Nearly nine years ago now, shortly after becoming a mom, I wrote and pitched an article to a local editor about the mommy wars. "I'm so over the mommy wars," she wrote back. "Send me something different."
And so I did. Something oozing with mommy and love and warmth. I ignored the feelings of angst in my belly and wrote what she wanted.
We could talk about mommy wars all day, all night. There's the natural childbirth vs. the cesarean moms, the bottle vs. the breastfed, the home-schooled vs. the public-schooled and, alas, the working vs. the stay-at-home mom.
I long ago said I never felt like I fit in any of these categories. Sure, I spent many a year home with my babies. ECFE classes, playgroups and meandering Target trips made the days pass quicker than I would have liked. I loved the gift of time I've enjoyed with my babies. But while I loved not having a boss -- well, aside from my children -- or a workplace to attend each day, I missed working. So I wrote.
I wrote and I wrote and I wrote. On blogs and websites and publications. Anyone who'd publish me, I took them up on it. It fulfilled me in a way that my babies just didn't.
Writing was therapeutic for me as I coped with the loss of my mom, dealt with toddlers and the transition to preschool. I worked out all the miscellaneous ideas I had running amok in my head.
Writing and keeping up with professional connections has worked for me. I've been able to "have my cake and eat it, too." Or so I've been told.
Each and every day is a juggle. Let me repeat: Each and every day is a juggle.