Taking an infant to work is exceedingly difficult. I feel like I am taking the working mother’s conundrum (because I am not 100% focused on either work or parenting, I’m doing a terrible job at both) to a new level. During my working hours – about 3 hours a day at this point – I barely get done with my “required for the business to stay operational” tasks while simultaneously feeding, burping, and ignoring Freddie. We’re going through a big warehouse and office move right now, including significant improvements to our new space, and Freddie’s naps are constantly interrupted by phone calls, meetings, and the creaking of my goddamned squeaky office chair (why the fuck is it so loud?! I never noticed before!).
Tired mom, tired baby
This poor kid. This poor mom! We’re up at 7 and we first walk Charles to school (1 mile round trip) and then drive Jamie to school before coming into work. I live in constant fear that I am forgetting the baby as I shuffle kids around. Is he here? Did I put the car seat in the car?. I work until 12:30 or 1 o’clock, come home and let Freddie get a quick, uninterrupted nap while I clean the house, do chores, and prep dinner before driving to pick up Jamie and then walking (another mile round trip) to pick up Charles from school. Then we begin our evening with either boot camp or activities at home. I probably don’t have to mention that I am still getting up with a hungry baby three times a night, too. I’m exhausted, and because I’m a mother and I worry (that’s part of the job description), I fear that my schedule is detrimental to Freddie’s health. I know it’s detrimental to mine. I suffer a minor nervous breakdown every other day.
Today, I cried about passwords. Of all the asinine things to cry about, right? I have to change all the passwords to the online accounts for the business every three months. We are switching banks, so I had to get new logins and passwords for the new accounts. I have numerous logins and passwords for my personal affairs. And I was informed today that to access medical patient records for my children, I have to have separate logins and passwords for each of them. And that was the straw that broke the camel’s back that caused the dam to burst and the tears to flow.
I just… I can’t, anymore. I don’t have the capacity in my brain for another login and password. I only just recently (finally!) memorized Jamie’s social security number and now I have to memorize Freddie’s. I’m completely overwhelmed. When I found out about the passwords for the doctor’s office, I lost it. The poor secretary on the other end of the phone: I’m sure she never thought she’d be dealing with a sobbing mother upset about online accounts when she got to work this morning. Apparently, my argument of “but my 9-week-old couldn’t care less about his patient privacy!” was not good enough to grant me an exception to the rule and have all the children’s information sent to my account. I bet that some prescient genius noted in the mid-nineties, to the scoffing of his or her fellows, that password fatigue could become a real issue if this Internet thing ever took off.
Maternity leave exists for a reason, but for me, it’s not an option. I am thankful that I can take Freddie to work with me, but it’s no picnic.
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