But I love teaching too. A teacher is always a teacher. Sometimes the fact that I am not teaching makes me insanely sad.
From the time, Baby Girl was about 3 months old until the beginning of the summer, I was tutoring one or two hours a week for a test prep company. I’ve been working for them forever, so I know the materials inside out. I loved working with teenagers again. I felt smart and competent. Hubby got time to bond one on one with the baby, I got out of the house, and we got some extra money to
Win, win, win.
Only not. Baby Girl started getting fussier in the evenings. Her separation anxiety dipped and then peaked again. DH started having to work longer hours. I started to feel overwhelmed by everything I had to do, and resenting that I “had” to work also.
The last night I tutored before the June SAT was a perfect storm. DH was late getting home from work, so we didn’t get to eat dinner together. I practically threw the baby at him and ran out the door, frazzled. I got stuck in traffic and showed up late, making me even more frazzled, only to find my student was even later. And hadn’t done his homework. And was drastically unprepared for his test because of it. Then I got home to a screamy baby, a messy kitchen, and a grouchy husband, and I declared, “ENOUGH!”
So I said no to the next two students they offered me. And then they stopped offering. And oh, man, did I miss it.
So, now, we’re coming up on the fall test season. I have two students lined up, and a weekend class once they’re done. I’m excited, and I’m also scared. I know it’s only a few hours a week, but what it’s too much? What if I get overwhelmed again? What if I can’t take it?
But I have to. Because I think if I’m not teaching at all, I’ll always be missing part of my heart.
You're all cheering for me, right?