I stay home with the kids – and, darn it, that's interesting

“So, like, what do you do all day?” my girlfriend and former co-worker asked over the phone.

She wasn’t being snotty or anything, just puzzled as to why I had purposefully left my job to stay home with my 5-week-old-son.

I gushed in what I hoped was a convincing peppy tone, “So much! The aquarium, the park ...we keep busy.”

The truth was, I was bored. When you’re hanging out with a 5-week-old all day, you’re just keeping him alive. They don’t throw tantrums yet and all they need from you is to be fed, changed and comforted. They sleep through the aquarium and the park. But I had to maintain my front. This was the first time since I was legally allowed to work that I wasn’t bringing home a paycheck.

In my eight years of hotel sales, I knew only of one woman who took her maternity leave and never came back. Hotel people think that if they don’t show up for work, the place will burn down. So I really had to make a big production: “I know what I’m doing, and of course I made the right decision,” when I talked with my old work buddies.

But whether to stay home or continue working wasn’t really a decision. My husband and I didn’t make a pro-con list or lose any sleep over the idea. It was going to be a stretch financially, living off one income, but I figured that with my meager salary minus child-care cost, it was pretty much a wash anyway. Plus I wouldn’t need to travel or wear suits with sensible heels anymore.

As my son grew, my circle of stay-at-home-mom friends did, too. We formed a pretty tight group. Then my daughter was born. I felt good about what I was doing and about myself. Then I’d be introduced to one of my husband’s hotel-industry colleagues.

It was always the same conversation. “So what do you do?” she’d ask. I’d watch her eyes dart around the room, looking for somebody else to talk to after telling her I stay at home with my kids. Then, brightly (but full of crap) she’d say, “Oh. Good for you. I mean, I couldn’t do it, but ...”

There was always emphasis on the I. Then some self-deprecating remark followed “I couldn’t do it.” And then I’d be left out of conversation completely.

I wanted to yell, “Hey – just because I stay at home doesn’t mean I’m stupid! I used to work in your industry! I won outstanding production awards! Everybody knew me!”

But instead I would smile, nod and wish a horrific case of cystic acne upon the woman.

I always thought I would work again, maybe when the kids were in school full time. There was no way I would go back into sales – it made me feel dirty – but if I could find something that I loved, or at the very least didn’t hate, I would do it. I loved writing but knew the chances of becoming an actual writer were slim to none. Oh, well, I thought, I’ll be in charge of the PTSA newsletter.

Then something happened. I became a community columnist. Because of that, I had clips to use for landing my first freelance writing gig.

Now I get a genuine “Oh, wow!” when I tell people what I do. “You’re so lucky that you get to do what you love,” they say.

Never mind that writing takes up about one-tenth of my time, that the rest is spent at the playground, reading stories and keeping the kids from killing each other. But now that I have a second job title, Sometimes Writer Girl, I’m suddenly interesting. No more blank stares.

It’s pretty dumb that I didn’t hold much value to certain people when all I did was parent. I wouldn’t have it any other way, though.

The other day my son took a seat at the kitchen table in front of the computer and said he needed to write his column. People are right when they say I get to do what I love: I get to stay home with my kids.

Gillian Van Cooney recently moved from University Place to San Diego, Calif., with her husband, two preschoolers, dog and cat. She is one of six reader columnists whose work appears in this space.