A few weeks after Isabella was born the company I had been working for called me and asked me to consider coming back to work as soon as possible. I went in and talked with them about their expectations; hours I would work, pay I would receive. I went home to consider and crunch the numbers and reality hit me pretty hard when I realized that it would cost more for me to work than to not.
But at the same time I needed to be bringing in some sort of income in order for us to stay afloat while Nick was in school since he, rather inconveniently, could not be in two places at the same time. Apparently the question: to work or not to work, had one answer: yes.
I was blessed to be able to do my previous job from home for about a year. It meant that we could keep a roof over our heads and food in the cupboards and take care of our needs. But man did I have wants, and insecurities.
I just didn't want to be judged. I didn't want people to look at our family and wonder what we were thinking when we decided to have a child, and as my belly began to swell with #2, I didn't want them to click their tongue and look down their nose at me. I wanted people to see through my stuff what a great parent I obviously was.
So I got a second job. A paper route that meant I woke at 4:00am to have the newspaper delivered by 6:00am everyday and then I looked after Isabella and our home and did my other job and cooked delicious dinners and spent fabulous evenings with my husband.
As if. The second I stopped relying on God things began to suck. True we had more money coming in than before. True we were able to buy things and do day trips, but we were so unhappy. I was overworked and tired and not taking care of what I should be taking care of. I hit a wall and burned right out. Something had to give and so the paper route went.
I found myself stuck in the middle ground: wearing a business suit attitude and my sweats to work, and man did they chafe.