Meet Tiffany. Balancing two kids, two dogs, a rock-star job, a new home, a kick-ace blog and PTSD. And doing it pretty damn well if you ask the chick living across the US who actually only knows based on what Tiffany posts on her blog. Oh yea, she also has a husband she’s trying not to forget about!

That rock-star job? Yea, she does PR for a zoo. A ZOO! She has got to be the coolest mom in her kid’s school!

Her blog? Has made me cry. I am not kidding. Tears straming down my face crying. And I? Hate to cry.

She is proof that while things don’t always go like you had planned, it all works out in the end…
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I always imagined I would live in Manhattan after graduating college.

I thought I would work at some major PR agency and attend swanky events and have high-profile clientele. I dreamed of marrying a midwestern boy who had found himself in Manhattan around the same time – going to grad school and preparing for “big things” as well.

I pictured us traveling to Europe together, back-packing, hiking, taking the train. I envisioned myself getting engaged and then married in typical upper East Side fashion and settling into our spacious apartment.

I thought we’d put off having kids until our early 30’s & then we’d talk about moving “home”.

We would move home before the kids came. Move back to the midwest and find a gorgeous lot and build our spacious home. We would prepare the nursery for a wonderful arrival. I would stay home – he would do something amazing & we would live in perfect harmony with our extended families nearby.
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And then life happened.

And I got knocked up.
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Ironically, my first trip away from my son was a MUCH anticipated trip to Manhattan for a PRSA conference. It was bitter sweet, to say the least.

I had always pictured my first trip the Big Apple like that of a fairy-tale, where the plane landed and I felt my heart pitter-patter and knew I had found my temporary home.

Except this time, I was landing in my never home & the only person I considered home was actually back in the Midwest. (I was certain he was still screaming his head off wondering where I was. I should point out – his grandmother said he cried less in those four days than he had in any four day period since he was born. Kids…)

I couldn’t help but feel a little angery when the plane landed. Jealousy, disappointment and despair shot through my veins. Why was I missing this little boy and also missing the life I always dreamed of? How do these two dreams live together within me?

I pictured picking up everything and moving to Manhattan after gradation, with my son. I thought we could still live our fancy lifestyle in the Big Apple. I saw moms with strollers and trendy wardrobes strolling Central Park and I thought, “Yea, that could be me.”

And I knew it couldn’t.

I knew in my heart that I was home in the Midwest. I had support and family and love there. I had a place to raise my son.

I knew I had to put aside those childish dreams.

I had made my bed…so they say.

The entire trip was full of highs and lows. Full of anxiety and sadness. Missing my son, missing the life I never had. I figured out the subway system quickly – I blew everyone away. I can’t tell you how many people asked me if I was from Manhattan. If I lived here before. If I had family here.

I would answer no & every time I felt a piece of me chip away.

I was 20. It was painful.

The trip flew by, as they always do. I absorbed as many places and faces and smells and sights as I could. I took the subway and rode in cabs. I visited tourist spots and called on friends who lived in Manhattan to take me around. I went to non-tourist spots – places where only “locals” went. I felt myself blend in with the crowd and I found myself happier than I had been in quite some time. I found myself pretending I was 20 & I had 20 year old responsibilities.

And then I’d see a photo or hear a mom talk about her baby – and my heart would ache to be home.

I was lost.

As the conference came to an end and I packed my bags to return home, I knew it wouldn’t be my last visit to the Big Apple. I knew Manhattan had not seen the last of me. And, I knew I didn’t belong there.

I had made my bed…and I was fine lying in it.

It was comfy and soft and full of smiles and happiness.

I laughed to myself as I watched the New York skyline disappear from my tiny window in the sky….

I thought, “perhaps one of my kids will live here someday…and I will visit and tell them of my dreams & how they made them come true.”

Someday, I thought…
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Tiffany is also a regular on twitter, so if you are a twit or tweep or twitterer or whatever, look her up. Some of my favorite Mom-Nom posts include: 50 things about Tiffany, Where she tells Satan to GO TO HELL! and where she admits she sucks at being domestic.

