Motherhood: The battle inside my brain

After 12 hours of labor...

By Heather Lalley

Should-Be-Doing List:
Pitching freelance articles
Looking for ways to promote my book
Re-launching my blog
Searching for a job at a bakery
Laundry
Dishes
Jogging

Actually-Doing List:
Changing diapers
Breastfeeding every two hours
Walking a fussy baby up and down the hall of the condo
Singing the Addams Family theme song over and over to elicit gummy, slobbery smiles

It’s raining. And we’ve just walked the 7-year-old down Irving Park Road on Chicago’s northwest side to summer camp. “We” are me – the mom – and Emma – the 52-day-old baby girl strapped to my chest, snoozing in her carrier. I’m writing standing up, swaying my hips and shushing every time I feel her stir.

When her big brother was tiny, I went right back to work as a newspaper reporter for The Spokesman-Review in Spokane, Wash.. But not this time.  I guess I’m a stay-at-home-mom now. Or a WAHM, or some such crazy acronym.

Emma

As a hard-charging, career-focused journalism student at Northwestern back in the ‘90s, I looked at SAHMs with much the same respect I’d offer  a cigarette butt wedged in a sidewalk crack. So pathetic, I’d tsk-tsk. Such a waste of a decent brain; throwing away a career to wipe someone’s backside and sing “Little Bunny Foo-Foo.”

But that’s me now, I guess. So you can understand the battle going on in my brain.

Oh, sure. I’m still “working.” Frantically pitching stories and writing during brief snippets of naptime. Lining up signings for my new farm-to-table cookbook while Emma coos in her vibrating chair. Praying I can finish a phone interview without background wailing.

I graduated from the baking and pastry program at Washburne Culinary Institute this spring, though, after two years of hard work. And I worry this time off will make it tough to find a job. I expended too much effort and cash on that degree to just be the room mom who makes pretty cupcakes.

But then I think: Emma will never be 52 days old again. This is my last baby.

 In a blink, she’ll be as big as her brother – all knobby knees and grubby fingernails, flying across the playground.

And I look down at her peach fuzzy head and think, today, this is just where I should be.

Heather Lalley is a mom, wife, recovering journalist, recent culinary-school graduate and author of the just-released “Chicago Homegrown Cookbook.” Find her on Twitter @flourgrrrl.

I met Heather during her tsk-tsk stage when she was a Northwestern junior and I was The Oregonian's recruitment director. I was impressed by her talent and her dry wit, both of which remain in abundant supply.