Confessions of a Working Mom
It can be hard to be present as a full-time working mother of 5 children who with the oldest being six years old. Especially when my work’s purpose is to build a future for them. It’s a future that I have the privilege to create and because I can only control my part, the decisions I make are significant to say the very least. To me, these decisions are consequential. As parents, or maybe even as Aunts or Uncles, the decisions that may immediately come to mind are college saving funds, building confidence, vaccinations, getting them into extracurriculars, avoiding social media, and the list expands. The expansion is limitless and as I walked my son to the bus stop to start kindergarten… following his sister as she starts first grade… holding my 1-year old in one arm with two little girls right behind me, I realize the expansion is inward as much as it is external. He climbs up those 3 steep bus steps, plops down into the first seat, and with a smile brighter than the 8am sun on a cloudless day, he waves enthusiastically until the window is out of sight. I feel overwhelmed with pride, I take a deep breath, simultaneously overwhelmed by the pressure of time. We walk back into the house and the day goes on as the sentiment lingers.
In the month of August, I took two weeks off of work. One week was spent at my mother’s house on the beach in New Hampshire, an August tradition for me and the kids ever since having Skylar. I have made it a habit to completely unplug during this trip. My notifications are turned off, the badges aren’t visible, my status shows do-not-disturb on every platform, my phone is on silent, a colleague has been designated to cover me, and my email auto-reply has been set before we start our drive up the east coast. My husband gets a well-deserved week solo with a quiet house, uninterrupted showers, and the television all to himself before joining the chaos for the weekend. During these 7-10 days, I prioritize being present as much as motherly possible. We rise together, play all day, eat all our meals in the same space, and even nap and sleep in the same room rotating which 2 will snuggle in the same bed as me. I spent 4 hours without them during that 168-hour span to get my nails done and drop my books off for display at the local coffee shop. That is all. And every summer, I develop a newfound appreciation for this dedicated week. I used to think this trip was for them where they had mommy all to themselves. They don’t have to kiss me on my way out holding my coffee in my hand and pulling my shoes on with the other during our morning rush, or see me in scrubs while they’re in their pajamas over FaceTime, or be cut off in the middle of a dance party by an important call or meeting. However, this year, it was suddenly obvious that this week was for me as well, and I needed it just as much if not more than they did. Paradoxically, the pure chaos of my young children has become my calm and my comfort.
The second week I took off was an entirely different experience than grandma’s house in Hampton Beach. I wanted to be available for the first week of school for Skylar and Maverick. My nanny was scheduled to be off duty. My husband was in Atlanta for a conference the weekend before the week started. I was available remote as needed for my administrative work as a hospital VP. I only had about 1 meeting a day, which seemed reasonable. I usually have a tendency to have wild expectations during these sporadic weeks where I’m technically off from my job, but have “no help,” and therefore, limiting my meetings whatsoever was a sign of my evolving self-awareness. As a mother, I am constantly multitasking and managing so a few hours with no set place to physically show up can feel deceitfully luxurious. I was actually looking forward to brushing up against the role of being a stay-at-home mother to remind myself that I can effectively be domestic, but I choose to work. And I choose to have enough childcare so I can practice medicine, sit at the senior leadership table, and pursue my passion for storytelling through my memoir, Spirit of a Hummingbird: Memories of a Childhood on the Run.
These choices are the same decisions I mention above. I choose to lead as a female minority as uncomfortable as it can sometimes be. Therefore, I choose to be their golden representation shaping their outlook to see people with offices in the executive suites look like their mom. If you can understand, my choice to break glass ceilings and lead with compassion and vision is just as much for my children as it is for the hospital’s medical staff. I choose to save lives as a first-generation doctor. Therefore, I choose to put patients and their families at times before my own when I’m on duty. My choice to practice with empathy and exemplify a strong work ethic regardless of how much rest I’ve gotten or however demanding the situation pushes them to tap into their own sense of grit. I choose to promote my memoir tirelessly, filling my calendar with speaking engagements, book festivals, discussion panels, and podcast interviews. My choice to forgive, heal, and take control of the narrative to show the world that our stories are our power allows them to one day appreciate perspective and recognize their own resilience. If you can understand, as a driven working mom with only a finite opportunity to raise them the best way I know how, I don’t take my choice to be present or not present lightly.
Skylar and Maverick had a 4-day school week and the younger 3 had a similar 4-day daycare week. Their off days were different so it made for 3 days with 5 hours alone between daycare drop-off and pick up to get back in time for the bus stop. About 5 hours to cook, clean, work out, finish my coffee, and hop on that meeting. Before I know it, I’m grabbing a snack when I realize I haven’t eaten before getting back into the minivan. Not to mention that it doesn’t help when I’m always getting side-tracked mid-task to begin a much larger chore, which is absolutely my M.O. So as I am tidying up, I start de-cluttering the playroom exploding with random stuff and garbage, and as I fold laundry, notice the closets need to transition to fall weather. Then decide to re-organize our junk drawers. Oh, and note to self, I need to teach Skylar to tie her own shoes before the week is over, put up the baby gate, add some colorful wall decals to their bedroom to encourage more imagination as we kick off the academic calendar. My notifications are still on, I have no coverage, and a few messages pop up that I could postpone, but could not ignore. When the kids are home, the smaller tasks have transformed into unfinished projects, then add a couple of work obligations, and after doing stuff all day, it seems like nothing was accomplished with so much more to do. I struggle to have a decent conversation with them which typically involves prompting them to tell me their favorite part of today, their least favorite part, and what they are excited for tomorrow as I try go get through dinner, bath, clean-up, and bedtime stories. I find myself getting frustrated when they fight over something silly and lose my patience when no one is listening. My husband walks in and I wish I pause to express how happy I am that my partner is home, but I hardly acknowledge him as a naked child runs by, I throw the clothes in the dryer, and start emptying their lunch boxes into an already full sink.
Motherhood two weeks ago molding masterpieces together in the sand on the beach was a vast contrast to motherhood at the moment walking through crumbs to discover the vaccuum is broken. And motherhood next week when I am on call for the ICU will be completely different than the taxing version of motherhood right now. There is beauty and challenge in every version and there is seems to be a new version underway before I can get used to the one I’m in. Not to mention, there’s something desirable in all the other versions when I am standing in my current state. I walk out onto our deck for a bit of fresh air hoping to reset. Two small faces press against the screen door and I hear Zuri ask, “Mommy, what are you doing?”
“Taking a deep breath and counting to ten,” I reply making my way back in as my 3-year old steps aside still staring up at me. In other silent words, I’m coping and trying to find balance between all the versions of motherhood to just be a good mom for you and your siblings today, baby girl.
I’m coping. Previously, it was leaving Skylar, Maverick and Naomi for 3 weeks to write my book, yesterday it was taking a deep breath before losing my mind, today it’s blogging, tomorrow it’s putting my phone away as we run around at the playground, next week it will be me charting on my patients with the home cameras on in the background simply so I can hear your voices, and every once in a while, it’s me staring at you while you’re sound asleep as the gravity of being present and manifesting our future tugs at my spirit… wondering when it all unfolds, if any of this will one day make sense to you.
