It’s commonly accepted that stay-at-home mothers give up their lives temporarily, only to reclaim them later on when the kids are older.

This is problematic for several reasons, the least being that a parent’s state of mind directly impacts our children.

Being a stay-at-home mother, for me, is both exhausting and demanding. I’ll admit to feeling tickles of envy—as well as, sometimes, flat out irritation—when I see other mothers perform child-rearing duties with the apparent ease and, equally, the helping hands that I lack.

My parents visit often, but living two hours away from my husband’s family and mine means that I fly solo in my daily life as “mom.”

This means I don’t have the ability to toss my kids at grandma’s house and hit a yoga class. It means, too, that my husband and I can’t have the cutesie “date nights” that I see all over Facebook—without significant planning, that is.

This all said, I still don’t believe that I should be pausing my life completely because I parent young children. More, it means that I shouldn’t be waiting for those “someday” years down the road to enjoy my life.

For one, my kids will still need me.

In my own experience with adolescence, this is when life really gets sticky. Yes, life might literally be less sticky for me—since fruit snacks and messy faces will likely be less frequent within our daily routine—but, in all seriousness, I don’t plan on my daughters’ teenage years being our cushy ones.

Secondly, life is funny—the way that things work out.

Often my life has taken a completely different path from the one I set out on very carefully—life truly is short and we don’t know what tomorrow brings. While I do sincerely hope for significantly more “date nights” with my husband than we have now (or even some), I’m not reserving all of my fun for that far-off “someday.”

I hadn’t, for example, planned on being a stay-at-home mom. Actually, it took me a long time to even call myself that. My degree is in geology, I’m a 200-hour certified yoga teacher and also—obviously—I’m a writer. Stay-at-home mom, though? Nah—I don’t have the patience for that.

I don’t, really.

I have a quick temper and those things that some moms make look simple are difficult for me—like going to the grocery store with two young kids, going to the bathroom alone, and even maintaining long-distance friendships.

But I am a stay-at-home mom—and, usually, quite happily. Additionally, I plan on being home with my kids when they’re teenagers. Again, plans change—but this is my ideal goal.

The reason that I plan on primarily wearing my “mom” name-tag as my kids grow up is simple—the physical daily life of being a mom might become easier, but the challenges of their lives become more intricate—and I want to be there for that if I can.

Having this aim of being a stay-at-home mom to teenagers means that I’m not looking to my upcoming years as stock for myself—for my own needs, wishes and wants. Instead, it means that I take great care to try to fulfill myself now. I will not lie—it’s not easy.

Yes, I hope to exercise and write more often, or at least with more ease, when my kids are in school full time—but placing importance on the present means having my husband watch the kids so I can workout and feel healthy today, not tomorrow or someday.

I hope my children are noticing how I take care of myself and love myself.

I hope they learn through this example that self-care and finding joy where we are right now are not things to shove to the wayside for any reason, even parenting young children.

The post Why I’m Not Waiting Until My Kids Are Older to Enjoy My Life. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

The difficulty of the world didn’t hit me full-force until I was an older child.

Still young and fairly innocent, I think I was seven or eight when I realized that not all kids were very nice.

I was, maybe, 12 or 13 when I understood that some kids were downright mean.

I was 14 or 15 when I started to become resentful.

I was 17 or 18 when I realized that bitter resentment was mainly harmful to me.

I was 25 or 26 when I finally started to understand, and own, self-love.

I was 30 going on 31 when I would welcome my first child and, cliche as it is, really understand what love is.

Now, at 35 going on 36, I know just enough to suspect that it’s not true when other parents tell me that the easier years wait ahead, with my children currently ages five and one.

Raising two girls is not a task that I take lightly, although it is a pleasure and a joy and something that I try to lighten up into; trying to bring a sense of easy fun into our mother-daughter relationship while also honoring the sheer importance of being a parent.

I’m writing this while the kids are playing in an adjoining room with my husband; football, snack munching and general roughhousing in the background.

My friends tell me things like more sleep lies ahead and that it will get easier and that I’ll have more time for myself soon enough, but I don’t believe all of this and here’s why.

My children, hopefully, will grow into teenaged bodies that I wrestle to wake up in the morning instead of our current game of getting them to sleep. Still, when a woman becomes a mother, I don’t think sleep is ever the same again—a cry in the night is simply exchanged for another noise, like a door creaking open for a child to sneak out of the house.

