Bumps in the road.

A working mom is a woman with three jobs and no time off. There's the so-called Real World work-for-money job, the neverending job of 'wife', and that of 'mom'. The three form a triangle of life for the mom... and sometimes it's like the Bermuda triangle for me. I get lost in the middle as all three pull at me with different strength and direction. They each pull with their own separate gravity. Part of the wife-mom gig is that I run the household, clean, organize bills... the never-ending little bullshit that makes the world go 'round. So, it's wake up to feed the baby-wake up to feed the baby-work-feed baby or pump at lunch-work-cook dinner-hold baby-eat dinner-bathe baby-rock/nurse baby to sleep-chores-sleep-repeat.

Such is my life. I can't deny it, I love being wife and mom. I am however the sole earner in my household for now, and it's rougher than I ever thought it would be because my baby and husband both need me so much some days, and I still have to get out of the car, walk into the cubefarm, and pretend like it's not tearing my heart open to do it.

Sometimes though, the situation requires me to stay home... such as last week when my newly mobile little guy suddenly propelled himself off the bed. My arm couldn't stop him. He was laying there nursing, I dozed off as I often do, then there was that surreal thud and mewling cry. I usually have my arm wrapped up around his body so we're belly-to-belly, but somehow he still found his way out, over, and off the bed... a close to hip-high drop were I standing. I felt sick. I cried. I held him and rocked him and cried with him because I could not protect him from his newfound skills, then I had to figure out the best course of action as his little forehead turned purple and two goose eggs appeared. Run neurological exam? Check. Pupils equal? Check. Call Dr. Jerkwad? Check. Miss half a day of work to make sure he's okay, endanger the financial stability of the family for four precious hours with my son? Check.

This is where the triangle begins to pull. Husband and son need me emotionally and financially. My co-workers need me to show up and do my job. My husband and son need me to be here and be the rock they can count on. They need me at work to be dependable and punctual and productive. My husband needs me to be okay, I can't be okay if I don't know for certain that our son is okay. My son needs a mama to hug and hold until the hurts are gone. All of this bounced through my head when my husband asked me to PLEASE just stay home that day. I felt guilty that my co-workers might need me (and it turns out they did, since a critical piece of data failed and my job had to be done manually) while I'm sitting in my rocker holding my bruised up baby and talking to doctors. I felt guilty about feeling guilty for being where I belonged at that moment in time.

I went back to work that afternoon after it was clear that my son has no lasting damage, after the doctor cleared him, after my numerous neurological tests passed (I've had those tests run on me so many times, I could probably run them on someone else in my sleep... but I'll probably tell that story some other time), after I got him to hold still for ice packs and arnica oil. I had a co-worker tell me I was lucky I missed that morning at work- when the process broke and there was chaos. Was I? I'd rather have a shit day at work any day than to witness my son in pain. I'd rather run manual data entry any day than see my baby bruised and see that fear and to hear the tone in my husband's voice.

-L.