Our first guest post comes to you from Krista over at Not Mommy of the Year. As she puts it…”You know that woman who always has her shit together? The one that effortlessly pulls together a stylish look in 20 minutes, has time to hit the gym, laughs on her cell phone as she waltzes into the office? The mom who dresses her kid in the cutest outfits, takes the best pictures and provides a hot meal and a clean house for her husband. I AM NOT HER.”

And this? Is why I love her. She has a whole blog dedicated to the reasons why she will not be voted mom of the year. Her blog was actually the very first blog I started reading. Ever. Other reasons I lover her: She works in marketing/PR, like me. She is addicted dedicated to her job, like me. She likes wine, like me. She’s funny, like I think I am. Sometimes it takes days for her to put away laundy, also, like me. 

Ok, enough about the reasons I love Krista probably more than I should and onto the good stuff…
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If you know anything about me, you know that I tend to take my job pretty seriously. I think I’m all important and stuff with my crackberry attached to my hand and responding to emails at 9:00 at night. Go ahead, roll your eyes. I KNOW. And I’m getting better, I swear. In fact, when I went on vacation over the 4th of July, I turned work email off on my phone and to date, I haven’t turned it back on. ssshhhh, don’t tell. It’s been… freeing… to say the least.

But, anyway, I digress. When my maternity leave was wrapping up, I was still very much worried about how I could convince my boss and coworkers that nothing had changed. That just because I had a tiny little human at home relying on me for EVERYTHING, I would still be just as devoted and dedicated to my job as I was pre-baby.

So, when the call came two days before my maternity leave ended, asking if I could attend a conference the following weekend, I said yes. And then I promptly hung up the phone and cried. The conference was three hours away and I needed to be there for a hospitality event that would last until midnight. Which meant I would need to stay over.

I quickly devised a plan to take my husband and seven-week-old baby with me. I would get them settled in the hotel room, go meet and greet in our company suite, dashing out to change dirty diapers and give kisses. This would work. I was even a little excited about our first family trip.

But then, my husband got nervous about traveling with the baby and his commonsense voice was screaming to him that maybe it didn’t make sense to travel that far with a baby if I really wouldn’t get to see them much anyway. That maybe dragging her halfway across the state for my benefit was a little bit selfish. (My words. Not his).

So, I agree to go alone. But I was PISSED. I kissed my baby goodbye with tears streaming down my face, biting my lip to hold back sobs, thinking at any minute he would see the pain I was going through in leaving her and he’d say “give me ten minutes to pack a bag.”

But he didn’t. And I cried the entire first hour in the car. And part of the second. And held back tears all night as I looked at the picture of her on my phone. As I crawled into the big fluffy hotel bed, I wasn’t thinking about what a rock star employee I was. I was thinking about how much I missed my baby. How I wasn’t there to give her a kiss goodnight and wondering if she noticed.

I questioned whether I should have turned down the assignment. (I should have.) I wondered how often I would feel conflicted like this. And I promised that I would stop taking myself so seriously. I realized that while I do care about my job, respect my coworkers and want to be the same ambitious person I was pre-baby; I can do that without sacrificing my family.

I woke up at the crack of dawn, rushed home and took the rest of the day off to stare at my daughter and make sure she hadn’t forgotten me overnight.

Since then, in the last eight months, I’ve spent one other night away from my daughter for work and this weekend she is having her first sleepover at my mom’s house. I’m simultaneously looking forward to the sleeping in and recognizing that I will likely wake up wondering how she slept and if she’s OK and call my mother at 6:23 saying “Is she still breathing? You better go check.” I will pick her up two hours before I said I would and when my husband says, “see I didn’t want her to go, you missed her too.” I will have to admit that he was right.

Unless, of course, I sleep in until 8:00am, in which case I will stick my tongue out at him and smile.
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If you want to learn more about Krista and her cutie pie kid, you can check out her blog. And if you’re the tweetin’ type, you can also follow her on twitter. Some of my favorite posts from Krista: Postcards from Vacation, Where she admits work is kicking her ace and where she finally finds something that proves her child is hers.