Working From Home: No Shower, Mommy!

When I started to work full time again, my recently-turned-three daughter didn't credit my "mom account" for the times in her life that I worked part time, when I would sometimes work in the middle of the night so I could be with her the next day (part devotion, part typical freelancer-with-lack-of-regular-childcare). It was a double whammy: more hours and a big project that temporarily required five days per week at the office. "Temporarily" is not a concept for three-year-olds. All my sweetie knew was that I was no longer just a staircase away in my basement office...and she wasn't pleased.

I wasn't either, despite loving the new job. I could hardly even look at other moms pushing strollers past me in the city, knowing that earlier that morning, I had to poke my own daughter's fingers back into the house so I could safely shut the door and not miss my bus. Her screaming was so bad during my departure, that even my eight-month-old son joined in the chorus of terror one morning, thus blowing my rationalization that I least I wasn't screwing up both my kids.

Then things started to improve. I was able to work from home again for one day a week, and sometimes two! One "office-day" morning, I started my shower and I heard the screaming that typically accompanied my coat coming out of the closet: "NO! DON'T take a shower mommy! NO SHOWER! NO SHOWER." My smart little gal had caught on that I don't shower on days I work at home. My child actually breathes easier when she sees me in sweatpants and a ponytail.

Some days--just to survive--I would resort to lying that I was just going shopping. Other days I would say I was going to visit our friends Mrs. Marr and Mrs. Ketchup. (Carolyn gets a kick out of that!)

Then one day, it was over. My daughter announced, "I'm not going to cry today, Mommy." She even gave me a present as I went to leave: a Little People person. It was a well-earned trophy, if I do say so.

We made it through.

Now I go to the office a few times a week, sometimes (gasp!) by choice, because although I have babysitting, I can still hear the screaming upstairs. And as awful this sounds, it's sometimes better not knowing. Plus, showering's a good thing.

My name is Domenica and I'm a guilt addict.