Raakhee & Satya Tell Serena & Olympia That It's Ok The GOAT Momma Missed The First Wobbly Walk


In response to Serena Williams sharing news that she cried upon learning that her daughter had taken her first wobbly steps while Serena was practicing at Wimbledon, there has been a deluge of support for her and the impossible conflicts that working women with kids share.

ELLE US published a smile-worthy essay by Raakhee Mirchandani -- and I know up front that not all people will find her commentary amusing. Still, this is one family unit and this is their life. And if it works for them, who should judge?

I think Serena will probably have a life more like this one. And just imagine the wonderful story -- now that Serena is in the quarterfinals -- if she wins. Even if she loses now, Serena has come miles in the last month.

She can weave a story that will bind the two humans for life, saying "Oh Olympia, I had been to hell and back trying to find my old GOAT self. I kept worrying about you and wanting to be with you every moment. But then I saw how glued you are to tennis on TV, (she IS) watching every serve, every volley, watching my practice videos and I just had to do this for us. . . . I was distraught when I missed your first steps . . . but then I felt such energy and power coming from my little girl, cheering me on, saying "go momma . . . you can win again . . . you are the GOAT . . . and I am the GOAT's little girl. We are a team. . . . so dry your tears and go out there and win."

I daresay that we might not be in such a political pickle if we had more moms like both these women -- radicals by American standards. European kids are raised much more within this perspective than that of the US supermoms. There is no one right way. But I believe Serena and Olympia will be fine. After all, it's not like Olympia isn't already carrying a star load of possibility with that name. Her momma will be cheering her on, just like Satya's mom is focused on her daughter's future.


{Quote}: "When I dropped her off to daycare as a baby—even when I thought she was too young to really understand—I would say a version of the same thing I tell her now that she’s a wise four-year-old: “Mama is going to work. I love you. I love my job. And we’ll talk about our days when I get home.”

Sure, there are days the sting is worse than others. Recently Satya drew a family picture at school, but there were only two people in it, Satya and my husband Agan. “The mama is at work,” she assured her teacher. (She’s not wrong. I work a lot. And most days, I love it.) In her spare time, Satya plays office. She has a laptop, cellphone and money machine set-up that includes a Hello Kitty mirror, a broken Motorola Razr, a jeweled calculator and a vintage children’s cash register. She holds the phone to her ear, ferociously taps at the calculator and makes loud sighing noises. A few weeks ago, she seemed pretty stressed out so I asked her what was going on. “Don’t talk to me because I’m very busy,” she said, clearly annoyed. I pressed on, asking what she was so busy with.“Work! Just like you!”

When she talks about being an adult, it almost always involves a job of some sort. “When I’m big, I can be an engineer like my dad, a lawyer like Bindi Maasi, an astronaut, a teacher or a Big Bad Wolf. But I’m a writer, Mama. And I’ll work at Dow Jones with you and we’ll hold hands and go to work, open the door and say hi to our friends.” True, her version of work usually involves some sort of Big Bad Wolf chasing and space travel or alien visitations, but hey, I’ve been to enough corporate meetings to know her version isn’t all that far off from reality.

I’ve brought her to my office and let her sit and watch me while I work from home. I want her to see my hustle, not just imagine it in her head. I’ve even taken her to see me speak on panels, do TV segments and host on Sirius XM. Because as much as I’m out there grinding for myself, I’m doing it for her, too. I want her to see what’s possible when you put in the time and feel the respect that’s earned when you do the work. I want her to know that being her mom has lit a fire in me to want more, to demand more and to do more. Most of all, I want her to be hungry for success and to know that none of it is easy, but it’s so worth it."