(Sometimes) I'm really tired of being a mom (to a three year old)

Of course, you only capture the sweet moments to preserve for posterity, right?

Just over three years ago, I wrote this post about a particularly difficult day with a just-4-week-old Lily. Today, it's easy to read that post over and laugh--it seems now that everything was so much easier then, so much easier when my sole job was to nurse and change a diaper and rock an infant. In that post, I wrote these words: "Today, I've figured out that sometimes I hate being a mom of a newborn who can't tell me what she needs." Funny, I thought that sentiment was just a passing phase, and, in many ways, it was. But, in so many other ways, it's exactly where I'm still living today.

Three year olds are tough. I thought we'd been spared the "terrible twos," but it turned out they'd just been delayed as a surprise to arrive in the form of the "tyrannical threes." It wasn't until Lily turned three in February that we introduced time-outs, that we experienced the angry slaps of a tantrumming toddler, that we began to worry breakable objects in the living room might be thrown in a fit of rage. It wasn't until three that going to the potty became an exhausting battle of wills and that getting dressed was an athletic event requiring much the same stamina as a decathlon. It wasn't until three that that phrase from three years ago began echoing in my head again: "sometimes I'm really tired of being a mom to a three year old." 

Perhaps the hardest part for me--for someone who thrives on logic and likes knowing answers and can find a solution to most problems after a quick Google search--is that there's nothing even remotely logical about a toddler.

Does she know when she has to pee? Yes.
Will she respond appropriately when I ask her to go? No.

Did she eat meatloaf last night for dinner? Yes.
Will she eat it today for lunch? No.

Did she refuse to wear anything that wasn't green yesterday? Yes.
Will she deign to look at her green leggings today? No.

Did she play by herself for 30 minutes with her Little People yesterday? Yes.
Will she unwrap herself from my leg long enough for me to pee today? No.

And on and on it goes. Of course, there are things that make this phase easier that cannot be denied. When we're with my parents, they happily take her for hours on end--much to everyone's delight. We live in a neighborhood where there are always other kids to play with (and moms to commiserate with) no more than 50 feet away. And I'm married to the most phenomenal man--the one who has currently taken her to a lighthouse and instructed me to do "whatever will let you recharge right now."

But none of that changes how hard this moment can feel--how isolating and exhausting it is, how inadequate and impatient I feel, how hard it is on our marriage and our family when we wake up every morning, armed for a battle that will arrive when it's least expected. And so, once again, not much has changed since that day in March 2014 when I first wrote a post much like this one, so I'll end it the same way.

I'm doing my best, little Lily. We'll get the hang of this yet.

I love being a working mom

I could add a hundred caveats to that title, right? "I love being a working mom if..." or "I love being a working mom when...". Or I could talk about circumstances, like having the luxury of choosing to be a working mom. But I'm going to try to write this post without justifying it. That being said, I will offer one explanatory note before I continue: this post is not against anything or anyone. If anything, coming to this realization--the realization that I love being a working mom--has only been arrived at after wrestling with my guilt that I don't want to be a stay-at-home mom, guilt that my new job fulfills that hole I thought was waiting for a second child. As much as this post is an ode to the working mom, it's also an appreciation of the stay-at-home mom.

And, with that, no more apologies or caveats. Here I am: today--and let me tell you, my days are exhausting. Here's the average weekday schedule:

• 5:00am: Alarm
• 5:35am: Leave home (in workout clothes)
• 6:00am: Arrive at school
• 6:20am: Begin morning workout
• 7:20am: End morning workout, begin getting ready for the day
• 8:00am: Arrive in my office
• 4:45pm: Leave my office
• 5:00pm: Arrive Jeff's work (to pick up Lily)
• 5:30pm: Arrive home for playing, dinner, bath, and bedtime (solo-parent style)
• 8:10pm: Finish putting Lily to bed; return to work-related tasks (email, class preps, etc.)
• 9:30pm: Go to bed myself
• 11:00pm: Jeff arrives home
• 5:00am: Alarm

So, is it easy to be a working mom? Not even close. Do I get frustrated when Lily pees her pants despite repeated reminders, when Jeff and I cross signals and don't get the basic house chores done, when I'm cooking another meal we won't eat together but will only divide in Pyrex containers for assorted lunches and dinners eaten at our desks? Well, wouldn't you?

But here's the pay-off: I spend my days doing something I love, something I believe in, something I genuinely believe will affect the lives of future generations. I interact with phenomenally smart, funny colleagues and students throughout my day, and I come home to a phenomenally smart, funny daughter. I have the incredible luxury of knowing my daughter is happy and thriving when I'm away from her, whether that's from hours spent reading and playing with her dad or from an amazing preschool or from her incredibly invested swimming and dance teachers. 

I love how Lily believes she can be anything. If I were a stay-at-home mom, I think she'd be learning the same lessons, but there's something simply phenomenal about her belief that she will be a vet or a doctor one day. I think that has such a great impact on me because one of the reasons I am where I am today is because my dad believed I'd always be at the administrative level in a school, a fact I mentioned in my interview with the Head of School during my recent job shift. 

As a mom, I believe it's nearly impossible not to be awestruck when your child expresses a desire to be "just like you!" When Lily puts on my tall, yellow rain boots (her feet don't even reach the sole!) or insists on wearing an apron that matches mine to make zucchini muffins, I'm reminded that my time away from her at work has in no way changed her relationship to me. She still wants to run like me, to dress like me, to care for others in the way that I care for her. 

Maybe Lily will go to my school one day. Maybe she'll study to be a vet. Maybe she'll have a daughter of her own and want nothing more than to stay at home with her. Whatever she chooses, all that matters to me is that it brings her great joy--that her mind sparks and her heart swells when she thinks of heading to work each morning.

So, yes, I love being a working mom. I'm good at it--good at balancing the challenges, good at knowing when to shift my attention from one task to another, good at letting the students and families I work with know that they're important--and even better at letting my daughter and my husband know that they are far more important.

In short, being a working mom brings me great joy.