Case of The Mondays

Here it is.

The one really bad day that overrides all the flex hours, good salary, interesting co-workers and the visual reward of making commercials. The day that has me staring at the Stella shrine I have built on my desk and wondering my why I am whoring it up to sell liquid beverage refreshments to the masses instead of raising my own child.

Maybe it’s just a case of the Mondays. Or all my colleagues who believe hiring a celebrity can make up for not having a compelling message. Or all the people who are pelting me with the same question hoping I will provide a different, more agreeable, answer. Mostly, I think there is a direct correlation between the level of greatness of a weekend and matching suckiness of a Monday. Going from carefree mommy with fun, feisty child to dressed up and stressed out corporate worker bee is giving me an identity crisis this morning.

Is this the modern mom’s impossible question? Our new You Can’t Have It All? For the moment, it seems that you pick one path and you stick to the script. With the full time employee/ mommy - You enjoy the lifestyle the cash affords you, the stimulation to the mind and ego and you suck up the time you loose with your child and remind yourself that you (and they, probably) would go stir crazy very quickly if it would be just you and them all day every day. Or you stay at home and spend your days going on play dates, swimming lessons, lunches with the moms and hitting the gym that has daycare and you tell yourself that you are still relevant and vibrant because you have CNN on and Facebook up all time and pray that your kids never grow out of naptime.

No wrap up or answer to this one. I’ll remind myself that on most days I love what I do for a living because it’s fun and challenging, I think I’m good at it and really, it makes me feel smart. And every day I watch Stella run as fast as she can into school to go play with her friends. As my husband always reminds me when I call from a trip in tears of loneliness – you are crying for yourself, not for her.

No revelation provided today – just knowing that a rousing game of Come Get Me with my 2 year old and a tall, strong cocktail made my equally tall, strong husband is the only cure for this day.