At the time I’m writing this, it has been exactly two months, nineteen days, six hours and thirteen minutes since I gave birth to my first child. On the day he was born, the doctors called out his arrival at 12:35 p.m. Starting at 12:36 p.m. the same day, everything changed. Everything.
Sleep changed. Now, fall quickly into a deep sleep because I’m so exhausted, but an equally light sleep because I’m constantly on alert he will wake up and need to eat.
My eating habits are more rushed than refined.
Showering is more exhausting than refreshing.
And work? Well, it’s more… work to work these days.
I’m a WAHM (work-at-home-mom). I’m one of the blessed women who gets to juggle to-do lists while simultaneously peeking out from behind my computer screen to oo and aah at the adorable tiny human I created.
Let me tell you – it’s tough not to get caught up in those squishy cheeks and adorable smile.
Still, duty calls.
I started easing back into work when my son was only three weeks old. Since my office is only a few feet from his nursery, it was hard to ignore my inbox for too long.
After another few weeks behind the desk, we fell into a semi-routine (as routine as things can be with a newborn in the house). I started making commitments to clients who were eagerly waiting for me to return from maternity leave. I had deadlines that couldn’t be ignored.
One afternoon, my son was struggling to relax. I fed him, changed his diaper, played with him, fed him again and still nothing soothed him except being held and rocked. I stared at my computer screen feeling a sense of panic. I was barely halfway through a project that I promised to deliver to the client at the end of the day.
As I swayed my child gently from side to side I looked down and saw my saving grace.
As I laid my son down so I could assemble my baby carrier, I found myself holding my breath.
Could this really work?
With the wrap tied tightly around my ribcage, I put him in. Right leg first, then the left leg.
Please God, let this work.
The crying continued but I was hopeful. I adjusted my computer monitor, kicked the treadmill on with the toe of my shoe and raised my Uplift desk to 42.2".
Beep! The treadmill was in motion.
We settled into a slow but steady pace. I was walking fast enough to cause a gentle lull to soothe my son, but slow enough to type without worrying about his head bobbing too much.
Within minutes, he was asleep.
For the next hour, we strolled on the treadmill. He was sound asleep on my chest (the best feeling in the world) and I was productive. It occurred to me that at the same time I was also racking up steps on my FitBit, pushing my way to the top in my latest WorkWeek Hustle challenge.
Work was getting done. Walking was helping me shed some postpartum weight. And most important, my son was happy.
It was in that moment, I felt like supermom.