I should hate my job. Any sane person would.
I get puked on, peed on, pooped on... regularly. In fact, I've had to come home and immediately take a shower 3 of the last 10 work-days because there was vomit on me. Today, someone coughed up my nose. Although I'm almost thankful for that, because if I get sick and can't breathe out of my nose, I can't smell the diaper stink when I change them.
So I say again: I should hate my job.
I miss Monsoon all day long. When I first went back to work, he told the husband that he wished he didn't even have a mommy. That's right. If I couldn't be here all the time, why bother being here at all? Oh, the guilt. He told me recently that he loves me "this much" (hands spread about 6 inches apart), but if I quit my job, he'd love me "this much" (arms open wide). I think part of it stems from knowing that I'm spending my days with other children instead of him. He's the jealous type.
I should hate my job more than I hate doing dishes.
Oddly, I don't hate my job. Don't get me wrong - I'd be "at-home" again if presented with the opportunity, but when I'm there, I feel like there's a definitive purpose for me. Also, as challenging as they are, I love the kids. Every single one of them. Even when I want to run screaming from the building (and it happens often) I know I'll still be smiling the next time I walk in and see their faces. I didn't realize how much I missed teaching until I got back into the swing of it again.
Sanity or Patience: choose one.
Do you ever have one of those moments where you think, "HA! I am sane!" Then you step in dog poo with your bare feet and remember it was your idea to get the puppy...?