In order for me to be the best mother possible, I had to pull myself up by the bootstraps — or, in my case, the five-inch heels — and get back to a place of fulfillment on all fronts.
I’m a very positive person, but my world isn’t always a pretty place.
Being a working mother with a 2-year-old son has its challenges.
Dylan’s speech delay causes me a great deal of anxiety. I’m not around for his therapy sessions, and our weekday time together is too limited to fully engage in the “routine-incorporation” strategies suggested by his specialist. Mornings consist of my son watching “Mickey Mouse Clubhouse” while eating his breakfast as I transform myself from “mommy running on four hours of sleep” to “perfectly poised career woman” — in 30 minutes or less.
After work, I look forward to dinner with my favorite little date, followed by bath time, bottle and bed, with loads of laughter and cuddles in the mix. I work with him on letter sounds, muscle control and everything else that’s part of the plan, but with a full-time job that doesn’t include my baby, enjoying quality time with him is my top career goal as a mother once I’m out of the office.
I absolutely love my role as a working woman, so I take that in stride and commit my weekends to making up for lost time with Dylan. We go to Eli’s in Aberdeen for bagels and spend the days running errands, going on outings and tidying up the house together.
It’s our special time, and I cherish it more than anything — especially when other relationships in my life are experiencing turbulence.
Lately, I’ve been under a lot of stress from a personal standpoint, dealing with inevitable drama from a situation that is not yet fully resolved.
Sometimes, I need to take a step back, refocus and regain perspective on the bigger picture.
The little things have always gone a long way with me. During a recent Sunday dinner with Dylan, I was reminded of how sweet the simple indulgences can be.
There’s a place on Main Street in Matawan that’s perfectly suited to our needs. We sit in the upstairs area with the TV tuned to Nick Jr. as my son happily munches on Italian bread while mommy sips a much-needed martini before our entrees arrive.
Last weekend, I ordered a grilled chicken wrap for myself, and Dylan ate quesadillas — his favorite dish.
When the check arrived, I noticed an additional charge for the French fries that were served with one of our meals. Automatically, my brain switched into “I-have-to-fight-for-this-dollar” mode because up until recently, every last penny counted — and I mean that in the most literal sense.
I’ve never been one to sugarcoat, but I have strong, self-made walls surrounding the details of my life outside Dylan and work.
For the last few years, it feels like I’ve been stuck in the middle of a storm without an umbrella. There’s been a lot of sunshine, but when it rains, it pours.
My decision to return to the workforce was necessary for many reasons: mental, circumstantial and, most definitely, financial.
Last Memorial Day weekend, I was in a much different place. I’m that girl who thrives on having it all — a rewarding career, beautiful child, incredible relationship and enough money in my wallet for the occasional splurge on a cute pair of BCBG shoes or Guess jeans.
One year ago, I had a spectacular 1-year-old in my arms.
That was it.
Dylan is my greatest blessing, and I would never minimize the all-encompassing impact he’s had on my world. He brings me enough joy each day to last an entire lifetime. But at that point, I was a shell of my former self, and looking in the mirror one day, everything became clear as day.
In order for me to be the best mother possible, I had to pull myself up by the bootstraps — or, in my case, the 5-inch heels — and get back to a place of fulfillment on all fronts.
Somewhere in the midst of that storm, I abandoned those other parts of myself and devoted all my energy to making the rain stop.
All thoughts revolved around the “sun” — the ball in the sky and the baby in my arms.
Last May during that wake-up call, I realized it was time to “woman up” and reclaim the pieces of myself that got lost in the crazy weather I couldn’t escape.
It’s still a work in progress, but reclaiming my career has been an incredible feeling.
Instead of fighting for that dollar in question last weekend, I thanked our server for allowing Dylan to watch “Peppa Pig,” grabbed my son’s hand and spent those almost wasted moments thinking about how far I’ve come.
Dylan remains at the center of my universe, but the other points are starting to align.
After all I’ve been through, that feeling is worth a million bucks — and all the French fries money can buy for my baby boy.
Shari Puterman is the assistant regional features editor, a proud mommy and a lifetime Jersey Girl currently living in Matawan.
If you’re a “Working Woman” doing your best to balance it all and would like to be considered for an upcoming story, email sputerman@app.com.