What Does Being Petite Really Mean?

For as long as I could remember, I thought of the term "petite," as least when it was applied to body size, as meaning "short." Short sizes. Small inseam lengths. That kind of thing. When my mom and sister shopped in the petite section, it was to try to find pants they didn't have to hem. It did not, in my mind, mean that the sizes were teeny tiny. 

A few years ago, I encountered a very strange argument on Instagram regarding the introduction of new Anthropologie petite sizes. Firstly, I don't shop at Anthropologie; I cannot justify a $70 pillow or a $200+ cotton dress, I just can't. And secondly, Instagram arguments are weird and petty and always kind of funny.

The drama on the Anthropologie issue started over people leaving comments that seemed to be a little, well, thin-hating. Obviously, bodyshaming of any variety is not ok. However, I started to think: wait, what? The line is a line of smaller sizes or shorter lengths?

Basically: are they just making smaller clothes or are they making a petites line, like the petites sections that have long existed in department stores like Macy's or JCPenny's? Have we officially confused the English language so much that we have multiple different definitions of "petite"? 

As it turns out, the line is for women 5'3" and under. From what I can tell on the website, the clothes aren't necessarily smaller (except for length) and come in almost all conventional sizes. That's pretty awesome. But it made me wonder: why did the post about it on Instagram devolve into arguments about sizes (and by that I mean number sizes, not inseams), including quite a few comments that could be read as a bit thin-hating? 

I decided to google what petite meant Interesting. "Having a small and attractively dainty build." Stop, Google, you're making me blush. But seriously, is petite about being physically teeny, as in both short and extremely thin?

I have a dainty build (re: small bone structure), but some sizable fleshy parts of my body. I'm 5'2" and wear a size 8 regularly, yet I still often find myself being called the smallest person in the room (even though I know a ton of people who are smaller than me, physically, if not height-wise). Further definitions included: "small, slender, and trim; used for girls and women; a clothing size for short, slender women." Thanks, Free Online Dictionary. 

Another unhelpful, but maybe helpful, fact is this: the number of blogs dedicated to fashion for "petite" women is astonishing. I started reading through a few and I found myself getting, well, uncomfortable. The purpose of these blogs is ultimately noble and good-intentioned, but I found myself feeling a little weirded out by the constant description of their super small bodies, their need to only buy children's clothes or to search out specifically "narrow fit" boots. Some of the women who run these blogs are also not very short in stature; they just happen to be very, very thin. So, that's what petite means to some fashion blogs. 

I always thought to be petite, you just had to be short. And as far as I can tell, short people come in lots of different clothes sizes, including plus-sized. There is a disparity between what clothing producers mean when they say "petite" and what people think when they say "petite"--in fact, I think it's two different things. I think when Anthropologie posted about a new "petite" line, some people immediately thought: "clothes for skinny people." Because, apparently, that's the main definition of the word petite. 

However, when you look up Petite Size on Wikipedia, it mentions that conventional clothing sizes in the United States are designed to fit a woman who is over 5'5" (which is insanity, no wonder none of my pants fit) and so petites lines and entire store sections emerged as a place for women under 5'3" to buy clothing. And that clothing came in a variety of conventional sizes with the wonderful P added to indicate they were just cut differently. That's pretty awesome for ladies of the short variety (like me). However, now we have other definitions of petite popping up: thin or not-thin, short or not-short. 

Can we just have all words mean the same thing, ok? Thanks, English Language. 

This reminds me overwhelmingly of the use of the word "curvy": some people mean one thing when they say it, some people mean another thing when they say it, and sometimes people aren't being necessarily nice when they say it, which is pretty sucky of them. All kinds of arguments and anger can spring up when someone uses the word "curvy". I distinctly remember referring to myself as "curvy" once in college and the person I was talking with immediately consoled me, saying, "You aren't fat! Don't say that!" Except that wasn't what I meant by curvy, but ok. 

So, the real question is: are petites sections in department stores lies? What gives? 

