Getting Real (Tired): The Reality of a Working Mom

We’re approaching my son’s first birthday—a milestone for us both. For him, it means he’s firmly rooted in this world. For me, it means my identity as a working mother is in full swing. 

In my unique position, work/life balance is not a thing. I work from home, meaning I’m in earshot of my son at all times. He’s smart enough now to understand that he has 24/7 access to me, and boy does he milk that for all its worth—literally. 

I recognize my privilege here—how incredibly lucky to be home with my kid?! I don’t miss a thing. I see every flash of recognition as another synapse forms in his baby brain. I’m around for every groggy, post-nap cuddle. But as grateful as I am, my set-up isn’t without its challenges. 

Here’s the reality…

During a typical day, my husband (who also works from home) and I take shifts. Our kid wakes at 4:30 am wanting milk. I oblige and then he goes back to sleep, lucky duck. I, on the other hand, am officially up for the day, in the office by 5 am. 

Matt takes the first baby shift. He’s with our son from the time he wakes, usually 6 am, until noon. I spend most of that time in the office, but let’s be real: my son is in and out all morning, puttering around on his four limbs, demanding milk on tap like the little tsar he is. My morning can be easily lost to nursing sessions. 

By noon, my workday has ended but the work has not. My husband and I switch, and I’m with our son until dinner. During these oh so slow afternoons, we play, we read, we go for walks. We do anything he wants to do really, and all the while I pretend not to be obsessing about the work I left unfinished on my desk. (As a very real example, this blog post should’ve been submitted nearly a week ago!) 

In essence, Matt and I are trying to squeeze eight hours of work into roughly five hours each day. Some days, this works like a charm. We get it all done, we have time with our kid, and we’re in bed by 9 pm. 

But those days are rare. In truth, we end most evenings with our laptops, side by side on the couch, trying to tie up all our loose ends. But it’s not always possible and sometimes we start the next day already behind. 

And yet. 

I love when my son crawls into the office, eyes lighting up when he sees me. I’ll gladly set anything aside so that my arms are open for him, because I want the hug just as much as he does. I’m perpetually behind at work, each day just piling onto the next, but somehow I’m always in the right place at the right time.

I’m trying this new thing. Every time I feel the stress creep in, I just repeat “It’s fine. It’s fine. It’sfineit’sfineit’sfineit’sfine” over and over again until I feel calibrated. It’s silly, but it works. The tasks will get done eventually, and it helps to remember that twenty years from now, all I’ll recall are the perfect, slow afternoons I spent with my son. But in the here and now, I’m just grateful to have such understanding employers. 

So yes. I’m exhausted. The proof is in this essay riddled with run-on sentences and syntax errors. But I’ve got three more tasks to accomplish before I can go to bed and my editor-brain has already turned in for the night.

It’s fine.