I work on Saturdays.

Just when most of the working moms shout “hurrah weekend!”, in this globally unsynchronized place where I am an expat mom, work week starts on a Saturday. Schools and other offices including my husband’s start on Sunday. What does that mean to me and my little family?

It means I have to battle the miscellaneous feelings, turning my back as I exit through the door trying to shut my ears amidst the wailing of my daughter to let me stay.

“Don’t work mom!! Stay with me, stay with me”.

Her voice echoes through the corridor week after week. I clench my keys, get on the elevator, frantic to close the thick door.

I try to wake up quietly, sneak out of bed, get dressed but somehow, my daughter knows even in her sleep, opens her eyes and cries like I am going to abandon her permanently. To say it tears my heart to see her face all wet in tears would be an understatement. I eat my breakfast with her face buried in my chest, making my shirt wet with her tears.

When I am at work I think of my child left at home, when I am with her at home (for too long especially when she is sick), I think of work and the face of my boss when he learns I am not in my desk. My heart is forever rent.

This writing exercise is fueled by the writing prompt “miscellaneous” at Sunday Scribblings.