Balancing Act – Working Mother

I feel like I am in a constant balancing act.

I console myself by telling myself: I am not the only one with a family. This is do-able.

  1. Being the best professional and healthcare provider and perfecting my craft
  2. Being a great mother and wife
  3. Being whole and one with me

When I go to work every morning I enter a new world. So many demands and requirements on a daily basis. I smile even when Im hurting and push myself to new limits. I try to take my mind away from my darling child at home who is maybe throwing toys or swatting at her milk bottle. I imagine she is happy without me being there. I focus on increasing my depth of knowledge, working better and faster, harder. Working as though I don’t have another calling me dragging me aside. Working just as hard as those who are single, those who are torn in half. I console myself by telling myself: I am not the only one with a family. This is do-able.

When I open the door and walk into my home. My baby girl catches my eye, squeals and runs as fast as she possibly can on her wobbly feet towards me. Her hands are in the air. She is glued to me. She wants all of my attention, and I want to give it to her. But I am tired. My back hurts. My neck hurts. My husband is in the living room watching the news, he smiles at me and mumbles something about me being a ‘Wonderwoman’ and I wonder if this is sarcasm. I hobble into my bedroom and strip as fast as I can, hop in and out of the shower so I am not as germs, I don’t want to infect any of my home inhabitants with the MRSA or VRE that I have been trotting on all day. I resurface into the common area, de-masked and de-crowned, doning sweats and an XL shirt I acquired from my younger brother years ago. I am now in the kitchen and asking my husband what he will eat tonight. Sometimes he tells me not to worry, he prepares his own plate, but I stare at him longingly as I feed myself. I used to make his plate. He looks totally fine doing it himself, unbothered, but I am bother. And my little girl at my feet, waving a new treasure, something she should not be touching. A remote control, an empty soda can or a pot she acquired from a not-so-child-proof cabinet. Leave her be, until she wines, then I pick her up and balance eating and kissing.

I love my work. I love my family more. Where do the two divide. How can one thrive. Which do I put on the pedestal. Will the other die. And if I ignore work… will I be chastised. Yes of course.

I choose my family.

I choose my husband.

I choose me.

So what do I do… to actually live out these promises. I guess I will find out one step at a time!

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