all moms everywhere need time off

a peek under the hood of my particular mom brain, my autonomy as a family value and why i miss my dog more than my child when we're apart

being a full time mom is my main gig right now, it is work, it is just like any other job. and just like any other job, i need time off. i need breaks. i need rest and i need to recharge, and yes, those things are different.

i fundamentally believe that moms require more time off than anyone. and yes, i have two sets of grandparents for childcare and the means to be full time with my child, but the most crucial factor in upholding my fierce independence, sense of self and bodily autonomy is far more simple than any of that:

My partner regards my unpaid work as Mother as just as important, if not more important, than his paid labor. Protecting the Mother’s autonomy and supporting her desires is a family value backed actively by the father of my son.

read that again.

dan and i both work long hours sometimes. our jobs are really high stakes. the relief that we get is the relief that we each provide for one another. it’s in how we take the responsibility off each other’s plates. it happens the moment we become the point person caring for our child and it ebbs and flows based on how well we’re communicating with each other day. it’s a living breathing practice that takes conscious effort.

when dan gets home from work he’s generally not continuing to work, he’s stepping into dad mode. he’s checking in with me to see what i need.

THE DADDY SUNDAE

he sets down his work persona as if it’s a chore coat to be removed and placed on the back of a chair at the end of the day. and for a moment he remembers the years when it wasn’t always this easy. the dinner dates he spent working on his phone, the late nights he’d accidentally drop into his boss voice when discussing apartment matters with his live-in girlfriend, a sticky remnant leftover from a long day.

he shudders to think of the countless nights missed with friends, his entire twenties coughed up as a sacrifice in the name of building his business and a foundation for his family. then suddenly his phone pings and it’s The Boys beginning to share their outfits of the night. he smiles recalling their latest camping trip and feels a warm comfort knowing he’ll stick by their side if they ever need to go radio silent in the name of a dream too. sure, his business has changed, but it’s fatherhood that’s changed him.

he steps out of his office and into the streets as just another man in brooklyn. he could be anyone. nobody knows that he has a kid and a dog waiting expectantly for him at home. if someone glanced at his left hand they’d know that someone was waiting for him. but there’s no guilt in him grabbing groceries and walking home with one or two airpods in and streaming his favorite podcast.

his family knows the sounds of their daddy coming home. they are, in fact, waiting for him. they can hear the way his feet hit the pavement as he walks up the steps and the rhythm in the shuffle of his keys. how he unclips his keychain from his belt loop and wriggles the key into the stubborn lock at the front of the building.

it’s the dog who hears him first. his hearing is superior, after all. next, it’s the child who perks up as soon as he notices the dog alert and on all fours. their internal clocks have been ticking, telling them that their dad is coming home. there’s a part of each of them that has been waiting for minutes on end.

together they scramble to the door, knocking into each other and toppling the little boy to the ground. no matter, the child brushes himself off and fumbles to stand side by side with his dog, their faces upturned and bright—the excitement is taylor swift level every night.

it would be impossible for a man not to smile from ear to ear when he’s greeted with this kind of welcome party. when he can feel the loving gaze of his wife from across the room. how she takes it all in with a glimmer, a little squinch at the corners of her smiling eyes. the elation he feels when their gaze finally meets and he strides towards her with his shoes still on, even though she hates that. he knows she won’t mind for this moment. he droops a shoulder down to receive her warm kiss on the lips and his eyes close to meet the moment. his eyes always close to be with her like this. on his opposite shoulder their child is perched up high, a squirmy balancing act, the cherry atop their sundae. their dog’s snout shovels it’s way in between their legs to get in on the action.

you would forget about work too.

