It’s 6:45 a.m. Bleary-eyed, I log onto the Zoom call, searching for my glasses with my left hand and pouring milk into my daughter’s cereal with my right. I apologize for being a minute late for a presentation to a group of colleagues in China.
A translator in China hops on to join me. I’ve never met her before, but we’ll spend the next hour together, and she will translate while I present. It’s 7:45 p.m. her time, well past dinner time.
Right before we start, she mutes her microphone and sends me a private chat: “My husband’s still at work, and I’m with my three-year-old daughter. I put on a show for her before bed, and I’ll stay muted between translations. Don’t worry; there will be no interruption.”
Phew, I think to myself. But not because I was worried about an interruption. Solidarity. She’s juggling a toddler AND working in that insane post-dinner/pre-bedtime phase, and I’m home alone managing breakfast and school prep for two kids on the same day, with multiple time zones between us.
Both working moms — one in China, one in the U.S. — doing our best to keep our kids happy, fed, and cared for while simultaneously keeping our careers moving forward, minimizing the appearance of a struggle.
According to the latest statistics, 71% of moms in the U.S. are employed currently, finally exceeding pre-pandemic levels.
“No worries,” I DM her, “I’m getting my two kids ready for school right now. We got this.” I wasn’t sure if “we got this” translated well to Mandarin, but we locked eyes on the Zoom camera, smiled, and kicked off the presentation.
All went well. There were no interruptions we couldn’t handle, and no one was the wiser. After the call wrapped, I ran off to get my kids to the bus stop, and I imagined her rushing to get her little one into bed.
I didn’t realize until later that day, when I came up for air, how much that small interaction with another working mom put me at ease. I was tired, she was exhausted, and we were at opposite ends of our day on opposite sides of the globe.
