Food, Home and Style

Love in the Time of Layoff: Back to Work

Last month, my husband Marco subbed for me here, since I was too busy throwing up to write a post. This month, the nausea has at last subsided and I’ve got lots to say.

The start-up I’ve helped launch has taken off, and Marco has freelance work again. His new gig starts this week. (Let’s hear it for the latest news about the economy!) While you’d think I’d be ecstatic about my partner going back to work, relieving me of sole breadwinner duties, I’m mixed. It’s been a blessing having him at home cooking meals, unpacking boxes, helping me get through the day. He set up my desk and I’ve been happily working from home, feet up on the radiator to relieve the constant swelling, but I’ve become something I never thought I, a woman who prides herself on her independence, would become in this particular relationship: clingy. When we’re home together, I don’t even like to be in separate rooms.

(D: “Where you going?”

M: “To the living room, to read.”

D: “Ok then, come back soon.”)

I blame the hormones. But really I think it’s the move.

We fled Manhattan because we couldn’t afford a two-bedroom. Newborn twins shouldn’t have to live in a bedroom closet stuffed between dresses and suits, we agreed. But we’d also fled because we’d grown tired living at the epicenter of financial doom. All the remaining Ma and Pa stores in our Upper West Side neighborhood had gone under this past year, replaced by banks. The overpriced restaurants failed to lure the diners with their Recession Specials. Our favorite Mexican dive had closed.

You’d think I’d be ecstatic about my partner going back to work, relieving me of sole breadwinner duties, but I’m mixed.

Here in Brooklyn, just one borough away, already it feels different. Our new neighborhood is family central. Everywhere we go, we see young dads pushing strollers, and moms—not just nannies—push strollers here too. The shops and restaurants are still family-owned. When I take a cab into the city once or twice a week (subways are no longer an option, I can no longer climb stairs), I roll through the Wall Street district and it feels hollow. Maybe I’m trying to rationalize the move. But part of me feels Manhattan has lost its soul.

Brooklyn is—has long been—soul central. It’s just taking me a while to find my own groove. Some of it, I’m sure, has to do less with geography and more with the fact that I’m in a major life transition, trying to figure out how to slow my life down enough to make room for the impending change rumbling in my belly. While the timing of my new business venture couldn’t have been better, it’s hard to think about cutting out for a while to go have these (intensely desired, long-awaited) kids. On the other hand, the venture is founded on social networking. It’s run by and for women, and I’m finding tremendous relief in the intimacy of new connections forged there. When these babies arrive, I know I’ll feel unfathomable gain. Any loss will be relative. It’s just that it’s hard, from where I sit now, to fully comprehend that tipping of the scale.

Marco, on the other hand, is returning, for now, to a freelance job with a more traditional structure. He’ll be on site most of the time, so catering to his cranky wife’s every need will no longer occupy his time. His leave-taking has forced me to become independent again, the way I was before the nausea and hormones set in. This is not a bad thing. But I sure did like the extra TLC.

Marco, of course, is thriving. He’s in a position this time with more authority, his self-esteem restored. A funny thing happened the week he interviewed. He had pulled something in his knee and, for a few days, he needed a cane. Since he is a man who appreciates aesthetics, no low-rent drugstore cane would do. He found a site online called FashionableCanes.com and purchased a blue wooden number with a metal eagle’s head for a handle. It was a walking stick fit for a villain. A suave villain. A gainfully employed villain, one who walks with the air of a man comfortable in his shoes.

We don’t know how long the new gig will last. We don’t know if my extreme nausea will return. But we do know this: The time Marco and I have spent at home together has changed our dynamic. We’ve been married a little over a year, and I feel immensely safe. Not “safe” as in I needed my man to lose his job, stay home, and take care of me. But “safe” as in we know we can weather the storms.

Deborah Siegel is the author of Sisterhood, Interrupted: From Radical Women to Grrls Gone Wild and creator of the group blog Girl w/Pen.

Tags: careers, family, Love in the Time of Layoff, relationships, work