My 5–9 Before AND After My 9–5

There’s a trend going around about what people do during their “5–9 after their 9–5.”

And every time I see one, I think:

That’s cute.

Because I have a 5–9 before AND after my 9–5.

Technically, mine starts at 5:45 a.m., because that is apparently my daughter’s preferred business hour.

She wakes up ready to absolutely seize the day while I wake up wondering why children don’t understand weekends, daylight saving time or the basic human decency of sleeping until 7.

From 5:45 until about 8, my husband and I operate on a very sophisticated system:

Trade the baby.

One of us gets ready. Switch.

Someone makes coffee. Switch.

Someone gets dressed. Switch.

Someone feeds her. Switch.

Someone inevitably says, “Can you take her for like five minutes?”

Switch.

By the time Nanny Sadie gets here around 8, I already feel like I’ve lived nine lives.

And now it’s time for my actual job.

I drive 30–45 minutes to the office, usually using the commute to mentally transition from Mom to Marketing.

Then comes the 9–5.

Except, of course, it isn’t always exactly 9–5.

I lead a marketing and communications team, so my days are some combination of meetings, strategy, campaigns, creative reviews, emails, problem-solving, decision-making and the occasional “How did this become my problem?” moment.

Somewhere between 4 and 5, I get back in the car and drive another 40–45 minutes home.

And now…

Welcome to the second 5–9.

Our nanny leaves around 4, so my husband takes over until I get home. Then the Great Pritchard Handoff begins again.

He works out.

I take the baby.

He comes back.

I go to CrossFit.

This system sounds very efficient now.

Please understand that it was a WORK. IN. PROGRESS.

People aren’t joking when they say the first year after having a baby will test your marriage.

Because before a baby, you don’t really think about how much freedom exists in the simple sentence:

“I think I’m going to go work out.”

After a baby?

Absolutely. Wonderful. Love that for you.

And who has the baby?

Suddenly, everything requires coordination.

Who works out first?

Who needs to stay late?

Who has an event?

Who has a board meeting?

Who needs to get something done?

Who is making dinner?

Who is doing bedtime?

Who desperately needs 30 minutes where nobody touches them?

It took us a while to figure out our rhythm.

And we’re still figuring it out.

But my husband is truly wonderful.

I could not do any of this without him.

Not the career. Not the volunteering. Not serving on a board. Not CrossFit. Not the random projects I decide to start. Not any of it.

We constantly hand life back and forth to each other.

You take this.

I’ve got her.

Okay, now I’ve got her.

Go do your thing.

And somehow, most days, it works.

So I go to CrossFit, where I spend an hour voluntarily nearly dying, and then come home around 6:30 or 6:45.

And there is no leisurely post-workout recovery happening here.

I’m immediately back on Mom Duty.

If my daughter hasn’t eaten dinner yet, I feed her. Whether she already ate usually depends on what ungodly hour she decided to start her day that morning.

Then comes my favorite part.

Bath time.

For all the chaos of the day, bath time is one of the moments where everything gets quiet in my brain.

No marketing.

No emails.

No board responsibilities.

No volunteer commitments.

No campaign deadlines.

Just me and her, splashing around and winding down from the day.

Then Daddy does nighttime.

And by around 7, our tiny CEO is hopefully asleep.

Which means my 5–9 after my 9–5 is over.

JUST KIDDING.

Now we enter the 7–11.

Sometimes the 7–2 a.m.

This is when I pull my laptop back out.

Sometimes I’m catching up on work.

Sometimes I’m doing something for the board I serve on.

Sometimes it’s volunteer stuff.

Sometimes I’m writing.

Sometimes I’m working on my website.

Sometimes I have decided at 10:14 p.m. that NOW would be an excellent time to begin a completely unnecessary new project.

All while sitting on the couch with my husband rewatching ER, watching Survivor, The Amazing Race, Big Brother or screaming at the Bills.

This portion of the evening can go one of two ways.

Option A: I enter an alarming level of productivity and suddenly realize it’s 1:47 a.m.

Option B: I pass the f out.

There is very little middle ground.

And then, eventually, I go to bed.

Only to hear a tiny voice a few hours later announcing that it’s 5:45 a.m.

And we begin again.

I’ve realized that this season of life isn’t really about “balance.”

Because nothing about it feels balanced.

It’s more like a constant handoff.

Between my husband and me.

Between Mom and Marketing Director.

Between meetings and bath time.

Between board responsibilities and bedtime.

Between the things I have to do and the things I still really want to do.

Some days my career gets more of me.

Some days motherhood does.

Some nights I get everything done.

Some nights I choose the couch, my husband and ER.

Some nights I simply cannot do one more damn thing.

And that’s okay too.

Because my 5–9 isn’t a perfectly curated evening routine.

And apparently, I was greedy, because I have one before my 9–5 too.

It’s loud.

It’s scheduled within an inch of its life.

It’s exhausting.

It requires a husband who is willing to play approximately 37 rounds of “your turn, my turn” every day.

But it’s also full of things I genuinely love.

My daughter.

My husband.

My career.

My team.

My volunteering.

My board work.

Writing.

CrossFit.

And yes, an unreasonable amount of reality television.

This season is chaotic.

But maybe that’s the point.

There isn’t really a clean line between the 5–9, the 9–5 and the other 5–9.

It’s all just life happening in between.

And right now, I wouldn’t trade it.