It was early morning when I found myself cradling my 4-year-old daughter, Lily, who was in the midst of a full-blown meltdown. She had just picked at a scab on her knee and was convinced she had seen a trace of blood. Lily has always been particularly sensitive about blood, and while a Band-Aid might have calmed her down, we had just run out—thanks to her penchant for scabby knees. Upon inspecting the supposed injury, I discovered, of course, that there was no blood at all.
As the clock ticked to 7 a.m., I was not only trying to soothe my distraught child, but I was also juggling breakfast for four, unloading the dishwasher, starting a load of laundry, checking work emails, drafting a grocery list, and mentally gearing up for a day filled with summer activities with the kids.
Sleep had eluded me the night before; sometimes I just can’t seem to drift off. This meant I missed out on those precious early morning work hours when I could focus on tasks uninterrupted. Once everyone wakes up, it’s game over. My mind was racing with thoughts: I need to complete this project by noon, fill out camp paperwork, call the plumber about the septic tank, respond to a colleague, and oh, I promised the kids a trip to the pool today. What was I thinking?
Just then, my husband, Mark, strolled in, fresh from his morning workout and shower. “Ugh. I don’t feel like going to work today,” he said.
In that moment, a wave of unexpected jealousy washed over me. I didn’t voice my feelings; I didn’t need to add “have a huge argument with Mark” to my already overflowing to-do list. I simply nodded, continuing to hold Lily tightly while she clung to her imaginary injury.
Mark left for work unscathed, while I continued my delicate juggling act. The fleeting moment of rage passed, but the image of my former self—zooming out of the driveway, hair whipping in the wind, music blaring, and no one yelling, “Drive slower! I’m gonna be sick!”—haunted me throughout the day. Oh, to have a day dedicated solely to work, free from interruptions to change diapers or intervene during mud-related squabbles.
Don’t get me wrong; most days I take pride in being a work-at-home mom. It’s a choice I made, and it generally suits me. However, it often feels like an epic balancing act.
Having worked full-time outside the home since becoming a mother, I realize that the picture I conjured isn’t entirely accurate. I’m not wishing this time away; I recognize it is just a fleeting phase, and someday, my children will need me less. Yet, in moments when I’m sticky and knee-deep in chaos, it’s hard not to envy the simplicity of my husband’s routine. I’m sure he can’t fathom the joys of spending the day in pajamas, playing with the kids, and sneaking in naps while I juggle work and motherhood.
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In summary, parenting is a complex juggling act. Each day is a blend of chaos and joy, and despite the challenges, it’s a journey worth embracing.