Off the Mommy Clock.

This weekend I had my longest stretch of Adelyn-less time. My mom and I spent Saturday, almost the entire day, working on wedding stuff and shopping. We went to lunch. I got a facial. It was a much-needed break.

Jason watched Adelyn from nine in the morning 'til about three in the afternoon.

When I came home he was in the recliner, Adelyn snoozing on his chest. There was a half-eaten bottle on the table beside him. He had a burp-rag thrown over his shoulder, another draped across his knee. The sound of whining teenagers on "16 and Pregnant" played in the background--surely not his show of choice, but whatever happened to come on after what he was watching. The remote was across the room, on the couch. (You can't really run to fetch it when you're in the middle of feeding her, burping her, playing with her, comforting her.) He was in the same clothes as when I left, plaid pajama pants, Sonic Youth T-shirt. Whenever Jason gets time to himself he picks up his guitar, and I know he was hoping he'd get some playing time in that day, but it was still in its place in the corner of the room, untouched.

I walked over to him and pulled Adelyn off his chest. She immediately started crying, as she usually does when she's torn from a position she was comfortable in, and Jason got up, wiped a spot of spit-up off the front of his shirt and took a deep breath.

"I need a shower," he said. And he gave me a kiss and went upstairs.

It was the most validating moment of the past two months yet.

Later that day Jason told me what I needed to hear--what I didn't even know I needed to hear. He told me how hard the day had been, fun and rewarding, but hard. Adelyn had one of her needy days, as she does sometimes, when she's only satisfied attached to a human body. Those moments are sweet, those moments when you can tell she's only happy lying on your chest. But those are also the moments you have to continually forsake a shower, or answering the phone, or being productive. Doing the dishes or doing your work.

About a month after she was born I started working on my own business. I've been trying to establish a freelance career, focusing on writing grants for non-profits, and I've been luckier than I expected in finding projects to start with. But even if you can land that parenting holy grail--working from home--the battle doesn't end. You still have to find time to work, even if you are in your pajamas. And that's infinitely easier said than done when you're doing it on a newborn's time.

Does it make me a bad mom, or a bad fiance, that my most validating moment so far was seeing that frazzled-look on my partner's face? There are those women--those crazy strong women--who do it on their own, who don't even get a moment to see that look mirrored back at them. I think about them all the time, especially when I get a day to myself and come back home to my baby renewed, refreshed. Eager to change a dirty diaper because I got an afternoon away from it.

Seeing that look was like having your boss pat you on the back, saying that all those long hours are appreciated. That maybe you're up for a promotion.

I think we need to see that look in someone else, us mothers. Especially us mothers who are, either permanently or for the moment, treating motherhood like a job. It is work. Even when we're wearing spit-up stained PJ pants while we're on the clock.