For the past two years, I’ve been deceiving myself about my ability to juggle professional responsibilities and family life. Prior to 2013, I was self-employed, working a mere three hours daily, interspersed with yoga sessions and leisurely strolls through the toddler clothing section at Target. With a law degree and a previous role as general counsel for a corporation, I aimed to exemplify a successful working mother for my daughter, hoping she would realize she could achieve the same.
However, the reality was that I was unhappy in my full-time position, and my family was suffering as a result. I needed constant reminders to bring supplies for school events, and I forgot it was my daughter’s turn to provide snacks for her preschool class not once, but twice this year. I missed all parent events at my son’s kindergarten, relying on other mothers to comfort him when he cried. Just last month, I dropped my daughter off only to find out it was a day off—didn’t I get the memo?
I was clearly struggling to have it all. I found myself shouting each morning, “Hurry up and get your shoes on! We’re going to be late! March! Do you want Mommy to lose her job?” Morning after morning, they skipped breakfast, mismatched socks adorned their feet, and brushing their teeth was a rarity. I would wrestle with my daughter’s delicate curls while she cried. I never engaged with their teachers or saw the projects they were working on. A nanny handled the pickups every day.
In the last two years, I never volunteered at their schools. As an executive, I was exempt from state laws that grant parents time off to do so, and my boss would certainly not grant me that privilege.
This past Monday, as I dropped off my daughter, I realized I was the only parent who forgot to bring a shoebox for decorating on Valentine’s Day. No extras were available, so my daughter had to find a different project. I arrived at work with a chai latte in one hand and my makeup bag in the other, only to be met by the new passive-aggressive president, who seemed intimidated by me. He ushered me into a conference room where my belongings were already packed up, stating, “We’re going in a different direction.”
After returning home for a shower, I had a meeting with my lawyer. This day had long been anticipated. When I got back to the kids and the nanny, I informed them that I would now have more time to spend with them, as I no longer had a job. I was terrified, yet they were elated.
On Tuesday morning, I opted for yoga pants and a fleece to drop the kids off at school. Again, I forgot the shoebox. I tried to convince my daughter to use another type of box we had at home, like a cookie box or the one with bunny crackers, but she was adamant. “That one is already decorated!” she shouted.
She insisted on a pink and white striped shoebox just like the ones two other girls had. Off I went to Target, feeling a bit lost being there at 8:30 a.m. on a Tuesday. Miraculously, I found their last pink and white striped shoebox sitting on the shelf. I almost danced with joy. This was what winning at motherhood felt like! I resisted the urge to text my husband, knowing he wouldn’t grasp my excitement.
“Oh! While I’m here, I should also pick up some Valentines—SEVERAL DAYS IN ADVANCE!” This was unusual for me; I was not accustomed to having my choice of seasonal items. Twenty minutes later, I walked into preschool with the shoebox hidden behind my back. The look of pure delight on my daughter’s face when she saw me and the shoebox was worth everything. I was not used to being able to surprise her like that.
That afternoon, while picking up my son from kindergarten, a fellow mom asked how I was handling my recent firing. “It’s tough, but I’m winning at motherhood this week,” I replied. She smiled knowingly.
On Wednesday morning, I dropped my daughter off, and her teacher asked if I would be returning for Parents’ Day at 9 or 9:30. “Of course!” I said, even though I hadn’t planned it. After all, I was unemployed now!
When I returned at 9:30, the scene was chaotic—children were crying as their parents departed from the earlier shift. I panicked, recalling the distress I had caused my daughter over the past year. “Miss Parker, does my daughter cry like this when I miss events?” I asked, concerned. She chuckled softly and replied, “No, your daughter doesn’t seem to have that kind of anxiety about being apart from you.” Ouch.
Later that day, my son was in tears over a lost piece of red string for a kite he made in art class. We retraced his steps to the classroom and found three tiny pieces of string he insisted I tie together. Afterward, we spent time at the park flying that kite, totally absorbed in the moment.
This morning, we walked hand in hand toward kindergarten, and he asked if I could look at the rain forest painting his class was working on. “Of course, I have plenty of time,” I said.
“Is it because you don’t have a job anymore?” he asked innocently. “I have a job, sweetie. Being your mommy is my job.” He squeezed my hand a little tighter in response.
So yes, I’m scared about what lies ahead. I need to figure out how to support my family, but at the same time, I feel more fulfilled than I have in a long time. While I have to update my resume and search for new opportunities, that can wait for today. After all, I have a Valentine’s Day party to attend!
For further insights on family planning, check out this excellent resource on intrauterine insemination, or explore our related blog posts on home insemination kits for more support on your journey.
Summary:
In this reflective narrative, the author shares her journey of balancing motherhood and a demanding career, ultimately leading to her decision to embrace her role as a stay-at-home mom after losing her job. Through a series of poignant moments, she highlights the joys and fears of motherhood, the importance of being present for her children, and the newfound fulfillment that comes from prioritizing family over work.
Leave a Reply