By Aimee Genter-Gilmore, PQ Monthly
I just finished my third month of being a gay-at-home mom. A part-time gay-at-home mom, meaning that I do work, like blogging and web stuff for PQ, along with a random assortment of graphic design jobs. But for three days a week, it’s just me and my kid.
My kid and I hit a good routine over the past month or so. His napping is like clockwork, enabling me to get some work done, or put on my housewife hat and do some housework, or take care of the animals, or do “daddy chores” like taking out the trash, and… You get the idea. It really is a strange “profession” I’ve carved out for myself.
Three days a week, I take Oscar to my partner’s work so he can have some lunch. It breaks up the day, and gives us something to do in-between eating and naps. We do spend a lot of time in the car, but Oscar likes it in his seat, and I like playing chauffeur. Then it’s back home, for some free-range play, like practicing sitting or “tummy time,” or… Wow, typing it all out like that makes it sound really boring. I apologize, dear reader. (Or could I even hope for readers, plural?)
My point is, we’ve carved ourselves deep into a rut.
And so a month passes without you even noticing it, and all of a sudden there’s this sturdy little boy smacking you in the face and squealing with joy. This same little ball of energy was only yesterday a screaming little lump of a person I could hold in the crook of my elbow. And now… Now I just can’t wait for him to start walking because carrying him around is making my back hurt.
Even harder for me to fathom these days is that this cute little snoring little boy that nuzzles into my arms as we rock to sleep, this kid I am holding… I will someday have to give him the keys to the car.
Aimee Genter-Gilmore is a gypsy graphic designer, taking in odd jobs and spinning tales. She alternates between “mommy life” and “professional life” on a regular basis. If she is not doing either, you can most likely find her in bed. Send love notes and hate mail to email@example.com.