You remember that Tuesday last month when the babysitter canceled? I watched you pivot before the coffee finished brewing—reshuffling meetings while packing lunches, your phone wedged between shoulder and ear as you buttoned your shirt. What struck me wasn’t the chaos, but how you paused to fix our little one’s crooked hairclip before walking out. That tiny gesture held more intention than any corporate presentation I’ve ever seen.
There’s a particular way working moms move through the world—that split-second decision to send one more email while waiting at pickup line, the deep breath before switching from ‘manager’ to ‘comfort-giver’ at daycare doors. I’ve been paying closer attention lately. What looks like multitasking? From this side of the kitchen counter, it looks like love wearing work clothes.
The Weight No One Sees You Carry
Your work bag fascinates me. Not the leather one from the conference last spring—the other one. The invisible sack holding grocery lists layered over project deadlines, the remembered panic of ‘forgot picture day!’ texts, the mental math of meetings versus pediatrician appointments. I’ve started noticing when you shift its weight—like when you’re cooking dinner while mentally drafting quarterly reports.
Remember last Thursday? You sat staring at the laptop at 10 PM, tears making the screen glow blurry. Not from overwhelm—though God knows there’s enough of that—but because you’d just realized our toddler’s teacher appreciation week coincided with your business trip. That heavy sigh? It wasn’t defeat. It was recalibrating—again—finding a way to be present through video messages and carefully packed care packages.
What amazes me isn’t that you carry all this. It’s that you’ve learned to walk so gracefully under the weight no one taught either of us to see.
The Third Chair at Every Table
The office bathroom becomes a confessional, where your thoughts are the only audience. It’s messy, but it’s real. Parking lots turn into boardrooms. I’ve seen you navigate these temporary command centers—pumping breast milk while muted on conference calls, soothing nightmares through whispered lullabies between work emails. Your ability to exist in two places simultaneously still takes my breath away.
There’s this moment during Zoom meetings when your eyes flick to the nursery cam feed. Just a quarter-second—unnoticed by colleagues—where your whole posture shifts. Shoulders softening from ‘presenter mode’ to ‘mom mode’ before snapping back. That quick shift? That deserves a medal, not guilt. Every day. Multiple times a day.
That framed crayon drawing on your desk isn’t just decoration. It’s your North Star—a visual reminder why skills honed in board meetings (patience, negotiation, crisis management) make you exceptionally qualified for the most important job you’ll ever have.
Shedding Shoulds Like Winter Coats
I found your list last week. You know the one—’Perfect working mom’ goals written during maternity leave. Between ‘freshly baked cookies weekly’ and ‘never miss bedtime’ were coffee rings and cross-outs. But the margin held something revolutionary: ‘Being present beats being perfect’ in your handwriting, followed by a game-changing addendum: ‘Self-care isn’t selfish—it’s survival.’
Remember your ‘rebellion’ last month? When you requested Wednesdays off early—not for pediatric visits, but for your pottery class? Watching you reclaim that slice of personal identity did more for our family than any Pinterest-worthy craft project could. Your evolving definition of balance—messy, real, constantly adjusting—teaches our kids more about priorities than any lecture ever could.
That afternoon your boss questioned your commitment? I watched you calmly explain that strategic thinking happens during school pickups, innovation sparks during playground waits, and leadership grows when modeling boundaries. You didn’t apologize. Not once.
Building Bridges Out of Strawberry Stickers
Midnight found us recently reorganizing the fridge—you transferring purees to containers while reviewing sales charts. Our little one’s tiny handprint magnets holding up your meeting notes. In that fluorescent-lit kitchen, I saw your worlds collide beautifully—the post-its reading ‘BUY MORE CHEERIOS’ nestled beside ‘Q3 STRATEGY’.
Evidence of your dual life is everywhere if you know where to look. The conference call notes scribbled on the back of permission slips. The hidden emergency snack stash in your glove compartment. The way you practice presentation flow while pushing swings—because playground pacing matches your life presentations, or so you claim.
Yesterday, our preschooler announced her career plans: ‘I want to work at mama’s office—they help people be happy.’ You’ve never used those words, but your actions speak volumes.
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