Workin’ Mama

I’m writing this from Denver, where I just returned to my hotel room after about 12 hours of presentations, discussions and a dinner meeting.

Back at home, my babies are sleeping. I left yesterday after they went off to school and I’m hoping to be home tomorrow with a minute or two to snuggle them before bedtime. Assuming, of course, that tomorrow’s projected blizzard lets up enough for me to get out tomorrow.
I know this is necessary, it’s important for my job for me to be here. There’s no one else who could be here in my place. My husband and I both work hard to put food on the table, a roof over our childrens’ heads, blah blah blah. I also know my husband is a more than capable father and will do just fine without me.

That doesn’t really make me feel any better. When my plane took off yesterday, I just couldn’t shake that feeling that it was worng, that this piece of steel shouldn’t be carrying me away from the city where my children were, to a place several states away. I’m still sitting in a hotel room by myself when I wish I was tucking them into bed. It’s hard enough to deal with the implications of being a working mother when I do get to see them and spend some precious time with them each day, it’s brutal when I don’t even have that. I'm still the primary (and only) food source of a small baby, so there's a whole slew of complications that come with that (although I can now I say I've pumped in flight on an airplane).

We’re all going to be just fine. Everything will be okay. And I’ll keep reminding myself of that until it is.