Something With Sprinkles On It

First of all, this picture is not mine. I found it online with the caption "The worst birthday cake ever", but it seemed appropriate for this post, and made me laugh. I have been off of work for nearly two weeks, barring the 3 hours I was required to go in to the hospital to recertify my basic life support. I have worked the past two nights. Nothing extreme--just my run-of-the-mill twelve hour shifts. But for some reason my poor feet are screaming. I am exhausted and stressed. I had a patient that was circling the drain all night last night. I came home this morning and went straight to bed as-is. Translation: I took off my coat at the door, kicked off my cute pink Crocs, and landed in the bed. I was still wearing my scrubs, my badge, and even still had my stethoscope around my neck, until I turned over in the bed and felt it tugging on me. I slept for the normal few hours, then woke up and transferred to the sofa. The house is a wreck and the Kid is running rampant, telling me he is hungry. The lunch provided by his father, while more than adequate, was not what he had in mind. So here I am, wanting nothing more than an hour of peace. I want this hour so badly that I would willingly exchange my arsenal of expensive designer handbags for said hour. Instead, the kid is dancing around me in circles, chanting that he is hungry and he wants something "with sprinkles on it". I stagger to the kitchen and think for a moment, then brandish a Little Debbie cake. It is sweet and chocolate, and has the requisite sprinkles. This does not apease the Kid. He goes on to inform me that he wants the sprinkles that are in the cabinet. He is referring to the supplies I bought to make a chocolate cake while at the grocery store a few days ago. He wants me to bake a #$%^&* cake. He wants me to do this NOW. The man has forbidden the baking of something with sprinkles on it, telling the Kid that Mommy is tired, that she has spent at least the past 48 hours taking care of cranky sick people, that she needs to relax and therefore is not going to bake a cake for him. I tried to reason with the Kid, telling him that I will bake the cake while he is at school tomorrow afternoon, after I have recovered from another twelve hours. This is not acceptable to the Kid. He wants the cake now, and I am in Hell because I will not give in. Why am I writing this? This is the standard struggle of the working mother. My poor child is deprived of a cake becasue I have a career. Nevermind that, without said career, there would be no money to purchase the ingredients for the now-infamous cake. This makes me wonder how other mothers do it. I think it is because for three days a week, I am out of comission for my family. During those three days, it does not matter if laundry is piled to the ceiling. I cannot do anything about it. The trade-off is that they have me for the other 4.5 days of the week. Undivided attention. Most mothers work a set shift 5 days a week, get to spend a few hours with their children daily, then have the weekend to do whatever they want. Instead, my family gets most of me. So why in the world could the Kid not want something with sprinkles between Monday and Friday???