To celebrate the different expressions of how moms work, the KCMB series “The Way Moms Work” follows the many ways we work in a single day. We hope this series will champion all of the work moms do, both in and out of the home, and encourage our readers to find meaning in their own work as well.
The day begins, sort of, at 2:30 a.m. when I hear my baby making little whimper sounds over the monitor. I think “maybe he’ll go back to sleep?” but, of course, he doesn’t. He never does. Diaper, bottle, cuddling, back to sleep.
During the work week, my time with my kids is spent in fantastic whirlwinds between 6-7:30 a.m. and 5:30-7:30 pm. While the pace on the weekends is lazy, the pace during the week is frenetic. We run around making toaster waffles and stepping over trains on the floor while putting our office game-faces on.
This morning, my oldest, Charlie, and I discussed fashion choices as I got him ready. He chooses a gray shirt with (shocker) a train on it, and gray shorts. I try to explain to him that the monochromatic look went out with Regis Philbin in the late 90s as I give him the option of navy shorts or plaid shorts instead. He chooses navy, looks at me quizzically, and says, “You too loud, Princess. Turn it down.” (Yes, he calls me Princess, no, I’m not sure why, and no, I’m not going to discourage it.) Then he pats my cleavage and says “too many boobies.”
All before 7 a.m.
My husband takes the toddler to daycare. Usually, he takes the baby with him too, but today, Patrick has occupational therapy. My work day doesn’t officially begin at work today.
We rush to Children’s Mercy to make his 8 a.m. appointment. I feel a twinge of guilt that I’m going to be in late to work, again, and then I feel another competing twinge of guilt that I’m even feeling guilty about taking care of my child. Story of my life.
In the waiting room, I check my work e-mails while rocking the carseat with my foot. While we do therapy, I unplug completely. I am new to the “special needs mom” thing, and everyone always asks me how I do it all. I don’t know. Multitasking? Because I have to? It is what it is?
Daycare drop-off number two and I head into work. I turn on my breast pump, a podcast, and drive south to the Plaza.
The details of my work day are not particularly interesting to anyone but me or relevant to this post. What you DO need to know is that I love my job. I work with wonderful people, the work is always changing and interesting, and I never get bored. One thing two maternity leaves taught me is that I’m not cut out to be a stay-at-home-mom. And that’s OK, and I’m not ashamed.
What is interesting, as I’m thinking about the routines of my day and how to share them, is the grand juggling act of being mother and working. As I take pump breaks throughout the day, I answer e-mails on an office laptop. On my lunch hour, I fill out medical records releases to get second (and third, fourth, and fifth) opinions from specialists on my son’s upcoming surgery. I have Siri remind me to do a work-related task tomorrow as I rock a sleeping baby in the middle of the night. And so on. They’re always interrupting each other and I can’t escape one for the other.
I leave work and drive home. I let the dog out, transfer the milk I’ve pumped all day into bottles, get the mail, and head to daycare for a double pickup. Today, the toddler dawdles, naming every fish in the tank in the daycare common room, while the baby happily blows bubbles.
The minute, I pull into the garage, the rush begins. The toddler wants dinner NOW. The baby wants a bottle NOW. The pets want their dinner NOW. (And I really, really have to pee.) My husband doesn’t get home until 6:30 or so most nights, so this frantic rush is all me. I microwave some leftovers for the toddler’s dinner while the baby hangs out in the jumperoo. I give the baby a bottle while chatting with the toddler about his day. I bathe both boys, together, and try not to think about how much pee is probably in the tub by the end. Daddy comes home! Stories for both, together, in the toddler’s room. Hugs and kisses for the toddler. Bottle for the baby, snuggles, and sleep — for them, anyway.
Once the kids are down, the rush doesn’t stop. We quickly make, and eat, adult dinner. I throw in a load of cloth diapers, pack bags for tomorrow (oh, so many bags to get us all out the door), straighten up a bit, shower.
It never ends, but I wouldn’t change it for anything. I am a working mom, and this is my life.
