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The Mom Hat: Focus Forced Where It Matters Most

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At the end of the Labor Day Holiday, as I anxiously started gearing up for a busy and short work week with tons of extra curricular activities on my plate to handle, I wondered at the challenge of getting to the end of the coming week with everything done.

I have a tendency to get really worked-up about something before I attack the situation and get it taken care of. I obsessively visualize what needs to get done, and imagine the logical order to accomplishing what I need to do. Sometimes I even make physical lists to follow. I had already started this exercise, but a rough Monday night with my youngest son up most of the night crying proved that the week was not going to go as I was working it out in my head.

When one of my sons turns up sick, I’m the one who usually has to flex my workload so I can be available to play Florence Nightingale. The luxury afforded by working remotely from home, is I can do that. It’s exhausting those days when I spend all day entertaining and taking care of an ailing child then have to squeeze in work time while they’re napping, and after my husband gets home. I now had to add Take Son to Doctor to Check For Ear Infection to the now overwhelming looming list of ‘To Do’s.

Instead of readying for hosting the annual kick-off gathering of my women’s group, organizing and tagging our cast-off baby items for a consignment sale, preparing for my first sprint triathlon, writing articles for Empowher, and working overtime on manuals in addition to the usual homemaker duties, I was graciously reminded by this act of God, Mother Nature, whatever-you-believe-in, about what is really important. It was as if I could hear my own mother saying like she always does when I’m getting excited about something, “Slow down, little one.” There was something else to consider, so I readjusted my focus.

So I replaced all the hats I planned to wear, and firmly attached the Mom hat. We couldn’t get in to see the doctor until the end of the day, so I helped usher my baby boy through soul crushing wave-after-wave of crying sessions, and frustration tantrums. He couldn’t sleep, and wouldn’t eat, so he just cried.

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We value and respect our HERWriters' experiences, but everyone is different. Many of our writers are speaking from personal experience, and what's worked for them may not work for you. Their articles are not a substitute for medical advice, although we hope you can gain knowledge from their insight.