Cowboy got the job! The dream-with-a-capital-D job.
I am so happy for him. I remember us taking Gus for a walk one February night in the college town where we lived for grad school. We had just started dating and he was discussing the three job offers he had received.
"But what do you really want to do?" I asked.
"I want to be a CFO someday," was his reply.
"Well then choose the job that is going to put you in the best position for that future," (oh, I thought I was such a smarty pants first-year back then.)
For the first 7 years of our relationship, I can definitely say that my job came first. We chose the town we live in based upon my job offer. He transferred his job with the bank so we could be in the same city. I traveled extensively. Usually over weekends. For long periods of time. Always surrounded by a cadre of guys. He had the local job. At the bank with its regular hours. And took care of the house, the bills, the dog, etc., while I galloped around mountain towns. He never gave me shit or grief for any of it.
Um, honey, I know we just bought our first house but I need to go live in Park City for 6 weeks during the Olympics. Where will I live? Oh in a townhouse with the rest of the marketing department. I guess that’s right. They are all guys. Hmm. That will be strange. As an aside, that townhouse became affectionately known as The Delta House. I coined the name the night I slept on the couch because some unplanned visiting big wig was staying in my room. I had counted well over 2 cases of empty beer bottles on the coffee table and thought, "I am so too old for this shit."
Heck, we almost moved to a freakin’ backwater Mo’ town in Utah for my job. (Not PC. We so would’ve moved to PC.)
Now it is his turn to have his job put first.
First because the commute is a wee bit longer. And the job is his first in the executive-level ranks = long hours. Long days. Stretches of days where – once she gets on a schedule – he will likely not see Missy awake. Please Lord, let her be one of those babies that sleep through the night sooner rather than later.
Did I mention that they want him to start before June 16. And we have that pesky little thing in June called a DUE DATE, which, falls on June 15.
Which is code for "Of course you can have some time off when the baby arrives. Will three days be okay?"
New baby. New job. Now we just need to buy a new house to completely stress us out. Actually, the new house will probably come next year when he gets sick of the commute and wants to move closer to his new gig.
We looked at each other this morning and nodded, "Yep, we'll both be in boot camp for a solid year."
And, we decided, all of this puts me in a new job, too: stay-at-home mom.
Part of me is secretly pleased with this new job – I already bought a book on making homemade baby food. Title of mom is one of my dream jobs. I just never thought "stay-at-home" would come in front of it. That I would be on this side of the Mommy War.
But the reality of it is that any new job I get will require those long, pay-your-dues hours, too. And it is just not fair to us, to the new baby and to our employers. Everyone will lose under that scenario. Something had to give.
I don’t want this to come off as whining. Please. Dearly wanted baby scheduled to arrive in a month. Husband with his dream job. We are beyond lucky. And I am beyond grateful.
I’m just a little freaked out about this radical change in my career path. I have to have faith that I will figure something out so I can build a bridge between two sides of the divide.
That and trying to manage the web of changing health insurance coverage so close to the end of the pregnancy.