Yep, I hadn’t been in the country more than an hour or two before I got the first email from a family member and then two more friends with a link to the cover, asking for my opinion. Fresh off a Mexican, margarita-fueled holiday, the last thing on my mind frankly was the raging controversy over “extended nursing” and “attachment parenting,” and honestly the first thought to spring to mind was just how ridiculously thin and pretty the model mom looked. No way she was for real (she is, actually … grrh.) But upon second glance to the boy of about my son’s age perched on the chair at her breast and a look at the provocative headline, “Are you mom enough?” I did start to form a few opinions about the whole controversy.

My first thought, honestly, was a media person’s begrudging acknowledgment that the cover image was a fairly brilliant move for Time, which like most print mags in the era of social/digital everything, is struggling along to stay relevant and attract readers these days. Bam! This cover absolutely grabbed eyeballs and stirred the pot … something all of us journalists strive for. But beyond that, there was a bit of anger in the after-effect such an exploitative image could have in terms of encouraging a supportive and nurturing attitude toward breastfeeding in general. Too many uptight prudes out there cannot even handle the sight of a woman nursing her baby as nature intended without freaking out, and here comes an image that blatantly seemed to sexualize – or at least trivialize – that concept. That right wing wackos like Rush Limbaugh and others might use this cover to push their crap pissed me off.

Another issue bugging me about the cover photo is that it effectively over-shadowed the headline and the topic of the story it meant to highlight – that of feelings of inadequacy felt by many moms unable to (or uninterested in) following the Dr. Sears method of parenting.

“Are you mom enough?” That is precisely the unspoken and judgmental taunt I felt when trying to keep up with the San Francisco Sears-worshipping moms I hung with in those first few months after Tav was born. I will never forget arriving at my first-ever mommy group meeting with Tav in a stroller and eyeing all the other moms bouncing on yoga balls with their infants in slings, Ergos and some other oddly complex carrying contraptions. “We all rock the slings here, Sweetie,” one of the “crunchy moms” told me. Turns out “wearing your baby” (and co-sleeping and nursing on demand all night, every night, into toddlerhood, and never, ever mentioning the dirty words, “sleep training”) was the only path to acceptance into this sorority. So I tried it out. Helped by the group, I eased my little dude into the sling a friend had loaned me and strode up the hill on an adventure in the City. Fifteen minutes later, I noticed his head face down … ahhh!! I freaked out, rotated Tav around (no brain damage!) and dealt with a crying baby for the next 90 minutes. He never let me carry him again in any contraption, ever. Not the Ergo, not the mobi and not even the damn Baby Bjorn. So much for carrying my baby.

Nursing was easier for me, and for that I am grateful, given the pressure everyone puts on you about this these days. God forbid, you have trouble producing milk like a friend of mine, or you have to supplement with formula a tiny bit once you go back to work and pumping fails to keep the motor running at full capacity. But here again, the feelings of inadequacy around my Sears fanatic friends surfaced. At three months, when I needed to go back to work, there was no way I was going to be able to wake up four times a night every time my little dude wanted a snack. Not only was nursing on demand and co-sleeping going to have to get the ax, but also breast feeding exclusively because formula simply helped fill Tav up better before hitting the hay at night. At this point, we even resorted to (gasp) sleep training – in a modified and much more gentle form than tradition cry-it-out-methods – to get on a track more conducive to working motherhood.

All of this – nursing for 8 months instead of 2 years, supplementing with formula at night, using a stroller, putting Tav in a crib instead of our bed – is pretty much forbidden in the world of Sears’ Baby Book. And most of it made me feel a little bit guilty around some of these other moms. But not all of it. Truth be told, my instincts told me that I was doing the absolute best that I could, and that this whole idea of attachment parenting was simply not feasible for a working mother – at least not this working mother.

So, in a nutshell, that TIME cover touched a nerve in me, too – the anger at being made to feel like you are not a good mom if you can’t or won’t sacrifice your entire life for your child in the Sears style of parenting. That’s my take on the cover … what’s yours?

Unfortunately, the euphoria of an impending vacation was short-lived. At the office, one of my colleagues innocently pointed out, “Isn’t that during our annual senior leadership workshop?” Gulp. Sure enough, I had overlooked the mandatory and extremely critical two-day training “retreat” required of every single VP and director in our company on the first two days of my now-booked Mexican holiday. I hadn’t thought to look because the retreat was taking place on a Friday and Saturday … ostensibly my “days off.”

