Leading Mama

Sunday Standpoint: Every Mom is a Working Mom

When I was a teenager, my Aunt Kathy had a t-shirt that read “Every Mother is a Working Mother.” I didn’t think much about its meaning back then, but lately I think about it a lot.

 

Here's what I think it means.

1)      ECONOMICALLY, every mother is a working mother means mothers' work has economic value.

 

How much economic value? I don’t know.

 

In 2008, Salary.com calculated moms’ worth and arrived at 117K per year.

 

Another website I found lets me calculate my mom paycheck by entering the number of kids I have and how many hours I spend on common mom tasks (laundry, carpool, cooking, nursing, psychologist, household management). Let’s just say my paycheck was a lot less impressive than salary.com suggested. 

Economists can argue. My kids think mom work is priceless. That's why they cling to my leg and won't let their dad strap them in to their carseats.

 

2)      SOCIALLY, every mother is a working mother means “can’t we all just get along?” Pretty please?

 

 The so-called mommy wars aren’t good for anyone. Not working moms. Not stay-at-home moms. Not work-from-home moms.

 

Not long after Little Man was born, my mom brought me a newspaper query written by the friend of a new mom. She asked what moms DO all day. Carolyn Hax of the Washington Post wrote a fantastic reply.   

 

All moms – whether they work for wages or not – give constant attention, vigilance, teaching, and compassion. We put our kids’ needs first. We commit to motherhood 24/7.

 

Moms who work outside the home can't put kids out of mind all day. That’s impossible.

 

Moms who stay home seldom get a break to think grown-up thoughts. That's reality.

 

There's no need to argue about who has it worse. However you do it, motherhood is hard work. Gratifying, yes. But difficult. Martha B says it's the toughest job we’ll ever love (no disrespect to the Peace Corps).  

 

Bottom line: Moms should support each other. Our kids will ensure our egos don’t get too big.

 

3)      PSYCHOLOGICALLY, every mother is a working mother means moms who leave the workforce to raise kids should not feel diminished. We do not become less when we give up the keys to the corner office.

 

When we equate titles with status, we trap ourselves. The transition to stay-at-home motherhood feels like a loss. A loss we cannot share.

 

We tell everyone we’re lucky to be able to stay home with our kids.

 

AND WE ARE.

 

We don’t mention the fact that we feel isolated and unproductive, that we miss feeling smart and sophisticated.

 

We wake up one day and can’t remember who we were before we had kids. It doesn't help that our pre-baby jeans don't fit quite the same.

 

We find great joy but lose ourselves.

 

When we’re up to our eyeballs in laundry, we can’t see how “mom work” is meaningful. How it expands us. How it makes us more of who we are, and I'm not referring to residual baby weight.

  

Every mother is a working mother. Sometimes we need to be reminded of our own worth. That’s my standpoint.

 

What’s yours? Share your thoughts and link up below.

 

 

Breastfeeding Is Automatic (and Other Rookie-Mom Beliefs)

this post was inspired by a prompt from

 

The mystique of motherhood is powerful.

During pregnancy, I envisioned a sweet, milky-smelling baby with buttery-soft skin. I welcomed the cozy nighttime feedings that would allow me dream of the baby’s future while he drifted off to sleep in my arms. I wanted to be soft, warm, and comforting: the archetypal mother figure.

I’d educated myself about breastfeeding benefits and mechanics, and I (naively) believed it would all come naturally. Perhaps it was the propaganda educational video I saw in lactation class that made me think so. You know the one. The video with the genius baby who crawls up his mother’s bare bosom to nurse only minutes after birth, latches on snugly, and eats like there is no tomorrow.

In case you haven’t been appropriately brainwashed educated, you can watch it on YouTube. Lactation experts call this the breast crawl. Leading Mama takes issue with that.

I say the term “breast crawl” should be reserved for the thirsty breastfeeding mom who has barely enough energy to drag herself into the bathroom for a drink of water after the 3 a.m. feeding.

Let’s debunk the propaganda, shall we? My baby didn’t crawl to the breast and nurse. He bobbled at my side as I tried to figure out the best way to support his tiny body and wiggly head with one hand while supporting the weight of my too-ample bosom in the other. No perfect pillow made this easy-breezy. (sorry, Boppy, I wanted to love you!) And even when I figured out how to get his head at the right angle and his mouth in the right place, he didn’t latch on like a pro.

They took him to the nursery because he was breathing a bit too fast. I spent my nights cuddled up with a hospital-grade breast pump. Pumping didn’t lead me to dream about the baby’s future at all. Instead, I worried he’d fall in love with formula and reject my nurturing altogether. Worrying is, after all, the hallmark of motherhood.

Breastfeeding – in Leading Mama’s experience – is anything but automatic. I can recall going to the park with a friend about 3 weeks after my son was born. My friend – a seasoned mother of three – watched me nursing my son on a park bench and said (with audible pity) “Oh. You still have to use two hands .”

That’s how I knew I was a rookie mom.

Today I will tell you I believe breastfeeding is beautiful and healthy. I nursed my son until after his second birthday. I am nursing my daughter now.

Well, not right *NOW*. But I could.   

You see, after years of practice, I can nurse a baby while I blog or cook dinner or pay bills or paint my toenails. Well, maybe that last one is a stretch, but you get my point. 

Breastfeeding no longer requires me to use both hands and all my mental and emotional energy. It has become automatic. It feels natural. And that’s how I know I’m not a rookie anymore.