I could not have been more wrong. Even though I am home with my daughters every day and no longer report to any kind of office to work, I am keenly, sometimes painfully aware of what day it is and how much longer it is till the weekend.
When I worked full-time, I hated Tuesday, because it was really just like a second Monday, only with worse traffic, because fewer people blow off work on Tuesdays. I liked Wednesday, because I knew it meant the workweek was half over, and I hated Thursday, because traffic was the worst that day and it was another 8-hour day in my way before the weekend. I still feel the same way, only for slightly different reasons.
The weekend is still the only time I get to see my husband. Most days he's up early and I get to see him as he turns off the alarm and gets out of bed. Most days he's back late, too, particularly during his industry's busy season. Weekend mornings are the only ones where we wake up together, usually when one or two small voices say "Mommy? Daddy?" We laze about, get up and get dressed after we play with our kids in bed, then have a lazy breakfast and get the day started. We actually get to see each other and talk. During the evening, instead of being too exhausted to stay awake, we can watch a movie or TV together, getting caught up on our terribly backed-up DVR.
The only time I get any time alone in my own head during the week is when I take a shower. I can't even use the bathroom alone most of the time. Usually I try to do my daily business with one kid clinging to my knee and the other yelling at me about something she wants, or if I dare to shut the bathroom door for a little privacy, I am punished with screaming and crying resulting from hurt feelings. How COULD I shut the door?
On the weekend, though, I can sneak off to use the bathroom alone while my husband entertains the kids. I can have some quality me-time during my 17-month-old's nap while my husband watches our three-year-old. I can really get some blissful reading and knitting time in on weekend nights. I even make an afternoon pot of coffee to ensure that I'll be able to stay awake for such debaucherous nighttime activities despite my perpetual state of sleep-deprivation.
During the week, unless we have a playdate, I don't get to talk to another adult all day. There's no watching TV in the evenings, not usually, because my husband's beat from working all day and falls asleep on the couch or I fall asleep as soon as my 17-month-old does. During the day, I work hard, cleaning, running errands, doing laundry and making phonecalls. On the weekend, I don't do any cleaning, and only do laundry that's absolutely necessary, such as if someone's diaper explodes overnight.
Yesterday I thought it was Friday until mid-afternoon and I was really bummed when I realized that there was still one more day of daily grind to get through before the weekend. Today my husband told me mid-day that he's having another brutal day and would be late for about the fourth night in a row, but I know tomorrow morning we'll all be lazily waking up together for a day of doing next to nothing, so I'm OK with that.
I love being home with my daughters and wouldn't trade it for anything. The worst day at home with them is better than the best day I ever had in the office. I like to look back on my preconceptions of what being a stay-at-home mom would be like and laugh, though. I had no idea what I was in for! Play-Doh in my coffee, my three-year-old punching me in the face, cleaning up pee from every surface imaginable... Thankfully there's the weekend, where I recover from it all and recharge!