What matters more

Today I went to get my new phone. The phone that I have waited weeks months two years for. My contract was finally up, I was finally able to get a phone that would allow me to access both my email and the Internet without freezing up. A phone that would be able to switch from "no signal" to "signal available" without my having to shut it off, restart it and wait for it to s-l-o-w-l-y reboot before being able to make a call. Needless to say - I was thrilled.

I got to the store bright and early this morning while Husband so generously agreed to take the Tot to his swim lesson. I held my breath a little when the salesperson went to the back to double check that they had my phone in today's UPS shipment. I almost squeaked with delight when he confirmed that it was ready to go.

But then, as he was getting ready to process my order and activate the phone, he said he needed to talk to the authorized account user before he could give me the phone. Wait - what?? I explained that I was an authorized user and that both my husband and I were on the account. He informed me that my name was on the account as a user but that I was not "authorized" on the account to make purchases. He asked that I contact my husband and have him call the company to authorize me to use the account. I needed to call my husband to ask permission to get my phone. My OWN phone. I was so humiliated. And there it was again - that frustrating feeling of being dependent on someone else. Feeling like a 1950's housewife. Again. Still.

Through some shenanigans, I was able to get the situation resolved and walk out of the store with my new phone, but the feelings of embarrassment and aggravation stayed with me. I went home and continued to ruminate on my situation and began wondering yet again if I should be returning to work rather than staying home. If somehow by resuming my previous life as a working stiff, I would regain some of the autonomy that seems to be missing right now.

After the Tot's nap, we were playing on the floor. He started a game of putting a scarf over his head and walking around underneath it, giggling. At some point the scarf slid off and no matter how many times he tried, he couldn't get it back on by himself. I continued to reach my hand out to help him and call him to come over to me, but he refused. He was insistent that he could do it himself. At one point, he became so frustrated  that he even resorted to banging his head on the carpet in a temper tantrum. As I was calming him down, I said "It sucks to have to depend on someone else to do what you want to do".  Exactly. That does suck.

I hate having to depend on someone else. There is something in me that positively rebels at having to feel a need that I cannot meet on my own. It's somehow all wrapped up in upbringing, feminism, and just plain pride. It's not productive and it's not something I want my son to learn. As I watched my son play on the floor, banging blocks together, singing to himself, I thought about priorities and what matters. Is soothing my insecurity worth more than being here for all of these quiet moments? Not in a million years.