Roller coaster of good intentions, european chocolate, HBO, and skin care products

Today is Thursday. It is 7:24 p.m. Typically, I would be knee deep in the most hectic time of my day, dinnertime followed by bedtime. My husband and I both work full-time and have two young children. The minute I walk in the front door from my workday, I go into marathon mommy mode. The kids are beginning to transition from positive energy to frantic energy. I quickly whip up two meals, one for the kids (which has to be gluten-free) due to my youngest son's Celiac Disease and something for my husband and me.  Then it is clean up time, bath time, story time, and clean up time - again. Then there is peace and hopefully quiet - and if I am really lucky a Netflix binge session and a Ritter Sport chocolate covered biscuit to be savored.

My favorite 

Wednesday night was no different except that I agreed to go to a friend's house for what I thought was going to be our once usual pizza night with our families only to learn that the gathering was not our usual family play date but was going to be a launch party her new business as an Arbonne consultant. I had heard of the Arbonne brand and its business model through a co-worker who embarked upon selling these products to make extra money earlier in the year.

My friend profusely reiterated that I need not buy anything at all, but to allow her the opportunity to learn her business with the support of a few friends. Understanding this and in addition to the fact that I am consciously trying to save money, I felt little pressure to buy products.

In the less than two hours I spent at my friend's house, I offered to not only buy products with my next pay check, but I found myself offering to host an Arbonne party to help grow my friend's fledgling business and agreeing to schedule a call with the VP of Regional Sales for Arbonne to discuss my new part-time job as a consultant.

Although the VP that was training my friend was good at her job, I am also very impressionable, in a good way. I get excited about things easily, I get motivated very easy, and I often bite off more than I can chew - and then I get sick and throw up.

Initially, I fell for the allure of the savvy VP who drove a huge white Mercedes SUV, the green and clean product lines and the women helping women angle. I also fell for the $2,000 per month income that was promised to part-time consultants.  With my husband and I both working at nonprofits, the added income was an enticing option to say the least. Plus, I like white Mercedes SUVs.

When I got home from the launch party,  I attempted to tell my husband all about my new and fully imagined and very successful business, but he was too involved in watching the pilot of HBO's True Detective while hypnotically folding piles of laundry. Not to be deflated, I decided to do some research on Arbonne to determine if it was as wonderful and green a product as I was led to believe and to figure of this whole new business thing might actually be a reality for me.

Within seconds of my Google search, I came upon this blog post by Meghan Telpner. In this entry, Ms. Telpner examines the Arbonne's product line and explains that the products are not all that they are cracked up to and the company  (which is owned by a board of directors and who was founded by a man) is engaged in green washing. While reading the post, I could feel the air being sucked out of my unbridled enthusiasm and optimistic hope for a fancy and looming vacation. By the end of the episode of True Detective, I had decided to not launch my new business and hesitant about hosting a product party on my house, but I was intrigued by the HBO series and really wanted to eat a Ritter Sport.

My new binge series

I'm in denial. Maternity is quickly approaching and I want to ...

Denial. This is a good one. Takes its job very seriously - disallowing your mind from going to that place where it really wants to go, the same place that causes unending anxiety. Denial will erase - or redirect - your thoughts to something else: the capture of Whitey Bulger, the Casey Anthony trial, or the fact that Ann Taylor Loft is offering 40% off of everything via your new favorite coupon Web site. After the birth of my second son, I am embarking upon my final two weeks of maternity leave. I am sick-to-my-stomach as I think about this transition from stay-at-home mom of a newborn baby to a working mom of a newborn mom and a toddler making denial my closest confidant right now.

Like so many mothers who have to go back to work full-time after the birth of their children a multitude of emotions permeate our reality: guilt, loss, sadness, regret, resentment, anticipation, and fear. Less than an hour ago I returned home from a wedding shower luncheon for one of my favorite co-workers. Today is a Thursday, so the gathering took place during lunchtime at my place of employment. I dropped my oldest (2.10 months years old) off at my sister's house for a play date and took my youngest (12 weeks old) with me to the party. This was not the first time I have been back at work since I had the baby. Once before I took both kids to the office to see everyone. I am fortunate to have amazing, supportive, caring, funny, and really cool co-workers, and, so, I genuinely want(ed) to see everyone and hear how they were doing and, of course, to celebrate the upcoming wedding of my lovely colleague.

But.

The whole time I was there - and still over an hour later - I have a pit in my stomach that won't go away. I am sick, literally nauseated, at the thought of going back to work, of leaving my baby, my babies. Run away is what I want to do. Hop on a plane with my husband and the two kids and leave the northeast for somewhere cheaper and more hopeful - a state, a community where I can have the option of working part-time or not at all just for a year or two. Reality sets in. I can't leave. No where to go - right now. Two weeks. This is what I have and this time must be savored, like an expensive, gourmet meal that I can't afford or pronounce, or, even see for that matter because it so small sitting on my large, white dinner plate. Instead it will be voraciously devoured like a hungry, postpartum mother who has not eaten since breakfast who only realizes this at dinner time.

Denial will keep me company in the meantime. During meal time, nap time, fun time, all day, all night, every day, every night until the day I get up, take a shower, and start my new, old life as a working mom.