. . . but I'm afraid you're going to think this of me anyways once I ask my question . . .
So, as I've mentioned a few bazillion times, I adore my current job as a stay-at-home-mom, so much so that I do
obnoxious cutesy things like refer to it as a "job" & my child as the "wee CEO".
The thing is, though I love this gig with the fire of a thousand Birkin bags, at the end of the day I am tired in a way I just never was with that deeply prestigious,
deeply dull lawyer thang. No, tired isn't the right word - "spent" is what I am now, in thought, word and bank account (ahem).
With many out-of-the-house jobs, once you leave the office there's often a built in break - whether it be a commute, a gym visit, or time alone at house before your significant other arrives. By "break" I of course mean, "Time to lip-sync to truly terrible music while calculating how soon you can get into your Secret Sweatpants of Shame."
Here is what my post-"job" day looks like now: greet Anonymous Husband, who usually arrives home just after I've put Master P to bed; start dinner; switch laundry loads; eat dinner; attempt to have normal adult conversation; attempt to recall what a normal adult conversation is; catch up on bills / email / boring adult requirements. I usually don't sit down, mentally or physically, until 9 pm or so.
Here is what I secretly want to do post-job: collapse into the warm embrace of my DVR and/or laptop and/or the Secret Sweatpants of Shame, preferably all three at once, shifting my mental gears into zoned-out Neutral for at least 30 minutes. Yes, I know - #firstworldproblems to be sure.
This is not - NOT, not, you can't make me! - to say that I'm not entirely delighted to see the AH at the end of the day, nor am I wondering whether I've erred in not offering him a 1950s style cocktail and invitation to trample all over my women's rights as soon as he's arrived home. Not not not!
It's just that I struggle between the desire to be a supportive spouse at the end of the day and the desire to have some time to myself (read: be supportive of the Bravo TV lineup). Both vitally imporant things, obvs.
I know what the obvious answer is here. Roofies.
No, no - it's putting on those proverbial Big Girl Panties and just dealing with it, blah blah blah. I know it is. But . . .
Moms, how do you make that end-of-the-day transition from the mothering thing to the coherent & semi-awake spouse thing? Working parents, I'm guessing this changing of hats is a tricky thing for you beyond what I can possibly imagine - how do you deal?
Off to prepare that rohypnol cocktail while I await your advice . . .