My New Job...SAHM

Yup, Stay At Home Mom. That's me. I am 29 years old and I'm finding those four letters hold so much more weight than any other "title" I've held before.
I guess I am blogging to share the ever-changing, continuous loop of thoughts on what being a stay at home mother means to me. And to my husband. And to my single friends, through my interpretation of their comments. And to the general public. Because when I'm not consumed with diapers, naps, meals, cleaning, driving, errand-running, playgroups, and general exhaustion my mind is now beginning to try and cope with what being a SAHM represents. But before I open that can of worms I'll give you a little background information. Something to set the scene.
I guess for starters, I am not that woman who knew they wanted children with every fibre of their being. On and off over the years as the number of nieces in my repertoire grew I felt those motherly instincts, sure. On the days where I was so in love with living my own life and the freedom of choices in front of me I felt like I could be child-less forever. And as I fell in love with my best friend over the course of a four year friendship, I came to realize that I eventually wanted to be a mother with him being the father, and us being parents together.
We were blessed to get pregnant on the first try, after we had "discussed" that we were ready to begin trying to conceive. Which, looking back, is hilarious because what couple could ever decide that they are ready for parenthood? We had zero frame of reference for thinking we were ready for a baby, unless you count both of us being aunts and uncles to children we spent, at most, about 3-4 hours with at a time. Yet we embarked on the 41 week journey of pregnancy, growing more and more excited and nervous with each passing week. The "What to Expect When You're Expecting" book was referenced daily in our home, full of stains from carrying it around everywhere including the dinner table and dog ears from information that we had to reflect on constantly. My induction came 8 days after my due date, and 21 hours after that our son came into the world and we were thrust into parenthood just like that. It is the second moment in my entire life so far where everything change in a second (the first happened when I was 12 and my mom called from the hospital to tell me my father died suddenly and unexpectedly while bike riding with her). You wake up one day, pregnant, and the next day you wake up, you're a parent.
The first couple weeks were a blur of days and nights, breastfeeding and changing poo colours...it still amazes me that our son's poo was black, then green, then orange and yellow, then brown, sometimes grey, then brown again. They are fascinating little miracles with their displays of digestion.
And now, just over a full year after that momentous occasion I am at home with our son realizing that our choice for me to stay at home is going to be a fluid one. Being a SAHM is the hardest job I've ever had to do:

• Physically: My workout now consists of carrying a 24lb toddler who is only just learning to walk, lugging the frigging stroller in and out of the car, and often juggling bags in the process because I can't take my time carrying in everything on its own when my son is in his carseat screaming his lungs out to get out of the car so I'm now carrying him, and three groceries bags and I leave my diaper bag in the car because I just don't have the hands for it, forget to get it from the car later on, and then realize the next day my wipes have frozen. Ugh. No wonder my biceps and triceps and forearms literally shake sometimes.
• Emotionally: After feeding my son raw tomatoes for the first time a few days ago with a scrambled egg he starts having a reaction...he beings to cry as my heart (and entire body) pumps furiously watching him develop splotches of red on his face, and seeing his right eye swell while he beings to sneeze, one after another after another. After a desperate call to my husband with no answer, I haul my son to the ER at the nearby hospital frantically calling my family doctor to see if they have an available appointment in case the ER has a ridiculous wait (which, of course, it does), trying my best not to speed all the while listening to make sure he is breathing normally in the back seat. After waiting at the hospital for an hour, praying to be seen soon, I call my family doctor again and am given good news, our doctor can squeeze us in! So we pack up, jet off again to our family doctor where my son is referred to an allergy specialist and after a thorough check up my heart finally slows to a regular pace and my hearing returns as our doctor pronounces our son "okay". We go home and once my little man is safely asleep I cry. I cry out of relief, love, and fear. Relief that he is okay and will be okay, a love so strong that I feel my body has a pulse that beats just for him, and fear of what could have been worse thankfully wasn't, and I also cry from sheer exhaustion from feeling all those emotions.
• Psychologically: After hearing a few insensitive comments about staying home I begin to question whether or not I'm doing the right thing. Should I be returning to work? I feel like I'm losing that part of me a little everyday, that career part, that independence part, that pride of receiving a pay-cheque in my name part. Who am I if I'm not a teacher? And what will I do once my son and our future children (we'd like to try for one more) are off in school full-time? Who is going to want to hire a teacher who hasn't been teaching for years?

But then, between 7:00am and 7:45am when our little guy starts rustling around and babbling away to his stuffed monkey, and I walk into his room and am greeted with the biggest smile he can muster and outstretched arms tugging at my shirt my heart swells in my chest and I realize how fortunate I am to be the one caring for our son and being a SAHM is right.