Understand this: missing my company’s annual training is strictly forbidden other than for family emergencies, death or disability and just the idea of “skipping it” for a silly getaway is seen as only slightly worse than leaving a copy of your resume on the printer AND sending an F_ you email to your highest paying client.

I panicked. First I tried to change the dates of the trip, but besides the $100+ per ticket change fee (adding up to a nearly $500 ding), there were other complications. The hotel couldn’t accommodate the “friends and family” rate on any other dates in the near future. And my husband had a conflict with his work on all the other upcoming dates. And then we were coming upon summer rainy season and my son’s preschool graduation. In short, moving the trip was not really an option unless we wanted to postpone the whole thing by several months.

That’s when I really started to mull it over. After nine years at this company and five years as a part-time employee stagnating in the same title, was I really concerned with the perceptions about my work ethic and status in the company? What was I looking to (or needing to) prove, anyway? Why – since I had long ago given up aspirations of the fast track to promotions and/or partnership – was I fretting about looking bad in front of the partners and my peers? Who cares, I thought. Nobody is eyeing me for the next piece of monster business or clearing out the corner office for me these days.

And yet … when confronted with a face to face conversation with my 100 percent understanding and empathetic CEO, I caved. He threw out the suggestion that perhaps I could simply switch just my outbound flight and join my family two days later in order to attend just the first day of the two-day retreat. I agreed and rebooked my trip. Honestly, I think more than anything else I did it for him personally. As a longtime friend and supporter of me, who has bent over backward to create a flexible and accommodating work situation for me, he deserved my flexibility to attend at least part of the event I know he cares passionately about. And so I sacrificed two of my precious seven days in the sun to the training.

Damn if it doesn’t sting a bit, though, as we get closer and closer to the work function and my family’s departure date. On Thursday morning, I will be driving my five year old, his grandma and my husband to SFO bright and early to hop on their plane to paradise, while I drag my ass to a fluorescent lit banquet room in a crappy financial district hotel for two days of PR jibber-jabber. All I can say is there better be an icy cold margarita waiting for me on the veranda when I finally get down to the beach on Saturday night.

What do you think? Did I do the right thing or not in changing my trip?

But the ruckus is just too ripe to skip over this renewed catfight between the SAHM crowd and defensive WOMOs. So, here’s my take … if you care. And I will make it snappy so you can get back to Facebook or “Real Housewives.”

1. Much as it’s politically incorrect to say it, I have to say that I understand where Heidi’s admittedly bitchy remark came from. Particularly in those first early days back at work after maternity leave feeling pissed about having to pump at work and miss “mommy and me” music classes, and later, when I would rush to drop Tav off at preschool amongst a sea of Lululemon-wearing, Range Rover-driving moms headed to the gym, it was hard not to cave in to poisonous envy. Why couldn’t we afford for me to just hang out and do mom stuff? Why did my life suck so much?? I want to get a personal trainer and bake pies and volunteer in the classroom and … I do believe that most of us working moms have at least once wondered longingly how “easy” staying home would be.

2. Perhaps equally painful for this liberal-leaning Womo to admit is that I understand also where Ann Romney is coming from. When I think of how challenging raising just one little boy is and has been, I can’t even fathom the task of raising FIVE little dudes in one house … even if that house is 8x the size of mine. Staying home full-time to raise children – one kid or five – is hard work, no matter how you slice it. I can barely make it through the one day a week I have with Tav out of school without losing it, so I do empathize.

3. However … as much as all the SAHMs around the world rallied around Ann Romney’s validating statement, it’s got to be said that Ann Romney’s motherhood experience could not have been more dramatically different from most of these women’s lives. I don’t know for certain, but few mega-multimillionaire moms I know lack for household help. I would bet my life on the fact that – unlike the Wal-Mart moms across the country who are now calling her their hero – Ann Romney had enough sitters or nannies, cooks and housekeepers to ease the pain of raising those five boys at least a bit.

4. It all comes down to that dirty word, “choice.” What I still recoil from a bit was Ann Romney’s wording that “My career choice was to be a mother.” She may have indeed made that choice, but there are thousands of women across this country and the world who “choose to be a mother” but also have to work as well … i.e., they do not have the ability to make that choice at all. For the majority of women around the world, work is not a choice but a necessity. They not only have to juggle the task of raising multiple children, but also bringing home the bacon with a job outside the home. For so many of us, there is just simply no way we could have the option of staying at home – nannies and housekeepers or not – and still pay the rent or the mortgage.

