• Rant :: Think of the working parents, too.

    For my 30th birthday, Rob bought me mama + baby swim lessons at the local community center through the Portland Parks Department.

    It was perfect, because (TMI Time) I had recently stopped nursing The Boy and had become SUPER depressed. My hormonal, irrational alter ego (we nicknamed her Debi) reared her ugly, tear-stained face once more. No bueno. So Rob, being the knight in shining armor that he is, battled the Bitch with another way for The Boy and me to bond.

    The swim classes were 30 minutes long each weekday after work for two weeks. And if we liked it, we could keep going on the classes!

    I was so excited that I went SWIMSUIT shopping.


    My 30th birthday.

    You read that right.

    While I do have a fabulous Betsey Johnson swimsuit I’ve rocked for years (even whilst preggers at Preggers Aquatic Class), post-baby was NOT the time to wear a bikini. At least for me. Sorry man, I was not confident to show anyone any odd flabby parts or stretch marks.

    So a one-piece it was, in navy blue. And it totally doesn’t look like an old lady swimsuit!

    I was excited. I bought swim diapers and swim shorts for The Boy. I marked out all the class times in all my calendars, and had my bag ready Monday morning so I could just pack up The Boy and head to class after work.

    Monday morning, the community center called.

    They cancelled the class due to low enrollment…as in, I was the only one signed up.

    Devastated and still reeling from residual Debi-ness, I had them sign me up for the next class two weeks later.

    Which also got cancelled for the same reason.

    Thankfully Debi has left the building for good, so instead of crying about it, I got pissed. Which caused me to not sign up for the next class. Take that, community center!

    Until I got the Fall schedule in the mail today. I decided to take a peek to see if they were offering that same class again.

    Oh, they definitely are.

    At 10am, 1pm, and 3pm.

    While I’m at work.

    Which made me come to a realization: organizations don’t think about the working mamas. They cater to the stay-at-home moms.

    And it blows for me.

    Don’t get me wrong, I have HUGE respect for stay-at-home moms (SAHMs). Despite what many people think, It. Is. A. JOB. A hard job. I don’t think I could do it–well, I could, but I don’t think I would do it very well. I received validation for my instincts when I asked my mom while on my maternity leave: “How did you handle staying at home with three kids?” and she replied, “I didn’t.”

    Yeah, yeah, gasp all you want. Actually wanting to work outside the home doesn’t make me love my son any less than any other mother. I cherish every day, every hour, every minute, every SECOND I get with my little guy. And if I stayed at home, I might not feel that way; I would probably take it for granted.

    Yes, I definitely do get wistful when I see SAHMs at the store while I’m comp shopping, or seeing moms on the playground with their little ones as I’m driving home from work, or when the mommy groups I follow on facebook have impromptu get-togethers when I’m on the clock, but that’s the life I choose to live (well, and having me stay at home isn’t financially feasible, and I’m fine with that).

    But to not even be given an opportunity to participate in an activity that would let me do something fun with my son and get to know other moms is insulting.

    Especially when it involves compelling me to go swimsuit shopping.

    So for now, The Boy and I are going to don our swimming gear, grab our respective beverages (sippy cup of water for him, beer for me), and lounge Whiskey-Tango style in his kiddie pool.

    Suck on that!

    Holly Marsh
    Holly Marsh

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