This isn’t to say that my home won’t have rules, regulations and expectations, but certain things—like sneaking out and hormonally-driven cry-fests—are symbolic stages of adolescence, regardless of the generation, for a reason.

I take time for myself to work now—even for brief article-writing stretches like at present—and I will in upcoming years as well. Sure, I battle for just a half an hour to exercise or a shower without company—and things like this will become easier, simply because of full days at school.

Just a moment ago, I had to ask my five year old to stop coming over to my elbow as I write because I’m taking a short “timeout.” Will there be a point in a few years, when she won’t care as much what I’m doing, because she’s older with her own interests, and I am only one small part of them? I sincerely hope not, but, again, all typical signs point to “likely.”

Being a parent when my kids are in high school, for example, is something that right now I can only imagine and, if my images of what early motherhood were like before actually having children are any indication, my predictions are probably way off. Regardless, I don’t plan on being less of a mother because my kids are older. As kids age, that’s when they need to know that we are around as listening ears and open arms.

I’m not suggesting that we all helicopter around our blossoming children, but availability should absolutely remain a constant.

So, yes, I hope that our house gets a little—or a lot—more sleep. I hope, even more, that my kids are so independent that they don’t need me as much as I’ll wish they did, but I won’t for one second believe that my girls don’t need a mother anymore because they have bras instead of tattered dolls.

The post Why I Plan on Being a Stay-At-Home Mom When My Kids Are Teenagers. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

I am not a housewife.

I made this clear one angry evening after my husband unhappily came home from work to a messy house, with dirty dishes cluttering the kitchen counter tops, and a pile of clothes that still needed washing.

This doesn’t mean that I don’t try to perform these household tasks when I’m home and able, but, make no mistake, I am no one’s maid.

I am, however, a stay-at-home mom.

This might not seem like a grand declaration to many people, but it is for me. It took me many, many years to actually be okay with calling myself this. More, it took me even longer to be proud to say this, which is pretty sad, really.

Here I am living out the world’s most important job, and I’m ashamed to say this is what I do.

I told myself for a long time that I had a semi-valid reason to not use the phrase “stay-at-home mom” to describe who I am and what I do every day. Partially, I was also a yoga teacher and a writer and, even after I stopped teaching because my “mommy” job became too elaborate to perform both careers well, I still mentally used this as an excuse to not call myself what I really was, every single day: a full-time mom.

This isn’t to say that women with jobs outside of their homes are not full-time mothers.

I firmly believe that a mother carries her children within her tender breast wherever she goes and wherever they are, when away from her. Regardless, when it’s lunch time, I’m not unpacking my tupperware container like my husband or meeting in a lunchroom with other teachers like my own mom did. Instead, I’m sitting down with a baby in a high chair and a little girl nibbling on cheese and hummus over a Disney-themed plate.

And when I dug deeply and got in touch with why I wasn’t using the phrase “stay-at-home mother” when people asked me what I do, I realized it was two parts: I am a writer, and a woman who still has other interests and functions, but the second part was something that was unsettling to acknowledge—pride.

I am a writer—I use this, as well as the phrase “self-employed” when filling out paperwork. Still, when I began verbalizing and also using my mother role in conjunction with it, I gained a sense of freedom that surprised me.

I did not feel pigeonholed, embarrassed or dishonest, the way that I thought I would, when calling myself a “stay-at-home mom.”

No, I felt transparent in the best way possible—authentic, genuine and open about who I am in my life, right now, where I stand.

And where I stand is, occasionally, hovering over an open laptop to blurt out a new blog while also watching my kids play. Where I stand is, sometimes, over a sink filling up with soapy water to wash out coffee mugs and sippy cups.

Where I stand, equally, is next to two tiny children who, so far, think I’m pretty amazing at what I do. This job, in all its frustration and with its appropriately serious level of responsibility, has garnered the most rewards, perks and kudos I’ve ever gotten from employment.

Yet I don’t work for my kids—in a strange way, we’re partners, although I recognize that I’m in charge; we are collaborators in this intricate puzzle of family, motherhood and child-rearing.

So, you know what? I am a stay-at-home mom—and damn proud.

The reason that I felt joy in finally owning this label is because I realized that any stigma that full-time mothers feel is only going to diminish if people like me begin to find the honor and pride in our daily work.

Because at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what the outside world thinks of me—what matters is how my children see me, and how I see myself.

Photos: Author’s own; Flickr/Laura.

The post You Know What? Yes, I Am a Stay-At-Home Mom—And Damn Proud. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.