Erin Gloria Ryan from Politico said it much better than I can when she wrote (as quoted in Jezebel): “staying at home to raise a family is certainly an admirable choice and running a household is hard work, but assuming that being a single-income family is an economic option available to everyone is both out-of-touch and naive. I’ll celebrate the choice of the wife of a millionaire to stay at home and raise the kids like I’ll celebrate the winner of a yacht race or a polo match.”

By the way, please read Ryan’s story – she is hilarious. Here is another one of her lines I wish I had said: “… staying at one of your nine homes with the children is a little bit different than having to wake up at an ungodly hour, get in your dreary compact car, drive it for an hour or so, park it, and go to a job working for some asshole who uses phrases like ‘circle back around’ and ‘touch base’ and ‘grow the business’ for 8-10 hours so you and your husband combined can make barely enough money to pay for your kids’ babysitter and the mortgage.” Go, girl!

And so … let the firestorm begin. What do you all think?

o “I could only get to the gym three times this week!” (Hello, most working moms are happy if they snuck in a 30 minute run between errands on one day of the weekend. The luxury of 90 minute yoga classes, spinning after work or pounding the pavement at dawn seems just that … a luxury to this busy crew.)

o “I just don’t know how you do it. I mean, for me, it’s just hard to imagine letting someone else raise my kids.” (Stab me in the heart right now, why don’t you? Wow, I just always dreamed of the day I would hand over my precious baby to a stranger to play with all day?)

o “It’s okay if you’re on more of a ‘lifestyle track,’ than a career track. We try to be very accommodating to working moms.” (So, essentially, if you go home at 5:30 p.m. but are back online every night from 8 to 11, but you skip the after work happy hours, you are in the ‘cruise control’ mode in your CEO’s eyes?)

o “We don’t allow Sophia/Aiden to watch any TV. It’s such a crutch. Instead, we do lots of crafts and write stories together.” (Show me a working mom and I’ll show you a kid who’s spent more than his or her fair share propped in front of the boob tube why mama’s on a conference call.)

o “So is it a preschool or a daycare? Technically, I’ve heard that if they’re in school for more than three hours and take a nap, it’s daycare … not a preschool.” (Crap, so I am a degenerate because my kid gets picked up at 3 instead of noon?)

So, girls … what about you? What are some of the seemingly innocuous things people have said that got under your Womo skin? Fess up!

For me, the decision to take part in the office movie outing was not actually that easy to make. It’s a Friday, my day off and a day I typically spend hanging out with Tavish. For the past couple days I debated the pros and cons to leaving him for several hours on our precious day to trek into the City for the movie. After all, I could have waited until the evening to see the movie near my house with my mom or husband. What mother would give up her time with child to go to a non-mandated work event? Cue to the mommy guilt part of the story … and yet, I don’t really feel any this time.

I am not sure if it’s because I now have two full days a week with Tav rather than just one or if the prospect of an awesome movie called to me more than the usual office outings (i.e., baseball games, horse races or pub crawls), but this time the guilt failed to set in.

And you know what? It was fun being the one “senior exec” who showed up – plus the movie was great. Most importantly, when I arrived to pick up Tav, he gave me a big hug and kiss without the slightest hint of resentment at being left to play with friends most of the afternoon.

Hmmm. What’s next, I have to wonder? Could I almost be ready to go on that much maligned “girlfriend getaway?” Nah, not yet.

If you answered yes to more than one of the above questions, you are most definitely a “Boy Mom” just like me.

Unlike the vast majority of expectant couples out there, Nate and I chose to not find out the sex of our baby while I was pregnant. We said it was because we cherished the surprise and that we didn’t care one way or the other what we were having. The truth on my side at least is that I didn’t want to find out because I was afraid if the doctor told me the munchkin in my belly was a boy, I would freak out. I had zero interest in having a male child in my life. Conversely, I worried that if my husband – a reluctant dad in the early days – found out we were having a girl he would not be excited or perhaps might be even a bit bummed.

Lo and behold, when Tav was born, we were of course just thrilled that he was healthy, and even I settled right into the idea of having a mini “Nate.”

“Boys are awesome. I can’t even imagine having a girl,” I told people. And it’s the truth even now; I cannot even imagine having a girl. So much so that even as I tend to identify most with the idea of being a working mom, I also feel a possibly stronger pull toward the notion of being a “boy mom.” Despite the fact that I am admittedly a girly-girl who cannot stand most of the stereotypical male staples and past-times in life (e.g., red meat, spectator sports, beer, video games, gambling), I still feel more thrilled than terrified at the prospect of raising a boy into this world. And it’s harder for me to even maintain a friendship with someone who only has the girl mom experience.

