On Being A Working Mom aka Multiple Personality Disorder

I am a mom. I have two incredible daughters ages twelve and five years old. And I have rarely managed to incorporate my mommy life into my working life. It’s a difficult divide that I, for one, have not yet puzzled out; though some might argue I’ve had ample time these last twelve years since being inducted into the mommy club. You see, I struggle with stereotypes and traditions. I rage against them, then default to them. I disagree, and then acquiesce. It is an ongoing, tumultuous, internal tug of war.

I think what I have is an integration issue. It goes something like this… the “fashionable” me takes a little issue with the “sexy” me ("Another micro-mini?? Would it kill you to wear a harem pant every now and then??"), who in turn has a hard time with the “ferociously driven, career-minded” me, who doesn’t know what the heck to make of the “pancake-making, Mo Willems-reading” me. And to make matters worse, each one of those me’s wants to excel; but they keep running up against each other. The result, alas, clash of the red-soled-wearing titans.

I suppose I should have begun with the disclaimer that I love my kids more than anything on planet Earth, or whatever we might discover beyond. As Nutbrown Hare’s (that’s a children’s book character, not a porn star all ye contentedly childless readers) mom would say, I love them to the moon and back. And there isn’t any “but”. There’s just the ongoing juggling act. I wouldn’t trade it for anything, though I might wish for a little more cohesion, a little more harmony, maybe a sprinkle of Kumbaya by way of Prada. You know, everything.

Until I crack this nut (again, not a porn reference), I’ll just do as Dory, she of Finding Nemo fame, does and keep swimming… with the sharks, the barracuda, the big fish, and most importantly, happily, blessedly, with the small fry.

First came Sophie...