Mother Working...

Before I was married, I taught preschool full time. I used to cover the nap room shift on many afternoons and if all of the children were fast asleep, I'd walk over to the CD player and put one of the lullabies, "You Can Close Your Eyes," by James Taylor on repeat. That was one of my busiest years not only teaching, but also meeting the man who is now my husband, becoming engaged, and planning a wedding. Cozy afternoons watching a room full of sleeping preschoolers were just the space I needed to clear my head. I could very abstractly imagine what it might someday feel like to hold my own little bundle of joy and rock that cozy bundle to sleep with these words:

Well the sun is surely sinking down, but the moon is slowly rising.
So this old world must still be spinning round and I still love you.

So close your eyes, you can close your eyes, it's all right.
I don't know no love songs and I can't sing the blues anymore.
But I can sing this song and you can sing this song when I'm gone.

It won't be long before another day, we gonna have a good time.
And no one's gonna take that time away. You can stay as long as you like.

So close your eyes, you can close your eyes, it's all right.
I don't know no love songs and I can't sing the blues anymore.
But I can sing this song and you can sing this song when I'm gone.

Those days leading up to our wedding sometimes seemed to stretch on forever, I recall. I'd watch the clock, and the hands may as well have just stood still. Now, just over a year later that all seems like a whirlwind. Now I am teaching preschool part time and I am a full time wife and mother. The days now often feel like a whirlwind and I long for the hours, the minutes, or even just a moment to stretch on forever. What I didn't know when I dreamily imagined holding that cozy little bundle of joy was how heavy and exhausting that joy can feel by the day's end. I didn't realize then that even though my baby boy might be excited, playful and ready to fly like a helicopter around the room at 10:00PM, I would be struggling to stay awake while I nurse him once more before hopefully getting five hours or so of sleep myself. What I never imagined was that I could put in 110% of my energy, intention and desire into working and mothering and still desire to give so much more however impossible that scenario may be. 

The numbers just don't add up; the hours somehow always fall short. It is all a much more delicate dance than I had imagined back in those days of waiting for the hours to pass. Now my steps are heavier and my feet a little more worn for the ware. Still this new rhythm moves all around me and within me and I try to dance between it all with pateince and with grace. I feel wholeheartedly that being a "working mother" is the right choice for me, for my son and for our family as a whole. I'd prefer to call it a "mother working," though, as I am first and foremost a mommy. Yes, I feel confident. And I feel ambivalent. I am excited, fulfilled, exhilarated and I still feel all of the guilt and anxiety as any other mother working. Teaching, I believe, shaped me into a more sensitive Mommy. Motherhood now shapes me into a more compassionate teacher. At the end of the day, I like to think that my students and my son go to bed peacefully exhausted. I know I do! 

And every night as his heavy eyelids fight impending slumber and as we both seem to sleepily long for those final moments to last just one more hour,  I want so much to sing these words to my son. I've tried on occasion, but every time I do a lump in my throat seems to get the better end of my voice. So instead sometimes, on a rainy afternoon like this one, I hold my smiley, sleepy, chatty little infant in my arms, rock him gently back and forth and let James Taylor do the singing. (Thank you, YouTube!) My son is almost four months old now. He does not yet have separation anxiety. I am almost thirty; I do. My greatest dream for my son is the same dream I have had for every one of my students. This world is full of friendly faces. In times of uncertainty, I encourage my children--both borrowed and biological--to find the helpers. Everything we could ever possibly need we already have. It is within us and around us and all we need to do is find those friendly faces. My little boy is loved by many friendly faces and I feel blessed to see him look lovingly into his babysitter's eyes or smile when a friend picks him up and holds him. And I feel blessed to feel him peacefully drift off to sleep in my arms each night and find him awake and smiling from his bassinet in the morning--because even if I can't muster the words to tell him that he can stay as long as he needs and no one's going to take our time away, I believe in the deep of my heart that my son already knows this to be true. It won't be long before another day and we're going to have a good time...