Just in time for mother's day. A repost from 2006!

Click, Click, Click.

I am a working mommy; like my mother before me and my Nana before her. I like the click, click, click of my heels on the ceramic tile floor in the morning. I like knowing that I’ve accomplished more by the time I get to work than many people will accomplish all day.

Here’s a synopsis of an average morning:

I get up at 5:15 a.m. to workout and workoff some of this weight that I gained when I was pregnant with my little bundle of joy. Usually when I hit the door post workout he’s already making those little noises from his crib.

And yes, he’s learned to do that crying thing. You know the thing where they make the noise like something is dreadfully wrong so that you will rush in to save the day. Except that when you rush in the baby is just standing in the crib smirking at you. My two-year old has that trick down to a science. One time I actually ignored him for a few minutes because I knew there was really nothing wrong. Except, of course, that time there was something wrong. His little foot was stuck between the slats in the crib. So now, of course, I HAVE to rush in every time, because I’ve learned my lesson: Something really could be wrong!

So after I rush in and see him standing there smirking, we begin the Play Dough routine. I will spare you the details except to say that it involves my two-year old son sorting the containers of Play Dough, announcing each color, taking off the lids, squeezing each container so the Play Dough comes out, lining up the lumps of Play Dough, and stacking up the respective yellow Play Dough cups. To say that he is going through an OCD stage is an understatement. But all of this is good for his development and he is really proud of himself so I lay on the floor with my eyes closed and encourage his nerousis quietly.

But if he realizes that I am lying on the floor (trying to catch a little rest after my workout) he patiently puts down the Play Dough, stands up, pushes in his chair, comes over to where I am lying, and yanks the pillow from under my head with a patient but firm, “No Mommy.” So then I sit in the Little Tykes chair that he has designated to be mine and sort the Play Dough with him. All this happens before 7 a.m. All this is while my sweet husband snoozes.

After we’re done I hustle him downstairs and into his high chair, fix his oatmeal, kiss my husband good bye as he rushes off to his job, stand in the bathroom next to the kitchen to get ready for work, clean his hands and face, strip off his pajamas, wrestle him into his play clothes, and coax (um, I guess I should say bribe) him into the car, and strap him down into his car seat.

And as I exhale I realize that I am relieved that he is in the car seat and can't toddle anywhere for a good 30 minutes. I realize that I can sit down (in the car) for a few minutes and listen to what I want to on the radio. And I realize, with a little guilt, that I go to work every day to get a little break.

The hardest job in the world is that of a good stay-at-home-mom. To constantly come up with activities and lessons that will nurture and stimulate a toddler is hard and exhausting. I realize I am not probably not up to that task.

But, I also realize that being a good mom means knowing your limits and knowing your strengths. I like my job and I like the triumphant feelings I sometimes have when I’ve managed to successfully balance the challenges of work and home for yet another day. But down deep I know that I work because I do know my limits. I work because at daycare my child learns social and verbal skills that have him behaving as if he’s four instead of two. I work because he’s two and he can count to twenty. I work because I have to and I work because I like to.

I am a working mommy; like my mother before me and my grandmother before her. I like to hear the click, click, click of my heels on the tile in the morning.