An Hour in the Life of a Work at Home Mom

Disclaimer: If frantic phone calls, poopy diapers, pineapples or nursing bras upset you in anyway, you don’t want to read this article. 

We, the work at home moms, are a misunderstood bunch. No one can really identify with your day to day balancing act except for another gal juggling the same combo of kids, clients, customers, paperwork and housework. 

I have a hard time parenting and working at the same time.  My extra eager baby who is currently trying out the whole toddler thing usually requires both of my eyes and at least one arm at all times. So, even though my desk is set up next to my daughter’s play area, I rarely do more than check email and do small ancillary tasks while I’m on baby watch.  I do the bulk of my work during her two hour nap time in the afternoon and after she has gone to bed.  I’ll slip in more work time when she’s playing with Daddy if I need to as well.  But, sometimes it doesn’t work out that nicely. 

One of my very best clients is a fabulous lady named Roxanne. I am lucky enough to work as kind of a one woman graphics department for her two companies and the multiple projects she has going on at any one time.  We usually work at a reasonable pace, she calls me with whatever project she needs, and I calculate how many nap times and evenings it will take me to complete.  But, sometimes Roxanne, like every business owner, has graphics emergencies.

One seemingly normal morning I get a slightly frantic call from Roxanne.  She’s at a Kinkos in Virginia getting ready for a big sales meeting, and she needs me to email them the product layouts we’ve just spent the last week vigorously completing. She also needs a few alterations, a new design included, a legal statement added and a cover layout.  Oh, and she needs it in an hour.  After spending countless hours getting these sales boards ready for presentation my gut wrenches at the thought of such a big project crumbling.

I eye my ten month old, who is currently playing quietly like an angel with a pile of blocks.  It’s nowhere near nap time, and Daddy is at work.  Maybe she’ll just play nicely for an hour?  I always was an optimist. 

The first fifteen minutes breezed by.  Roxanne called.  Had I emailed anything yet?  I told her I was sending the first of the pages right now, and to call me if there were problems.  When I hung up the phone I felt two little hands on my thigh.  I explained in very clear language that if she wanted Mama to have nice things like new handbags, manicures and the Cuisinart Grind and Brew Coffee Maker (the fancy stainless steel one), she needed to play quietly and let me finish working.  She blinked her giant blue eyes at me, opened her mouth and let free a jumble of vowel sounds that sounded eerily like a rebuttal.  She paused to give me time to see the error in my argument. I kissed her forehead and turned back to work.  Her hands patted my leg furiously, and I’m sure if she could have stomped her feet yet she would have. I made some half hearted placating sounds and patted her head with one hand while I copied and pasted Roxanne’s legal statement with the other.  I could almost hear the impending explosion building.

I get the first batch of files ready a few seconds before Mt. Toddler erupts. I press send with my pinky finger as I slide down into toddlerworld.  She is immediately appeased.  The tantrum switch flips off, and other than the presence of two enormous tears clinging to her cheeks you would never have known she had just moments before thought that her mother would ignore her forever leaving her with all kinds of complexes and psychoses.  The angel wings once again sprout from her back and a halo bounces up from her wispy hair.   She is very proud of me for seeing the error in my ways.  Goooood Mommy.

Above us my computer makes a whooshing sound as the files are successfully sent.  My angel eyes me suspiciously.  The phone rings, and her wings and halo vanish.  Thinking it must be Roxanne I pick it up.  It is my neighbor with a pineapple emergency.  Julia starts fussing at my feet again, and I pull her up to my hip as I listened.  Did I hear the latest neighborhood news? Have I been to the new Starbucks? Did she tell me the new words her son was saying precociously incorrect this week? Oh, and did I have a can of sliced pineapple? My call waiting beeped in just as she was getting to the point.  I quickly told her I didn’t’ have sliced pineapple, and that I had a client on the other end of the line.  I was working.  She starts apologizing, and I tactfully click over to the other line.  

Roxanne, who could probably write a sister article to this one about how she had to get sales boards printed between soccer practice, a dentist appointment and a meeting with Millitary Spouse Magazine, was only a few octaves away from almost-time-to-freak-out voice.  Only half of the boards had come through!  Her kinko’s copy nerd guy was having a panic attack! 

I explained quickly in my best professional voice that I had actually only sent half of them, that I still had the rest and the cover design to do, but that I was doing it right now, and that it would be done in time.  She hung up and let me get back to work.

By now, my baby was firmly attached to my hip. “Do you want to play with your blocks?” I asked.  

She dug her tiny fingers into my squishy mommy tummy. No time to go for a run today, we had work to do!

“How about you help me on the computer?” I offered.

