“Have you considered going back to work full-time?”
I tucked a stray hair behind my ear, feeling a tear escape down my cheek. My husband, James, was cautiously probing into my state of mind, noting how I seemed…well, less than joyful. He was venturing into dangerous territory, attempting to remedy a situation I hadn’t explicitly asked him to fix. As a new mom of two, I was drowning in demands. My days revolved around breastfeeding a newborn and potty training my toddler. One needed food constantly, while the other seemed perpetually constipated. Picture me navigating through chaos—9 a.m., 11 a.m., 3:38 p.m.—you’d find me juggling a diaper change, coaxing one child on the potty, while the other was latched onto me. Add towering piles of laundry and dishes to the mix, and I was feeling increasingly suffocated in my own life.
Each evening, James returned to the same familiar scene: our toddler sprawled on the floor with a belly ache, our 4-month-old wailing, and me teetering on the edge of a breakdown. As soon as he walked through the door at 6:02 p.m., I would unload both children into his arms along with a barrage of complaints before retreating to the bathroom for a brief moment of solitude.
Every night, my knight in shining armor took over childcare duties while I vented every exhausting detail of my day. I needed him to recognize just how challenging this was, how drained I felt, and how hopeless I had become by 5 p.m. I became the ultimate whistleblower, with our kids at the center of my daily grievances. I morphed into someone I didn’t even like—constantly complaining, the victim in a never-ending saga. Who was this negative person? I wanted to stop, but the words just erupted from my mouth like a verbal explosion.
It’s no surprise that James eventually questioned whether returning to full-time work might bring me more happiness. Honestly, there were moments when I pondered that myself. Yet, his inquiry unveiled a deeper issue—it wasn’t our kids causing the turmoil; it was my perspective. I had shifted the narrative to be 90% negative and only 10% positive.
Once Upon a Time
Once upon a time, in what feels like another life, James and I both held full-time jobs outside our home. We were in sync, sharing the same stressors—tight deadlines, rushed commutes, and monotonous conference calls. We relished promotions and paycheck rewards for a job well done. Our evenings were filled with leisurely dinners, swapping similar work stories. Fast-forward to now: James is still at his job, while I’m navigating the challenges of working part-time from home with two small kids in tow.
Since becoming a work-at-home mom, I found myself fixated on ensuring James fully understood the weight of parenting. I felt the need for him to grasp the emotional and physical toll that motherhood demanded. I wanted him to feel my struggles.
I distinctly remember the first time I left James alone with both kids for a morning. The scene I returned to resembled a disaster zone—toys scattered everywhere, spilled yogurt painting the floor, and was that Elmo hanging from the ceiling fan? James’s expression said it all, but then he uttered nine magical words: “I don’t know how you do this every day.”
The moment those words left his lips, I almost heard angels singing. Sunlight streamed through the windows as I planted a kiss on him. “That is the best thing you could say to me,” I said, beaming. I craved that affirmation, that recognition that caring for our children was tough for both of us. I wished I could have those words tattooed on him or emblazoned above our bed to read every night before sleeping.
The turning point came that night in the kitchen when James casually wondered if returning to a full-time job might make me happier. Naturally, he was trying to solve a problem he perceived—my unhappiness. But was I truly unhappy? Sure, I had frustrating moments, but overall, this was my dream. I felt fortunate to witness my children grow while pursuing passions that fulfilled me and contributed to our family. Yes, achieving balance was often a struggle, and some days were downright terrible, but when I truly reflected on it, I wouldn’t trade this life for anything, not even for a moment.
In my desperation for understanding and appreciation, I had inadvertently painted a distorted picture of our days, neglecting the joy interspersed within the chaos. My husband only knew what I communicated during those evening recaps, which were dominated by complaints. What about the delightful moments?
We all know that for every challenging experience, there’s often a beautiful one right behind it. For every tantrum at the store, there’s a spontaneous dance party in the living room, and for every tearful car ride, there’s a fit of giggles during diaper changes. What if I adjusted the narrative, aiming for a positive spin more than a negative one? How might that shift affect our evenings, my marriage, my relationship with my kids, and my own sense of pride in this sacred work?
What if I stopped giving my kids a failing grade on their daily report card and started handing out A+ instead? (Okay, realistically, maybe an A- or B+ would be more fitting.) What if I sought out the good instead of dwelling on the negatives? Each time James walked through the door, what if I shared uplifting moments rather than complaints?
I’m three years into this motherhood journey, and while I’ve made my fair share of mistakes, I’ve also had successes. Admittedly, I need to work on my daily report. So, I’m committing to a mid-year resolution: I will swap my red pen for gold stars. Each day, I’ll identify three positive moments to share, whether it’s the delight of peek-a-boo games or the cuteness of matching mohawks post-bath. I want to focus on the smiles rather than the tears.
On those truly challenging days (think: diaper blowouts during car rides), I’ll save the big complaints for the moments that deserve it and instead use our new code phrase. “Want to grab some Chipotle for dinner?” He’ll know exactly what that means without needing a detailed rant. At 6:02 p.m., he’ll return with dinner, take a glance at the chaotic scene, and smile, saying, “I don’t know how you do this every day.”
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In summary, motherhood is a rollercoaster filled with highs and lows. By recognizing and celebrating the joyful moments while gently addressing the challenges, we can shift our perspective and create a more positive atmosphere for ourselves and our families.
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