My 2-year-old son is a cheerful, curious, incessantly chatty boy who sings to himself in his crib and who waves to the garbage man on Fridays. As his mother, I am contractually obligated to tell you he’s perfect, but you should know I am also telling you the truth.
Well, almost perfect. He’s a picky eater who can turn a meal into an ordeal.
Phillip, my husband, tries all sorts of playful things to get our son psyched about breakfast, lunch or dinner. A few days ago, Phillip burst into song: “Eat, eat, what a treat! Eat, eat.”
He was singing a verse from “Baby Signing Time,” a TV series that teaches kids American Sign Language. That cute song had been in heavy rotation during our family lockdown in the early days of the pandemic.
The song takes me back in time, and my reaction to it now is aversion. It loops in my head with all of the memories of being forced to stay at home.
My feelings about remote work are complicated. The work-from-home experience that the pandemic forced on those of us lucky enough to be able to do our jobs remotely spurred a lot of soul-searching, especially among working mothers. We reevaluated the packed schedules, the maddening commutes, the having to have dinner magically ready by 7. For many working moms, going back to “normal” is untenable.
Despite the fact that working from home while managing family duties has been stressful in its own way, many of my friends — hard-working professionals who are devoted moms — would prefer to keep working remotely part of the week if not most of the week. Schedules are more manageable, they’re more productive, and they get more face time with their kids.
I get all of that. Which is why I’m scared to say this out loud, but here it goes: I’m back in the office, and I love it.
Before you judge me, know that I do plenty of that myself. Not a day goes by that I don’t live in fear that I’m a bad mother. Sadly, it’s a common fear among us moms — another thing that gnaws at us on top of work deadlines, the bills or the grocery list.
My admission is not a defense of the office but of the very thing that most if not all of us can agree on: the need for flexibility. I prefer working in the newsroom to working from home, but I’m grateful for the choice because remote work has allowed me to take care of my family and the return to the office has allowed me to take care of my sanity.
In the early days of the pandemic, my husband and I turned our dining room/living area into a tiny work island that we closed off with baby gates to keep an eye on our son, who was then 1. We sang, filmed silly moments and watched our boy take his first steps. But we also worked through days that seemed endless, taking calls through toddler tantrums and squeezing our son’s snack breaks, lunch and story time in between Zoom meetings. There were days I wanted to cry because I couldn’t hear myself think.
Our son began day care in the fall. The house was quiet again, too quiet, and we worked amid Legos strewn on the floor and the clean laundry draped on the couch that reappeared soon after we put it away. I checked the mailbox twice a day and wore jeans just to feel something, even if it was the tightness of the waistband around my middle.
In December, I left my writing job at a design firm and came back to The Dallas Morning News, where I had spent most of my career. I am eager to reunite with newsroom friends, but I’ve worked from home a lot to take care of our son when he gets sick from day care.
My routine is starting to feel familiar now that more of us are vaccinated and trickling back to the newsroom. Oh, how I’d missed my rainbow of blazers and wearing shoes that aren’t house slippers. How I’d missed my cursed highway commute, the cathartic 30 or 40 or 50 minutes alone in my car when I listen to music, think about my day and sometimes get a shot of adrenaline courtesy of an aggressive Dallas driver. How I’d missed seeing my colleagues in their three-dimensional splendor and the casual conversations about stupid stuff that sometimes turn into conversations about the stuff that matters most. How I’d missed my cubicle, cluttered with sticky notes, reporter’s notebooks and sometimes cake, but never laundry.
Oh, how I’d missed me.
Julieta Chiquillo is a member of The Dallas Morning News editorial board.
