At the time my now-husband proposed, we were both young college students working crappy retail jobs. I worked for a major pet store and although cleaning poop and hand-feeding baby animals was messy, it at least was good practice for when I had my own, human offspring.
My number one complaint was with the customers.
Like any young fiancee, I was showing off my engagement ring big time. A customer asked about it, and I admitted that yes, I was engaged and the date was just a few months off. He asked how I had met my husband and I answered truthfully, at college.
“Oh,” he asked, his tone darkening. “So, you’re not having any kids then?”
“Well, not right away, but we certainly plan to someday.”
This customer, who I had never met before this point, proceeded to blast me for my poor choices. Either I was going to be a stay-at-home mom and waste my expensive college education, or I was going to be a working mom and abandon my children to be raised by someone else. He continued to rip into me until I interrupted him with, “I’m sorry, was there something you needed my help with at the moment?” When he continued his tirade against working moms, I walked away.
Since then there have certainly been times when I have felt judged as a working mother, but none have stuck with me as strongly as the guy who criticized me for it three years before I was even pregnant.