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Wednesday, October 18, 2017

We Are the Working Mothers

The light is dim.

You can barely make out the shape of his blue saucer eyes. It's five a.m. and your eyes beg for sleep, beg for "not yet," for a moment to lay your head back against the bed rest.

But this is your time, so you cradle him close. Determined not to let a minute drip by that you're not fully aware. Fully present.

After all, he could be asleep when you return tonight. So, you make the most. You make it matter by the dim blue hue of your cellphone flashlight.

We are the working mothers.

We're the mothers with master's degrees. With business meetings set on our Google calendar. Who wriggle into nursing bras beneath our blazers or uniforms every morning. Who listen to podcasts on our commutes - or revel in a few moments of silence before the emails ping! and the phones ring!

We kiss their cheeks and stroke their hair. We whisper "I love you," before grabbing our purses swelled with bills, trash, maybe a rogue lipstick tube that's lost its top.

We spend much more time hooked up to a pump than one ever should, balancing the humility with the necessity of it all.

We're nothing like the stereotype and yet, everything like it. Plunging head-first into scheduling and emails, because if we're not going to be with our child, we may as well commit.

We're told we can have it all. We just can't have all of it right now.

But right now is all we have.

So we spin, we fret, we plan, we huddle over salads - balsamic dripping from our chins -  and we work through it. We work through it all.

The feeling that we're doing a lot, but getting nothing done. The dreams. The plans. The guilt for having the dreams and the plans.

The fitness goals (because somehow, cruelly, even getting dressed becomes . The twenty emails we need to respond to.

And it all melds together in a Ramen soup of worry, doubt, fear, mess and yet, empowerment.

Because this tiny shape, these blue saucer eyes are a gift. And we are his mother.

We're his mother.

And somehow by grace, by coffee and by persistence, the work doesn't make us. We make it work.



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brett, you are so inspirational and beautiful. reading your post makes me realise of the efforts and endeavors my mother must have gone through

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