The Working Mother

I know what you're thinking. You don't work, you stay home with your baby.
Exactly.
There's so much work here at home, I've become a champion multi-tasker since becoming a mom. For example, I'm typing this post for you, loyal Reader, while my daughter is on my lap nursing. When the computer started flashing that I'd better plug it in before the battery died and it forgot everything I'd input, I held the still-attached baby to my breast, leaned over the side of the couch and plugged in the power cord. When she falls asleep in a few minutes (the magic of breastfeeding), I can go do the dishes. Then I can paint a couple more drawers on the jewelry box I'm finishing for my sister-in-law. By then Chloé will probably be awake so I can lay on the floor with her and try to taunt her into scooting forward instead of pushing herself back. Then Gaetan will come home and I can downshift into my usual relaxed self, while he gives her a bath, feeds her and puts her to bed.
But still there's work to be done. I manage fairly well with laundry, the dishes, vacuuming, and Chloé (although she can't really be termed "work" she is extremely time-consuming). But the table's a mess with stuff I don't know what to do with (mail, magazines, receipts, plants) and crumbs from breakfast this morning. There are toys everywhere (but what's the point of cleaning them up when they're back on the floor again in about 10 minutes??). The pile of my half-clean clothes on a chair in the bedroom reminds me of the leaning tower of Pisa. My vanity is a dump for all things cosmetic. The dust on the commode is almost as high as the pile of clothes on the chair. That shelf in the hallway still hasn't been cleared of the painting utensils (but I can't put them away while I'm in the middle of painting projects). I have ten sewing projects in my head and five pieces of fabric waiting to be sewn. The "Lou the Wolf" story needs to be translated, the Cabo Verde article needs to be written. And the list goes on and on...
This morning I saw Gaetan was wearing a shirt usually reserved for weekends, which reminded me of the (yet another) pile of shirts waiting to be ironed. So what comes first, the ironing or the blog?
The blog.
But if I start now, I should be able to iron two shirts before she wakes up. The dishes will wait.