I will survive!

Two blog posts ago (read: nearly four months ago), I wrote about how it's important to strive for a schedule. Work-at-home moms may not have the structure a 9-to-5 offers, but certainly they can compartmentalize their time into: baby, self, husband and job.



I had lunch with a new friend the other day and she jokingly asked me, as the founder of a family-centric Web site, “Aren't you supposed to know about all of the kids' stuff around here?”

I laughed.

“No! I'm winging it, can't you tell?” I asked as Griffin was struggling to free himself from my arms.

After more than 10 months of WAHMing it, that's what it all comes down to: Winging it. I never know what each day holds for me, because it depends on how my son feels. If he's sick, teething or in a bad mood, fugetaboutit!

Even if Griff's cooperating that day, there's always my mercurial work schedule. As a graphic designer and writer, I often work with tight deadlines. There are many days a client calls and needs a poster, flier, business card or ad that day.

The last couple of weeks have been particularly challenging:

I had a few major deadlines.

Griffin was teething.

Griffin had a virus.

We spent a significant amount of time at the pediatrician's office just to learn he'd get over the illness in 24 hours. 

The next day, Griffin was all better, but then I caught it. Correction: My eye caught it. Then, Griffin and I spent a significant amount of time in my doctor's office, where Griffin's diaper exploded and, of course, I forgot his emergency outfit and stroller, so Griffin was climbing all over me. Finally, I let him crawl on the ground.

A nurse asked, “Should you really let your son crawl on the ground?”

I looked up at her with a swollen-shut-gooey-gross eye and said, “What more can happen to us?”

Finally, when I saw the doctor, who stayed a safe distance away, he laughed.

“Oh … This brings back memories,” he said, adding, “Your son is really cute.”

I wish I could say I dealt with the ordeal emotionally unfazed, strong as oak. Instead, I cried and irrationally argued with my husband, Mike, that it's not fair that he never gets sick. He laughed, patted me on the head, dabbed some hand sanitizer into the palm of his hands and headed out the door to work.

On top of everything, Mike had to be at the office early that week and the flexible child care, where I take Griffin twice a week, was closed! I was operating on little sleep, because I stayed up late to work and Griff had a couple of early-early mornings.

So, I called my mom in Indiana, hoping for a sympathetic ear.

“Oh, I know … I went through it with all of you kids,” my mom said.

“But don't you think what I went through was particularly rough, mom?” I asked, near tears (read: hysterical).

Tap on phone. Is anyone there?

Once the dust settled and the eye healed, I looked back and actually laughed. I even pat myself on the back. Through it all, I met my work deadlines (received a compliment or two). I whipped up a yummy batch of pad Thai. I caught some fun quality time with Griffin in his baby pool. I even updated my Facebook status.

I survived!