It turns out, it's not. There are two meanings to the word petite and unfortunately, that gets confusing most of the time. Some people will claim that petites sections in stores cut their sizes about 1-1.5 sizes smaller (so a size 8 in a petites isn't really a size 8), but that doesn't make sense and isn't really true. I find I'm the same size in petites sections as I am in regular sections, everything is just shorter (and let's be real, frumpier, because apparently department stores think all people under 5'3" are 85 years and older).

Basically, what this all boils down to is this: words are just words and you shouldn't get up in arms about them, or upset about them, unless they are used intentionally to upset you (then you should totally get your cranky face on). A chain store creating a line of petites clothes wasn't meant to offend anything; it was meant to create clothes for shorties, because sometimes it is hard to find clothes in a world where all clothes are cut for people 5'5"+. Getting cranky about a store creating a line of petites -- or plus sizes or whatever -- might be personally offensive to you if, I don't know, you really dislike short people, but it's not meant to be and so... cool it and stuff, seriously. Once a "well, I don't personally like that" turns into a "I'm gonna leave hate comment on Instagram," you've magically transformed into a jerk. Congratulations!

I Worked with a Murderer (& This is What I Learned)

Because of the type of person I am (a true crime buff), I followed the disappearance closely when it first happened. A woman (we'll call her S) went missing at the beginning of December, 2013. She had been in Cottage Grove (my hometown) for Thanksgiving to visit friends and family and then had planned to return home to Beaverton. Sometime between Thanksgiving and December 2, she disappeared. Her family reported her missing, scared for her safety due to her health problems. 

I remember November and December 2013 very clearly: I was working at a job I hated, totally miserable; and those two months were two of the coldest I can remember in a long time. It was in the negatives every single night and barely got above freezing during the day. Those kind of temperatures are abnormal for Oregon. 

When they found S, she was discovered not far from where I live, on a piece of BLM property. She had been shot. Not long after, an ex-boyfriend who she had visited in Cottage Grove was arrested. For a long time, that was the last I read about the case. It seemed pretty simple, an open-and-shut, sadly way too common kind of case. 

Fast forward a few months. I had started a new job, it was early Summer, and as I walked into the office, I glanced at the newspaper on the front counter. Staring back at me wasn't just any face: it was a face I recognized. 

It was the ex-boyfriend who killed S. Where on Earth have I seen him before? I read his name over and over again, but I just couldn't remember. His face was so familiar. I was sure I knew him, but I couldn't place him. It was the worst feeling. 

I went about my day and read up on the case. I read about the trial, about how the ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend testified about his behavior after their break up (this also rang as very familiar, but I couldn't place it), about how he had been found guilty, about how he had tried to claim self-defense, about how he had hid S's body in his house for weeks thanks to the abnormal temperature and how the cops even visited his house while she was still there. 

As I drove home, I kept thinking about it. 

Then, it hit me. 

Figaro's Pizza. I had worked with him at Figaro's Pizza. 

We'll call him M. The minute I remembered, the minute my mind connected him to Figaro's, it all came back to me. I knew his ex-girlfriend who testified at the trial. I knew M. I had worked with him, hours and hours and hours, in high school. We had talked hundreds of hours, complained about the same things, laughed at the same jokes. 

I immediately texted Danny. "That's crazy," he replied. What an unsatisfactory answer. 

The true crime lover in me (I do listen to My Favorite Murder, Casefile, and In Sight an embarrassing amount) was thrilled I had worked with someone connected to a murder case; however, another part of me felt really, really repulsed. 

It's strange to look back at part of my life and see it in a totally different light. There was no way for me to know, at the age of 17, that one of my coworkers, a grown adult, in his 40s then, was going to go on to murder a defenseless woman. But for whatever reason, that knowledge now changes how I see everything during my life at that first job. 

Working with M was not like working with the boogeyman. I would easily describe him as strange, as a little off, but then, I am a little weird myself. Who am I to judge? He also seemed very kind and, to be quite honest, a little slow. Sometimes, he showed up to work in a really strange mood, talking strangely. My coworkers and I chalked this up to drug use, but we could never really be sure. 

I shiver now thinking about the number of times I closed the pizza place with him. We would lock the doors at 10:30 pm and walk to our cars in the dark. I am terrified of the dark--it's one of my biggest fears--and so, this walk was often the worst part of my day. Looking back, I feel like my memory of the fear is amplified now that I know what I know. 

