A COVID-19 Working Mom's Survival Guide
Moms who are just now realizing what it's like to work with kids at home: Don't worry.
I mean don't worry about thinking this will level off. It'll suck the whole time.
If they're little, the tantrums won't care about your 11 a.m. Zoom or your urgent deadline. If they're older, the refusal to accept boundaries will render you incapable of composing a coherent thought. You'll find yourself typing these sentences: "Dear XX, attached is the first draft when I asked you nicely five times so that's why I'm yelling now."
They'll need meals and drinks every 30 minutes. Not *those* foods, the GOOD ONES. Because that other stuff is so gross and stupid, if not boring and a butthole. If you ask them to sit at the table and eat, they'll die. If you let them sit in front of the TV, their food will somehow travel far away from their wingspan onto furniture you’ll then have to clean because if not they’ll end up grinding it into the fabric accidentallysubconsciouslyforspite.
They'll need a snack about 5 minutes after a meal and every 10 minutes thereafter. Only sugary things are acceptable and the word no is like administering electric shock. If you choose to shock them, you'll need to add extra time for revival. It will involve bribery.
The arrival of nap time will elicit Exorcist-like convulsions, and the removal of devices will cause them to channel Harry Caray in response to lack of digital stimuli.
Amidst Enjoying Every Minute of It, don't forget self care! This means don't skip meals except for the ones you don't have time to eat. Forego sleep so you can keep up with work. We all know that moms can survive on, like, one hour of sleep because as long as we're upright, we're okay.
If you'd like to exercise to allay your stress, you're in luck! It's allowed. But know that you'll have to fit it into your unforgiving schedule just like you squeeze your ass into those pre-pregnancy jeans. Also hurry up because time flies when you've spent three-fourths of the day fending off fits and interruptions and now it's time to cook dinner.
You'll feel your soul leave your body somewhere between the first and tenth time you asked one somebody to stop saying "muh balls" and the other somebody to turn off his engine because a GIANT, GIANT MEGASUPER T-REXMOBILE won't fit at the dinner table.
Next comes Quality Time, where you'll "play" with your children who are now Lord of the Flies-level rational. While keeping them from murdering each other, you'll attempt to fold one of the four loads of laundry you've been meaning to get to were it not for all those times you ran to your laptop to finish that thing you had to leave unfinished earlier.
When bedtime arrives, you'll spend 45 minutes taming a two-person, underage frat party in the bedroom next to yours, just in time to jack up your cortisol levels so that restful slumber is as unattainable as nipples that don't hang at half-staff after two cycles of breastfeeding.
Welcome to your new normal.
I mean don't worry about thinking this will level off. It'll suck the whole time.
If they're little, the tantrums won't care about your 11 a.m. Zoom or your urgent deadline. If they're older, the refusal to accept boundaries will render you incapable of composing a coherent thought. You'll find yourself typing these sentences: "Dear XX, attached is the first draft when I asked you nicely five times so that's why I'm yelling now."
They'll need meals and drinks every 30 minutes. Not *those* foods, the GOOD ONES. Because that other stuff is so gross and stupid, if not boring and a butthole. If you ask them to sit at the table and eat, they'll die. If you let them sit in front of the TV, their food will somehow travel far away from their wingspan onto furniture you’ll then have to clean because if not they’ll end up grinding it into the fabric accidentallysubconsciouslyforspite.
They'll need a snack about 5 minutes after a meal and every 10 minutes thereafter. Only sugary things are acceptable and the word no is like administering electric shock. If you choose to shock them, you'll need to add extra time for revival. It will involve bribery.
The arrival of nap time will elicit Exorcist-like convulsions, and the removal of devices will cause them to channel Harry Caray in response to lack of digital stimuli.
Amidst Enjoying Every Minute of It, don't forget self care! This means don't skip meals except for the ones you don't have time to eat. Forego sleep so you can keep up with work. We all know that moms can survive on, like, one hour of sleep because as long as we're upright, we're okay.
If you'd like to exercise to allay your stress, you're in luck! It's allowed. But know that you'll have to fit it into your unforgiving schedule just like you squeeze your ass into those pre-pregnancy jeans. Also hurry up because time flies when you've spent three-fourths of the day fending off fits and interruptions and now it's time to cook dinner.
You'll feel your soul leave your body somewhere between the first and tenth time you asked one somebody to stop saying "muh balls" and the other somebody to turn off his engine because a GIANT, GIANT MEGASUPER T-REXMOBILE won't fit at the dinner table.
Next comes Quality Time, where you'll "play" with your children who are now Lord of the Flies-level rational. While keeping them from murdering each other, you'll attempt to fold one of the four loads of laundry you've been meaning to get to were it not for all those times you ran to your laptop to finish that thing you had to leave unfinished earlier.
When bedtime arrives, you'll spend 45 minutes taming a two-person, underage frat party in the bedroom next to yours, just in time to jack up your cortisol levels so that restful slumber is as unattainable as nipples that don't hang at half-staff after two cycles of breastfeeding.
Welcome to your new normal.
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