“Let’s just go home.”

I spoke those words in frustration to my husband after dressage at a horse trials this spring. It was pouring rain, and it had been since we arrived the night before. Between walking the course and riding my horse, I’d gotten wet down to my underwear through three layers. I had to turn the heat on full blast in our hotel room in order to dry my helmet and gloves so that I could soak them again the following day.

I’d dragged my husband and baby along on this adventure because I didn’t want to spend the night away from my son Zachary. Eric is a capable if somewhat reluctant groom, and before we had a baby, he limited his horse trials attendance to ones that were either close or a really big deal.

Since Zack arrived, I’ve competed multiple times, and Eric has brought the baby to almost every event. It’s not that I can’t be away from Zack, but I’d rather hang out with him if it’s an option.

But this time I felt like I’d made a mistake by bringing my husband and 7-month old baby. I’m quite stubborn about competing once I’ve paid my entry, but that doesn’t mean it’s fair to drag others along with me when I’m stupidly insisting on riding in terrible conditions. While the weather guessers kept insisting the rain would stop any minute, my dressage arena was so wet that my horse treated the puddle in the corner like a water jump rather than trotting through it.

The last straw came when I was sprinting back from my second cross-country walk, to discover that they’d removed most of the combinations. I didn’t really have time to feed Zack, walk my course, and get ready for the jumping phases in the two hours between dressage and show jumping, but time management was never my strong suit.

I was about to toss tack on my horse when Eric said, “Um, we have a problem. The stud holes on Josh’s left front haven’t been tapped, so I didn’t stud his front feet.”

That was the point at which I suggested it was time to throw in the towel, or in this case, wring it out, and head home.

I wasn’t going to go cross-country in knee-deep mud without studs, and the idea of prolonging everyone’s misery while I hunted down the farrier and got the shoe fixed seemed ridiculous. So I turned to my husband and said, “Let’s go home,” fully expecting him to leap at the chance to abandon this soggy madness.

Instead, to his eternal credit, he replied, “We’re already here. We’re already wet. Zack and I are fine. Why don’t you see how big a deal it will be to get the shoe fixed before you scratch?”

While my husband has always accepted and supported my horse obsession, he’s clear that it’s my thing, not his. There was a brief stint where he learned to ride in a romantic gesture and even dabbled with the idea of competing. But when my horse dumped him at a cross-rail and cantered out of the ring, he determined he preferred sports that didn’t involve the whims of a 1,200-pound prey animal.

Until we had a baby, we enjoyed a huge amount of time to pursue our own hobbies. I rode and managed the horses on our property, while he maintained the farm and worked on projects of all stripes. Some weekends we did things together. Some weekends I went to horse shows, and he asked me what color receipt I’d won when I called him on the drive home.

But even riding my horse now, let alone competing, requires a huge amount of cooperation. Eric is on solo baby duty for a couple of hours every day—time that could be spent together or on his own projects—so that I can ride (and I’m lucky because I keep my horses at home). Going to a lesson requires planning ahead, shifting his work schedule, and, inevitably, a late night and a grumpy baby.

Actually competing? First there’s the stress of preparing with extra lessons and packing. Then there’s getting everyone up in the wee hours so I can nurse, braid and maybe get a cup of coffee for the road. And then I keep asking Eric to tag along. Yes, he’s a saint.

And there’s no way to get around the fact that time spent with my horse means time away from my baby. He’s growing and changing so quickly. I know I should hand Zack over to Dad the moment I arrive home with him from work, so I can get my ride in efficiently. But he’s either doing something adorable or he needs me for some reason, and it’s always hard to walk out the door. While Zack won’t remember that I worked all day and rode all evening when he was a babe, I will.

It’s not that I didn’t know it would be hard to balance a full-time job with riding, competing and being a mom prior to having a baby, but living it is different.

So in the lead up to every event, I ask myself, “Is this worth it?”

Am I having enough fun when things go well, and I come home from an event with a ribbon won or goal met to balance the things I’m missing out on, the sacrifice I’m asking from my family?

I don’t think there’s a final answer to this question or even a right one, necessarily. At this time, I’m choosing to compete. My horse is in his prime, talented, trained and excelling at the sport. My husband is determined to help me pursue my crazy amateur dreams. My baby is still young enough to travel easily, and so far he’s loved going to events, rain or shine, and made friends wherever he goes.

But is that the right answer forever? I really don’t know. Being open to whatever comes next has been both a theme and a lesson of parenthood for me. As much as I want to prepare and plan, I just have to trust that things will work themselves out, whether that’s knowing when to stop riding while pregnant, knowing how to take care of a baby, or figuring out how the person I was before fits in to my new life as a mom.

For now, riding and competing are still providing me with something I very much want in my life: an hour a day where I think about nothing more complicated than how my body interacts with my horse; an athletic goal to pursue; an adrenaline rush after conquering a hard course or jumping a scary fence. That “me” time helps me wholeheartedly enjoy every baby minute I have, be grateful for him even when he’s awake multiple times in the night or spitting up the milk I just put so much effort in to feeding him.

My husband understands I’m a better mom (and happier wife!) if we can make this work, and that’s why he stood there in the rain, encouraging me to stop worrying about him and do what I came to do.

And so I got the shoe fixed and went on to have one of the best cross-country rides of my life. Every fence came up in stride, I never took a tug on course, and I finished with a smile a mile wide. Rather than driving home in soggy, frustrated silence after scratching, I hit the road warmed on the inside by the feeling of a competition well finished.

But my next event, when the weather was supposed to be 95 degrees and humid, and my cross-country ride was at high noon? I let my husband and baby stay home!

Every so often, we feature a blog from a member of the Chronicle staff. We’re just like you—juggling riding and competing with work and family. A graduate “C-3” from Penobscot Pony Club (Maine), Sara Lieser spent a year working for Denny Emerson before attending Amherst College (Mass.) and is now learning the sport from the ground up by training her own horses. She and her husband, Eric, and son, Zach, share their 20-acre farm with two dogs, three cats, and an ever-changing number of horses. Read all of Sara’s blogs—including her latest, about her journey to motherhood—here.