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| Suit Yourself... | | Date Created: Jun 28, 2004, 03:27 AM |
 I stare at the right hand of my closet where my suits hang, still pressed and ready to wear, although dust might be collecting after a year of neglect. Will I ever need these again? And if so, will they still be in style? Who else might need them more than I? Do I dare depart with outfits, so carefully chosen in my favorite colors and fit, and close the door on my professional pursuits? I glace down at my rough urban cargo pants and tank top. Memories of important boardroom meetings with CEO's and Presidents return to me. I recall my private office with a window where I often watched the sunset as I labored over reports. I remember eating lunch on the run with the office door barely ajar.
My 14-month-old son cranes his neck to peer up at me, babbling about something exceptional, though I can only guess what. I feel the tug of the world on one hand, the tender touch of my child on the other. Does my value come from a finance-producing job? I craved this career of motherhood for so long when it was unattainable and now that I am a mom I want to embrace it fully.
Becoming a first-time mom in my 30's challenges me to press into the core of my being to find answers about my true purpose as a woman. Being a work-at-home-mom (or WAHM) continues to force the issue?what am I to do with myself day-by-day? I work into the wee hours after my son (and often my husband) sleeps soundly. I remind myself that my research contributes to excellence in television broadcasting. During Logan's naps I make outbound calls collecting information to organize later. I do my work well and the TV producers compliment me. These are the kudos one covets in corporate America, but they fall nearly flat on me now. Instead I long to hear my child say "Mom." At that word I melt with overwhelming pride.
I wish I didn't have to work at anything but listening to his every utterance, but I am Generation X. We are burdened with heavy expenses like rising gas prices, high taxes, and a social security we never expect to receive. Retirement seems like a pipedream, and our highly-prized higher educations have put heavy debts on our backs. We don't own new cars, and we've purchased a home with a modest mortgage.
For my husband and me it is the worry about retirement that drives me to midnight sessions with my PowerBook G4. We own private disability policies, life insurances, e*trade accounts and 403b's, hoping they will be enough on which to survive in our 60's and beyond. So the red ink on the green sheets of our budget drives me to work part-time from home for supplemental income.
I clip coupons, shop sales, and re-gift to keep our bottom line within sight. We post items on sale at eBay and wonder when our breakthrough might come. I pray, "God? Help!" I trust he knows the full context of my plea.
So? Do I donate that sweet periwinkle suit to another whose struggles are more than my own? This is a defining choice for me. I turn away from the rows of hanging jackets and slacks toward my son. "What do you need, Logan?" I ask sincerely. He points and grunts and begins to toddle away from me and the walk-in closet, so I follow him to his room where he withdraws his favorite board book and holds it up to me eagerly with the sound I know to mean "Read to me all day!" So I do. I forget all time and dedicate myself to this moment and my miracle child.
Tomorrow I'll call Salvation Army for a pick-up. At least I can give away half of them?can't I? |
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