Astrof - Dont wait up: confessions of a stay-at-work mom

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Gallery Books

An Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

With the exception of public figures and my immediate family, all names have been changed. Certain quotes have been reconstructed from memory, to the best of my ability.

Copyright 2019 by Liz Astrof

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Gallery Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Gallery Books hardcover edition July 2019

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Jacket photograph of refrigerator by Getty Images

Turtle magnet and papers Shutterstock

Author photograph by Jeff Xander Photography

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Astrof, Liz, author.

Title: Dont Wait Up: Confessions of a Stay-at-Work Mom/ Liz Astrof.

Description: New York : Gallery Books, [2019]

Identifiers: LCCN 2018050181| ISBN 9781982106959 (hardcover) | ISBN

9781982106966 (trade paper) | ISBN 9781982106973 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Astrof, Liz. | Motherhood. | Working mothers.

Classification: LCC HQ759.A85 2019 | DDC 306.874/3dc23

ISBN 978-1-9821-0695-9

ISBN 978-1-9821-0697-3 (ebook)

For Todd, Jesse, and Phoebe

E very Mothers Day, Im reminded of what a... unique mother I had. There isnt a single card that captures my experience. And the dread I feel about that while heading into my local Rite Aid is profound.

To be fair, it would be hard for even the most seasoned card-poet to find decent couplets for Even Though You Left When I Was Five, You Continue to Haunt Me. Or I Know You Never Wanted Children, But... Or My Kids Can Never Have Enough Clothes or Shoes Because I Had to Share Mine with Your Ventriloquist Dummy.

That said, Id settle for a simple On This Day and All Days, Im Terrified of Becoming You. It wouldnt even need to rhyme. Maybe there could just be a fun illustration of a scared little girl with the shadow of her big scary mother chasing her.

Hallmark or no, though, my upbringing made me who I am todaya successful television comedy writer, a loved wife, a competent mother, and a complete mess of a person whose very first role model was a disaster. I can come up with jokes, storylines, and wacky characters inside a New York minute. While being yelled at by a narcissistic asshole boss at midnight, I can deliver rewrites on a forty-five-page script without breaking a sweat, bleary-eyed and bloated, as coffee and SweeTarts eat away at my stomach lining.

But the idea of taking care of my children for any extended period of time, facing their neediness and all that entailshow they get so... thirsty and hungrywell, that thought alone simply brings me to my knees.

So I stay at work. I am a Stay-at-Work Mom.

You would think in this You go, girl, She persisted, pussy-hat day and age that being a Stay-at-Work Mom would be roundly supported, wouldnt you? Youd be wrong. Truth is, theres still a stigma attached to working mothersand nowhere more, Im sad to report, than among the Stay-at-Home Moms.

Case in point: one Saturday a few years back I was at my sons football game, and this gal festooned with babies approached me before I could escape her line of fire.

She smiled and pointed to the 2 Broke Girls patch on my jacket. Oh my God, she exclaimed. Does your husband work on 2 Broke Girls ? We love that show!

I looked around to make sure it wasnt 1955 and then said, No, you dumb twat, I work on 2 Broke Girls Im a writer.

I didnt really call her a dumb twat. But my tone for sure implied it.

What followed was the telltale, unmistakable, and super judge-y head tilt. Wow, the Mom said. I could never be away from my kids like that.

I wanted to say: Yes, you couldits probably all you think about. You lie awake wondering why you let these small people who cant even wipe themselves or appreciate a good joke take your life from you. You dont even recognize yourself anymore under those maternity sweatpants. You fantasize about getting in your minivan, running away from all of it, getting involved in a Bridges of Madison County type romance and never coming home again. There is no way any adult enjoys spending time with a toddler, even if its brilliant or hilarious, and frankly, if you really do enjoy them that much, there is something seriously wrong with you.

But I didnt say any of that because deep down, I do feel guilty about the unrivaled joy I get leaving my house in the morning. I feel ashamed for needing more to fulfill me than fostering the growth of these beautiful human beings I created. I fear its a shortcoming that Im unwilling to surrender myself to Jesse and Phoebe (those are my kids) 100 percent of the time.

That unrivaled joy I feel when I leave the house? I wish I could bottle it. You know who would buy it by the case? Stay-at-Home Moms.

Some nights I do go straight home. But then there are the nights where I crawl on my elbows under my kids bedroom windows to the garage where we keep an elliptical machine, so I can get enough endorphins coursing through my system to see them. Or other nights when, while other mothers are making their children pasta made from non-GMO lentils, Ill be in a yoga class full of twenty-four-year-olds. Or, just walking around the mall aimlessly until a voice in my head says, Go home, already. Or, best of all (worst of all?), the nights I sit in my car around the corner from the house gathering the courage to face the bedtime routine all in the hope of missing it, and usually walking through the door just after theyve fallen asleep, kissing them on their sweet, blissful, unconscious foreheads. Foreheads that my poor husband bathed while I was stuck in traffic.

I can never confess these hard truths to Stay-at-Home Moms, though. No admitting my failings or my guilt, I must appear strong when my choices are challenged or judgedwhich I usually accomplish by throwing my husband, Todd, under the bus.

I have to work, I said to that mom at the football game, feigning frustration and envy. Id love to stay home with my kidsGod, if only! Youre so lucky youre not the primary breadwinner!