Last Friday was a long day.
Days when we don't get out much naturally just seem longer. We've played everything we can think of... blocks, books, bed bouncing... two times over. We're both ready for dad to come home.
After his afternoon nap, Spencer threw up. As I was cleaning the floor, the baby, both of our clothes and some furniture I received a text from Trevor.
Just met with some of my managers, they want me to fly to Portugal for business.
So here I am, cleaning baby barf while my husband makes plans to fly to Europe for a week. All of a sudden life seemed very unfair.
The rest of the evening I was sour. I want to go to Europe. I want to be at the top of my industry. I want someone else to worry about nap times, cleaning up barf and wiping bottoms. I want to feel important outside of the four walls of my home.
After some ruminations (and lets face it, some chocolate) I realized what was really bothering me.
Like all choices, choosing to stay home has had its consequences. And some of those consequences have been harder to swallow than I thought. It has days where I count down the seconds until Trevor walks in the door. It has days where Spencer whines for hours because he woke up early. It has days of cleaning barf while your husband plans to go to Europe.
But... it also has days where we swing at the park. Days where we play on the bed, both of us laughing hysterically. It has days of snuggles on the couch. It has days when a little something inside tells me that I am doing something important.
At the end of the day, this stay-at-home mom bit was my choice. And I wouldn't change it for anything.
Not even Europe.