I don’t talk much about E’s job* here, for a couple of reasons. First of all, I don’t want to get him in trouble by running my mouth and accidentally giving away something that could compromise national security. (Do I really know anything that important? I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you.) (Sorry, military joke.) Secondly, his job’s not really a big part of our lives right now. Well, not a bigger part of our lives than a normal civilian’s job is – you go there in the morning, you sit at a desk, you go to boring meetings, you come home for dinner, rinse, repeat. The fact that he wears a uniform and answers to people named Lieutenant and Admiral doesn’t matter so much while he’s on shore duty instead of attached to a submarine.

But in a few weeks our contented life of Daddy being home to tuck the baby in at night may change. Last fall, E applied to be a Limited Duty Officer – which is a great career decision for a lot of reasons – and we find out the results in February.  If he’s picked up it would mean a move followed by at least one deployment, probably on an aircraft carrier (Our friend who was picked up and commissioned this past spring is currently on the Carl Vinson helping with the relief effort in Haiti)…followed by several more moves and probably more deployments.  I wouldn’t be the first woman to become a single mother** because of the Navy but it’s certainly not something I’m looking forward to with all the joy and excitement of Christmas morning.

The whole situation is one big question mark until after we hear the LDO results but it’s all I can think about. There are a ton of if’s going on right now and I hate ifs. IF E gets picked up. IF he gets the job path he’s hoping for. IF they transfer us. IF we have to sell the house. IF we can’t sell the house because of the stupid housing market. IF we get to choose where we want to go. IF he’s going to be at sea for 6 months. IF we plan to expand our family again in the next two years. IF IF IF IF.

All I know for sure is IF we have to leave Connecticut I’m going to be more upset than I’ve ever been about a move before. It’s so nice to know how to get to the mall and the doctor’s office and the post office and the other post office that actually has parking and to know which mechanic won’t rip me off and where to get a bridesmaid’s dress fitted and where to buy fresh pasta and who makes the best local wine. Learning all those things in a new place is exhausting, even more so now that I also need to know all the baby related stuff too – pediatricians and 24-hour pharmacies and playgrounds and restaurants where no one complains about a few coasters thrown on the floor and maybe a screaming fit or two. I like it here, New England weather and all and will be very sad to leave.

*E’s job: He’s a Chief Petty Officer (E-7) who runs nuclear reactors on fast-attack submarines. Currently working at Electric Boat to help coordinate construction and repair work between the shipyard and the Navy.

**I hate using the term single mother because having a husband who’s away at sea is in NO WAY like being an actual single mother. I can stay home without working and still pay my bills – not to mention the health insurance benefits. But I can’t think of a better term right now. Suggestions welcome.

Can someone PLEASE help me explain to my husband how hard and exhausting and exactly like a job taking care of a baby is? How although on the surface it might look a lot easier than driving to an office every day, in the end you get to leave an office but you never get to leave a baby? And how even if you don’t really, truly, 100% believe that being a stay at home mom is work it is NEVER a good idea to accuse your wife of “playing” all day while you’re at your Real Job? And not just because when you say shit like that your wife might storm out of the house and leave you dinner-less, but because it really hurts her and makes her feel useless and unappreciated? Yes, please help me explain that.

(Sidenote for fairness: in my uncompleted posts queue right now is an entry about how awesome E was during The Great Sickness of 2009 and our holiday travels. He slept with the can’t-put-him-down-or-he-screams baby almost every night and did at least 50% of the daytime comforting. He’s also helping with the night weaning, which proves he cares about my sanity at least a little, as it doesn’t matter to HIM if the baby nurses all night. But yesterday I did not care about any of that.)

From the point of view of someone who doesn’t have kids, my day looks easy. Get up, eat breakfast, workout class, hang out with friends, lunch, some housework, errands, computer time, start dinner, serve dinner, clean up kitchen, watch some tv, do a little knitting and then bed. Yawn, a life of leisure.

But when you do all that stuff with a baby it looks like this: Up at 6 am with baby, nurse baby, change baby, dress baby, make sure baby is occupied long enough to go pee, rescue dog from baby, run upstairs to brush teeth and put on clothes, clean up baby spit up, get the baby a snack, clean up snack, clean up baby, change baby, eat an apple, nurse baby, get baby and all baby’s stuff in the car, take baby to baby-themed stroller workout class, take baby to breastfeeding group, entertain baby while trying to have adult conversation, put baby back in car, take baby home, try to get baby to nap, nurse baby, rock baby, nurse baby, baby falls asleep, jump in shower, start laundry, finally find something to eat…and that’s just before noon. I could keep going but I’m trying to finish this post before the baby wakes up from his nap. As you can see, baby-free time is precious around here.

Now from E’s point of view, at least 70% of that “work” is my own fault. I don’t HAVE to go to Stroller Strides. I don’t HAVE to go to breastfeeding group. I don’t HAVE to go to the store with the baby. I can stay home. I can run errands on the weekends. I could, quite easily, never leave the house. Like, duh, that’s why pizza delivery was invented. I could also quite easily go TOTALLY FRICKIN INSANE and end up babbling incomprehensibly about poopoo and diapeys and numnums and nappy naps. I’ve already used all those words at least once this week. The edge is near.

It doesn’t help my case that on the weekends I try to give myself as much time off as possible, so E sees me sitting on the couch while the baby naps and imagines that’s how I spend all my days. Never mind the clean socks in his drawer and the toys in the toy box and the milk in the fridge and the food on the table. Never mind the baby is dressed and fed and happy. Never mind my lack of a full night’s sleep for the last 9 months. Obviously if I have time to knit a sock mitten wrist warmer AND maintain a blog, taking care of a baby is cake. And since our not-ever-officially-negotiated-but-status-quo relationship is I’m in charge of the household, why should he have to do more work after his Real Job is done? What do I mean I can’t unload the dishwasher and watch the baby at the same time?

I know I have friends and readers who are thinking to themselves RIGHT NOW that I got myself into this and it’s really my fault for having such an old-fashioned, gender-stereotypical marriage. You’re thinking you’re way too smart to marry a guy who doesn’t have a truly feminist and shared view of parenting so you won’t ever feel like this. And I hope you’re right. But I think every parent in every kind of relationship ends up feeling unappreciated at some point, be it every day of their marriage or just for a few hours once in a while.

The hardest part of this whole thing is sometimes I feel like I DON’T do enough. I feel like since I don’t earn a paycheck I need to earn the right to stay home. I feel like dishes in the sink or unfolded laundry or a funny smell coming from the living room (which turned out to be BURNT CAT VOMIT from where the cat threw up on a radiator) are big black marks against me in my Wife & Mother Weekly Performance Review. I mean, there are moms who have three kids and a real job and a house and a dog and still manage to make organic, homegrown, vegetarian lasagna every night with time left over to volunteer at the soup kitchen. I definitely don’t work as hard as that mom. I don’t want to work as hard as that mom. I want to be happy. I just want to be happy.