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.
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