I can’t shake the feeling that right now is the best time of my life and I’m missing it because of work.

I wish there was such a thing as reverse retirement. Why hasn’t anyone else thought of this? I’d like 20 or so years off now, when I’m in relatively good shape and health, to spend time with my son, who is wildly fun and currently believes I hung the moon, to cook actual meals and establish good eating habits, to get in the habit of exercising regularly, to make home improvements, to travel with ease and to spend my time as I wish. In 20 or 30 years, when my son no longer needs me, my aging body no longer moves with such ease and I have so little to look forward to each day, I will be content to work until the end of my days. In fact, returning to work at that time may actually inspire and rejuvenate me, refuel my sense of purpose and belonging. Instead of sitting in a rocking chair, watching TV or tending to some flowers in a backyard garden, counting down the minutes until my children and grandchildren can find time to visit me, I will have a place to go every day and fulfill a need in the world. I will have motivation to interact with new people, stay current and learn new things. When the sadness of death and disease is consuming the lives of my friends and family members, I will have an escape, a distraction, a force that drives me to overcome my despair and sorrow. I would have no reluctance at assuming more responsibility, climbing the corporate ladder, or working overtime because there wouldn’t be a small boy at home, waiting to jump into my arms.

My son is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I have a hard time believing that any future prospects could compare to the joy of loving and raising a child. During a minor argument with my husband last night, I burst into tears and confessed this revelation. He laughed gently and did his best to console me, but I think I hurt him. Our first date, our engagement, our wedding day and our many adventures over the last six years have been wonderful, but they pale in comparison to the day nearly a week after our boy was born, when I sat in the nursery glider, rocking him in my arms and staring down at his perfect sleeping face. A wave of love and awe rushed over me, so strong and certain that it felt like God was actually there. I had been hesitant to allow myself to love this child, having lost our first a year before, shortly after discovering I was pregnant. I didn’t feel capable of handling that sense of loss again and protected my heart fiercely, hardly daring to believe that I would one day be able to hold him just like this. I was worried that the wall I had built was permanent, that I would always feel a sense of detachment to my own flesh and blood. But on that day, at that moment, the wall came down and I felt true, pure love. I was overwhelmed with relief and gratefulness. My husband came in to find me crying over our newborn and all I could say was, “I just love him so much.”

Maybe when I retire, there will be another moment with God, one of relief and gratefulness that restores my faith and sense of purpose to a life no longer filled with children. Maybe I will be able to love my husband more and appreciate our time together, instead of longing for the past when Cheerios covered the floor and crayons marked the walls. Maybe retiring and growing old won’t be as lonely, depressing and unfulfilling as I envision. I hold on to hope that I am wrong and those days truly will, somehow, be my “golden years.” In the meantime, I’m frantically trying to imagine how I could make reverse retirement a reality.

The other day, I was giving my son a bath when he made THAT face and squeezed a man-sized turd into the water. Deftly,  I reached into the tub with my bare hand, scooped it up and placed it into the toilet.

…

I have officially been a mom long enough to withstand the things that would have made teenage me vomit uncontrollably.

Oops. I started this blog because I was annoyed that I could only find blogs written by stay-at-home moms. I loved them, but they made me feel bad for working. They get to spend so much time with their kids, building cute crafts, making elaborate dinners, going on outings to libraries and parks, all while looking fit and fashionable.

I realize this isn’t the whole story, but I wanted to read about someone I could relate to. A mom who occasionally resorted to wearing clothes out of the hamper, consistently ran late, ordered pizza for dinner way too often, considered bed-head a legit hairstyle, celebrated the fact that she remembered to refill the dog’s water bowl and keep plants alive and somehow, still managed to make her family feel loved. And still had time to write a blog. HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Obviously, the latter can easily get put off indefinitely until an email reminds you that you paid for the domain so you should at least commit to posting once a month. So I’ll try to be better, but I make no promises.