It’s 5 p.m. on a Tuesday afternoon. I am lying curled on my side in our big blue bed, grateful for the 500 thread count sheets I splurged on as I snuggle deeper under the covers.
Tori is sprawled on top of me, her breath forcing itself in and out in loud, gurgling snores. A line of snot trails across her cheek, slowly drying as the ceiling fan sends a whisper soft breeze sailing over the bed.
On the TV is some sort of leaping lemur and his affably stupid caretakers. One of the men is inside a giant egg and appears to be chipping his way out with a pick ax.
I feel the urge to smack my head against something hard, quickly killing the brain cells that are slowly rotting with every second I continue to watch this inanity. Tori stirs and I force myself to take a deep breath. She’s finally sleeping. That’s all that matters. Surely I have a few brain cells to spare.
A chime breaks my reverie. An email has landed in my work inbox. I tap the space bar, but the screen remains stubbornly blank. I bang it a couple of more times. Hard. Nothing happens.
My sleep-starved brain screams. What if it’s something important? What if there’s a client emergency? What if it’s my boss wondering why the hell I’m not in the office again?
I smash the space bar again. Still nothing.
“Mommy?” Tori murmurs, reaching for my hair.
“Go back to sleep baby,” I say soothingly. “everything’s fine.”
She rolls over and snuggles deeper into my shoulder.
My brain spirals downward. I imagine my coworkers snickering about my plague-ridden family. The guys in the executive suite staring worriedly at next quarter’s numbers, red pen poised above the four digit number that is my monthly salary. Mentally, I calculate how much is in my savings account, and how far unemployment would get us.
The show on the TV changes. A five-year-old girl dances while singing the alphabet song, sharing her talent with the world.
I shake myself out of my negativity. I know the people I work with aren’t that cold. They have kids too, after all.
But damn would it be nice to have grandparents around.
A momentary longing washes over me. I miss my mom.
Sighing, I stretch the insistent prickling out of my leg, trying to get the blood flowing without waking her. She continues to snore.
I scrunch the pillow up under my head and close my eyes, eyelids stretched tight with lack of sleep. Either I’ll have a job or I won’t. I’ll be scrambling to make up for lost time, to be sure. But there’s nothing I can do about it right now.
I let the worry go and listen to Tori snore. As I drift off to sleep, one last thought floats across my mind.
It’s tough being a working mom.
I’m linking up with Heather of The Extraordinary Ordinary for another edition of Just Write. You should try it. It’s fun.