In the final weeks of my first pregnancy, despite walking with a distinct waddle and feeling downright itchy from my skin being stretched so thinly over my massive belly, I was excited.
I could not wait to go on maternity leave and get a three-month reprieve from my demanding and stressful career as a commercial litigation attorney.
Other new moms had warned me at my baby shower that having a newborn was going to be hard, but I had politely waved them off as faint-hearted.
I was certain they were merely lacking the toughness that years of dueling it out in court, taking and defending depositions, wrangling demanding clients, playing law firm politics, and going tit-for-tat with opposing counsel for 60-plus hours a week had given me.
Needless to say, I was thoroughly schooled when I gave birth to my daughter a few weeks later.
Caring for a newborn is no joke.
No one tells you that it might possibly be the most difficult thing you’ve ever done or that you may (read: definitely will) cry a lot in those first few weeks as you struggle through sleepless nights, raging hormones, and a general sense that you have no idea what you’re doing.
I went through much of my once-coveted maternity leave in an exhausted daze. And then one day, seemingly out of nowhere, it felt like I was getting into a mom groove. My baby was nursing like a champ and started sleeping through the night. She was even smiling at me!
Of course, it was right at that moment, when things were becoming — dare I say it? Fun! — that my leave ended.
I had to go back to work. I had prepared for my return to the office by pumping and freezing as much extra breast milk as I could squeeze out after each feeding session and had painstakingly interviewed no fewer than 10 potential nanny candidates (among them, the woman who would later care for my son when he was born and who still babysits both of my children to this day). And of course, I’d printed and framed photos of my little girl to display on various shelves around my office and on my desk.
But when the day finally came, I was a wreck.
I’m not sure why I even bothered to put on mascara. I started bawling the moment I had to kiss my daughter goodbye and continued to cry steadily throughout the 45-minute commute my husband and I shared to our respective offices. I pulled it together just in time to slap on some concealer before trudging into the building in which my law firm was located.
Throughout that entire day, my eyes welled with tears whenever I thought about my baby girl.
I missed everything about her: her soft, delicate skin, her fuzzy blonde hair, her snuggly warmth, and her sweet coos. I even missed the spit-up and diapers. My guilt at leaving her in someone else’s care was crippling. I texted the nanny incessantly, who answered every message promptly and sent me several photos to keep my heart from breaking in half. I was actually grateful when colleagues stopped by my office to distract me with work.
As a nursing mother, I had the additional task of pumping during the workday.
I was fortunate to have my own office with a door that locked, but I was still terrified that somehow the lock would malfunction and I might be exposed if an impatient partner tried to barge in to discuss a case.
My assistant, sensing my trepidation, came to my rescue and crafted a sign to hang on my door that read, “Please come back in 15 minutes. For urgent matters, send an email.”
After what felt like the longest day ever, my husband finally picked me up.
As we headed home to our girl, I found myself unconsciously pressing down on an imaginary gas pedal, as if by sheer will I could get us there faster. The car was still slowing to a stop in our garage when I opened the passenger door and ran into the house. I was certain my baby was famished or anxious at having been left with a stranger or confused about why she hadn't seen her mommy all day.
But to my complete and utter relief, she was perfectly fine. In fact, she was as happy, healthy, and smiley as she’d been when I had left her that morning. Our nanny had cared for her impeccably.
My distress had been one-sided.
I learned that day that I wasn’t the only person in the world capable of loving and caring for my daughter.
And that meant everything was going to be OK. It was OK for someone else to feed her and snuggle her and wipe her tushie. It was good for her to experience love and comfort from someone other than me and my husband.
And it was good for me.
Realizing that I could entrust the care of my child to someone else opened my heart to the fact that working gave me a sense of accomplishment and independence I had been craving.
Before I became a mom, I was a woman with goals and dreams.
After I became a mom, I was still that woman. Going back to work helped me to eventually understand that I needed something in my life that was just mine, outside of being “Mommy” and “wife.” And even though I couldn’t articulate it at the time, I knew if I had to honor that need, and that if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to show up as my highest and best for anyone — especially my children.
Trust me, I didn’t ditch the separation guilt overnight. But I came to realize that my time away at work made me a better mom. It’s absolutely OK to have goals and dreams outside of your role as “mother.” That doesn’t mean you don’t love your kids. It means you’re human.
The energy and joy I get from working spills over into everything else I do.
I value the time I have with my kiddos. I love that they’re learning they can do hard things by watching me do hard things. I’m teaching them what it looks like to go after your dreams and crush your goals, and how to get back up when you fall short trying.
And most importantly, I’m honoring who I am — as a mother and a woman.