GOOD PROBLEMS

for me, i’m still mom. i’ve been mom all day and i’ll be mom all night. and i love being mom. i love being incognito sometimes, but i’m in it, baby, and i love it here. my work is my home and my home is my work and, well, i guess thank god i love my home. but my evening comedown is a whole lot different from the man i made this child with. sometimes it doesn’t even start until our kid is in bed. and i need a minute. i’m still in it, he’s asleep, but i’m working.

at that point i’m faced with the same nightly question i sometimes don’t have the energy to answer: do i do something for myself? take some time to connect with my favorite person and decompress together? or do i just give into falling asleep on the couch and let the dishes congeal on the counter?

now don’t get it twisted, these are a good problems to have. these are my ideal problems. this is how i’ve designed my life and why i choose to spend my days with my kid, because these are the problems that i want to have.

my work is in discovering the hundreds of new things my kid is learning everyday. the words he’s learning how to say and the ones that he’s made up entirely. i get to be delighted by our dynamic, by who we are as a pair of doubles moving together through life. and everyday it gets a little easier to slough off my fears of Toddler. fears built up by a lifetime of feeling overstimulated by other people’s uncontextualized kids and hardened by the snarky remarks of parents complaining too much. because, in reality, i’ve never had more fun with a person in my whole life.

i am so in love with this little boy. and i really thought that was going to happen a lot earlier, but i’ll be damned if i ain’t a “toddler mom” cause i sure as shit am. dinosaurs, balls and trucks, let’s go little fella. your favorite things are now mine and i will ride the subway with your hyper ass for over an hour one way just so i can poke at some fossils with you.

i will feed you all of the rice and beans you could ever want. my bag is stocked to the gills with all of your favorite snacks. we can go up and down a single stair in front of this person’s apartment all day if you wanna. your personal training regimen has really served you well, you can practically do stairs on your own by now.

i’ll show you my world too. how we can spend all day just walking through the city. i’ll let the rain sprinkle your bare shins because our skin is waterproof. i’ll giggle with you all the way home as you smush your face into mine, full nose and teeth gnashing into skin as you shower me with slack-mouthed kisses.

i’ll do it all for you and with you for as long as you’ll let me. thank god you still let me. i revel in the capacity to carry you on my hip. i’ll keep increasing my weight training until i can carry your full grown man weight on my back, i’ll do it, i swear.

and i think this is the love my mom always spoke about. how it was the greatest love she’s ever known. i feel like such a late bloomer, but i can’t get enough of you.

and then, in a screeching instant it all topples down, and i forget about my love and all of this beauty no thanks to a ball lost, or a need unmet. sometimes it’s just because i’m catching my arm around your waist to stop you from running into oncoming traffic. then there’s the screaming and the thrashing and you’re pissed, i’m pissed, and we’re in it now. sometimes that frustration lasts and it lasts and it lasts and it feels like it will never fucking end. like how is it only ten thirty in the morning. how does anyone do this. how am i going to do this again tomorrow. i don’t know how we’re going to make it to nap time. will we ever get there.

sometimes it’s being stuck in the car with your long legs and large lung capacity. those adept at yelling and saying mommy repeatedly all the way from new york to rhode island. you have a killer arm and great aim, perfect for chucking all four water bottles on the floor, the ones that i keep stocked in the passenger seat for just this kinda mood. but really, honestly, if i’m being truthful—most days these moments pass just as fast as they come on and then we’re kissing on the subway and i’m thinking about how grateful i am to be your mother, you sweet, sticky little goblin. thank god you’re mine.

I WISH I COULD TEXT MY DOG

i don’t miss him like i miss my dog though. which is funny because my dog drives me crazier throughout the day than my kid ever could. but hudson is my homeboy. he is soft and he is gentle. he is my protector. he and i have a dynamic that far outlives that of my young boy. by three years, but who’s counting. it’s my dog who grounds me. that sweet big floof is loyal to a fault, he’s always tripping me up in the kitchen. but he’s there when i need him most and it’s so weird when he’s not around.

when i’m not with my kid i don’t feel that absence, i feel a presence. i know we’re connected and i feel him with me. i trust any caretaker we’ve put our trust into. and i trust his father absolutely. so when i’m not with my kid i shut off that part of my brain like a switch.

but it’s not like that with my dog. hudson’s epilepsy medication alarms blow up my phone everyday, twice a day, whether or not he’s with me. when i hear it, i’m not questioning if he’s had his pills, i know he’s had ‘em, but i just want to see a picture of him. it feels crazy that we can’t text, i want to know how his day is going. i want to know what he’s been up to this morning and picture where he’s laying down at my in-law’s. if he’s not with me he’s in the best care, better than i can ever give him because he’s with my father in law and that man is a dog whisperer and i’m so grateful.