Her almost-too-large-for-her-head eyes threatened to eclipse her face.  Mommy’s computer was a giant, shiny, colorful, forbidden mystery.  I sat her down, facing the computer and started back to work. I only had one hand, so I was slower than usual, but I was almost ready to give myself a few good mommy points when my Skype ringer jingles and my mother-in-law’s face appears on my 24 inch monitor.  

My daughter and my mother-in-law immediately start up a game of peekaboo.  

“Hi Mom, I’m actually working right now.  I’ve got a deadline.”

“Oh! Sorry!” she says, as a sister work-at-homer. “I just wanted to tell you that there is a submarine on JAG tonight.  That’s all. Bye!” 

My daughter waves.  I make a mental note to tell my husband so that he can roll his eyes and have a nice rant about the inaccuracies of military life portrayed on television.  

Back to work. I get the legal statement finished and am almost done with the new designs when my assistant realizes there is a keyboard within her reach.  We play a game of “no touch” for a while until the phone rings again.  

Roxanne can’t take Kinko’s anymore.  She’s going to get a smoothie. But, she needs the completed boards in the next fifteen minutes if she is going to make it.

After the phone call, my assistant realizes that her job title is meaningless. I turn her around in my lap, incase some snuggling will suffice.  

She squirms and wiggles. I click and drag.  She whimpers and drools.  I copy and paste.  Almost finished.  

The phone rings again.  It’s my neighbor again.  “No I don’t have crushed pineapple either.  I’m working right now.”  

I finish the boards, hit send and start on the cover.  From my lap I hear a desperate intake of breath followed by that dreadful silence that can only be followed by a starving baby scream.  The cat bolts upstairs, and the dog heads for the kitchen.  In my rush I had missed a feeding.  I was almost done.  I just needed a few more minutes, then I could cuddle and nurture and bond, but right now, I was desperate.  I pulled up my t-shirt, pulled down my bra flap and latched her on.  Her screaming stopped, and her arms wrapped around my ribs like a vice.  A little guilty, and feeling a little ridiculous, I continued.

Five minutes of furious layout design and simultaneous nursing later, I only have a few finishing touches left when she starts to complain.  I keep going.  I can finish.  I’m almost there.  She pulls off and starts to wrestle with my shirt.  I’m saving the file when the smell gets to my nose.  

If you’ve never experienced the vast array of smells that accompany a weening baby then just imagine what green beans and pureed chicken might smell like after sitting for a week in a toxic waste dump next to a neglected sewage plant during a heat wave in a stagnant swamp. Even my newly minted mommy nose of steel had to take a moment.  This could not be ignored.  

I pick her up off my lap, releasing the worst of the smell.  I reel backwards, my baby at arms length, and I am halfway to the diapers when I notice that this was no ordinary poo.  This was a poo-splosion.  I had light greenish brown poop, complete with a few mystery chunks running down my thighs, and my daughter had poop down both her legs and up her back where it had erupted in a fountain of baby diarrhea.  And to top it off, I had also leaked breast milk all over the front of both of us.  

I rush to the bedroom, place my daughter in the bathtub and strip her down.  I turn on the water and then strip me down.  I pull down the shower nozzle that I usually use to wash the dog with and spray the poop off.  My daughter loves this.  When she is clean I dry her off and place her naked on a towel on the floor while I throw on something without body fluid on it.  When I am done, she is halfway to the living room. I check the clock.  I still have time! 

The doorbell rings.  I snatch her under one arm, hurdle the baby gate at the bottom of the stairs and rush to the door.  The cat, who is not allowed outside, takes full advantage of the chaos and bolts out the door as soon as I open it.  The UPS man hands me a package.  I hand it back and point him to my neighbor’s house.  Maybe it’s some pineapple.

I throw down a soft blanket, lay my naked offspring in the middle and sprinkle a few beloved toys around her.  Fed, pooped and naked, she practices “steamrolling” her toys (her Daddy would be so proud).

Roxanne calls just as I hit send. “You’re a lifesaver girlie!” 

We made it on time.  Roxanne made it to her meeting, fully prepared.  And my daughter and I roll around on the blanket together until nap time.  Then, it’s back to work on the next project. 

 

Epilog: The cat was gone for a few hours, but did finally decide to come home and vomit a few times on the carpet.  The dog loved this.  My neighbor found some pineapple from a friend down the street. Now almost two, my daughter has her own place to “work” right next to me.  Crayons are her current medium of choice. The JAG episode about the submarine was completely ridiculous.  And, if you want to see what a few work-at-home-moms can accomplish, check out Roxanne’s booming business and “THE Original Design Company of Military Wives™!” at www.janewaynegear.com 

Tagged as: family, features, must read, toddlers, Work at Home