UnderCover Mom is a monthly feature about solving the mysteries of having the best of both worlds — a successful career and a fulfilling family life.
Working moms verses stay-at-home moms.
It’s a rivalry that is mostly unspoken, except for those comments between mothers –
“Oh, she WORKS.”
“Oh, she stays at HOME.”
Working moms assume that stay-at-home moms have a life of luxury — days filled with leisurely folding laundry and making gourmet meals while watching The View and eating bon bons.
Stay-at-home moms assume that working moms don’t wait to raise their children and are selfish for putting a career in front of their family life.
Seem harsh? It is.
Mother’s Day is coming up this Sunday (REMINDER ALERT!!!) and I have a Mother’s Day confession to make.
I don’t really like it.
Okay. Okay. Don’t get me wrong — my husband and kids always treat me so well on Mother’s Day — gifts and love and everything they can possibly do to make me feel appreciated and special.
But for some reason, Mother’s Day and New Years Eve seem to go hand-in-hand in my mind — it’s always such a HUGE buildup for usually a bit of a letdown.
Let me explain.
Mothers have high expectations on Mother’s Day. More than anything, they want to have a day where they don’t have to think about a single thing all day long. Meals have been planned by someone other than you and are also made and cleaned up by someone other than you. The children are well-behaved all day long — no fights over Legos and no three-year olds smearing toothpaste all over the bathroom mirror. Everyone takes naps when they should, including you, and you get to kick your feet up (maybe with a fresh pedicure) and read that book you’ve been trying to finish since 2006.
UnderCover Mom is a monthly feature about solving the mysteries of having the best of both worlds — a successful career and a fulfilling family life.
I promise. No potty training talk or discussions about the best first foods or parenting moments like yesterday when my daughter drew pictures for her entire kindergarten class… on my notepad that says, “Forget the juice boxes. Mommy needs a cocktail.” Oh my.
But, I promise. No mommy talk here.