my sweet hudson never gets enough of me anymore and frankly, he never will again. he had to give up his “only child” days when my human kid came into the picture and i hate that so much. i hate it because i know it’s coming for my kid one day too.

i don’t mind the change that comes with my son aging. i don’t find it weird, or shocking, or fast. i love seeing him transform and grow and continue to become more of himself.

it’s the thought of our family structure expanding that gets me. knowing that our dynamic will change as it grows. anticipating the feeling of being rendered powerless as my children craft their own sibling dynamics. ha. my son and my unborn children. i already have so much anxiety about it because i’ll always wish i could have been a better big sister to my brother and sister instead of just being another mom to them. but i’m lucky that they want more with me too, a different sort of dynamic than what we had growing up.

but during the day i’m not living in this future fantasy that swells with anxiety—i am in go mode. i am changing diapers and i’m hauling my kid up the stairs. i’m a constant time management motherfucking machine. i know exactly how much time i need to get from point a to b and all of the itty bitty factors that could fuck up my whole day.

i am rigid in my flexibility and you do not want to mess with my plans because there is a reason for every single thing that i do. from where i placed that bag to why i left that that stack of snacks on the stairs. there is a method to all of it and if you were an outsider, or just my husband, you might be shocked at how i snap at your suggestion to try do something fun and change it up a bit today. but it’s not your fault, you haven’t seen the notes from the mental math that i’ve been doing since last week. you didn’t know that your numbers were due before my final calculations, the ones that i computed while you were still asleep this morning.

my mornings are critical.

and not just because i love them and cherish them and am a fucking wreck if i don’t have thirty minutes to three hours to myself before another human enters my orbit. mornings are critical because they set the rest of the day in motion. i operate like a goddamn surgeon. like a stack of back to back rooms in a well-oiled ER. if one goes late the whole day gets pushed back. and with a toddler that can mean an entire activity is canceled altogether.

by the way, you would never associate our days with an ER at all. we move slowly because we can. one day we’ll have places to be and sports to attend, but right now it’s just us exploring the world. it’s the space to move intentionally as my son’s sense of self develops and my mothering continues to establish its foundation before the next kid. it’s the large transition periods that allow for a counter-surfing dog and a tumbling toddler and tidying up the house as we move about our day. those periods that may look empty to an untrained eye are actually how i protect our peace. and that is the most critical surgery of all.

so i apologize to everyone, but mostly my sweet loving brilliant and excitable husband for shutting down your amazing idea before it’s even left your mouth. i have a hard time adapting because, in fact, i’ve just spent the latter half of my morning alone time doing mental math. i was out here with my first cup of coffee anticipating any change that could impact The Plan and your fun idea was simply not one i’d put into the equation and now my brain feels like it’s going to explode!!!

but please never stop. i love your ideas. i just need time. and space. i need to do my child math so we can have the best day possible.

GIVE THE MOMS NIGHTS, WEEKENDS AND SOLO TRAVEL TOO

when i say moms need time off, i am not saying that lightly.

i am saying that if i am to be the grounding force and the bedrock of our family i need quality time off. i need time to be selfish and i need time to be spontaneous. i need to stop looking at the clock and i need to stop computing my child math.

i need my friends and i need to travel on my own. i need a strong body to keep picking up my growing kid and i need to feel hot and beautiful on a regular basis. these are not requests, they’re not negotiable and i am certainly not asking them of my husband, they’ve always been our norm.

but what i want is for everyone to have this. all moms everywhere. all primary parents. i want this to be the standard. and i want all partners everywhere stepping up to make this possible. for mothers to be honored, respected, and celebrated through action.

through the way you take the kid off her arm and slip out the door to head to the park so she can lie in bed a little longer. through how you become even more attuned to the clutter in the house, the little piles that she sets aside to be dealt with when she has the time to actually think through each item’s purpose and place in the home. through how you move the dishes from the sink to the dishwasher and run it too. spraying down counters and loading the laundry. i want you to see the world through her endlessly computing lens and i want you to look her in the eyes and say Thank You.

i want this for all moms everywhere. you got it, boys, i believe in you!¹

1. and girls, and people. all secondary caretakers i trust you to bring this vision to life for the primary caretakers in your relationships. you can make or break this thing, so don’t fuck it up!!