“Ba ba ba da da ga!” That is the sound of my alarm clock babbling away in his crib, letting me know he is awake and ready to get his day going. We talk about what he is playing with, what he is eating, where we are going, how mommy is not that thrilled about how the Red Sox look this year…and while I respond to his sounds with a “Yes?” or simply mimicking the sounds he’s making, the fact is I am doing the job of trying to teach him. My life as a stay-at-home-mom is what I wanted and we have made many sacrifices for something that was terribly important to both of us. What I’ve learned is many people consider being able to stay home a luxury, and for all intents and purposes, it is. With the state of our economy and job market, having a parent home might otherwise be the result of being laid off and not an ideal situation. I’ve also come across people who seem to think that I do little more than eat chocolates on my sofa all day, while my son is taken care of by the diaper fairy, meal elf and nap gnome. And with all this extra time, I am the PERFECT person to call and unload all their hatred for whatever in their life is pissing them off. And even when I call, somehow I become the one  being verbally lashed for the wrongdoings against them by the world. During the course of my day and the limited direct/indirect interaction, I find that I am not actually speaking “with” anyone. I have learned a few things from the 5-18 million weekly interactions that go this way: 1)despite being employed, people with a job are miserable 2)I must be a good listener or 3)I frequently make the mistake of answering my phone or asking “what’s wrong?”.

So, what is it I want? Ideally, to talk about my neuroses regarding sippy cups and pacifiers, the latest episode of Mad Men, how chicken breast bores the BEJESUS out of me or anything. I would even take someone sitting next to me on the sofa, giving me a reassuring nod while I spew craziness about why anyone would think baby cologne is necessary. And even if they weren’t actually listening to me, just hearing me, that would be enough. I know when I’m being heard because I get some kind of indication, a head turn or verbal cue, but that is vastly different from being listened to. At this point, I’d take either. Being the vat which people dump their emotional garbage not only sucks, but it isn’t what a mother needs. While spending a day cleaning up shit (figurative and very literal), doing laundry, running errands, cooking and doing this with the intention of offering a clean child and home to my husband when he arrives, the last thing I need is to add that kind of energy leaching negativity to my “routine” (ha. Ha ha. HAHAHA…routine, like I have a say in any of this.) I may not lead what most would consider an interesting life because I’m not working for a company, and most days it is not anything stellar. But my life isn’t filled with disdain or hate. In fact, I share similar experiences with the working world every day: confusion, frustration, anxiety, hope, happiness and sadness. I suppose I don’t understand why it feels like my experiences are somehow less interesting or valuable. When I want to chime in on the bitch-fest, it is usually met with disdain for how I get to stay home all day and that I couldn’t possibly understand. And before any suggestions are made about joining a parenting group or board, I’ve found that to be a whirling dervish of insane judgment and competition. But I am still looking.

So, I suppose I will continue to spew my lack-of-sleep induced insanity at those crazy enough to follow me on Twitter and Facebook. And while social networking offers a slight solution to my need for conversation, I will never believe social networking is an adequate replacement for actual conversation. (It is quite possibly the most efficient breeding ground for passive aggression and grammar rage.) While my intent for writing this started out as a means to get these frustrations out of my system, it might also be taken as a public service announcement to those with people in their lives who stay at home: start paying me to be your therapist or direct your hate towards the people at work who took a bite out of the last donut, because they earned it.