In the Blink of a Week
It’s only 4 weeks out of 52. Once every 3 months or so. A total of 28 days per 365, and thus, 7.6% of my calendar year.
These are the numbers and equations I formulate in my brain every time I am scheduled to work my stretch in the neuro critical care unit. The week starts on Monday at 7am. The day ends at 7pm, I get home at 8pm, and for 7 days- I have 30 scattered minutes before sunrise with my children as I juggle to get dressed, brew coffee, change a diaper, detangle a few curls, give out enough kisses and hugs for everyone as I slip on my shoes and jacket. By the time I sign out the patients to the doctor coming in for night shift at 7pm, all of my babies are tucked in and drifting off to sleep.
I approach the house, notice their windows dim, and grab the baby monitor as soon as I get inside. In the past, if I was lucky, a pair of eyes are still glowing on the screen and I can sneak in a snuggle goodnight without waking up the others.
This particular week in January, I was out of luck. This particular week, tears welled in Maverick’s eyes at the sight of me in scrubs, and Skylar screamed for a hug as her arms reached for me through FaceTime as Daddy explained that they would see me in the morning. Then when morning came, Maverick demanded, “Don’t go to work, Mommy. Don’t go to work again!” for 7 mornings in a row. Skylar wanted a verbal commitment that I would be picking her up from daycare, “I only want you to drive me!”
Suddenly, these 7 days that used to feel manageable, tolerable, and routine transformed into a week that doesn’t belong in our lives, in their lives. The days move fast, but the week is slow and long. I found myself logging into the nanny-cam while I ate lunch or on a brief coffee break to get a glimpse of them running around the living room or having a snack. On my 7th day, I transitioned the patients’ care to another doctor, and I get a post-call week where I have no clinical obligations, but I’m not totally off the hook. I still have administration tasks in my leadership role. This is also when I dedicate effort to the book and create my blogpost for the month. I schedule my post-call days with intention, careful to have enough time to be present and not miss bedtime. If the morning allows me to make the 8-minute drive to daycare for the 10 minutes it takes to walk each one of them to their classroom, then that’s 8 minutes I don’t take for granted and 10 minutes that highlight my day. Even if it means that the au-pair follows me in my own car, so that we can switch after drop-off, and I can go straight to my next obligation from the parking lot, that’s okay. This may sound like an inconvenience to some, but I appreciate the days that allow me to do this. The post-call weekend is usually the Saturday and Sunday of the month when I plan a family activity that is a little more involved than usual. For January, this meant going to Brooklyn for a lunar new year celebration at the Children’s museum, viewing all of Manhattan from the One World Observatory, and visiting the Ice Cream Museum.
In the blink of a week, my babies were different, growing and defining themselves at lightning speed. Naomi’s language expanded 2-fold and “mommy” was completely dropped from her vocabulary. Instead, she would call me daddy or grandma or nothing at all. As of this blog’s publish date, Naomi has not called me mommy without persistent prompting. She may utter it once, but goes on to immediately forget this term. And when I pucker up for a smooch, she tenses up her eyebrows, tells me “no kiss,” and wobbles away. During this particular post-call week in January, Maverick’s humor had matured, charming us all more than ever. Skylar was styling her own curls in the bathroom mirror. And my baby Zuri made me do a double take when I saw her holding her own bottle while being held in Daddy’s arms. She looked up at me with her dark hazel eyes, 10 tiny fingers wrapped around the rim of the bottle, and kept sucking as if this was not her first day holding her bottle. It was happening all last week. My heart let out a sigh.
Because I do not believe in “mom guilt” (refer to blog post- The Thing About Mom Guilt), I had a moment of “mom doubt.” Am I no longer the mommy I blog to be- Discrediting mom guilt, saying eff you to any such thing as balance as a working mom, owning the fact that I create my own chaos, etc. I’m the kind of mommy that leaves my newborn, 2-year old and 1-year old for 3 weeks straight to go write a book in hopes of creating a legacy (refer to blogpost- Bye Bye Baby), and now I am feeling some sort of way about working hard, making a living, setting an example, saving lives, and not being home for bedtime for 1 week? For the first time, leaving for work in the morning felt hard. Who am I? Is this a phase? And what will I do to cope with these emotions? As I contemplated these thoughts, I also had a moment of clarity. In the blink of a week, we were all different, growing and defining ourselves at lightning speed. Perhaps, it is not only my babies that experience various stages of change and development such as separation anxiety, terrible 2s, and sleep regressions, but to some extent, me as a mother too, as I continue to raise and love them the best I can.
