”Everybody’s working for the week weekend...” You know what’s great about that line besides the fact that you’ll have that earworm burrowing into your brain for hours? Nothing. Particularly when you’re a freelance Mom.
There is no weekend. No mythical time off for manis and pedis. And I’m fine with that. Because life isn’t easy and if it were the payoff wouldn’t be nearly as sweet. There’s your zenicity for the day. But what I do get annoyed with is the stigma that comes with being a working Mom. The phrase alone is enraging. “Working Mom.” I feel like I should be turning tricks on the side. And that’s about the same attitude people have towards it. I could be saving children from tsunamis in the West Indies and still, I wear the scarlet letter of persecution. It’s pathetic, really. To see how far we haven’t evolved as a society.
And this isn‘t a woe is me diatribe. Or a “hey, everyone, I’m super Mom“ schpiel. They exist and have bins of color coded toys and activities while yoga burning their buns into steel. But I am certainly an okay Mom. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my child. Period. End of story. It’s in the books. But that doesn’t mean I can’t run a drop dead amazing business, too. I also paint and rescue animals. Oh the thinks you can think! If only you try.
My long winded point is this: stop putting people into little, categorized display cases. It’s trite and boring and so 1956. My work is my passion and my child is my life. They aren’t separate. They aren’t the same. They coexist in this thing I call a brain. And ya know what? It works out fine. I get much less sleep than the healthy standard recommendation is set at but guess what? That’s what coffee is for. And great music.
So next time you hear “working Mom“ and find yourself cringing a bit, do yourself a favor and grab a mirror. Doesn’t matter what kind. Hand held would be great. Bend over and put the mirror between your legs and take a long hard look at why you think what you do. You probably won’t like what you see.