A Day in the Life of This Working Mom ©

A Day in the Life of This Working Mom ©

•4:50 a.m. → Yup.  You read that correctly.  My alarm goes off at 4:50 a.m.  I go to bed when it is light outside and wake up in the pitch darkness. 

•4:52 a.m. → Throw my legs over the side of the bed, drag the tray table holding my breast pump towards me, and strap myself in.  I am such a productive dairy cow that my infant daughter cannot possibly ingest the amount of milk that I have cooked up overnight. 

•4:53-5:03 a.m. → Pump.  But, I don’t JUST pump.  An effective working mom is a multi-tasking mom.  I hold the pump attachments against myself with one arm while I check email, catch up on Facebook posts, browse Amazon, and play a few rounds of Words with Friends.  Yes, I’ve perfected fitting all of this into 10 minutes.

•5:04 a.m. → Use the bathroom.  My children are still sleeping, so, thrillingly, I am alone.  I am on the toilet and am completely alone.

•5:07 – 5:15 a.m. → Personal Hygiene.  Enough said.

•5:15 – 5:20 a.m. → Dress my lower half.  You may ask, “Gee, Erin, why only your bottom half when, clearly, as a working mother, you will need to cover all of your naughty bits?”  Well, I’ll need to nurse the baby, so why bother to dress the breasts?

•5:20 – 5:30 a.m. → Daycare and Work Prep/Relaxed Breakfast (the most important meal of the day) – Set out Daughter #1’s morning snack.  Pack Son’s backpack with his lunch and probiotic laced, calcium enriched orange juice.  Pack my own prepared lunch and water bottle.  Pack the baby’s jar of solids and bottles of breast milk.  Pour rice milk over an incredibly nutritious and satisfying bowl of cold cereal.  Stuff my face full of said cereal while locating my car keys and ensuring that my purse is armed with the essentials.

•5:31 a.m. → Quietly enter the nursery to gently wake my deliciously chubby baby girl with a disgustingly sweet and lilting tune.  Coo at, baby talk to, and generally make a fool of myself to entertain said yummy chubster while diapering and dressing her.

•5:37 – 5:57 a.m. → Lug the chubster into my bed for her morning feeding.  Love that when she is hungry, she gets a look of intense ferocity on her face when she sees my nipple.  She’s about to attack her prey. 

            This is our quiet time together.  One of the definite drawbacks of being a working mom is the small amount of time on weekdays that I get to spend with my kids.  But this twenty minutes is ours.  I put all electronics aside and look directly into her eyes as she nurses.  I cuddle her, sing to her, and tell her, repeatedly, that I love her.

•5:58 a.m. → I finally dress my upper half.

•6:05 a.m. → I open my bedroom door to find my elder children (having been dressed by Daddy) waiting anxiously to jump into my bed.

•6:06 – 6:12 a.m. → My elder children squabble over who will get to hold the baby first, who will make the chubster laugh longest or loudest.  I watch them closely, memorizing their childhood.

•6:13 a.m. → We all head downstairs for final prep.  Jackets on, baby in the car seat, Daughter #1 armed with her juice and snack, and we’re out the door.

•6:17 a.m. → Pull out of the driveway and begin our trek.  Most often, the elder kiddoes begin immediately arguing over if we should listen to music and, if so, which song to which we should listen.

•6:25 a.m. → We pull into my parents’ driveway to drop the boy.  He spends his mornings there: eats his breakfast, does his homework, is probably spoiled with treats, TV, toys, and smartphone games.  The bus picks him up at 8:32 a.m. for Kindergarten.

•6:40 a.m. → Daycare drop off.  Both girls need to be delivered to their respective rooms, their supplies unpacked, and directions for the day communicated.  Baby Chubster is delivered first, which means that Big Sis gets the opportunity to touch each and every toy in the room, get up in each baby face for a rambunctious good morning greeting, and show off her dress and/or hair and/or shoes to Chubster’s teacher.  After Chubster receives two rounds of thorough kissing (one from me and one from Big Sis), she is handed over to her grandmotherly teacher, who gives her her third round of kisses.

            Daughter #1 is dropped in her room for a hearty breakfast of cereal and toast.  She also receives a through kissing and round of ‘I Love Yous’.

            Leaving my children at daycare is difficult.  There are times when I just make it out the door before the tears start streaming down my face.  And, it isn’t only on the very few mornings when one or another of my kids are crying because Mama’s leaving.  No, usually it is on a day when the kids are exceptionally happy.  They are prepared for another wonderful day of songs and art projects and playing pretend with friends and running around on the playground.  It’s me who suffers because I am sorry to leave them.

