By Lisa W:
I think that all working women have two distinct personalities (or at least I do). I believe in this theory because daily there is a fine line I walk between sane and insane.
As a working mom, I morph into two people. Lisa A is the buttoned up, laptop wielding, presentation giving guru intent on kicking butt and taking names. On the flip side, Lisa B can be a sniveling, guilt ridden, puddle of mush prone to fits of anger and crying jags.
On any given day, I can alternate between Lisa A and Lisa B. Lisa A did five things on her To Do List before lunch, hosted a conference call and conducted a status meeting with her PR team. I feel fulfilled and proud of my professional achievements. Then lunch hits; I am hungry and decide to walk across the street to grab a sandwich. On my way there I pass a table of women eating lunch on the patio of a local restaurant in their work out gear. I am trying not to glower at them as I walk by. Why do these lucky tanned and toned gals get to sit and eat lunch enjoying their afternoon while I slave at my desk eight hours a day? Life is not fair. I want to be a lady who lunches. I hate my life.
Whoa! That came on fast and now I am pouting as I eat lunch under the florescent light of my office. When lunch is over, I return to work. The afternoon is dedicated to creating a new logo for a company and I remember how much I love the creative process, the color pallets and thought that goes into building a brand. I’m busy and creative; the afternoon flies by.
Five o’clock arrives and it’s time to pick up Katherine. Yippy! I breathe in the fall air as I drive to pick up my little girl. Unfortunately, I have to drive by the YMCA. Here it comes. Mini-van moms with their kids coming out of dance class, swim class, yoga or whatever fun and enriching activity that just took place. AHAHAHAH! I never can take a class with my daughter. She suffers at day care. She can’t swim and why does every place in Charlotte make all classes during the day? What about us working moms? I can’t attend a music class at 10:30 am. How am I supposed to do baby yoga at 3:30? The world caters to Stay at Home Moms. I hate my job.
My day finally comes to a close, when I sink into the rocking chair in my daughter’s nursery to feed her the 7:00 bottle; it’s quiet. My heart rate evens with the slow rocking of the chair as the quiet breathing of my sleeping baby falls in step with my own. I’m blissfully happy and wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.
OK, your turn to vent!