I figure for every self-pitying post I provide you with, I should also add some sort of upper. Will this work? :) I'm not sure whether Jack was doing Sumo or Princess Leah, but it was cute.
After being so sick for so long, we were desperate, beyond desperate for help. Greg's parents came on Saturday and Sunday to clean and take care of Jack. Now, as a reward for their selfless efforts, Greg's mom is quite ill. Our potential food poisoning was in fact the stomach flu. Right on schedule, I woke up this morning with a swollen, painful throat and the chills (yay, illness number TEN!). I attempted to work, until 1:30pm, then went home and collapsed in a useless pile in bed. My milk supply is crushed. My head is throbbing. Wednesday afternoon, I'm meeting with my boss for the first time since coming back from maternity leave. I don't know what I will say to him. The first thing I said to him when I started my job (a job that involves dangerous levels of radiation) was "I'm trying to get pregnant". He's been amazing, actually, but I fear for Wednesday's conversation.
The blows keep on coming, but there's nothing to do. Except. Keep. Moving.
And plan, of course, because what are Greg and I but compulsive planners?
I started this blog with the plan to avoid specifics, and one of the specific specifics I wished to avoid being specific about was my work situation. Well screw that, it's part of parenthood, so here goes. After income tax, health insurance, and daycare, I net $400 a month. That's $100 a week. $20 a day. I can't quit my job because Greg doesn't have family healthcare, and Greg can't quit his job because I don't have healthcare at all.
A while ago I was talking to a friend about returning to work. We both mused about work-life and I attempted my excuse: "I wish we could live on one income, but it's so difficult. I hate thinking that this is about money". She laughed, "Of course it's about money".
It's about money at every step of the way. It's about health insurance. It's about education and retirement and ... well, the fucking American dream. My dream doesn't involve a fancy car: it involves a 401k and home cooked meals. It involves Jack's college savings account.
At the moment, though, when I close my eyes and pretend the future will be OK? It's about fucking daycare.
Daycare is killing us. The long commute, the prep work, the closures, the constant illness, it's sucking us dry. There simply aren't any closer options.
We want a nanny. Oh do we want a nanny. We're paying $1300 a month now, but a nanny would be twice that. Instead of making $20 a day to work, I would be paying $110 a day to work.
It's about the money. It's totally about the money. I want to work because I enjoy work, because I need to fulfill that part of my personality. But now? Now... now, money is a part of the work-life equation too.