            But, that isn’t every day.  Most days I leave with the full confidence that they will have a great day, that they will learn things and experience things that they wouldn’t have had the opportunity to learn and experience if they were home with me.  I leave with the knowledge that I will appreciate the time that I have with them that afternoon/evening that much more.

•6:55 a.m. → I pull out of the parking lot on my way towards work.  It is about a seven minute drive.  This, and my drive back to daycare after work) are the only times when I am in the car alone.  Ahhhhh…my NPR time.

•7:05 a.m. → I walk through the doors of the high school and towards my office to drop off my gear before my day begins.

•7:15 a.m. – 2:15 p.m. → Teaching. This involves a range of activities that test my organizational, public speaking, disciplinary, inspirational, interpersonal, and patience skills.  I set up the classroom, take attendance, teach my lesson, work with students, and do that all again.  I pick up mail from the office, collaborate with colleagues, pump, socialize while eating lunch, make copies, lesson plan.  Repeat steps 1-5 again.

            I teach in order to earn a paycheck, yes, but it is so much more than that.  On my best days, I see the lights go on in my students’ eyes as they learn some essential skill, or I help a student to write an essay that gets him into his first choice college.

            Since becoming a mother, I am acutely aware of the fact that I am spending time away from my own children in order to educate other people’s children.  So, I am charged with a mission to make that time away from my own children worthwhile and meaningful.  I see my students as the children of caring mothers and fathers, and I work to give them what I would want my own children to receive.

•2:16 p.m. → Back to daycare for pickup.

•2:30 p.m. → When I walk into the baby room, baby Chubster looks up and beams a loving grin.  She’s happy to see me.  I collect together her supplies, chat with her teachers about her day, and haul the 500 pound car seat (ok, she’s not that big a chubster) towards the pre-school room.  Big Sis, likewise, is happy to see me.  She runs to me and gives me tight hugs.  She and the other 3-year-old girls coo and giggle over the baby as I discuss the details of Sissy’s day.

•3 p.m. – 3:35 p.m. → We arrive at home.  I barely make it up the steps and in the door, hobbled by the car seat, my school bag, two daycare bags, and two AEDs.  I rush around, stashing the bags, storing extra milk in the fridge, and getting Sissy a snack and tuning in Netflix to “Dora” before the Chubster can start to whine.  Depending on her schedule for the day, the Chubster will need to be nursed.  Often, she is in the middle of nursing when Big Brother’s bus arrives.  Which means, of course, that I will wave out the window at the bus driver with half of my breast exposed.  That makes our house his favorite stop of the day.

•3:36 p.m. – Big Brother comes running through the door requesting a snack and time on the iPad.  I pump him for information on his day at school, holding the snack and iPad as ransom.

•3:40 p.m. – I plop the baby into her bouncer or jumper or high chair and sing to her as I begin preparations for tomorrow.  I clean out daycare bags and Big Bro’s backpack, reading through the envelope of information sent home each day, addressing anything that he may need for school. I put together bottles of breast milk and jars of baby food.  Pour bottles of juice for the two older kids and put together a snack for Sissy’s morning car ride.  Brew and bottle green tea to drink the next day.  Pack my own lunch and Brother’s lunch.  Lay out outfits for all three children and myself.  Unload and reload the dishwasher.  Begin dinner prep.

•4:02 p.m. → Big Daddy Man arrives home from work to entertain the kiddoes as I continue my daily chores.

•5:15 p.m. → Dinner is served.  It is usually something healthy, home cooked, and comprised of whole grains and vegetables.  My son usually refuses to eat it, but we are of the “this isn’t a restaurant” parenting style.  Eat what you are served, or don’t eat at all.  We all eat together, at the table, without any technological interruptions, each night.

•5:45 p.m. → Big Daddy Man bathes Big Brother and Sissy as I change and nurse the baby. 

•6:15 p.m. → Once the baby goes down for the night, I may read a story to or sing a song to Big Brother and Sissy before kissing them goodnight.

•7 p.m. → At this point I am exhausted.  I may watch an hour or so of bad T.V. while picking up discarded shoes, clothes, and toys. If I’m feeling at all proactive, I may sweep the kitchen floor or vacuum.  Perhaps even do a load of laundry, which doesn’t seem to make a dent in the massive pile that collects on the floor in the basement.

•9 p.m. → I fall into bed, barely able to take off my make up, apply a thick layer of moisturizer to my aging skin, and swallow my vitamins.  I check and then double check that my alarm clock is set.  I find a comfortable position under the covers and start to feel a wave of relaxation.  As I start to drift off, I hear a sudden noise over the monitor and, although it wasn’t alarming or frightening, I need to get up and check on each of the children before I can fall to sleep, recharging for all of it to begin again tomorrow.