The Clock

Here is a clock.

I look over my shoulder and see its hands moving carelessly along. I'm intrigued as I hear its rhythmic, "Tick, tock. Tick, tock. "

It started out slowly, like a warm lullaby lulling us all to sleep.

Now, it beats fiercely, like an angry drum: like a mother trying to push her children out the door because they are late for church again.

Except it's not a mother pushing her children.

It's time pushing me. It's pushing me back to work.

Since I've been on maternity leave with the caboose of our clan, I have to say it's probably been the best three months of my life. You know, minus the after birth stuff.

I promised myself to take their advice. To relish in the unfiltered time I have with my last baby. And guess what? I'm doing that.

I let her nurse from me, as the rhythmic sucking slows to a halt, her eyes drift off into baby sleep land, and a tiny dribble of milk escapes her mouth. We sit here, sometimes for hours, cuddled up against one another like the way a newborn puppy cuddles up against her mom. I feel her breath exhale upon my chest. I smell the sweetness of the milk that is marinating on her cheeks and neck.

The ticks of the clock get increasingly louder, increasingly more desperate.

And it's not just her. It's them, too. The older two. They run into our room in the morning and cuddle up with us underneath the covers before they must start the day. As they dart off to school, they give both me and baby kisses and hugs goodbye as we stand at the front door, waving and shouting, "Show them how smart you are!" and "Be kind!"

As we turn to head into the house, I catch a glimpse of the clock again.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

I take a billion pictures. And most of them are selfies. Because I don't want to look back years from now and think, "Did I take it all in? Did I relish in the moments of my last newborn?" These pictures will remind me that yes, yes I did.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

I have dinner ready for the kids and my husband (oftentimes). I have the house in some what of an order (sometimes). The bills are paid. The homework is done. All obligations are posted to our family calendar. I remember to love my husband. To smile at him. To ask him about his day. To show him empathy. To remember to show him how passionately I love him. To grab his derriere as I wink at him.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

I sit in the chair, nursing my baby, while I look over at my oldest, who is now in 2nd grade. She is sitting there, still in her Catholic school girl dress, engrossed in a book. She is on a self-driven mission to quadruple her Accelerated Reading goal for the first trimester. I call her name. I call it again.  I call it one last time, and she looks over at me. I ask a leading question, "Did you turn out fine, even though mommy had to go back to work when you were 3 months old?" Still half focused on her book, she smiles and nods her head "yes" as she turns her full attention back to her book.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

I look over at my son, who is reeling after a full day of preschool. He is deep in a project, dismantling an amazon box and turning it into a rocketship. I call his name. He looks at me. I ask him the leading question. "Did you turn out fine, even though your mommy had to go back to work when you were 3 months old?" His bright eyes look at me as he mumbles "yes" and takes a seat in his new rocketship.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

It's three days until I have to go back to work. Let me rephrase that, until I choose to go back to work. I'll be the first to call out my privilege. It's now time to face the truth that I'm not ready. The clock is ticking so loudly now, it's begun pushing me out against my will.

I turn my face down to her as I watch her nurse into a deep slumber. I kiss her soft baby skin and let her toes curl up around my finger.

Tick, tock.

I preach about women in leadership. About women having the opportunity to have a career and raise a family. I fully believe that even if I choose to stay at home, that I would be setting a good example for my children. If I choose to go to work, I am also setting a good example. 

Because my choice is to spend my time with them engrossed in them, whether I am a working mom or a stay-at-home mom.

Tick, tock.


Here is the clock.