DIZMOMMY > Why I'm Okay With Working Overtime

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September 11, 2014

Why I'm Okay With Working Overtime

I’m no workaholic but I love putting in overtime. Knowing that I’m exceeding the call of duty pleases me in itself, but the hefty supplemental pay is what really gasses me up. So sure, overwork me! But you’re gonna have to pay for it. Labor laws, baby. And speaking about babies, I’ve been chasing after a ridiculously swift 1 year old who’s automated response to everything is now, “NO!” Which, by the way, also happens to be the funniest thing he’s ever heard because hysterical laughter ensues with each shout. And the last I checked, keeping my cool in the face of taunting rebellion counts as work too. Plus! I feed Dylan, I wipe his butt, put him in clothes, and get down during playtime. But thankfully there’s no need to file a wage claim lawsuit against my 1 year old employer because he’s familiar with the merits of overtime pay. So as the tantrums and violence in the workplace increase, so does the compensation. And this, my friends, is what a paycheck from the toddler boss en casa de Dylan looks like: 

- A plethora of kisses! Not just your run of the mill kisses either. I’m talkin’ smoochy sounds followed by Dylan exclaiming, “Awwww!” Kisses for me, kisses for toys, kisses for everything! This is how I know for sure that he’s mastered the art of affectionate manipulation. 

- Pulling of the hand. Just picture it: I finally get my tush situated on the couch for a whole minute when suddenly a little baby hand is pulling on my sausage fingers. I follow baby hand’s lead and before I know it, I’ve turned corners and I’m plopped on the floor playing with a pile of toy trucks. Aw! I’ve reached playmate status! 

- It’s exactly how I imagine the end of times beginning: an unfamiliar and strange silence suddenly rears, prompting panic. I run to check on Dylan only to find him sitting safely in the lap of his gigantic stuffed bear, “Boog,” reading a book. Fuzzy wuzzy feelers alert! I know better than to interrupt. 

- He’s being weird. The kid is robotic, moving throughout the room like he’s in the military. And he’s shouting something...”Marth-ing, Marth-ing..” Then it clicks- OH! MARCHING! Aw, he doesn’t just go to school, he actually learns things too! I don’t question it, I accept and join in. We’re a parade! 

Though I often consider demanding a raise from my superior, I’m actually not underpaid…just greedy. It is both an honor and a privilege to work alongside Dylan and quite frankly, I’d do this for free. Just don’t tell that to my boss.