I tried setting boundaries. I really did.
“Daphna, can you please text me first?” I asked one evening when she came to pick them up.
“Sure, sure,” she said, scrolling through her phone. “Hey, did I tell you about this new guy I’m seeing?”
“I’m serious,” I interrupted. “I need advance notice.”
She looked up, surprised. “Amy, it’s not like you have anywhere to be. You work from home.”
There it was. The assumption that working from home meant I was just sitting around in my pajamas watching Netflix all day, waiting for something to do.
“I have meetings and deadlines… and a job.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “I know, I know. But it’s flexible, right? That’s the whole point of working from home.”
The following week, I sent her a text on Tuesday morning: “Can’t watch the boys today. I have a big client presentation at nine.”
At 5:35 a.m. the next morning, my doorbell rang.
