Okay, I admit it. I cheat at the Working Closet. (You know, the Flickr pool fashion parade version of Work It, Mom’s original “Working Closet” blog?) The basic idea is for members to upload photos of their work outfits, but beyond that, you can make it whatever you want to make it: a record of your wardrobe, a chance to show off your personal style, or, if you’re like me, an incentive to put some effort into what I wear to the office.

And that’s where I’m cheating. I only go to the office proper one day each week, and my Working Closet contributions only ever reflect that one day–the day I actually put on accessories, style my hair, and consider whether my shoes go with my belt go with my purse go with this decade. But the days I’m working from home? It’s all sweatpants and sweatshirts and sweaty armpits because I can’t be bothered to shower unless I’m actually going to go somewhere. It’s not a pretty picture, and certainly not the type of thing I’d submit to a public Flickr pool.

I’ve heard it said many times that mothers have much to gain from getting dressed each morning, whether that means shower/hairstyle/accessories or just changing out of pajama bottoms into some “nice” (or at least clean) yoga pants. One theory has it that changing clothes can help us change our mindframes; getting dressed can signal that it’s time to get down to business, whether that means wrangling kids or back-to-back conference calls–kind of like Mr. Rogers trading his shiny shoes for his canvas ones and his suit coat for a cardigan, only in the opposite direction.

I have all sorts of excuses why it’s easier to not worry about my appearance when I’m at home (it saves time, it means less laundry, it means less chance my son will use my pantleg as a napkin or drive his matchbox car across my favorite leather boots), but I’m starting to think I need to step it up a little lest the scales of Chic v. Slob tip irrevocably in the latter, sadder direction.

What do you wear when you’re working from home? Do you make a special effort to get dressed for the day, or do you just roll out of bed, grope blindly for the nearest pair of pants, and shuffle your way into the home office in your bunny slippers? Do you have a  WAHM mom uniform, and is it stylish or sloppy or somewhere in between?

While I was pregnant (and even before), I read a lot about the experiences of pregnant working women and, in particular, how they handled the Big Question: whether to continue working, either inside or outside the home, after the baby was born, and if so, in what capacity. Following maternity leave–six weeks? sixteen weeks? a whole year? however long it takes to pull your pants up and log in to your email account?–what were the experiences of women who went back to work full-time immediately, eased back into 40-hour weeks gradually, switched to part-time permanently, switched careers entirely, started working from home exclusively, or became stay-at-home moms, either putting their jobs on hold temporarily or giving them up completely? An analyst by nature, I knew that if a “right” answer was out there, I’d be able to find it, by golly.
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I never thought I’d become one of those women whose priorities so obviously shifted once I became a mother. Of course I’d want my family to think they were my top priority (because they are), but I also thought I could make my bosses and coworkers feel like work was my top priority, even if common sense told them it couldn’t possibly be. I just thought that in the best of all possible worlds I could be everything to everyone—the best mom, the best employee—and no one would feel like they were getting the short end of the me stick (except maybe myself, but oh, isn’t martyrdom the curse of the modern mommy?).

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I spent last Saturday in my sweltering home office racing to complete an assignment I told my supervisor I’d have done on Monday, no excuses. Because I only work half-time now, it takes me twice as long to complete my projects, but because I never want to be the weak link in the company chain, I’m always agreeing to impossible deadlines and then kicking myself later as I try to steal an extra hour or two (or eight) from my so-called free time (so-called because that’s what I’m working for: free). 

Parents (and mothers especially) often find themselves the subject of extra criticism in the workplace–we don’t take our jobs seriously anymore, we receive special treatment, we suffer from mommybrain–and perhaps it’s those judgements at the heart of my situation: I’m working longer, harder, better now because I’m forever trying to prove that I’m not the weakest link, that motherhood hasn’t compromised my work ethic.  

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Last week was my first day back at work, and for all the nerve-steeling and tearduct-sandbagging I’d done in preparation for this next big step in my mothering life, I’m suprised and relieved to report that it wasn’t that bad at all. Awkward (but not impossible!) pumping process aside, it was actually downright great to be back among the grownups. Great to shower and do my hair and brush my teeth and drive into town with a hot mug of tea, knowing I’d be able to finish it while it was still warm. Glorious! Even though going back to work would mean stepping back into a position of myriad serious responsibilities, I was thrilled to know that at least none of those responsibilities would leak on me. When I got home from the office that first evening, it was with an invigorated spirit and a clean shirt; I couldn’t have asked for a better experience. It wasn’t until my second day of work that things started to get complicated…
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Remember that post in which I speculated about what my home office would look like after the baby was born? Well, now that he’s here, I’m living proof that no matter how much you try to plan out and prepare for your post-baby life, you never know what challenges will arise.
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As I wind down and wrap up my work in the office before maternity leave,* I’m relishing the daily excuse to spend a few minutes here and there to simplify and declutter my space. I’m purging old files, organizing the keepers, and reassessing how much crap I really need to have on my desk at any given time. (Pencils: yes. Rainbow slinky: no.) It’s not nesting, per se, but it has a similar vibe; I’m cleaning out virtual instead of literal cobwebs, applying some metaphorical elbow grease to long-neglected messes, and trying to impose as much order as I can before things get really chaotic.
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