I went back to work today. And I feel like I failed as a mom today. Of course that’s not true, but that’s the story I’m telling myself right now.
Harrison is a good baby. He’s a great baby. He didn’t cry when he was born, but rather observed the room curiously as if to say, hey, this looks kind of different… Even now at two months of age, he rarely cries, even in the night. When he is awoken by the familiar grumbles of hunger, he just kind of grunts to wake me. He really only cries if his hunger isn’t met with nice warm milk in what he deems to be a timely manner, and I would argue he’s a pretty patient boy. After going zero to sixty in hanger, he settles quickly. This afternoon, after returning home, I quickly learned that Harrison can cry. He can cry a lot, and for what seems like no good reason at all. He can cry even after being fed and changed. He can cry on his mat, in his swing, in his crib, and pretty much anywhere except for my arms, the only place he was even close to being happy today. But I couldn’t hold him. Not all afternoon, anyway. Matthew wasn’t home and I had two girls who wanted to play and color and have snacks and watch some stupid thing on Netflix and the internet wasn’t working and attitudes and slamming doors because how dare I ask her not to take all the cushions off the couches. I had to wash pump parts and pack lunches (which, fun fact, never got done) and fold laundry (which also never got done) and finish up some work (which… see a pattern here?) Everyone was crying and there seemed like no end in sight.
I was short with Clara. I was short with Eloise. I was short with Harrison. And all they were doing was being kids. Kids who wanted to spend time with their Mommy. But Mommy was tired. Tired from the pace of a workday which is so foreign to me right now. Tired of listening to screaming that just wouldn’t stop. Tired of feeling like no matter what I did, I just couldn’t win today. And now, I’ve entered the inevitable mind space where all mothers go to sometimes. Can I do this? Can I actually go to work and also be a good mom? Can I raise three humans the way they deserve to be raised? Can I understand that the story I’m telling myself is just that- a story- and it’s not the whole truth? Can I?
Can I do this? Yes. I sure can. Whatever “this” is, I have proven time and time again that I can do it. Why would today be any different?
Can I actually go to work and also be a good mom? Yes. I’m a mom first and foremost, but I love my job and it is so much a part of who I am. I know myself well enough to know that I can’t stay home. Two months has been enough for me and it’s time for me to return. I thrive on structure and routine and purpose. And I genuinely respect mothers and fathers who can provide those things while staying at home, but that just isn’t the person I am. I’ve spent the past days and weeks watching Encanto too many times to count, ordering takeout more than the average human being should, and clicking “Buy Now” on my Amazon app wayyy more often than I’m willing to admit. I didn’t have a regular bedtime nor did I ever set my alarm. These days have been beautiful, I’ve bonded with my son and made lasting memories with all three of my children. But my anxiety has crept in, and I need my days to be something more. My children need their days to be something more, and they need their mom to be the best person she knows how to be. I went back today to ease myself back in. I’m blessed beyond words with a wonderful group of colleagues who support me taking whatever time I need and who are willing to be flexible with how I return to work. The pressure I feel is only the pressure I’m putting on myself. I’m working on understanding that I don’t need to be everything to everyone.
Can I raise three humans the way they deserve to be raised? Of course I can. These three little minions are the epitome of everything I’ve ever wanted in my life. They have proven time and time again that despite all my missteps, they are amazing humans with amazing hearts. Clara’s empathy, Eloise’s humor, Harrison’s curiosity. The sweet bond they all share and the individuality that they so proudly (and sometimes defiantly) display. They deserve a mom who celebrates everything that makes them who they are, who is willing to let them experiment and learn from their experiences and sometimes, their mistakes. And they also deserve a mom who is a real person, who is honest with them about what it means to be a person in this world. They deserve a mom who models for them what it means to balance the things that make her happy, make her whole, make her who she is. And I work hard to be those things for them. Today was hard, but that’s okay. Sometimes things are hard, and how we react is really what defines us.
Can I understand that the story I’m telling myself is just that- a story- and it’s not the whole truth? Ah, the tough one. The mom guilt. The perfectionism. The vulnerability. My gray area. I’m working on this one, but I think I can do it. Because I know logically that I didn’t fail as a mom today. My children are fed and clothed. They’re warm in their beds (or in Harrison’s case, his dad’s arms while Mom takes a breather) and they had Valentine’s Day candy for dessert tonight. The girls read books and sang songs before bedtime kisses. Clara’s spirit day outfit is all ready for her and Eloise’s ballet tutu is…. Definitely not laid out yet. Damn. Eloise’s ballet tutu is in her top drawer, but it’s clean, so that must count for something, yes? Harrison. Oh Harrison. He gave me a run for my money tonight but he’s still just the best little man. He has a full belly and a clean diaper and the most handsome blue eyes you ever did see. The story I’m telling myself is both fiction and non-fiction, but it’s also just a feeling, and it will pass.
