My Best Boy

Time slowed down between September and December. There seemed to be ample opportunity to sit and reflect and relish, watching my family settle in as a unit of seven. 

In comparison, January has been on warp speed. The days have flown, and it seems just as I close my eyes to go to sleep, it's time to wake up again and go. I've been running, literally running from meeting to meeting, moment to moment, mom to marketer. Linearly, Bobby's birthday kind of swept by as well.  

Peter can attest, I was kind of tired on my little boy's big day. I'm being generous. I was very tired. Peter even called me grouchy, which I can't stand. And at the end of the day, when I put Bobby to sleep I felt kind of bad. The kid, like all other kids, was cheated enough having a birthday during Covid. But having a Mom fighting back fatigue, when she generally promises limitless energy, seemed like robbery. 

I do think Peter, his two Opas, Nana, and the girls covered for me though. Mary and Margaret made the cake. My Dad made Steak frites. Peter took Bobby skiing. The babies gave him lots of hugs. Opa Jan scooped him up on his lap. There were presents and cards. My Mom read him stories and sang songs at bed time. And I snuck in, as she was finishing up, for one more hug and squeeze, just as his six year old eyes closed. 

Ugh. I felt sad. I felt like I didn't do him justice. If only I had paced myself during the week. If only I had focused more on motherhood, less on my job. Maybe I was being hard myself, but probably not. 

The thing about Bobby though, is that he doesn't let a person without positive energy, stop him from creating his own. At six, Bobby finds joy in just about everything that he does. And I adore that quality. He had it at five, four, three, two and one as well. But with each passing year, his enthusiasm, passion, and love of live matures, along with all the other things that make him unique.  

That he loves to dance, particularly to Gangnam Style on repeat. 

That he is simultaneously fascinated and fearful of tornadoes, hurricanes and earthquakes.  

That he legitimately believes in Big Foot. 

How he sketches pictures of Darth Vader, Han Solo, Cousin Meghan's army battalion, and yes, Big Foot all day long. 

That he is sensitive, sweet and caring. And man, does he love his sisters.

How he loves school and how everyone at school seems to love him. 

That he is very tan. (Still.)  

That his smile takes over his whole face. 

That he's got big beautiful eyes. And when I look into them, I find hope, amidst a worried world. And maybe that's the thing that ultimately brings a tear to my eye. I don't want that hope to go away. I don't want him to grow up and out of that kind of optimism. I, we so need it. 

The day after his birthday, I woke up rested and in a much better mood. I took Bobby sled riding with a couple of his friends. And kept up with him all day. After baths, as we were feeding the babies, I put on the song that I told him we would dance to at his wedding some day. He laughs at me when I sing him the lyrics. He gives in when I make him dance arm in arm with me. And he looks into my eyes, finding that tear, wondering why it's there.

Cause, buddy, you're my best boy.  

Handsome. 

And brave. 

And strong. 

And no one can take your place. 

Happy #6 Bobby. 

Even on days when I'm super tired, I love you to pieces. 

Mommy / Lo.    

Working Mom 5.0

During the week, I would walk the mile or so to my kids' school to pick up Margaret. A couple hours later, I would get Mary and Bobby.  

I watered my flowers and pulled weeds with the baby monitor in my pocket.  

I binge-watched Parks and Recreation and Schitt's Creek while pumping in the morning, mid-morning, early afternoon, evening, and for the first two and a half months in the middle of the night. 

I gave the babies bottles, burped the babies, changed diapers, put them down for naps, and entered everything in the log, seeking to establish a schedule that our nanny could manage. 

I played soccer and baseball with Bobby, board games with Mary and make believe with Margaret.  

I did the holidays. 

I read some great books and practiced piano. 

I ran, and got 'back in shape.' 

I walked up the stairs, and down the stairs, up the stairs, and down the stairs, again and again and again. 

I picked up toys, and picked up toys, and picked up toys, and then made and remade all the beds. 

I did load after load after load of laundry. 

I yelled. And then screamed. And then felt like a bad mom. 

I laughed. And cried. And hugged and squeezed each one of my kids. Each and every day. 

I was a mom. Just a mom for three and a half months. And it was absolutely glorious.   

For the fourth time, I've taken maternity leave from my company. (A policy that was increased since my last maternity leave. - thank you, thank you, thank you.) And again, I have an immense gratitude for the paid time off and hard work of my team covering for me. To have three and a half months to focus on the health of my babies, to figure out how a new family formation will work, to establish routines, and to get to the point where I'm actually resting at night was so necessary - and I'm so thankful that I work for a company that supports this. 

Every time I go back to work after maternity leave, I think back on my first transition from mom to working mom. And I think about some of my friends, family members and colleagues going through that same transition and corresponding dilemma now - a feeling they might never have predicted. 

My advice remains to give it two weeks. Try on the new role for size and then talk through it with the loved ones in your life. The only right decision, is the decision you make. 

While I'll storm back today, I'm telling you, it's never easy. I still wish at times, I could call it quits. That I could be there for my family all the time. Be theirs and all theirs. But for many personal reasons, I tell myself it's better this way. For me and for everyone. 

***

Over the past three and half months, my friends have asked me a common question. When I saw them at school pick up, talked to them on the phone, chatted with them over text, they would worriedly wonder, 'how are you doing?' 

Given their concern, I feel like they were looking for a fragile answer. But my response was never that. I was sleep deprived, but I was good. Honestly, more than good. I told them to please check back in January though. Things were bound to get rocky with my return to work.

(Seriously, please check in this month.)

I know I will have to give up many of the parts of maternity leave that I loved, but as I listened to my kids tell me their favorite memories of my time at home last night, I pledged to keep some of them in tact.

Playing Guess Who with Mary. 

Playing in the snow with Bobby. 

Being Anna to Margaret's Elsa.

Pumping for the babies.

Putting a decent dinner on the table as frequently as possible. 

And being there when I'm needed most. Especially for those hugs and squeezes. Each and every day. 

Working mom 5.0, here I come. 

Lo.