Sometimes, as a true crime buff, it's easy to mentally distance myself from things that happen: these are just stories, I think, and it can be easy to dehumanize, to not remember that behind these stories are real people--with friends, family, children, dreams, and paths they no longer get to pursue. It can be challenging to remember the reality: that both sides, victim and perpetrator, had and have lives away from the crime. 

I found myself, for a while, feeling guilty for feeling sympathy for M: I felt like a line in the sand had been drawn and that I had to accept that the person I knew was not the person I thought I knew. But the truth is, it's possible to feel both: it's possible to simultaneously be horrified by something someone did and to remember them as a decent human. Good people can do terrible things and it's ok to miss them, to feel sympathy for them, to question why they did it. 

I'm turning this over to you. Have you ever had something like this happen to you? 

Living with Bad Internet

"So, have you seen 'Stranger Things'?" my coworker asked me. I stared at her, wondering if it was an appropriate time to launch into my well-worn speech about the Internet. 

Here's the thing: I don't use Netflix. I don't want YouTube videos except at work. I don't watch Hulu. I only listen to Spotify when I'm driving. I don't download music. 

I don't have good Internet. It's truly the tragedy of my life. 

Ok, actually, I should clarify. I do have good Internet in that it is very fast. I don't have good Internet in that I have a data limit. 15gb, in fact. The average movie on Netflix uses about 3 or 4gb to stream. So, we don't watch videos; we limit photo uploads and downloads; we don't use wifi on our phones. 

Living with bad Internet--that is, Internet that operates on a data plan--is extremely stressful. I pay an insane amount of money every month for the Internet we have and I can barely use it. Blogging stresses me out because each moment I spend writing a blog post, each time I upload the wrong photo or have to redo my graphic on Canva... I stress out. If I use an extra amount of data, I know it will bite us in the butt at the end of our billing cycle. 

I take extreme measures to prevent unnecessary data expenditures: I use AdBlock purely to prevent auto-playing video ads (the worst, they are my nemesis). I also have a Google Chrome extension that stops news website videos from auto-playing (another nemesis). I have to turn on settings in Facebook and Twitter to prevent auto-playing videos. Same with Instagram. 

It sounds incredibly whiny to say "it's hard to have to do these things." But as someone who works primarily on the Internet (even at work), it is really stressful. I try not to work from home because I end up using so much data simply because of Slack and email and sitting on a computer for 8 hours straight. I try to do all my blogging at work on my lunch break or after I'm done with work. I schedule my weekly Twitter updates at work or on my phone while I'm walking through the grocery store. 

However, there are some benefits. Danny and I spend a lot of time together, reading or writing (our wifi turned off on our computers). I bullet journal every night. I take baths. After I get my work done (as quickly as I can) and bills paid (again, as quickly as I can), I cook and clean and meal prep... and then I have time to spend with Danny or go walking or work out. 

Sometimes I get frustrated that I miss out on some major cultural happenings--like 'Stranger Things' or other Netflix and Internet trends--but on the other hand, I also feel like I can more effectively read books and connect to the "real" world. I might not be able to chat about 'Stranger Things'--in fact, I might have to stare blankly at a new coworker as I explain, again, that I don't use Netflix, because I can't, because I don't have good Internet--but I can tell you about the last 10 books I read, the story I'm working on, or the podcast I am listening to right now. 

How to Keep a Bullet Journal

I love my bullet journal. I've been bullet journaling for work purposes for over 2 years now. It helps me stay organized at work, monitor my priorities and work, and keep track of the various notes I take every day. 

I recently started keeping a personal bullet journal. I want to talk about keeping a bullet journal and how I started mine. To start though, I should clarify what I use my personal bullet journal for. Primarily, I use it as a way to relieve stress in the evenings (who doesn't love doodling and writing?) and to keep track of all the lists I want to make. 

I use a cheap, $1 journal from the Target $1 Spot. I primarily try to use only black pen, so that I don't have to do anything fancy. Sometimes, bullet journals can seem like these tomes where everything has to be perfect and I'd really like to let people know that it doesn't have to be perfect. You can make it as pretty or not pretty as you want. It can be a gratitude journal, a daily journal, a planner, whatever. Bullet journals are what you make of them; it stresses me out trying to make them as "cute" as some bullet journal uses on Instagram, but realistically, it's just for me. It's doesn't need to be perfect!  

