WAHM without child care

as originally posted at www.momnation.ca

Gasp! It is in this moment I ache for help for just one hour. An eye of the clock blasts the fact I have only one hour till deadline. My two-year-old bouncing on my lap, zooming her car. With every other second the question of ‘why?’ comes from my four-year-old who is watching Sesame Street. My tummy rumbles with the emptiness of missing breakfast and too much coffee.
I type with one hand, trying to keep focus on the task. Then, the doorbell chimes beckon their demand for my attention. I hoist my toddler in my arms, unlock the child safety gate and race down the stairs. As I open the door I realize that I am still in my pjs. I say a silent prayer that it isn’t a big deal.
The courier hands me a package and shows me where too sign. I close the door and run back up the stairs to face my computer. I place my tot on the floor and she races around the room squealing.
I resume my typing at a fast pace. My girls pick this moment to ask for more snacks. I fly to the kitchen 10 feet away and open all the snack packs I could grab.
The girls are settling with the second TV show of the morning. I reread the article I need to finish in order to remember where I left off. I am almost at the finish line when a certain odor drifts through the room, prompting another stop to my work. Toddler changed and happy as I go back to the computer for the fifth time to make the deadline.
I type the last sentence. The clock pompously tells me there is five more minutes to go. I ignore the cries from the kids of who did what, and who has what. I reread the final draft and hit the beloved ‘send’  button. The adrenaline rush that hits me is such a relief.
I wonder why I even try to work at home. Without family or vast financial resources, I have no day time help. Occasionally, I work at night when they are asleep. Colds and sleep deprivation override the need to read or watch TV to have some ‘me time’ or hang with my hubby. If I worked outside the home I would only make enough to pay for childcare.
All of a sudden I find the room quiet. I creep out of my chair and tip toe around the floor to see where the kids are located.
I turn near the bookshelf. I spy my oldest trying to read to her younger sister. My heart warms with the precious image. The answer to why I work-at-home in between diapers and tantrums is to be here for moments like the one in front of me. That is the best pay day.