I had an informational interview yesterday at a law firm that practices an unconventional type of law that interests me. I knew that they weren’t hiring, but I contacted them anyway to see if I could speak with them about volunteering or learning more about that area of law. The meeting went well, and as I was getting ready to leave, the interviewer said to me: “you’re so lucky nowadays that you get to try things out before committing to them. We never used to have those opportunities”. He meant only the best by it, I’m sure, but it struck a chord with me. Just like that, it became about “us”–the dreaded millennials.
I’ve heard it too many times: we’re all desperately in need of some time off, but yet Mom Guilt rears its ugly head, preventing us from asking for it.
Mom Guilt is the strangest phenomenon I’ve encountered since becoming a Mom. I used to laugh at friends with kids when they described it. I was positive it wouldn’t happen to me – as I smugly drank my post-work daiquiri while they dutifully shuffled off to pick up their kids from daycare.
I have such a love-hate relationship with social media. On the one hand – as an extreme introvert – I sometimes don’t communicate with the outside world for days at a time, and the internet serves as a place where I can connect with others in the only [non-awkward] way I know how. On the other hand, the internet turns me into a jealous, raging b*tch even I can’t recognize. It’s usually one extreme or the other: there is no real “happy medium” for me when it comes to social media.
We’re all busy. And, if you’re anything like me, the busier life gets – the more Mom Guilt sneaks its way in. It’s a vicious cycle. My level of Mom Guilt rises exponentially, incidentally, during final exam season – which I find myself in the throes of, again.
It’s that time of night again – the ‘worrying hour’. Usually 3:30-4:30 a.m. Like clockwork.
I turned 31 last week. For some reason, I thought I’d have my life together by now. I thought that when I reached the magical age of 30, I’d feel less like a child trapped in an adult’s body.
Just like that, I survived to tell the tale of my first semester in law school as the parent of a toddler. Truth be told, there were a few tantrums, a LOT of late nights, and many, MANY hours spent in the same spot with my head in a book. There were too many nights that I didn’t get home to put Ellie to bed. There were many nights that Tyler handled WAY more than his fair share of parenting duties (and for that, I am eternally grateful). There were way too many dishes piled in the sink, way too few walks for the dog, way too many fast-food dinners and virtually zero quality time spent together as a family. But, we survived. And I haven’t failed anything. Yet. To law school parents and their law school ‘widows’: you are amazing.
Potty training a toddler + studying for 2L exams = shenanigans aplenty.
Am I the only one who thinks that potty training is the most daunting task of parenthood — to date?
Real talk: I love my kid. I do. She’s silly and sweet and says the most hilarious things. Plus her cheeks are the squishiest.
But sometimes I just need a break.
(Disclaimer: I used to wear pajamas all day. I relish those days. If you’re able to wear your pajamas all day, I salute you. You’re a great Mom).
Toddlers demand a lot of attention. I remember when I thought babies demanded a lot of attention. Boy, was I wrong about that. Toddlers are mobile, sassy balls of energy, and they need to be handled accordingly. Even baby proofing has taken on an entirely new meaning these days (it should be called toddler proofing, but I digress).