Here's how I keep my bullet journal. 

1. I keep a list of "page ideas" in the front (just after the index, it's page 2) and am slowly working through it. You can view all my bullet journal pins--complete with page ideas--on Pinterest. 
2. Every night, I have the goal to complete one page and fill it in with writing. 
3. I don't do "habit tracking" or things like that because, undoubtedly, it ends up boring me. I prefer journaling lists, making running lists, or just daily journaling. 
4. I practice my hand lettering on specific pages. On my Pinterest board, you can see some of my inspiration for banners and dates. 

A Letter to My Past Self

Hey past Michelle. In your world, it's maybe 2012, 2013. You're not doing so hot right now, but that's ok. I don't want to make you panic or anything, but you're about to embark on a 18-month journey that is, shockingly, worse than the last 18 months. I know, I know, you probably don't believe that, but it's true. 

Here's the light at the end of the rainbow though: things will get better. Like, way better. Like, really good. You get married (which is great) really soon, but it takes a while for things to be... ok. Then you get a new job, then another new job, then another new job. Then you have a baby! It's all pretty great. The baby is pretty great. 

I just want to tell you a few things I've learned. What's the point of writing a letter to my past self if I can't share what I've learned? I wish I could have told myself these things then, but I couldn't. 

Stand up for yourself. 

Stop being a doormat! It's in your nature (and my nature, really) to just let people steamroll over what you think, because it's easier. The path of least resistance has been your M.O. for a long time. Stop it. Just stop. Stand up for yourself. Stop crying every day before (and after) work; stop getting anxious every time you see an authority figure. 

Keep writing. 

You're going to stop writing. I can't pin a date on it exactly, but at some point, you'll look up and realize, oh crap, I haven't written in forever. No blogging, no emails, no poems, nothing. Your journals will be dusty. We aren't going to ever let that happen again. Writing matters. Writing keeps you (and me) happy. 

Stop feeling sorry for yourself. 

There will be mornings you wake up at 5am and mope around the house and lie on the couch. You stop cleaning; you stop writing; you stop getting dressed. At a certain point, it's just a performance art. Stop it, past Michelle. No one is amused, including me. I'm not amused. Put on your big girl pants and move on. (You'll get there eventually.) 

10 Things I've Learned Since Graduating College

I originally wrote this post (and a follow up of "10 More Things I've Learned") for my old blogs, Locked Out and Ellipsis. I have continued to learn things since I graduated from college--can you believe it was 5 years ago? I feel like that's not possible, but it is. Danny and I have been dating for 5 years; we've been married for 2. Where did the time go? Here's my revised list of things I've learned since graduating college in 2011. 

It should be easy to be young, but it really never felt like that. I'm an anxious person and it's always been my greatest downfall. I spent so much time worrying through college and even after I graduated. I felt like I always had to follow the rules; I had do so specific things to succeed. But the truth is: life is way more complicated than that. Sometimes you follow all the rules and things just aren't going to go your way. My experience after graduation is shockingly typical, but I've learned a lot and I'm still learning every day. 

1. Nothing will go how you think it will... even if you get a job. A lot of people I knew who got jobs ended up quitting shortly afterward. That plan you've had for after graduation forever? Prepare for it to change. My plan was to get a job; go to grad school; or move to New York or Chicago to become a magazine editor, whichever was more reasonable at the time. Obviously, none of those things happened. After I graduated, I worked at a deli, a car dealership, and finally, a residential care facility before finally being hired as a copywriter. That was over 3 years after a graduated too. 

2. Not being able to find a job effects your self-esteem in ways you never thought possible. I had on my imaginary armor after I graduated; I really did think I was different. "I'm so talented," I told myself. "Clearly, I will get a job! I'm special!" I am not special. Getting a job these days really is legitimately about luck. Are you the most qualified person who applied? Most likely, no. There are tons of people applying for jobs now. And that kind of sucks. Getting a job doesn't necessarily mean you're the best candidate anymore, because there are literally 200-300 applications turned in for every single job opening. And there are tons of college students, just like you, who are super talented, hardworking, and awesome. And among you are older people with 20-30 years of experience who deserve a job just as much. It must really suck to be in HR is what I'm saying. These are all facts, but it doesn't stop it from being soul crushing to send out your resume 10+ times a day, go to two interviews, tops, and hear back from zero. 

