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Motherhood: Professional Vocation or Just Another Job?

By: Marjorie Wallace

It's 8:27 p.m. and I have just sat down. If I were dishonest, I would add that it is for the first time today. However, as anyone familiar with my job knows, there is much sitting involved. Sitting in the van, on the bleachers, sitting while children read. But this is different. I have just sat down alone, feet up. Another workday as a mother has come to the end. I would have been sipping this sweet elixir an hour ago if not for an overflowing bathtub that delayed the end of my day.

So here I am gearing up to begin gulping when I hear "the cry."

It's one of my sons. Not my first, because, as anyone knows, this level of nonchalance cannot be cultivated on the first job - I mean to say - with the firstborn. No, this was one of his younger brothers, either the second or third child. Having arrived at the same time they can sometimes be hard to sort out.

Not my daughter. She rightfully drifts quietly to sleep each night and I acknowledge that she is a gift from an otherwise usually mocking universe.

My wine murmurs to me as his cries grow louder. This idea of motherhood being a 24/7 job is really quite ridiculous! Even miners come up from underground. I remind myself that I am not "on-duty." I am merely "on-call." The doctor does not rush back to the hospital for every sprain that limps in the door. I too make decisions when to "attend" based on standardized triage methods.

I am not a mere intern or even a resident. Those 24-hour days are long behind me now and I have earned my right to relax. I am a seasoned professional in practice for myself and I simply do not respond to every call.

I sip my wine and wait. I assure you, as with many things, there is much to be gained in waiting. Just last week I responded to what I had initially mistaken for screams of physical pain only to find a child in throes of deep anguish over the low battery level of his Gameboy.

While this current cry is impatient, it does not contain a hint of downright pain. I am quickly able to determine that this is a cry of privilege. A cry that asserts, "I have a mother and I am dismayed at her self-imposed working hours." This is a cry best ignored. Remind yourself why you signed up for this job in the first place.

You, my dear friend, are your own boss. And this very freedom and flexibility is why you've toiled all these years to reach this position of prominence. In these times of indecision remind yourself that it is only you who determines when you are eligible for promotion. The internship is over and you're starting your own practice. Who knows? With a little (a lot of) luck you might be able to swing having Wednesdays off.