Boys are simple, for one thing. Even in pre-school, I am hearing about the drama and cat fights between girls that build to a crescendo by middle school. With boys, there are no tears (or many fewer) over hurt feelings about “who is your best friend” and so on.

Boys are also cheaper at this stage at least. Every time I see the well-clad daughters of my friends, I am reminded of my childhood, begging my mother for new outfits and new shoes and wishing I could dress as well as Lisa Callan down the street who never seemed to wear the same thing twice. Girl clothes are so much more adorable of course, and then there’s the temptation of dressing a little mini me. But with boys, it is a lot easier to simply grab whatever is on the racks at TJ Maxx or H&M and call it a day.

Just about the only thing that might cause me to reconsider the “boys are better/easier” assessment is the energy level factor. Whereas my friends with girls can set their kids up with art and crafts supplies or let them play in a room with Barbies, my son is very rarely ever able to sit down for longer than five minutes at a time. Instead, he’s a whirlwind, jetting from one project to another, running from place to place and generally exhausting. After five years, of course, I am accustomed to this rush of activity on a daily basis, though, and cannot imagine any other pace than go-Go-GO.

Any way you slice it though, us “boy moms” know each other well, and we stick together, maybe more than the working moms do. We understand the craziness and the chaos much better than the tears and the drama.

“Who’s ‘Livia Newton John?” asked Tav.

“Oh, a singer from when I was growing up. Mommy used to pretend she could sing. I’d perform in the garage with my best friend, Amy Bergman, in first grade,” I continued. “Until I got a little older and decided I wanted to either ride horses or write about horses for a living.”

“And now you’re just a plain old mom?” he asked, peering up between his shaggy bangs with big juicy grey-blue eyes.

“Yep, just a plain old mom,” I replied, thinking silently, “and, oh yeah, a PR executive too.”

Is it bad that it didn’t bother me one bit that my son classifies me as a “plain old mom” in comparison with the grandiose and fanciful career aspirations of my youth? Does it make me less of a professional that I could care less he doesn’t see me as a strong woman executive, and that my career sounds about as exciting to him as a piece of plain wheat toast? I guess if it does, I really don’t care. As someone who frankly came late to the motherhood party and struggled to fit the maternal image in the beginning, I am quite honestly thrilled to get the “plain old mom” label. Maybe I even think it validates a bit my decision to scale back at work to invest more day to day living with my son.

Oh, and about those singing aspirations? Let’s just say, no one in my family is crying over those broken dreams. Riding and writing, though … maybe someday when I really grow up.

o Gift bags filled with sugary, gummy candy, pencils and stickers
o Elaborately decorated cupcakes (or worse, “gluten free” cupcakes)
o Gifts stacked to the side and never opened until everyone had gone home
o Parents hovering in the background sipping beers and chardonnay while we played
o Any form of hired “entertainment,” e.g., magicians, the “reptile guy,” martial arts instructors, etc.
o Multiple celebrations to capture all the different groups of friends and extended family who wanted to help me celebrate

Like most things in life it seems, kids’ birthday parties have gotten a whole lot more complicated and pressure-filled – at least to this working mom struggling to throw together a decent celebration for her five year-old’s birthday party. First of all, let’s get it out there: There are actually going to be no fewer than three birthday parties for my little man. One for family only on his “actual day,” one at the local community center just for his “school friends,” and one adult-laced birthday bash at our house in which booze will be served and my husband felt the need to invite every neighbor and long lost friend of his own.

Sadly, despite the fact that we have planned essentially a week of continuous parties and spent a small fortune on everything from party decorations, balloons and games to food and alcoholic beverages for the parents, we are still feeling guilty that I haven’t had time to plan, let along hire, any kind of organized activity for the day. “What will those 24 kids do for two hours in the backyard? What if it rains?” are what’s running through my head every night before bed.

To alleviate that stress – and hedge our bets against possible inclement weather – I went out and bought not just an Xbox Kinnect in order to set up a “Let’s Dance” game in the living room, as well as a huge backyard trampoline.

And still I can’t shake that inferiority complex that keeps creeping in when I think about my good friend who just managed to pull off a dinosaur fossil excavation-themed party for her little dude last week, or the other friend who built a chocolate fountain and brought in a petting zoo for her son, or yet another friend who threw a rocket-themed bash complete with huge cardboard space ships and rocket launching battles in her tiny backyard. How will this get together measure up? Will Tavish have fun?