3. You will feel crushed after being rejected, but it's better to get back on the horse (even if that horse sucks). You know those days when your best friend is mad at you, your boyfriend breaks up with you, you fail a test, your favorite dress rips, you break your phone AND your camera, and your car breaks down!? Imagine having one of those days every day when no one will hire you. It sucks. All you'll want to do is lie in bed and watch movies forever. The last thing you'll want to do is make follow up application calls or write more cover letters. It's soul sucking, but ultimately necessary for your survival. I had a professor tell me once that every time she received a rejection letter, she immediately sent the poem or resume or whatever to a new option. That same day. This is the best advice I ever received, even if it meant that sometimes I cried for 12 hours after receiving rejection emails a record-breaking 15 minutes after an interview.

4. All that free time can add up to something. When you're unemployed (funemployed?) you might end up renting a lot of movies, buying a lot of stuff online, and perfecting your party dance alone in your bedroom. (I know I did.) But you know what you should be doing? Building a portfolio. You might as well work when every day is your weekend, right? When you do get a job, you'll wonder why you didn't blog more, or learn karate, or take up painting, or read all those books on graphic design. So spend time perfecting your social media presence, starting a blog, building networking opportunities, or learning a new skill. 

5. No one stops liking you when you work a terrible job. Remember those five months I worked at a deli? Remember how it made me feel humiliated and stupid every day? If you get a weird part-time job to make a bit of extra money (and fill some of that time), you might feel like some kind of weird, out-of-place alien, but I promise, no one who loves you is judging you. Unless they are a real jerk, in which case, why would you care?

6. Paying bills is hard. This is still the number one fact about my life: paying bills is hard. Establishing a saving account is hard. The minute I started assessing all the things I am required to pay, I realized that I vastly underestimated how much I cost as a human being. Add in a house, a husband, and a baby, and things are even more expensive now. This doesn't even take into account fun, unnecessary things, like internet or a cell phone.

7. When it comes down to it, the trivial things don't matter. When my grandfather passed away, I realized how much time I had spent waffling away the time: watching Hulu mindlessly, lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. We only have so much time, so don't spend it making yourself miserable over the little things. The things that matter most in life aren't related to the economy. I'm not saying getting a job isn't important (it totally is), but spending time with your family and friends, doing something you love, is way more important than worrying about if you'll be able to afford a cell phone when your parents finally cut you off. Some people have to work to survive and that's a horrible, awful reality. If you have people who can support you when things get rough, you're in the minority--so suck it up, buttercup.  

8. You'll want a job so bad, and when you get one, you'll want all that free time back. I'm... not kidding. I wake up at 5am every day, start driving at 6:20am, and get home around 4pm, just in time to make dinner, feed myself and a baby, and then put said baby to bed. This does not a social life make. Go see your friends--I wish I had.

9. You will get a job... eventually. Sometimes, it seems really hopeless. You'll read these articles about how people under 25 have something like a 55% unemployment rate, and then over 50% of those employed are underemployed and barely making minimum wage. You'll start to wonder if it's hopeless. Maybe you should have gotten a degree in something else? Maybe you should, I don't know, apply for jobs in something else? But I promise you will get a job eventually. A real one. Okay, you might be a receptionist, or a data entry clerk. But it's better than slicing deli meat or making burgers, right? The truth is, there will be a moment where everything clicks and falls into place and the world will seem to make a spot just for you. That happened to me two years ago: one day, I got, like, 5 job offers in one day. How crazy is that? 

10. It's not you. It really is the economy. For a long time, I started to wonder if something was seriously wrong with me. Maybe I was flawed in some way and had never known it. All those people telling me I was talented or would make a good editor, or writer, or social media marketing assistant... maybe they were lying or just trying to be nice. All the interviews where the HR manager praised my achievements and told me I had tons of skills they liked to see at the company -- they were lying, clearly, because they didn't hire me.

