I Thought Becoming an Executive Was the Goal. Then I Became a Mom

Every morning after I returned to work, my daughter cried when she realized that I was leaving. She was still so little, but she recognized the rhythm: Momma got dressed, Momma gathered her things, Momma walked toward the door and then Momma disappeared.

I tried to hold myself together until I reached the car. Some mornings, I succeeded. Other mornings, I cried before I even made it out of the driveway.

I had always expected motherhood to change my life. I had not expected it to change the way I saw my career. Before having a daughter, ambition felt straightforward. I worked hard, delivered results, and took pride in being the person that others could depend on. I imagined myself continuing to climb the corporate ladder, accepting larger and larger responsibilities and eventually becoming an executive.

Motherhood did not make me less ambitious. But it changed what ambition, purpose and success looked like to me.

Before Motherhood, Career Success Meant Climbing Higher

I built my career in supply chain at a Fortune 50 company. My work was demanding, fast-paced and rarely confined to a perfect schedule. Teams depended on me. Problems did not always wait until normal business hours. I liked being known as hardworking and dependable. I wanted to lead. I wanted to grow. I always believed that the next promotion, the next assignment, the next job would prove my worth.

For years, I pictured my career as a ladder. Success meant climbing as high as I could. Then I became a mother, and the ladder no longer looked quite the same.

I did not suddenly stop caring about my work. I did not lose my desire to lead or contribute. But I began asking questions I had never seriously considered before.

What would climbing higher require from me? How much availability would the next level demand? How many ordinary moments at home would I exchange for the title I once thought I wanted?

Returning to Work After Having a Baby

I was fortunate to have four months of maternity leave, and I was deeply grateful for that time. Still, the gratitude did not make me feel ready to return. When I went back, work seemed eager to move forward as though nothing had changed. I was expected to return as the same capable, reliable person I had always been.

Physically and emotionally, I was not the same person.

I was determined to continue breastfeeding, even though many other mom friends had stopped before returning to work. I tried to pump several times during the day, but I struggled to produce enough milk. My daughter would not take a bottle, so she often waited for me. At night, she woke again and again to eat because she had not gotten enough during the day.

I would feed her through the night, get ready in the morning and leave for work exhausted. At work, I felt guilty for thinking about home. At home, I felt guilty for thinking about work. No matter where I was, part of me believed I should be somewhere else.

Working mom guilt did not arrive as one dramatic realization. It accumulated quietly, in pumping sessions, sleepless nights, rushed mornings and the look on my daughter’s face when I walked out the door.

I Still Wanted to Lead, But I Wanted to Be Present

Before becoming a mom, reaching an executive role represented the highest version of professional success I could imagine. After returning to work, I began thinking more carefully about the life surrounding that title.

Would I be able to take my daughter to a doctor’s appointment without feeling that I had failed someone at work? Would I be able to pick her up from school, take her to the park or attend a storytime at the library? Would I be present for the little moments that no calendar invite could capture?

I wanted to see her first steps and hear her first words. I wanted to watch her turn a cardboard box into the most interesting toy in the room. These moments seemed small before I became a mother, but now they felt like the substance of life itself.

I still wanted to be a leader. I still wanted meaningful work. But I no longer wanted leadership to require surrendering every part of myself outside of work.

That realization frightened me and still does.

In corporate America, ambition is often measured by how much responsibility you are willing to accept. Saying that you no longer want the highest title can feel risky. You wonder whether setting boundaries will be mistaken for a lack of dedication or whether choosing motherhood more openly will quietly place you on a list of people considered less committed.

I was not giving up on my career. I was trying to understand how to build one without missing the life I was working so hard to support.

I Wanted My Daughter to Understand Where Momma Went

As I struggled with returning to work, I kept wondering how I would eventually explain it to my daughter. She was too young to understand corporate meetings, supply chain or operational problems. She only knew that Momma left.

I wanted her to know that she was the most important part of my life, even when I could not be physically beside her. I wanted her to understand that my work mattered, but it did not matter more than she did.

I also wanted to share my ambitions with her. I wanted her to see what leadership could look like and know that women and mothers could build meaningful careers.

But how do you explain a corporate job to a baby?

Children have books about doctors, teachers, astronauts and firefighters. They learn colors, numbers, animals and shapes. There are even engineering books for babies. But millions of parents work in supply chain, logistics, finance, marketing, operations and other business functions that are rarely represented in children’s books.

I searched and searched. I looked for anything that could help me explain the practical business world to a baby or toddler.

I could not find what I needed.

The Book I Needed Did Not Exist

Supply chain is complicated in execution, but the basic idea is simple. Things begin somewhere. People move them. Ingredients or materials become products. Products are offered to customers, and customers use or enjoy them.

I began thinking about how to explain that journey through something familiar to a young child.

Lemonade became the answer.

Where did the lemon begin? How did it travel from the tree? Who moved it? How did it become lemonade? Why does lemonade cost more than the lemon itself?

Those questions became the foundation of Supply Chain for Babies, a story following Lucy the Lemon from a tree to a lemonade stand.