Of course he will. Like me, he’ll remember this week as a great time when he got to be king of the kids, eat way too much sugar and pile up the toy supplies. It’s mom who will need the drink. Good thing I stocked up on La Crema at Costco.

The truth is that wine and my trusty flat iron are pretty much critical to my existence as a working mom. By the time Friday afternoon rolls around, I’m literally jonesing for that first acidic sip of Sauvignon Blanc (and second and third … ) and wondering how early is too early to call it happy hour.

And my flat iron, well, I truly believe this contraption was invented for the lazy, uncoordinated hair idiots of the world. My trusty iron (along with a little dry shampoo) gets me through up to three days between blow outs (hey, they say greasy hair is healthier!) without looking horrendous.

It started me thinking about all the “can’t live without” items in my Womo tool box … here are a few more:

o DVR – how else would I ever keep up with all my “Real Housewives” and “House Hunters International” along with slogging through late night deadlines?
o Yoga pants for every night and day when not required to “look corporate” (or look cute for that matter)
o Shellac manicures in nude – Uh, they last for three weeks without a chip. ‘Nuff said.
o Idiot proof corkscrew for said wine
o Frozen everything from Trader Joe’s (chicken nuggets, cheese pizza, fish sticks, etc.)
o X-box – keeps my husband occupied in another room and not riding my butt for working every night or watching bad reality TV while checking email
o Facebook – pretty much the only way I keep up with about 90% of my friends, sadly.
o Rollerbag for schlepping a laptop, dozens of folders, files and magazines back and forth everyday
o Caffeine. Lots, everyday.
o My Kindle, loaded with all kinds of “fluffy” books (e.g., Rob Lowe autobiography, “The Hunger Games,” etc.) to read on the train and that nobody will ever know I am reading instead of serious novels.

What about you? Any must-haves in your bag you want to share?

Even right now, I have quite a few friends who are grappling with the challenge of how to get back on the horse – or deciding whether it’s even worth it at all, once the cost of childcare and other auxiliary household help is figured into the equation. These are amazing women, by the way, who were all fantastic in their careers – intelligent, wildly educated and diligent, organized workers. But not only do they worry about how they can catch up and keep up with the younger (more tech-savvy at this point) colleagues, but also how they can even find the right kind of position that would value their skills and experience now that they are no longer on the recruiter radars.

It’s funny because my agency actually represents a company that is actively targeting moms hoping to return to the workforce. To quote the press release: “Branchout is the largest professional networking service on Facebook. BranchOut users leverage their Facebook friend network to find jobs, recruit talent, source sales leads and foster relationships with professional contacts. BranchOut also operates the largest job board on Facebook with more than three million jobs and 20,000 internships.”

Branchout is running a survey of moms who are contemplating going back to work that’s offering participants a chance to win a $200 gift card. Go here if you are reading and interested!

Honestly, I think the survey, though, misses one of the biggest issues holding women back from going back to work full-time:  the ability to ask for flexible hours and some telecommuting to be able to get kids off to school and return home in time to pick them up … even if just from daycare at 5 p.m. For most of us, even a simple 9-5 office schedule, given any kind of commute, requires sacrificing either the morning breakfast routine or the afternoon pick-up (even from daycare at 5 or 6 p.m.) or both. Given the majority of people working in any given city will need at least 30 -60 minutes door to door to get into the office or home, not including traffic, the price of office facetime is mommy time, no question.

That’s not to mention the ability to volunteer just occasionally in your child’s classroom, attend his or her holiday parties or catch a sports practice once in a blue moon. Most of us would gladly work all night into the wee hours or wake up at 4 a.m. to get the work done if we were able to fit some of those simple things in. But it just ain’t happening for 99% of jobs out there – or at least not the ones where you are brand new and still trying to prove yourself against younger, hungrier colleagues.

One of my very best friends, for example turned down what she called “a great career move job” for tons of money simply because it would force her to give up the ability to pick her kids up from school at 3 p.m. everyday. Another one of my friends took a position two levels below where she had been previously (at one of the country’s hottest ad agencies by the way) for a local firm just because they allowed her the ability to telecommute twice a week.

I guess that’s why, as much as I bitch and moan about my own job, I am grateful that I’ve put in the time to earn at least some of that flexibility. And the reason why – for as long as we are able to afford it – I will sacrifice new cars and designer duds for used clunkers and Target jeans for a while to have the privileges I do for now.