When I hear the term "working mom" I usually think of moms who work full, or nearly full time outside the home. I think of moms whose children are cared for in a daycare setting or by relatives. I hold them in the highest regard and often wonder how in the world they juggle so many responsibilities.
If you were to ask me if I work, my response is typically, "Not really. I have a couple part time jobs, but I stay home with my kids full time."
I guess I respond that way because I don't consider myself in the same category as moms who hold down a full time career, and that they are the ones with the really hard balancing act.
I just started working last September. I report for the newspaper, two articles a month. I also coach writing for middle schoolers in an online writing school. This year I have nine students.
But what I am starting to realize more and more, is that I am a working mom. And that being a working mom, regardless of what your hours look like, is really hard.
I started working for two main reasons. First, the added income has been really helpful for things like family vacations, birthdays, and Christmas. And second, I longed for something I could do that had nothing to do with my children.
I have blogged many times about this place I find myself in. I love to be with my children, I feel called to stay home with them full time, and yet I long to pursue some of my other passions, such as writing. I long to participate in the world in a way that is separate from being mommy.
It often feels impossible to do both.
Take the newspaper for example. I was given the opportunity to write the Hometown Living feature every month. It's a full page article with pictures. I've written about local people doing awesome things: bringing awareness to scoliosis, raising money for a disabled child's service dog, the impact of the community garden.
But those stories take time. Time to figure out a topic. Time to connect with people before the interview. Time to conduct the interview. Time to write 1500 words of a cohesive story after the interview. And all of this happens in the middle of mothering. I'm on the phone with an interviewee while my two year old screams that his sister took his train. I'm emailing my editor while my four year old pulls on my arm so hard I almost fall out of the chair because she needs a cracker. I'm writing my 1500 word story while falling asleep at the computer after a long day of diaper changes, laundry, sibling arguments, making breakfast, making lunch, making dinner.
And I'll wonder if it is worth it.
Then, after the story is published, I'll receive several notes from readers thanking me for what I have written and explaining the personal impact it had on them. And I'll say yes this is worth it.
And then the next month rolls around and it all happens again and I am pulling my hair out.
Today for example. I had an interview set up last minute with the Historical Society. My deadline is Friday. Today is Wednesday. My only chance to get this done is today. I have no childcare because this is last minute. So, I arm myself with a bag of kid-friendly-entertain yourself stuff. And I put the two year old in a carrier strapped to my back. And I haul myself and the kids over to the Historical Society to do a story on their latest museum exhibit.
At first, things are fine. Kids are happy. Then, my two year old son starts screaming and frantically pulling on his pant leg. My four year old daughter tugs my arm and says, "I think Josh has a big problem." I nod, but I'm not really listening, I'm frantically trying to take notes on the history of asparagus farming in Gloucester County. I finally pick him up and notice his pant leg is soaked. His socks are soaked. His shoes are soaked. He smells like pee.
Oh no, in my rush out the door did I somehow forget to put a diaper on him?
I check. No, his diaper is intact. And dry.
He has somehow managed to pee himself without getting his diaper wet at all.
I look at the men talking to me and wonder if they realize what has occurred. There is some wetness on the floor. They just keep talking about asparagus. But now I'm not listening. I've ignored my poor son trying to tell me he peed himself. Now I'm ignoring these gentlemen who literally opened the museum this morning JUST FOR ME so I could do this story. And I am trying to high tail it out of there as fast as I can.
I tell them thanks for their time over my son's screams. They say, "Wait, you haven't seen the rest of it!" I don't think they know I'm desperate to get out the door and take off my son's wet pants. They probably think I'm not interested enough in their work.
I apologize profusely, take a cursory glance around, and say, "I am so sorry. Two year olds are extremely difficult humans to manage."
And there you have it. The dilemma of being a working mom. The fact that no matter how separate you can try to keep things -professional career over here in this little cubby, motherhood over here in this other cubby way across the room- no matter what, the two always manage spill over into each other.
I always end up feeling guilty about either not being a good enough mom or not doing a good enough job at my jobs.
I came home and sat in the driveway and cried. Like the full on ugly cry. Not just about the pee in the museum. About all of it. About the fact that before I had kids I had my crap together. About the fact that now that I have kids I want to just focus on them and give them all of me, and I often feel like I'm not doing that well either because I am distracted by these other things. I'm rushing my daughter up to her nap so I can get my grading done for my students. I'm rushing them to bed so I can finish the newspaper story. I'm short tempered because all my free time is spent working and my house is a mess.
I made the decision today to resign from the feature story. My editor was more than understanding. She took on her role as editor of the paper when her first child was 6 weeks old. She makes it a point to hire moms to help give them an opportunity to stay sharp with their writing and keep a connection professionally. She knows how hard it is. I've been thinking about giving up that piece for a while. It's just become logistically too stressful. But I'm sad about it too because I hate to quit things. Especially because I love writing. I love giving people a voice in my articles.
This coming year is the last one before my oldest goes to kindergarten. My son turns two tomorrow. I think maybe it is time to start asking myself some hard questions. I'm never going to get back this time with them. What do I want this next year to look like?
I don't have a good conclusion for this blog post. Maybe because there just isn't a perfect answer. Parenting is all about sacrifice. We sacrifice time with our children when we work to provide for them. We sacrifice our professional careers when we take time away from them to be with our children. There is simply no perfect balance. At least not one that I have found.
I suppose, as with anything, we take the good with the bad. And like today, sometimes we give up something important to us in order to make more room for something more important.
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