Did I really just quit my job? Answer: I did. Yes, I did.

A year and a half ago I had my third baby. When I went out on maternity leave, I told my boss I was 50/50 on coming back (code for “don’t ask”). After five months, I came back. Happily. And my husband – a man not beholden to traditional gender roles - quit his job. His good job. The one where the stock doubled after he left. He didn’t quit his job to join a gym or the Sierra Club, but to change a lot of diapers and to be the preschool chaperone in a baseball cap.

Prior to this decision we had been a dual income family with two kids, a nanny, and a network of family and friends helping to keep the Ballbach enterprise afloat. It was working, but we were THAT family who spent more time shuttling between places – always busy, always late, always juggling, always operating at an elevated RPM. We lived for the weekends to “catch up” on life – cramming every errand into six hours on Saturday afternoon (and cursing the dry cleaner who closed at 2pm) and then jealously guarding the rest of it for family time. We were living, but not living well. And, the trim that so desperately needed painting – it never stood a chance.

Since we made the Mr Mom decision, our lives have changed dramatically. It has been better. Not always easy, but better. The intentional deceleration has given us time back. Time with our children in both scheduled and unscheduled ways. Time to connect with friends. Time to connect with our community. Time to paint the trim and plant a garden.

Now it is a year later and we are switching roles. My husband is re-entering the workforce, and I’m exiting it. And it’s hard. I changed my mind a million times over the past few months as this plan was hatching. I did casual online nanny searches to see if the *perfect nanny* might magically appear on my computer screen. I thought about going in with a *part time* proposal. But every time I started going down the road of staying, I kept coming back around to the fact that we are giving our boys a gift in giving them one of us full-time. Most people don’t get that choice.

Telling my boss Ted on Monday night was not fun. My resignation was not well scripted or even well thought out, but it was real. Ted could not have been more gracious or supportive, exactly what you’d hope for in a boss, but I know it sucks for him because he has to fix the hole. And it’s a hole he didn’t see coming.

I think it surprised him because it’s transparent that I love my work. I love my job. I love my boss. I love the people I work with (Kristen, Noel, Mike, Larry, Elaine, Deanna, Heidi, Alecia, Piper, David, Satin, Scott, O'D, Diane, Hilary, Gary, and on and on the list goes). I get energy from doing what I do every day at the office. And so when I wrote the job description for my replacement today:

“Are you a tenacious consumer marketer who is passionate about wireless data? Does the thought of bringing new wireless products to consumers with a clear value proposition energize you? Do you like to be part of the growth engine of a large company? Are you an inspirational leader that knows how to translate innovative ideas into clear and meaningful action items for your team? Because we are looking for a Director of Marketing on our Consumer Data team that is a seasoned and passionate consumer marketer who loves technology and knows how to get things done.”

…I started to sob in my office. A long ugly cry. I was crying because I felt the sacrifice of having to make a decision not just for me, but for my family. A friend reminded me today, “You can have it all. Just not all in the same decade.”

It feels like that. I spent the last 10 years working at being a Working Mom. And the obvious truth is that it’s hard to do and do well. I don’t regret the decision I made to stay working as long as I did, because I would not have been ready earlier. I wasn’t ready to hit the pause button years ago when many of my friends were opting out of the workplace. I felt I needed to accomplish more professionally and I was honesty scared to step off the train. I knew my friends were experiencing magic at home, but I was getting a rush at work too. Not to mention a nice paycheck and feedback for a job well done. Unlike my Mommy friends, I get an annual evaluation where my accomplishments are logged, my skills assessed, and my ego feed. Last I checked, there isn’t an eval form for number of band-aids applied, successful meltdowns avoided, or banana bread made.

I admit that much of my identity has come from my professional life. My work status has been central to my value prop (yep, nerdy marketing speak.) This tethering has loosened over the years, but it’s still been a natural fallback when I think about defining myself. “My name is Kate and I work out of the home. I also have 3 boys, an amazing husband, I occasionally run, and hope to be in a Book Club one day when I have more time. So please don't count on me for carpools or signing up for the PTA.”

Something hit me when I realized that my middle son was starting Kindergarten this Fall. The first thing I realized was “thank the Lord we’ve made it this far.” (See previous blog posts on Colin for more background. Suffice it to say that this is the boy who asked me when reading the Easter story to please start back at the beginning when God made the Earth and to please explain how He is could possibly make water because how can anyone make water and why would he choose to only make two people – Adam and Eve – when he could have made more people in the Garden of Eden and where is Jesus sitting right now anyway? He’s also the kid that uses a baseball bat as a weapon.) Then I realized that I had missed the window with my first two boys and that this was my chance to do it differently with my third. I didn’t want to get down the road twenty years from now regretting never having made that choice to be at home during those early formative years. I have yet to talk to anyone who regretted staying home with their kids, but I have talked to others who wished they had made a different choice when they had the opportunity to do so.

I’m giving myself one year to acclimate. I suspect it will take me that long to get comfortable with a new rhythm and find new outlets for creative expression. My goal is to simply be present for my boys and to chill out about plans for the future. I also hope to clean out a couple of drawers.