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Mothering knows no scheduleand often it feels more like 5-to-9 and everything in between.

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Consider it a day in the life for the forgotten hours.

Read earlier installments of 5-to-9here.

Everyone in my house is still asleep.

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Im up, under the covers, checking unanswered emails and calendar invitestrying not to wake my husband.

I dont usually sleep, and I sleep even less now since becoming a mom.

Maybe Im listening out for her or something?

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Getting used to it now.

Im convinced no one sleeps in this town anyway.

We share photos of our kids or funny memes.

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We all had a baby within a month of each other so theyre always up, too.

I have a few minutes before my daughter wakes up crying for me.

My suitcase is still unpacked at the front door.

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Ive been away shooting for the past week out of state.

I hop out of bed, still in my pjs.

We dont take those off.

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We wear them as long as we can.

Ill do a quick Instagram scroll or Ill turn on the news.

My daughter starts to cry.

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My mom passed away, and this song feels like a piece of her.

We havent seen each other in a few days, so its hugs and kisses all morning.

I head downstairs with my daughter on my hip and Fenway, our Airedale Terrier trailing behind us.

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We head outside to our backyard to sit and enjoy the morning before life gets crazymommy-and-me time.

Were hosting friends and family this weekend at our house to celebrate my daughter and husband Roberts birthday.

So much to do.

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We head inside, and my husband joins us downstairs.

I hand the baby to Robert, and I head to a workout.

I dont feel like working out.

Its the last thing I want to do.

I usually walk 3-4 miles to start the day.

Ive recently started running again.

I throw on my Lululemon leggings and Hoka sneakers.

I love 90s hip hop when I walk/run for some reason.

Dont ask me why.

I think it calms/motivates me.

My cousin sent me his trainers cell phone number.

I have my assistant set up a session.

Ive trained at home in the past but still lacked motivation.

We will see how it goes.

I head home to make breakfast for my baby girl.

I make pancakes, fresh fruit, and an egg for my daughter.

I sit her down in her highchair, and we eat together as a family.

We love the brandEzpzfor their cups, mats, spoons, and all infant mealtime needs.

I have a 10 a.m. on-camera Zoom meeting.

My #1 rule is comfort.

I love being comfortable, especially now as a mom.

Theres no time for fancy.

I throw on a sleek wig and stick with natural, minimal makeup.

Although, I love a good beat when I have time.

Our nanny arrives for daycare; I kiss my daughter as she cries.

She has a cold.

I have to pick up her medicine right after this meeting.

I hop on my first Zoom meeting of the day from my home office.

With traffic in LA, I need to leave at 11 on the dot to make it.

After, I race home to relieve my nanny.

Its time for dinner.

I take a stab at make all of my daughters food from scratch.

I am trying to cook.

Shes sitting on the kitchen floor beside me, playing in the cabinet with Tupperware.

Shes usually fine playing independently for 15-20 minutes, but shes tired and hungry tonight.

I pass her to my husband or hold her on my hip while I toss the salad.

We eat dinnerfinally, a moment to sit down.

After dinner, its time for my daughters nighttime bath routine.

We play our favorite songs or read stories.

Its a chance for us to see each other after a long day before bedtime.

I put my daughter to bed, singing the song I wrote for her.

Adaiba, her name means daughter of the people.

Because shes the Daughter of the Kingdom.Princess, said another way.

We squeeze each other close.

I leave again on Sunday.

Every part of my being will miss her.

Its not easy, but I also know its part of being a working mom.

I hope one day shell see some value in working and loving what you do.

After singing her song around 100 times, her body finally relaxes.

Im tired, but need to answer a few emails before bed.

I head to bed for time with my husband.

This is my life, my family, the dream life Ive always wanted.