10 Wasted Dinners-and What I’ve Learned from Other Mothers

I sit in an overly airconditioned conference room and resist the urge to text my husband. I promised him I wouldn’t check in too much. But it’s kindergarten drop-off time in California, and did Diego remember his snack?

The woman next to me interrupts my impulse with a conference question. I take it as an entre to start yammering on about my children at home. Thankfully, she also has kids, and we swap stories about work travel.

“I used to prep everything before I left,” she says, leaning in a little closer. “One time, I was gone for 10 days. I cooked 10 dinners and lined them all up in the fridge-“

My eyes widen, revealing my shock at her impressive planning.

“-and when I got home? They were all still there.”

My jaw drops. She goes on to explain: “My husband took care of it. I have no idea what they ate, but after that, I stopped planning everything. I just left for my trips. They were fine.”

Her kids are now 14 and 16, she explains, and very happy that their parents are traveling again post-pandemic.

For the rest of the trip, when I get the impulse to send a hovering text, I just think: “10 dinners, 10 dinners.” It becomes my mental code to remind myself of the kind mom’s experience: my husband will take care of it, the kids will be fine.

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I’m twenty-eight, barely engaged, and clueless about what it takes to keep a family operating. Still, that doesn’t stop me from incessantly emailing a colleague, trying to secure her agreement to co-present at a conference, across the country from her home and children.

“Hey, just checking in…” my email starts (again, clueless).

My colleague’s response is kind and direct: “Thanks! I need a few more days. I haven’t had a chance to look at calendars with Colin. These are complex marital negotiations!”

That phrase rolls around in my head for days. Complex marital negotiations. For the first time, it dawns on me that someday, my work, my schedule, will impact other people. That prior to making a decision, I’ll need to pause, consult, and prioritize.

Of course, I have no idea what kind of logistical Tetris awaits when I have children. But reading that email, I finally get a sense of a future where work, marriage, motherhood all have needs and gifts, and all must be considered, delicately and with care, together.

**********

I’m six months post-partum, on my first work trip. That morning, feeling the crisp fall air as I walked past golden trees, I eagerly anticipated a group dinner, with colleagues from across the country.

Eight hours later, after pumping, presenting, and overly-caffeinating my jet-lagged body, I’m hovered over my cellphone in the hotel lobby, checking email.

All I can think about is pulling the covers over my head and going to sleep. Because that’s what I think about all.the.time. My baby, while mind-blowingly adorable, doesn’t sleep. Bedtimes are hours-long sagas. When other parents casually mention placing their baby in the crib and walking away, I feel my bleary eyes prick with tears.

“Do you want to meet here at 6 and walk to dinner together?” I ask my boss, Jennifer, who joined me in the lobby.

I can only imagine how adding jet-lag to six months of sleep deprivation has drained my face of anything resembling a functional human.

“Yeah, that works for me,” Jennifer says, and then adds, “how are you doing?”

“Tired, you know, but, yeah, I’m ok” –are the words that come of of my mouth when my face is surely screaming: NOT OK, NOT OK.

Jennifer smiles. “You don’t have to go tonight. Do you think you’ll feel better for the rest of the conference if you just order dinner and sleep?”

I want to say, “‘ordering dinner’ and ‘sleep’ are the three most beautiful words in the English language.” Instead, I just tell her that sounds really helpful and to please tell everyone I’m sorry to miss out.

Jennifer is raising two teenagers. She taught me how to write an annual reports, how to present to funders, and how to break down extremely complex health policy. But after that conversation, I frequently do “am I pushing myself when I need to stop, eat and sleep?” self-checks. I could hear the phrase, “motherhood is a marathon not a sprint,” a thousand times, but it would never mean as much as the generous permission I received from a mom I deeply respect.

*********

It’s fall again, five years later. After dropping Leonel, our toddler, off at daycare, I sit in my car, on the phone with a colleague. She’s expecting a baby, and wants to chat about parental leave. I was one of the first people to utilize my agency’s relatively new parental leave policy, and this is my third call with an expectant parent in 6 months.

I have no official role in parental leave. As listen to her brainstorm her leave plan, and share the family help she’s scheduled, I’m reminded how much I love these conversations. Mothers never cease to amaze me with their ability to orchestrate major logistical initiatives while preparing to birth a child.

Still, as I listen, I get a sense from her that more leave time might help. I remember that feeling. Knowing how much you’re asking of colleagues, and at the same time, desperately calculating ways to maximize each leave day with your baby.

“Is it ok if I’m super honest?” I ask, and she says, of course. “I had a really tough time returning to work after my babies were born. It was tough on me physically and rough for my mental health. Your colleagues will be fine. Whatever extra leave you take will pay dividends for you, but will barely impact your team.”

For a moment I regret divulging. I wasn’t on the call to give advice, and I’m worried I’m being too pushy.

“Thanks,” she says, “I really appreciate that transparency. It helps me feel more comfortable thinking about what I need.”

I think about the mothers I’ve observed. The colleague who gently suggested I do daycare pickup, and David do drop off, understanding my propensity for tears. The other one who made me want to raise a kid I like. The one who shared how exciting it is to have college kids, when I got overly sentimental about the fading toddler years.

Think pieces on work and parenthood are my favorite reads, and I will fiercely advocate for strong protections for working parents. But maybe, what we also need, is just another mom with us at work, saying, here’s my experience, how can I help you feel comfortable thinking about your needs? Ok, maybe that and at least 12 weeks of secure federal leave. I’ll keep working on both :)

This post is part of a blog hop with EXHALE—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series “With a Little Help”.