Today I woke up at 315, 415, 515 and 615. I was supposed to stopping going back to sleep that third time so here I am praying to get to the hospital by 715.
I shouldn't complain. I am a doctor. I have a beautiful home. I am married to a Man who is okay with bearing the brunt of daycare morning dropoffs. I have a healthy, bouncing, squealing little baby girl who is plump with breast milk and avocados. I just wish I didn't feel like a top spinning so close to the table edge all the time. I wish some days were just a smidge easier. That I could be spectacular at loving my family and not feel like I will snap in half if I am 15 minutes behind seeing my patients during the day. I have to give myself license to not strive for perfection. There is nothing perfect about being a working mom.
Gone are the days of a flat tummy (okay i never really had a flat tummy), marathons and being a great best friend. It will take me 10 days to call you back, on occasion I fall asleep with a fleck of whitefish salad in my hair and I might pop on the subway after only running halfway to work.
It's all okay.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
I wanted to run 6 miles today. I ran one.
I felt guilt on the treadmill. Awful, terrible, complex guilt at 1015am. I'd been awake since five AM. In that time, I pumped and produced about 12 ounces of milk, performed a surgery and I guess, run one mile.
My daughter, Maika, had been at daycare for about 2 1/2 hours and I didn't believe I deserved another half hour at the gym.
I know it's irrational, I know that in order to give and be a good wife, mother and doctor, I should feed myself first. Today, I can't do it. I pop off the treadmill, tell myself a few quick lies about how I will not eat carbs at dinner and run over to the daycare center a few blocks away. I take my daughter home.
I am not a bad person. I know this, in my core I know I am a good mother, an above average doctor and a warm, loving human.
Being a working mom is impossibly hard. I want so desperately to be great at this. I want to be thin, fit, nurturing and incredibly quick-witted. Most days, I find myself with a muffin top, taking the elevator and falling asleep on the couch next to my husband.
How does this work? Can I make organic baby food weekly for my daughter and still be a great surgeon, dutiful wife and skilled obstetrician...or does it all fall apart? Is it all or none...or just one of the above?
I felt guilt on the treadmill. Awful, terrible, complex guilt at 1015am. I'd been awake since five AM. In that time, I pumped and produced about 12 ounces of milk, performed a surgery and I guess, run one mile.
My daughter, Maika, had been at daycare for about 2 1/2 hours and I didn't believe I deserved another half hour at the gym.
I know it's irrational, I know that in order to give and be a good wife, mother and doctor, I should feed myself first. Today, I can't do it. I pop off the treadmill, tell myself a few quick lies about how I will not eat carbs at dinner and run over to the daycare center a few blocks away. I take my daughter home.
I am not a bad person. I know this, in my core I know I am a good mother, an above average doctor and a warm, loving human.
Being a working mom is impossibly hard. I want so desperately to be great at this. I want to be thin, fit, nurturing and incredibly quick-witted. Most days, I find myself with a muffin top, taking the elevator and falling asleep on the couch next to my husband.
How does this work? Can I make organic baby food weekly for my daughter and still be a great surgeon, dutiful wife and skilled obstetrician...or does it all fall apart? Is it all or none...or just one of the above?
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