I gave up more than once. I resigned myself to working minimum wage jobs for the rest of my life -- on my feet until 11pm at night -- never being able to afford a brand new car, or a house, or even a child. More than anything that made me super depressed and not very fun to be around. It took a lot of time, but eventually, I realized it wasn't me. I still have moments where my confidence hits the floor and a lot of it has to do with, well, what I went through. It's exhausting to know you're good and to be rejected over and over (and over and over) again; it's a hard feeling to shake. But you'll get through it. I promise. I'm in such a better place now: I got through all of that, and guess what? I can afford a house, and a new car, and a baby, and a husband who does his best to help. It's not easy, but I got there. Five years later, I got there. 

Getting Over Body Obsession

I wrote recently about my struggles to stay body positive while also actively trying to lose weight. This is not an easy task for me and one that I work really hard at; I don't want my friends who are happy with their bodies to think I'm judging them simply because I am trying to lose weight. Remaining body positive, and supportive of everyone in my life, is incredibly important to me. 

But beyond that, there are things I need to work on that aren't just losing weight and body positivity. I've always had an unhealthy obsession with my body size, and monitoring my body size. I recently mentioned to a group of mom friends that I can remember my exact weight at every important event of my life: my wedding day, the day I got home from Idaho after graduating, the day I got engaged, the day I had Forrest. These are numbers taking up valuable space in my brain. A small part of me had held out hope that this was normal behavior, but I knew it actually wasn't. It's not normal, or healthy, to remember your weight on exact days, especially days dedicated to your own wedding or your first child. 

I cried every morning I had a doctor's appointment because I knew they would weigh me--and write that down on a little piece of paper, cruelly, without letting me defend it. I always wanted to put an asterisk on it. One that said, perhaps, I was thin once! I really was! I used to be able to eat whatever I wanted because I was so active! I work a sedentary job! I'm working on it! I wanted to argue with the computer system that classified me as a "high-risk pregnancy due to overweight status." I wanted to tell my doctor, every appointment, that I'm not, like, ok with my weight; I know I need to change. 

This is also not normal behavior. The actions of the medical community notwithstanding (there are some definite changes that need to be made regarding the treatment of weight issues and non-issues), it's not normal to obsess about how much you weigh when you're pregnant. 

I remember writing up a workout plan for myself postpartum. I remember anxiously imagining a time where I could restrict calories again. This is not only not super healthy, but really depressing to think about. 

It's hard to know that I have so many issues relating to my body and health. As I've written before, I know I'm dealing with body dysmorphia, but that doesn't really change the fact that when I go to the doctor, I get treated like none of my issues matter because, obviously, I just need to lose weight and they'll all magically go away. (This is one of the most annoying things about my medical treatment: I can guarantee you weight loss isn't going to fix at least 75% of my issues, but ok.) I know I want to lose weight for my health and my personal happiness--but I also know that, in some ways, I won't ever really be happy because you can't be happy when you're obsessed with your body. Period. End stop.

I posted on Twitter recently about all the fitness Instagrams I follow. A lot of them are people who have lost significant amounts of weight through IIFYM (If it fits your macros), a method of measuring food that focuses on macronutrients versus calories. I love following these accounts because I feel like IIFYM gives you a more realistic ability to follow meal plans, because you worry about nutrients instead of just calories. You go for nutrient dense foods and you'll feel fuller and be healthier. However, a significant portion of people who follow IIFYM tend to start going down this very strange path where they start eating a lot  of artificial foods (like that nasty Halo Top ice cream stuff or Arctic Ice) and weighing their food. Seeing a woman list that she ate 100 grams of onions, and only that much, is a whole new level of obsession.

It's very easy to go from one end of the spectrum to the other: being overweight and obsessed with your body to the point of hatred, then losing weight and becoming obsessed with staying that way. Perhaps so intensely obsessed that you start to do things like traveling with a food scale everywhere and weighing individual sandwich ingredients in a restaurant. It was six years ago that Marie Claire published this piece about healthy living bloggers--and how their meal plans are dangerous and unrealistic--and yet, we're still doing it. 

