Why is it that I’m judged so differently than you?
I do the things daily that you get praised to do.
I clean, pick up the kids’ clothes, and no one says a word.
And yet, when you do it, it’s to a chorus of ‘awws’.
If I work, I am a bad mom. If I’m home, my aspirations are through.
If I go out, I should be home way earlier than you.
I wish one day they’d see me the same way they see you:
A complex individual with more layers than two.
Related poem: To my daughter
Poems about celebrating the strenghth and love of working mothers
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