I just got back from a wild work weekend in L.A., where I attended the Midsummer Night's Dream party at the Playboy Mansion. I've attended a couple of these parties before, each insanely fun in their own right. But this was my first one as a mom -- a mom who's idea of fun lately is spending a quiet night in with my two boys, wearing yoga pants and my husband's oversized cotton T-shirts. Fun in my life does not entail going to Hef's house for a lingerie party, usually, but work is work and this is my job. There was a time in my former life that I would've killed for an opportunity like this. But now, with a husband and baby I'm leaving behind, en route to L.A. to stay at the Beverly Hilton and hobnob with celebrities and beautiful women all night, I was feeling more than a bit torn.
I probably shouldn't admit this, but there was a part of me that wished I could've been home with Jay and Preston this weekend -- I literally live for the weekends, what with a demanding work schedule that saps every bit of my energy dry during the week; weekends are my salvation. During the week, I partake in what I like to call the Evening Hustle, in which I charge home through stress-inducing traffic around 6:30 p.m., quickly change into my mommy get-up, and proceed to play with, feed, and bathe Preston -- switching gears faster than Clark Kent transforms into Superman.
I'm not gonna lie: There are many days lately I feel a little like Super Woman myself. Work's been that stressful. I got home at 9 p.m. on Thursday the night before I was leaving for the weekend. I barely saw Preston, and it sucked.
So, I know what you must be thinking: "Oh, poor, Sarah, she has to go to the Playboy Mansion for her job." Yeah, I'd probably say that to me too. But you can't possibly understand how stressful this weekend is unless you work for Playboy, and understand the responsibility of attending a party like this as staff, which is a lot different than attending as an invited guest. There is so much opportunity for screw-up, and if one thing goes even slightly wrong, it's my butt on the line as the supervising producer of our exclusive online coverage.
But, the party was great, and everything went off without a hitch -- on Wednesday, you can see the videos and photos from the party on playboy.com. But since the party didn't end till 3 a.m., and it took us a while to grab a shuttle out of there, we didn't get back to the hotel till at least 4 a.m. And I had to get up at 7 a.m. to catch my flight home on Sunday. To say I'm exhausted would be a resounding understatement. How, and more importantly why, did I spend all those years going out as often as I did till the wee hours when I was a nightlife columnist for Chicago magazine, and still manage to function the next day? How did I not fall on my face at some point?
That was a different life; and I was clearly a different person.
This past week I've barely even felt like a mom, as I spent most of my waking hours at work -- things have been particularly hectic there lately. It's not guilt I'm feeling right now, it's just pure exhaustion. This is the reality of my life. Getting to go on this trip is a very big honor -- the trust I've built over the nine years of working at Playboy means I get these opportunities and I'm grateful for them -- but at what cost?
It should be noted that the only reason I can even kind of handle this grueling work schedule is because I have the most understanding and supportive hubby who's an even better dad. He's my Trophy Husband, and I'm so lucky that he lets me be the nut job that I am every day, especially when it comes to work. And he let me go a little crazy shopping for Preston in L.A. on Saturday, which is a favorite pastime of mine, and didn't give me a guilt trip for it. He appreciates how hard I work, and he makes sure everything at home is taken care of so I don't need to worry about another thing in my life other than taking care of Preston and him. For that I am also very grateful.
It is literally because of Jay that I am able to get out of the door every day, put 150 percent of my energy into my job, and come home happy every night because I can spend those precious hours with Preston and not worry about taking the Diaper Genie garbage out (he always does it without me ever asking), or whether the bills have been paid (he always does those too). But like I said, he's an even better dad -- you know how some guys are just born to breed? He's one of them. He's a natural caregiver, always has been -- he was changing his younger cousins' diapers when he was only a kid himself. He's truly amazing with Preston. Is there anything hotter than a dad who's good with kids? I don't think so. So, maybe he also likes the fact that his wife works for Playboy, and he's keeping me happy while I'm keeping him happy. Maybe I'm also the Trophy Wife. Whatever it is, it's working.
Do you have a Trophy Husband, or are you more of the Trophy Wife? Who do you think has it better, you or your husband?