“Oh crap, I’m pregnant.”

That’s what I thought, at least, when it finally dawned on me that I may need to pee on a stick, and the result was a glaring, “YOU ARE KNOCKED UP! HAHAHAHA!”

My world, up until then, had been an exercise in drugs, a pretty messed up family of origin, and living day-to-day with my (now) ex-husband. You may know him as “The Epitome of Evil,” at least, that’s what how I think his name was pronounced. Fucking boys with guitars.

So, really, a baby was never in my plan. Hell, I was told by a doctor that I would never get pregnant because of my “tilted uterus” (which, by the way, is wrong…so says the doula books). But, there I was, stick in hand… in total disbelief. I was pregnant. That stork must have stolen my stash, because that was some messed up shiz. (Author’s note: by the time I found out I was pregnant, I had already been clean for several weeks. I was lucky, and I have not picked up a pill or needle in over 12 years.)

Fast forward a few months, and I’m still diligently working in a computer store, glowing with the juices of a thousand different hormones coursing through my veins. There was never really a question of whether I was going to stay at home with the baby because I actually never really thought much past how exactly I was going to get the sucker out of me. No plan, no nothing. Just a baby, a desire to breastfeed, and the sincere belief that the Universe would show me the way.

10 weeks after my son was born, we were broke. Through tears, I said to my ex, “do you want me to go back to work?” He did. I didn’t. He won. I was heartbroken. I had done what so many other mothers do, I had fallen in love with my baby boy while watching each of his eyelashes uncurl, one by one, over a two day period. It was blissful, but mama had to help provide, so I went back to work and cried.

With my second son, I was deep in the throes of “working from home,” which as any new WAHM knows, is very hard to do being pregnant and caring for a toddler. My early WAHM days were really just SAHM days littered with excuses about why the house wasn’t clean, or why I didn’t want to cook (because that’s what SAHMs do, right?). I was busy, uh, working.

I fell into the SAHM/WAHM role pretty easily. I picked up odd jobs here and there, but nothing consistent. The thing is, that even though I loved my children, I never really saw myself as a SAHM. It was fine while they were babies, but I knew it was a temporary job and I did manage to keep on “working” even if that meant I wasn’t being paid, but I was still in the game, technically speaking.

I am not faulting the career SAHM club, because I know some amazing SAHMs who were literally put on Earth to be in that role. There are days when I wish I was as patient or nurturing as they are. Its the women like me, who somehow ended up as a SAHM, and who may not know how to move beyond, or how to be happy in that role… those are the ones I wonder about. Is there life after SAHM’ing, or have they even thought that far ahead? What if their significant other ran off and joined the circus, leaving them destitute and wondering where their next meal was, how to clothe the kids and whether they should throw away the face paint they just found under the bed.

Aside from those few women who were born to SAH, is it really possible to Stay at Home forever and ever? What happens when the kids leave, all of the floors are clean and the PTA has pulled back their talons? Is this how the crazy cat ladies in pet stores are created? (That was a joke, please don’t hurt me.) Do we just become bloggers? (Really, don’t hurt me!!) What is the next step for the SAHM?

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t22rF22SvjE&feature=related

Between the mercury retrograde and all of the other planetary crapola, Uranus is not on my happy list. Be gone, September, I’m tired of being introspective.