For the last two years, I’ve been telling myself that I was nailing the work-life balance. Before 2013, I was self-employed, working perhaps three hours a day, sandwiched between yoga sessions and wandering the toddler clothing aisle at Target. I had pursued a law degree before motherhood, and two years ago, I landed a role as general counsel for a corporation. I wanted to demonstrate to my daughter what a successful working mom looked like—someone who could really have it all.
The reality, however, was that I loathed my job, and I was neglecting my family. I often needed multiple reminders to bring items for school events. Just this year, I forgot it was my daughter’s turn to supply snacks for her preschool class—an obligation that only happens twice a year. I missed every parent event in my son’s kindergarten class, hearing from other mothers that they had comforted him when he was upset. Recently, I dropped my daughter off at school, only to discover there was a closure that day—I didn’t get the memo!
I was failing spectacularly. Mornings were a blur of yelling, “Get your shoes on! We’re going to be late!” They often skipped breakfast, wore mismatched socks, and sometimes didn’t even brush their teeth. I struggled to untangle my daughter’s curls while she cried, and I barely had time to connect with their teachers or see what projects they were working on. A nanny was the one picking them up every day.
In the past two years, I didn’t volunteer at their schools because, as an executive, I wasn’t entitled to that time off, and my boss certainly wasn’t going to provide it.
Last Monday, I dropped my daughter off and realized I was the only parent who forgot to bring a shoebox for a Valentine’s Day project. They didn’t have any extras, so my daughter would have to improvise.
When I arrived at work, chai in one hand and makeup bag in the other, I was met by the new passive-aggressive president, who clearly feared me. He ushered me into the conference room, where my belongings were already packed in boxes. “We’re going in a different direction,” he said.
After a quick shower at home, I went to meet with my lawyer. I had seen this day coming.
When I returned home to my kids and the nanny, I announced that I would have more time for them since I no longer had a job. I was terrified, but they were ecstatic.
On Tuesday, I slipped into yoga pants and a fleece to take the kids to school, only to realize I had forgotten the shoebox once again. I tried to negotiate alternatives with my daughter, but she was having none of it. She insisted on the pink and white striped shoebox from Target, just like the other girls had. Off I went to Target.
As I wandered through the store at 8:30 a.m. on a Tuesday, I spotted the last pink and white striped shoebox on the shelf. I almost did a little dance—what a win for motherhood! I stopped myself from texting my husband, knowing he wouldn’t understand my excitement.
While I was there, I thought, “Oh! I should also buy Valentines. Several days early!” This was a new experience; I was not used to choosing from a full selection of seasonal items.
Twenty minutes later, I walked into preschool, hiding the shoebox behind my back. My daughter’s delighted smile when she saw me was incredibly rewarding; when she laid eyes on the shoebox, I nearly cried. I wasn’t accustomed to surprising her like that.
Later that afternoon, while picking up my son, a mom friend asked how I was doing after losing my job. “It’s rough, but I’m winning at motherhood this week,” I replied with a smile. She understood.
On Wednesday, I dropped off my daughter, and her teacher inquired about my plans for Parents’ Day. “Of course, I’ll be there!” I blurted, even though I hadn’t planned on it. Now that I was unemployed, I was available!
When I returned at 9:30, chaos reigned—children were crying as parents departed from the previous shift. I felt a wave of guilt wash over me, recalling the times I had missed events for my daughter. “Miss Linda, does my daughter cry when I miss these events?” I asked, half-joking. She chuckled and assured me, “No, your daughter doesn’t show that kind of anxiety about separation.”
That afternoon, my son was distraught over a missing red string for a paper kite he had created in art class. We retraced his steps and managed to find three tiny pieces of string, which he insisted I tie together. Then we went to the park, flying that kite as if we had all the time in the world.
This morning, we walked hand in hand to kindergarten, and he asked if I could look at the rainforest painting his class was working on. “Absolutely! I’m not in a rush,” I said.
“Because you don’t have a job to go to anymore?” he asked, curious.
“I have a job, buddy. Being your mom is my job.” He squeezed my hand tighter.
Yes, I’m scared about the future and how to support my family, but my heart feels fuller than it has in ages. I need to update my resume and begin the job search, but for today, I’m focused on attending the Valentine’s Day party.
If you’re interested in learning more about topics like home insemination and family planning, you might find helpful information at this blog post. For those considering at-home insemination, this resource has excellent insights. Additionally, the CDC’s infertility FAQ offers valuable information for those on the journey to parenthood.
In summary, while this new chapter may be daunting, it’s also brimming with opportunities for connection and growth in my role as a mother.