Tomorrow is "Baby Dedication Sunday" at our church. (Hopefully, our family will be able to participate, but it just so happens to overlap with another big event on our family's calendar. More information about that to come.) In correlation with this celebration, some lovely women from the church also hosted a brunch this morning for the moms to chat, eat, and get to know each other a little bit.
Owen and I went and had a decent time. Just "decent" because, although it was fun and nice and the food was good, it was also awkward to be in a room with people who didn't know me but seemed to know each other. I was proud that I had to guts to be the "new" one in the group, but, if you know me, you know that's not my cup of tea. I'd much rather meet a new patient in an exam room for 15-minutes than stand in a circle of chattering women. (I know that sounds terrible to say, and I also know it has the red flag of insecurity waving all around it.)
In one of those uncomfortable conversation circles this morning, another young mom asked me, "So, are you able to stay at home with Owen?" The question was well-intentioned and only asked in an effort to continue the introductory conversation we had started, but the words stirred something inside me. My defenses went on alert. Why had she chosen those words: "are you able to?" So subtle, but my insecure mind latched on to the phrase like a boa constrictor. Why didn't she just say: "do you?" I felt like my ability was being challenged - and more specifically, my ability as a mother. Now, not only was I battling the insecurity of being the new one, I was also going to be the token "working mom" in the bunch of "stay-at-homers". The conversation continued pleasantly, but I've been thinking about that moment and my reaction ever since. In retrospect, Satan's fingerprints were smudged all over it, but why did I feel the need to defend my choice? Is that the guilty feeling they always talk about when moms go back to work?
The guilt of this working mom is a strange thing. "Guilt" isn't even the best word. I don't feel guilty about being Dr. Mom by any stretch of the imagination. Leaving Owen in the mornings isn't something to look forward to, but I feel like a better mom when I come home from a productive day at work. I am very proud of my roles and accomplishments. However, when I'm in situations like the one this morning (and usually it's around Christian women), I feel like I'm supposed to feel guilty. So, sometimes, in the end I feel guilty for not feeling guilty. That's as good of an explanation as I can come up with: guilty for not feeling guilty.
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