My 2-year-old gripped his hands around my neck, nuzzled his head against my chest, and said, Stay, Mommy. Stay.

I held him and said I was going to work. I assured him he would be safe with Maemae and told him Id be home in the afternoon. We hugged each other tightly until he finally said with reluctant acceptance, Okay, Mama. Okay.

I got in the car and drove off, suffering a minor heartbreak but feeling good about having my hair done and heels on. I was headed out into the world, which is something Ive wanted to do since I became a mom over five years ago.

The job came like a God-send. I didnt want to scour the internet looking for work or sell my soul in the process of resume-writing. All I did was ask for the perfect opportunity to come to me. (Yes, I get weirder with time.) I wanted one that would work well for my family and wouldnt require all my earnings for childcare. I was open to anything, and without expectation, a teaching position presented itself. It happened while I was chatting to a new friend about my concerns with sending my 5-year-old to kindergarten. She told me about a private school in town whose philosophy of education aligns with mine and encouraged me to schedule a tour. I blew it off, knowing I couldnt afford it, but the next day, I bumped into her again, and she told me they were looking for a third grade teacher. In a series of what seemed-to-be fateful events, I was offered the position and free, full-time tuition for both of my children.

The new school year doesnt start til August, but I went in to substitute for a day. It went mostly smooth, but I was totally exhausted as I left. I imagined work would revitalize me, but I heard myself taking deep-sigh breaths as I walked to my car. I pulled out of the parking lot, and counted the hours I had until my childrens bedtime, but not with the eager anticipation I usually feel. I missed my kids, and the heels that felt so empowering that morning, annoyed me. The outfit I imagined I would even bop over to Trader Joes in just wanted to go home, and kick itself into a ball on the bedroom floor. I pictured my house in its messy glory, all of us half naked with no use for time, and although this is the aspect of motherhood that often felt so long and hard, in that moment, I saw it as perfection.

I remembered all the times we cruised Target, eating popcorn and checking out the clearance sales, and it felt more meaningful than simply killing time. I thought of our deep conversations in the bathroom, and it felt so sweet and intimate that I forgot why I ever felt the need to escape. I recounted all the games of hide and seek I played while concealing that I was really putting laundry away, and I kicked myself for ever thinking time away from my children would make my life more balanced.

I came home, and although I couldnt wait to embrace my 2-year-old, he was over-tired and cranky. I imagined going to work would give me a break from the screaming and demands. I thought my kids would miss me and greet me with love, hugs, and appreciation. But I actually came home to a mood that even ice cream couldnt improve. I usually have no problem giving fussy kids space and time to work out their mess, but because I was gone all day, I felt less sure of myself. In a single moment, I could sense the guilt that comes with being away, and the pressure thats put on the time of togetherness to be perfect.

Since I was offered the job, I imagined the post Id write about being so much happier as a working mom, but I didnt expect these cold feet. I didnt think the mundane bits of my life that I once wanted to run from would feel like such freedom and privilege. I used to be jealous of the people who celebrated the coming of Fridays and dreaded the passing of Sundays, because all my days are the same. But now I see theyre actually the ones jealous of me for that very reason. I used to want a sense of importance to what I do, but now I see alarm clocks and pay checks dont determine that. Perhaps Ive been doing the most important thing of all.

Despite incredible joy and honor, stay-at-home motherhood also evoked loneliness, frustration, and boredom. But while Ive been stuck in that struggle, my boys have been growing older, my life has gotten easier, and Ive found ways to live passionately and creatively. Now that I have the solution I thought I wanted, Im not so sure I need it. Im mourning what Ill be leaving behind, but also wonder if thats a natural part of change, which comes regardless. My son is five, and its time for school. This is our next step, and Im happy were taking it together.

The truth is, the grass is never greener, and its something I need to remember, not only as I look forward, but also back. Sure, I see my new opportunity will come with its own obstacles, but I also know its actually in taking the step towards it that I reflect on my stay-at-home life in such sweetly biased ways. It seems our blessings become more clear when they can no longer be taken for granted, and perhaps thats the balance and perspective Ive actually been after. Clinging to things as they change is still a grass-is-greener trap, and the way out is to simply let life unfold with an openness to whats to come. Our minds can always add up the things we might lose, but they have no idea what we might gain. Its best to trust, and continue to let the heart guide. Theres no end point in its journey, but its the reason Im where I am now.