It’s 10:39pm. My husband is downstairs asleep with a nasty cold. My kiddo is fast asleep, after a hard couple of days reintegrating to the rigors of preschool. And I?
I just got done working.
Work has been crazy lately, with a lot of really big projects all hitting at the same time. I’ve got a pretty raging case of imposter syndrome going on, but I don’t have time for questioning my ability or knowledge of how to do my job because I’m too busy running around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to cover it all. My brain hurts at the end of the day, some days more than others depending on which project I’ve spent more time wrestling that day (anything related to Apple or Amazon makes me feel like I’ve run a marathon while having to do astrophysics. Mostly because they’re both pains in the ass). I have more work than I can complete in a day, every day.
But three (and soon to be four) days a week, no matter what else is going on, I leave my office at 4:30 to pick my little boy up from preschool. And when we get home, we have dinner together, we play together, we do bedtime together. No matter how much work I left on my desk, no matter how full my email is, no matter what the deadlines are, the evenings are for my family.
Of course, once the little man is in bed, work sometimes requires that I pick the laptop up, and dive back into my email, dive back into the deadlines, dive back into the crazy. Which is how it gets to be 10:39pm and I’m just finishing working.
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