This spring I was hired into my local district as a half-time multi-categorical special education teacher. It was just what I wanted. I didn't have my own classroom because of very limited space, but I still loved it. (This fall I would have been moved to a different school and actually had my own designated space -- no more carrying bins of materials from one classroom to the next.)
I was hired after we started trying to get pregnant but before I was actually pregnant. I should have known that as soon as I landed the perfect job with the perfect, consistent number of hours that I wanted that I would get pregnant and have to leave. (Remember, I was diagnosed with PCOS and thought it would take months and months for us to conceive. I'm not complaining about the timing, but we honestly didn't expect it to happen as soon as it did.)
And I've always, always known that once I had a baby I wouldn't work anymore. I just didn't know I'd have to quit five months before the baby is even here.
Stupid me -- I thought it would be all fine and dandy to let the district know that I'm expecting a baby in January and wouldn't return after Christmas break. Well, that's not how district contracts work. You either sign up for the entire school year or you don't.
And I want to be a stay-at-home mom from the moment that baby comes out of me.
So I didn't sign the contract.
I have spent most of the afternoon and evening crying. This half time position would have been the ultimate, perfect job to have while pregnant. It was an afternoon assignment, meaning that after sleepless nights caused by pregnancy insomnia I could have a bit of a rest before I went into work. I would be at the same place, working with the same students, MY students, in MY classroom, every day, for no more than twenty-five hours a week -- CONSISTENCY -- and I'd make the same amount of money as if I were subbing all day, every day.
Well, when you don't get to teach, you get to sub. None of those luxuries come with subbing, in fact it's almost always a shot in the dark. You have to find classrooms in weird buildings and answer the question "Where's Mrs. ______?" fifty times. Subbing in kindergarten one day and seventh grade the next means two days of the same mess of misbehavior and children lying to your face. I suppose the main difference is that I have yet to be flipped off and called a b**** by a kindergarten student.
Some people love subbing! Unfortunately, I do not in the least enjoy the "adventure" of subbing. I don't like having to manage students I don't know day after day, having to figure out each teacher's different routine and usually realizing too late how things are actually supposed to go. I don't like having to be that sub who has to call the office because a student is having a meltdown and throwing chairs or because three students mysteriously disappeared to the bathroom and never came back. Being a sub means I am taken advantage of every day by students who know I don't know what to expect from them. It means I have to scream simply to be heard. It means I'm either the meanest person alive or I am a complete doormat. Every. Day.
To put it [unprofessionally] bluntly, subbing sucks, and I wasn't planning on doing that this fall. Now it's my only choice, and I'm feeling admittedly bitter about it. I would much rather have a job I'm sad to leave than have to count down each long, unpredictable day until I can finally just have the baby.
I wanted to have my own students. My own classroom. Even just from August to December. This was my last shot at having that experience. It hurts, badly, that I had to turn it down. I know it will be worth it once the baby is here, but this is very, very hard on me and I am actually having a very real grieving process over this. I don't know that I will ever have that opportunity again.
You had better feel loved, little baby. I'm doing this because I already do.
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