Glad to be a working mom

Before I had kids, I was a bookworm. I read regularly and voraciously. These days, I am a book slug. It takes me approximately two months to get through a book, and I am typically in the middle of several at once. This is especially pathetic when you consider that one of the books I've been trying to finish is about juggling family life, work life and having a life. It's a funny, charming, relatable read with a title that made me smile the first time I saw it, Just Let Me Lie Down: Necessary Terms For The Half-Insane Working Mom. It's written by a former coworker, Kristin van Ogtrop, who's editor of Real Simple magazine.


The book is filled with definitions, mini essays and musings. A few of my favorites:

Boredom fantasy: When you think lovingly back to the time when you were fifteen and had nothing to do but lie around the house, obsessing over the fact that you would never have long, beautiful fingernails, hair like Claire Fleming, or a boyfriend.

Hamster wheeling: The depressing state of being when you feel like you're running around and around and around but not actually getting anyplace or accomplishing anything.

Panic room: Any place where you are held hostage by a meeting that is going on longer than necessary and is conducted by people who apparently have nothing else to do for the rest of the day.

Family-friendly living: The happy-sad reality that your family is actually much, much better off because you work. And we're not just talking about the money.

I kept thinking "YES!" as I read, particularly when I got to that last point. Over the years, I've met moms of kids with developmental delays and disabilities who have chosen to quit working and stay at home to care for their children. I am not that mom. After Max was born and I went through three and a half months of hell during my maternity leave, I wanted to return to work. Obsessing about Max's future consumed me and made me anxious all the time. I cried a lot. I moped a lot. I felt devoid of energy and enthusiasm and the joy of life. None of which was good for Max, me, Dave, anyone.

So I chose to return to my job as a magazine editor. We hired a wonderful nanny, who's been with us to this day. She sat through most of weekday therapies, and then she'd fill me in when I got home. My boss at the time generously let me work at home on Fridays and I'd take Max to aquatic therapy in the morning, and PT in the afternoon. Like any other working mom, I found ways to be there for school events and meetings.

Did I feel any guilt—guilt that I was denying/avoiding/escaping the realities of my developmentally-delayed child? Well, yeah. Vast, dripping, oozing amounts of guilt. I had fled the horrors of what happened to my child for the comforts of an office tower, a place where I didn't have to talk about delays, spasticity and seizures. A place where I could have some control, unlike the seemingly out-of-control situation at home. Some days, as I sat there editing pieces on hairstyles or relationships and stared at photos of Max, I'd agonize over whether I'd made the right choice. But I kept on working. And I still am.

Max has never stopped making progress. He's coming along, at his own pace. I do not think he would be doing any better if I would have become an at-home mom. Stay calm, this is NOT to disparage moms who stay at home, or who quit work to be with their kids because it's financially possible for them. More power to you. I'm saying that working has been the right choice for me, and for my family. It has kept me sane. Which makes me a better mother.

Do you work? Did you choose to stay home with your child?

photo/istock