There’s not enough Tylenol and vodka in the world to make
I used to love working from home. I could sleep later or get up at the normal time and have 5 loads of laundry and all the dishes done before work would even start. I could wear my pajamas all day or never even get out of bed and nobody would know. That was then. This luxury called work from home, which now will most likely only occur on days when the baby is sick, has a doctor’s appointment, or it snows so much that nobody can leave the house, is no longer a luxury. It's torture.
During the ear infection incident, I got my first taste of just how un-fun working from home becomes when you also have to take care of an infant. It’s like doing 2 full time jobs at the same time, but one of them is for a tiny dictator who demands ultimate attention and screams at you all day. The other is your baby. Kidding. Maybe. Unfortunately only one of them you can quit.
I realized quickly that 20 minutes, how long he now graces me with his naps, is an insanely short amount of time. Barely enough to make a coffee, pee, and open a couple emails. So because it’s not exactly like I can say, “hey kid, can you just take care of yourself because mom has work to do,” I instead spent the entire day mastering the art of doing things with only my left hand. My right hand was busy holding a squirming, slobbering, adorable lunatic who refused to be put down.
Whatever I’m paying the daycare is a bargain. This is exhausting.
Just hold him and type with one hand, you say? How hard could it be, you say? Well I’d need a straightjacket to contain this kid. He’s about ready to run off and join the circus with the maneuvers he’s pulling. He's got moves like a jaguar. It’s like pinning down water. If he can’t see my computer screen, he gets mad and grabs for my phone. If he can see my computer screen, he grabs for all the keys. If I sit him down on the couch next to me, he falls over and tries to roll off the couch. If he’s more than 2 feet away from me, he cries.
Worst. Assistant. Ever.
On this particular day, my husband got out on the last flight to Florida mere hours before the Nor Easter arrived. As I took conference calls and did any kind of dance that would make my child go to sleep, I watched in horror as the snow steadily piled up outside. With no one to shovel it but me. With no one to take care of the baby but me. Trust me when I tell you, I’d rather be in