The Full-Time Mom and The Full-Time Employee

I recently had the revelation that my only two Zen moments during the workday are the ten-minute car rides from daycare drop-off to the office each morning, and then back again to daycare in the afternoon. Not complaining, just highlighting the fact that I rarely seem to find any time to just think without really thinking of anything. And that really doesn't pan out either because daycare drop-off is not for the faint of heart.

Recently, my little one has turned into a mini-Velcro ninja, clinging to me during daycare drop-offs and unleashing an Oscar-worthy scream as I attempt my daring escape. Enter the notorious Mom Guilt—it can feel debilitating some days, and heart-breaking. Leaving my pint-sized silent movie star wailing for me sends my anxiety levels sky-high. So, the ten-minute drive to the office transforms into a TED talk where I convince myself he's perfectly fine. I have faith in the daycare squad—they've never sounded the alarm, and when I pick him up, he's always walking around with various toys and having a good time.

Throughout the workday, I sneak peeks at the daycare app like it's the latest episode of a hit reality show. I get to see the paparazzi shots the teachers post, the five-star baby cuisine, and the epic toddler escapades my kids embark on. These updates are my secret weapon, helping me transform back into my professional superhero self and conquer the day.

I clock in over 40 hours a week, Monday to Friday for a job I actually like. It lets me unleash my Type A personality who gets things done. It's nice having this version of myself; it keeps me sane. Plus, I enjoy showing my kids, especially my oldest, that Mom's got a job she digs. My life script has always been about nailing that career success early on.

One of the best parts of my job is escaping the never-ending critique I endure at home. Apparently, I committed a culinary felony last week by purchasing the "wrong" bag of frozen chicken nuggets. Chili has been demoted from superstar status to a "bleh" meal. And spaghetti? It's now the centerpiece of an Olympic event to see how far it can be launched across the kitchen by the baby, who's clearly trying out for the Royals. Oh, and heaven help us all if the laundry's not done on the 5-year-old's schedule. It's like I've shattered her universe by not washing the unicorn pajamas, forcing her to wear a set that tragically suffers from a severe unicorn deficiency.

For the last 18 months, not a day has gone by without the baby staging a protest about something before we even leave the house. Changing his diaper is like playing Twister with an octopus. It's such a spectacle that I even asked the pediatrician for advice, who suggested I change up the routine and setting.

So now, every morning (yep, all 7 days), I spend 10-15 minutes creating a diaper-changing spa experience for the baby. We sing, we read, we bond. It's quite the ritual for something that should be a two-minute task. But if the baby cries for more than five minutes, it's like the world is ending. (Fun fact: The baby still wails almost every morning getting changed and dressed for the day, but I'm convinced I will win him over one day.)

For someone who skips the make-up and take showers at night, I somehow still manage to spend over an hour every morning during the work week trying to wrangle myself and my little ducklings into readiness for the day. And let me tell you, my kids are up with the roosters, so waking up isn't the problem.

Mondays are like a bad joke. The kids need their school backpacks stuffed with bedding, milk, and water cups. It sounds simple, right? Yet, it feels like I'm trying to perform a magic trick just to get everything into the car and then herd the kids in there too. WHY IS THIS SO CHALLENGING?

Back in my twenties, I had a job that demanded peak efficiency. And guess what? I was a rock star at it. Four-day weeks/12-hour shifts, and I crushed it every time. Now, I look back and wonder what happened. I can't even finish a grocery list without it turning into a saga. And don't even get me started on shopping without a list—it's like asking for a comedy of errors. You can't call it spaghetti if you waltz out of the store without the noodles.

And if it's one of those days where work feels like a soap opera and the kids are auditioning for a drama series at daycare pick-up, I find myself thinking, "WHAT ON EARTH AM I DOING?" Are my kids secretly plotting to get me to quit my job so I can be their full-time snack provider? Is that why they're staging a protest? And naturally, dinner isn't magically ready when we burst through the door. Cue the "I'm starving and you're clearly neglecting me, Mom" performance from both kids.

Being pulled in all these directions is like being a contestant on a chaotic game show. There's the Mom Guilt for feeling like I'm failing my kids on a daily basis. And the guilt for feeling like I'm failing at work because I can't always give 100% there too.

I often ponder throughout the week if my sanity—and my kids' happiness—would be better off if I became a stay-at-home mom. But taking that leap feels scarier than a toddler with a permanent marker. Maybe one day I'll be brave enough. For now, I'm on a quest to perfect the juggling act between my kids, my job, and my sanity.

Hey working moms—you’re not alone!

--Amber