Angry

I'm angry. I'm angry that we did the right thing when we sold our house. We didn't walk away. We shelled out our hard earned savings to pay back our mortgage. To give our house away to someone who felt entitled to the very frames on our walls. Who didn't relent until there was nothing left to give. We moved in with family to rebuild our nest egg. How naive we were to think it would only be a few months. We worked and waited. We focused on more important things.

The time has finally come. But we're finally moving home. Our house is ours waiting to be filled. I've found a job. So why am I angry? Purchasing a home is expensive and I feel we've once again had to shell out our hard earned money. With one income at around half our current income, we're forced to compromise our values in order to afford to live. Our philosophy is quality over quantity. Living minimally with nice things. Paying extra for food and items that are gentler on the planet. Living in our means has led to compromising our ethics. 

We've cut back as much as we can and are still just getting by. It's humbling to have to check your bank account before making purchases. Could we have saved better? Maybe. We had some unforseen expenses with Gemma in the NICU and my own stay hospital stay and rehabilitation, and moving has brought about it's own expenses. New license plates, more expensive car insurance and the like. I just feel like we can't get our feet underneath us. Don't misunderstand, I'm not upset that we've have to tighten our belts around here. We're home and that's what matters. I have a good job with health insurance and we're making it. It's the "right" thing we did by paying back our drowning mortgage that has led us to where we are. And that's what makes me so angry.

Season

I put mascara on before work the other day, forgetting that my commute is usually wrought with tears. I have so much trouble leaving my sweet baby at night. Being unable to do our nightly nursing ritual is heartbreaking. Not to mention my husband's troubles with an overtired baby, which usually ends after a few hours with hiccupy, crying breaths and a tense husband. There are so many days that I just wish we could go back to Mike working full time and me home with Gem. I never wanted to work full time. I dragged my feet on job applications; was unnecessarily selective about which positions I applied for. I kept thinking that he would get something and I would get what I wanted. We argued about it. Mike tried to get a police job, but stopped short of the certification course. He didn't want to be the police anymore. He didn't want to deal with the shit people, that I didn't know what it was like to have someone spit in your face, to deal with alcoholics and domestic abuse. He never seemed very unhappy when he was doing it. Sure I heard about the bullshit. The people of the town, the brass, the awful 6 day a week schedule, and the petty office drama. But there was also the signal ones, the training classes, laughing at other people's idiocy, the friendships. It never seemed that bad. We argued some more. I cried more while exclaiming that apparently one of us has to be unhappy, and apparently it was me.

Mike is an amazing husband and father. He knows how I feel about having to work and does everything he can to make it easier. He makes and cleans up dinner for us, makes my lunch, prepares my bottles for pumping, does laundry, takes care of the dogs and Gem while I sleep all day in preparation for night shift. Packs them all up and goes to his parents, my parents, so the house is quiet. He brings Gem in to nurse and when she's done rocks her to sleep and puts her in her crib to nap. I appreciate those things, more than he knows, but I'd still rather be the one doing them.

We've decided Mike is going to start preparing for nursing school by taking the countless science classes required for the 18 month accelerated nursing program. He's registered to take his first classes; during the week while I work the weekend shift. Our goal is for both of us to be in fulfilling careers, with flexible schedules, a comfortable income, and the ability for one of us to always be home with our children. My head knows that this is the right decision. It's planning for the future, and allowing us to live the lives we want. My heart can't get past walking out the door each night. 

The funny things is that no matter how hard it is for me to leave her, I actually enjoy what I'm doing. A far cry from my previous experience as as nurse, I actually get true fulfillment from helping women learn to become mothers, from latching babies, from watching them stare into their babe's eyes. The belief about postpartum nurses is that they don't do much and that working in this area will cause you to lose your skills. Though not titrating drips, I'm still hanging blood and administering antibiotics to babies. We work with patients on a completely different level. Elation, fatigue, love, anxiety, and hormones make for a more intimate and intense experience as a nurse. It's what I'm supposed to do. 

I mentioned to one of the nurses I work with how hard it is for me. She's one of those truly sweet, genuine people whose been a nurse her whole life. She said "I know it's hard for you now, but know that this is just a season in your life, and you'll be better for it"