I stood there cradling my 4-year-old, who was in the midst of a full-blown meltdown because she had just picked a scab on her knee. In her mind, a minuscule drop of blood had emerged, and she has always had a peculiar aversion to blood. A Band-Aid would have done the trick, but we had just run out—thanks to our little scab-picker. I hadn’t even examined the supposed wound yet, and when I finally did, surprise! There was no blood at all.
It was 7 AM, and in addition to managing my distressed child and her imaginary injury, I was attempting to prepare breakfast for four, unload the dishwasher, start a load of laundry, check work emails, compile a grocery list, and mentally gear up for a day with the kids during summer vacation.
Sleep had eluded me the previous night, as it sometimes does, and I missed the two hours of work I usually squeeze in before the kids wake up. Once they’re up, it’s like a switch flips. My mind was racing: I need to finish that assignment by noon, fill out the camp registration forms, call about the septic tank issue, respond to emails, and oh yeah—I promised the kids we’d go swimming today. What was I thinking?!
Just then, my husband walked in, freshly showered and invigorated from his morning workout. “Ugh. I don’t feel like going to work today,” he lamented.
A wave of jealousy washed over me—an emotion I didn’t expect. I kept my mouth shut; I didn’t need to add “have a major spat with my husband” to my already overflowing to-do list. Instead, I nodded and continued to comfort our overdramatic little one, perhaps holding her a little too close.
He left for work unscathed, while I juggled the chaos of our life. The moment of frustration passed, but throughout the day, I couldn’t shake the image of myself speeding out of the driveway each morning, hair blowing in the wind, the car radio my solo companion, and no one yelling, “Drive slower! I’m gonna be sick!” Oh, the thought of having an entire day just for work—no interruptions, no muddy adventures with the kids.
Don’t get me wrong; most days I love being a work-at-home mom. It’s a life I’ve chosen, and it generally works for us. But still…it’s a balancing act of epic proportions.
Having worked outside the home full-time since becoming a mom, I know that the fantasy I conjured isn’t the whole truth. I don’t want to wish away this precious time. I recognize it’s fleeting, and soon my kids will need me less. But in those moments when I’m covered in sticky substances and refereeing stick wars while trying to maintain my writing career, I can hardly fathom the luxury of my husband’s day.
Just as he likely can’t see the joys of spending the day in pajamas, playing with kids, taking leisurely naps, and perhaps writing a bit too.
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In summary, being a parent is a delightful yet demanding balancing act. While the chaos can feel overwhelming at times, the joys of motherhood are also profound.