Some people have work husbands or wives, but I have a work mom.
When I first met her, she reminded me of Napoleon, the short-statured tyrant. Or a drill sergeant. She would order us around like pawns on a chessboard. Give me money for _____ collection. Be at the conference room for a meeting at 10 AM sharp! Sign this get-well card. Sign this timesheet! We would say yes ma’am and comply.
Truthfully, she frightened me at first, but I quickly found she was all bark and no bite. In fact, she was and is a big softy.
Work Mom and Diva organized my work baby shower, complete with catered food, cake, party favors and of course the presents. Work Mom made me the best-carrot-cake-ever for one of my birthdays and I think possibly Easter. She taught me how to make the best-lemon-pound-cake-ever and the best-butter-cookies-ever as well.
When I was a new mom with a baby that wouldn’t stop crying and about to lose my ever-loving mind because no one else experienced the same and understood how I felt, she would tell me horror stories of her first-born crying for hours and how she almost lost her mind. She helped me to feel normal and she was proof that I could survive.
When I tell her about Peanut’s crazy, erratic, emotional behavior and how I can’t stand it, she doesn’t judge me. She doesn’t make me feel bad or less of a mom. She doesn’t look at me like I’m exaggerating like others have. She just says, I believe you and I feel validated.
These days, when I’m missing my own mom so much, I appreciate having Work Mom around. She provides that bit of been-there-done-that wisdom that you can only get from a parental figure. Work Mom, thank you for everything over the past 8 years. Love and appreciate you lots.