet, I feel like I blink my eyes, and it's Friday again. I spend my work days wishing away the time, praying for Friday to come. Monday morning is a chore for me, and I resent having to get up and go to work. Sure, I like work because it gives me some purpose other than being a wife and mother. Am I doing what I really should be doing, though, if I dread going to sleep on Sunday night? Winslow is going to be six months old very soon, and it feels more like six minutes. Time is passing me by while I have little to show for it. Much of that time I've spent away from my children, allowing them to spend too much time at daycare (which we call "school" to help assuage guilt). These days, it's a common reality for many of us. With depressed and stagnant wages, it is very difficult for a parent to stay home with the kids without making outrageous sacrifices. I don't mean cutting the restaurant budget from $400 to $200 a month. I mean cutting out all retirement savings. Forgoing all social activities. Sacrificing nutrition for the sake of saving a few bucks. I can't do that. It's tight enough with both of us working. For now, it'll have to stay the way it is.
As for figuring out what to do that is meaningful, i'm not there yet. I am praying to have no regrets when I look back on this time of my life.
Consent for a forced cesarean
1 day ago