A New Story

I keep thinking about what I'm going to wear to work today. It's the craziest thing. I know I'm not going to work today (or anytime soon for that matter)...but when my mind starts to wander, I'm planning outfits in my head. It's not that I'm a fashionista, it's just that I'm pregnant and finding an appropriate outfit for work was becoming a serious chore. It was a ridiculously hot summer here in El Paso, TX and as a television news reporter, I spent a LOT of time outdoors in that heat. Did I mention I was pregnant? I learned pretty quickly that high heels were a thing of the past (as was just about everything else in my wardrobe...my growing tummy saw to that). I hung in there for 6 months of my pregnancy (and 4 years in the business) before I started getting that itch. I guess in my case it was more like a rash. Going to work was getting to be harder and harder. I felt less and less motivated. Ordinary tasks felt monumental and tough days felt like the end of the world. And in broadcast journalism a tough day isn't extra paperwork and a bitchy boss, it usually involves knocking on someone's door after their loved one was murdered and asking them if they would talk to you on camera about the pain; sitting in a courtroom as parents explain to the drunk driver who killed their child why it feels like he killed them too; holding a hysterical woman who just found out the body lying in the middle of the street after an accident is her daughter; watching a family who just lost everything in a fire cling to each other, staring with empty eyes at what used to be. Those are all true stories, I was there for all of them, and so many more. I carry them with me, and I don't know if it was because I was pregnant, but the weight of all that misery just started to seem like too much. I started casually reading articles and blogs and posts about being a stay-at-home mother. I started imaging what it would be like to have my time be my own again. Most of all, I fantasized about not going to work anymore. I happen to have the most supportive husband in the world...and he pictured it with me. We checked our budget and started saving and planning. Since early in our relationship we had talked about how we would handle children...would one of us stay home? Both of us grew up with mothers who were home...busy and active, but home. If possible, we wanted to be able to give our children that same experience. So, even though it was scary, I jumped. I gave my two week notice. I started the countdown. And here I am. Staring down a day free of obligations, deadlines and bosses. I woke up this morning with a huge smile on my face. I watered the plants. I gathered the laundry. I'm planning a trip to Home Depot now to get some stuff for projects around the house (hooks for kitchen pots, stain for furniture in the guest room, new paint for the dining room to cover the hideous aqua color I insanely thought would work with the red living room) and then I'm heading to the YMCA pool for an afternoon swim. This evening I'm going to write some thank you notes, take the dog for a walk and trim the roses; make a spaghetti sauce, empty the dishwasher and plan my day for tomorrow. On the to-do list will be stuff I've been meaning to get around to for ages. It's now 1:41 in the afternoon...I would be due at work in 4 minutes. And though I'm sure a part of me will miss some of the action, the camradarie of the newsroom, my friends and the manic way we went about our days...I know the afternoon news meeting will go on without me. People will continue to murder each other, hurt their children & their pets, abuse their power and take advantage of the weak. But now I won't be on the front lines...those aren't my stories anymore. I have a new job and she's growing bigger everyday. My husband laid next to me last night, his hand on my stomach, and we both fell asleep feeling our baby dancing. And what a story that is.