Perfectly Imperfect

Some time ago, I watched this TED talk about how the U.S. doesn't provide paid maternity leave. The discussion focused on how the lack of resources for women forces many postpartum mothers to return to work well before they are ready.

I had a tearful, painful sort of reaction to it, and frantically began writing about the delicate balance between mother and child, and how forcing their separation was cruel. Emotions poured from my fingertips. I typed and typed and typed, but my words were all wrong. I deleted huge swaths and started again, only to repeat the sequence.

Motherhood is difficult to write about, I think. Occasionally I tiptoe through the minefield and though I've gotten a few scrapes along the way, have found a sort of protection in just being honest.

Sometimes you can learn a thing or two about yourself when you are really honest. Like, I learned (relearned?) that I can be horrifically near-sighted. 

I very much wanted to write about what I was feeling, but what I'd managed to cobble together for my blog was shaky at best. So before I hit the publish button, I asked my aunt if she'd read my draft and give me some feedback. Her response:

"I had to grit my teeth to get through it."

Then, maybe to make me feel a little less like a jerk, she said it was well written, it was difficult subject matter, and she saw the humor where intended, but that it was a selfish perspective and it sounded "preachy".

I suppose some part of me knew that and kept me from publishing a kind of intense piece of writing all willy-nilly, but I needed someone to say it to me. (Thanks, Aunt Carol!)

Because the truth is, I have no idea what it feels like to be separated from my infant. I've worked almost exclusively from home since giving birth to Lakeland 6 years ago.  My boss at the time allowed for a full time, work from home position for that first year after Lakeland was born. She set a high bar, and made expectations clear. I've always felt an almost crushing degree of thankfulness that she allowed me the option to work from home. Though she had to return to work only two weeks after the premature birth of her son a few years prior, or maybe because of her unfortunate circumstances, she allowed me that opportunity.

So instead of writing in ignorance about mothers returning to work, and pretending to know how that feels, I'm going to share what I know about, and that's working from home with (now) two kids.

So back to that TED talk, which starts out showing examples of internet images that are meant to portray working mothers.

I googled "working mothers" as suggested, and sure enough, one snapshot after another popped up showing women and children seated in clean work spaces, where not a coffee stained cup or empty bag of tortilla chips lingers. With pencils sharpened, shirts ironed and nails painted, the women happily hold their children while clicking away on their keyboards.  There are no gray hairs to be seen, no bags under any eyes, and no bloated diapers on the babies, who are all fully dressed and probably recently bathed.

Take a look at these scenes:

There's no way actual people live here. Where's all their stuff? Two kids, each holding a teddy bear for amusement? Come on! Also, my back aches just looking at this woman's body position. Nobody voluntarily sits like that.

I'd totally kick my feet up and work from the couch. Except I can't. Because my couch doubles as a folding table for laundry and also because I would fall, mid email, into a deep, deep slumber.

Hey Mommy, you better put down that land line and your herbal tea because that baby's about to go APE. SHIT. ON. YOUR. ASS.

Allow me to share my typical work surface with you:

It's 6 feet of pure chaos. Papers, trash, vitamins, glow sticks, kid books, teethers, markers, flashlights...our whole freaking house is on this table.

Also allow me to introduce my typical work positions, with the little bodies of my children perpetually pressed against me:

Baby on lap, facing screen. With only beginner's neck control, I had to be diligent with pillow positioning or he was sure to bash his little round face on my Mac. Probably his diaper needs changed, and we are both still in pajamas. This is how you'll find us on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 8am-1pm.

This position demonstrates what Seth calls "Throwing a boob in his mouth in order to get some work done", a pretty accurate description. Notice the baby is only partially dressed, and those dark circles around my eyes are the Real Deal.

The fifth snow day in a row resulted in a tough morning for this little one.

Baby Whitaker likes to kick his feet up on the edge of the table and push back against me, so technically, I'm resistance training in this image. Bonus!

I am a working mother, and this is what that looks like. Baby nursing, headphones on, no makeup and unwashed hair. Pajamas and coffee and breakfasts of dry cereal. Bored kids, toys everywhere, nobody dressed. It looks nothing like those google images. It's not perfect. Hell, sometimes it's not even palatable. It's messy. It's frustrating. Really, really frustrating.

And if I tilt my head the right way, it's beautiful. And it makes me feel full of love and life.

Even looking at the pictures of partially completed chores and messes in progress, I still feel the "luxury" of being able to work from home while raising my children. Like everyone else, my days can feel incredibly long. Unending. But along the way, I've learned to survive. I've picked up a few tricks, like how to ignore whatever is least pressing - could be children, could be piles of laundry that may or may not be emitting visible wisps of odor, could be an email or instant message.

Now that you've all heard of my proclomation of jerkiness, seen my house looking like the pits, gotten a preview of me in my pajamas nursing a baby with no cover, and caught the complete insanity of my "desk", I'm going to wrap this thing up. If you'll just allow me to briefly and ever so tentatively climb up on the little soapbox that I have no business standing on and whisper, with averted gaze, to all of the mommies that returned to work before they were ready:

I think you have unbounded courage and you are so loved. For all the times you've endured the phrases: "It'll get easier.", "It's harder on you than it is on the baby.", "Just get through the day, minute by minute." I wish I could have been there to just bring you a coffee and sit quietly beside you.

And to all of you mommies that excitedly packed your satchels and had your clothes laid out and ready to go that last day of your maternity leave, looking forward with great anticipation to returning to your jobs:

I think you have unbounded courage and you are so loved. Thank you for representing the strength and determination that lies within us all, and taking care of yourselves and your families while kicking real-world ass.

And to all of the mommies that put their babies down on their cluttered floor, threw some snacks and toys at their toddlers, and logged on from home, turning a deaf ear to the voices of their children, ignoring the fussing and the utter chaos:

I think you have unbounded courage and you are so loved. I wish I could play with your babies and fold your laundry while you returned emails. Thank you for contributing your best through the push-pull of child rearing during the work day.

Not one of us looks like the women in those working mother google images.

We are all perfectly imperfect.