I’m doing it. I’m doing hard things. You’d be so proud of me.
I’m so proud of me.
But damn, it’s fucking hard.
Even when you sparkle.
That’s what my husband and I used to call it when he worked for one of the largest software companies in the world. He had an employer who paid him a generous-enough salary that afforded us the luxury of me staying home with our babies for as long as I wanted.
They also provided amazing benefits—we never paid a single copay for 10 years. Not for doctors’ office visits, specialists, or hospital coverage for the birth of both of our babies. I don’t even think we paid copays for prescriptions. That seems completely unbelievable now, so I feel like I’m making that up. But I know it’s true because I remember the pediatrician’s office and pharmacists commenting on it every time we went.
We knew we were blessed. And we also felt trapped.
I'm feeling compelled to take back Valentine's Day.
Take it back from the greeting card manufacturers, the florists, and even from Facebook, where all I see today are updated profile pictures of couples with hearts bursting all over them.
It's not that I am skeptical or pessimistic or cranky about love. Quite the contrary, actually.