The working mom’s day is rushed from the time she opens her eyes until the time they shut at night. She wakes up overwhelmed with her to do list for the day, at home, and at the office and goes to bed still overwhelmed knowing the list will fill up and overflow again tomorrow.
She wakes up to her husband next to her, whom she fell asleep with talking about their day at work because there is still meaningful conversation left to have between them. She lives a life outside of her kids that contribute to her fulfillment and her passion.
But she feels guilty for the late nights, and for the trips taken without them.
She feels guilty when she drops her son off at daycare. Every. Single. Day. Not for the benefit of social interaction a 2-year-old needs, but for the benefit of her own social interaction she needs.
And that makes her feel guilty.
Sometimes on Sunday nights she fantasies about drop off the next morning, and getting to the office where she can drink a cup of coffee, in one sitting, never reheating it, and without it being knocked over, all by herself.
She doesn’t tell people that although she looks forward to the weekend and spending quality time with her kids, that well- sometimes she doesn’t.
Staying home was isolating. It wasn’t what it was supposed to be.
It was supposed to be planning arts and crafts in the morning, and baking cookies in the afternoon. (Instead, it was losing her temper for the third time, and playing Sesame Street on repeat so she could have time to herself.)
It was supposed to be a sparkling kitchen and a spotless living room. (Instead, it is crusty substances on the counter, expired milk, and empty fruit snack packages littered in the living room.)