I get up early to make school lunches. I hop in the shower, get dressed, put on makeup. I kiss my husband goodbye, pile the kids in the car, and tell them to “Hurryupwouldyoupleaseputyourshoesonandhelpyourbrotherbucklehisseatbelt? Wearerunninglate!”
I drop them off at school and rush off to a meeting. I’m that working mom.
Later, I show up at school in yoga pants. My hair is in a ponytail, and I’m sucking back a cold Diet Pepsi. I sit in the carpool line checking my messages on my phone. I smile when my son gets in the car. I ask him how his day was. “I ddmmm,” he mumbles. We drive home. I fix him a snack, and absorb the tiny details of his day as they leak out of him while he does his homework and I clean the kitchen.
I’m that stay-at-home-mom.
On most weekdays I work at home in my office, listening to Dr. Laura while I format blog posts, find photos, tag, code, and publish. People from all walks of life call in – many of them mothers who either stay at home with their kids, or work. I nod in solidarity with their plight. Both kinds.
I’ve been flip-flopping on this for years, but it just hit me the other day that I’m that mom. No matter what kind, I’m her.
And I actually love it.