We live in a culture that is obsessed with bodies and body sizes--so it's easy for us to get obsessed as well. It's a cycle that difficult to break, but I believe it is possible: I believe it is possible to lose weight and be body positive, to lose weight and not become obsessed with staying thin, to be healthy and not weigh food. I believe these things are possible--I just need to work on doing them. 

5 Things I've Learned as a Working Mom

Being a working mom is hard work. I've written before about being a working mom, but it's worth repeating. This isn't to say that stay-at-home moms have it easy; I honestly don't know how SAHMs do it sometimes. I'm in awe of them. Each mom's journey is totally unique and that's what makes motherhood so incredibly special. 

I find being a working mom incredibly fulfilling. While I don't believe in "having it all" (a concept that is both baffling and impossible-to-achieve), I think working and being home gives me the opportunity to have the best of both worlds. To have my cake and eat it too. 

Before June, I worked part-time. During the summer, I went back to full-time, leaving Danny at home with Forrest all day. (This was a little bit of a taste of what my maternity leave was like for him. The results were... amazing.) In September, I'll be returning to part-time hours, something that is both exciting and a little sad. I love my job: I love working in content marketing all day. I love being able to learn how to do new things. But I also want to be able to take Forrest to baby reading time at the library, to go on walks in the park, and more. I want those days with him, I really do. They're the best days, even if they are hard. 

Before my full-time working mom status comes to a close, I wanted to share a few things I've learned along the way. 

1. Every hour is valuable. 

I'm lucky to work a job with incredibly flexible hours. I leave every morning at 6:30am, which means I get to make Forrest his breakfast and maybe give him a few bites before I leave it to Danny and rush out the door. I'm home by 3pm, giving me time to play with Forrest for an hour, make dinner, feed him, and then play a little bit more before it's time to bed. He's asleep most days by 6-7pm, giving me time to clean up dinner, clean up the living room and kitchen, maybe do a few chores (laundry or picking up the house, nothing intense), and sit down to work on my blog or freelance work. Then it's time for bed and I'll do it all over the next day. Why am I telling you our schedule? I get an hour and a half of time with Forrest each work day. I have to make it count, so I do. 

2. It's incredibly stressful to relinquish control. 

Nothing stresses me out more than knowing something is wrong with Forrest (a bad rash, teething, a cold coming on) and not being the one taking care of him during the day. I want to be the one making sure to put on the diaper creams each diaper change; I want to be the one giving him saline and ibuprofen every 4 hours. I want to be in control so that I know it's done correctly. I'm Type A. What can I say? 

3. There's never enough time for me unless I let things fall to the side. 

One of those things, truthfully, is keeping my house immaculate. I love a clean house. I'd love to have time to clean my oven, to scrub my floors, to repaint spots that have been stained or chipped. Truth is, I do have time to do those things... but it would be at the loss of the few hours of me time I have every day. So I let it go. I'll have time for it someday. Forrest probably won't judge me for the unpatched spots on my walls. 

4. I'm really bad at prioritizing myself. 

Related to number 3: I'm very bad at putting myself first. Funny, since I had a good 26.5 years of doing it before hand. I've been meaning to buy myself new clothes and new make up (and new shoes) for ages. I've been meaning to clean out my closet and all my clothes in storage for ages. I have done neither of those things. Whenever I get a bit of spare money, I spend it on Forrest; he needs pajamas more than I need new jeans. He needs fall outfits more than I do. Those are complete lies, but it's what I tell myself. I feel guilty treating myself to the smallest of things--but I'll splurge big on a set of pajamas for him. 

5. No one understands how busy you are. 

Working moms: no one else knows the struggle quite as well as other working moms. Sometimes, my coworkers will set a meeting for 3pm and ask, "Oh can't you just stay an hour longer?" No. I can't stay an hour longer--that's the hour I get to sing and have music time, play, and read books. No, you can't have it. You get 8 hours of me a day. Use. Them. Wisely. No one quite gets the bedtime routines ("You can't meet for drinks at 6pm? Bring the baby! Why not?") or the hectic weekends or the mad dashes to the grocery store for formula. No one really gets it but other moms. That's ok, though. They'll get it someday.