Random thoughts on returning to work:
Having Wednesdays off rocks. Yesterday was utter bliss.
Having Wednesdays off also sucks ass. Especially when you don't get any less work in exchange for your reduced hours and pay.
Have I made the right decision? Can I really do this?
I vacillate between being really happy I'm back and feeling stressed and miserable.
And damn it, I'm still not wearing a watch.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
A Momentous Day
I went back to work on Monday.
Somehow, the sky did not fall.
The day started off pretty grim but got steadily better:
Somehow, the sky did not fall.
The day started off pretty grim but got steadily better:
6 a.m. Wake up to Gabby's beautiful one-toothed grin. Pick her up and cry a little.
6-8 Rush around getting everything ready for my first day back. Feel like a complete scatterbrain.
8 a.m. Walk to work in the gross cold fog.
9 -10 Get my office back in shape. Try to figure out why my phone isn't working.
10:30 Pump.
11 a.m. Wish my phone still wasn't working.
12 p.m. Atomic and Gabby come for a visit! Yay! Show off the wee one to all my friends.
2 p.m. Pump.
2:15 Talk to boss. Decide to work part-time (4 days/week) for six months.
2:17 Panic over finances.
2:30 Start wading through work. Remember that I am actually good at this.
4 p.m. Pump.
5 p.m. Atomic and Gabby come back to my office and we troop over to City Hall together to watch people get married. See couple after couple emerge from City Hall with enormous grins, greeted with cheers, a marching band, and random people serving cake. Tell Gabby what an historic day it is. Cry a little, in a whole different way.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Apple . . . Tree
I guess she is my kid after all. I'm wearing a shirt today that has a shiny, embroidered neckline. Gabby can't tear herself away from it. She even ceased her other favorite activity -- squealing at the cat and grabbing handfuls of fur -- in order to inspect the pretty shiny thing more closely.
Her other favorites? "Reading" (i.e. crinkling/eating) the New York Times and "typing" (i.e. banging on/eating) on the computer.
Like well-informed-but-helpless-before-pretty-shiny-things mother, like daughter.
I think there might be some shopping-oriented fun in our future.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Quick update
Feeding was a resounding success.
No noticeable changes in poop as a result.
Tooth now visible.
More later. Typing w/ one hand sucks.
No noticeable changes in poop as a result.
Tooth now visible.
More later. Typing w/ one hand sucks.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Firsts
Gabby went to her first wedding on Saturday. And on Sunday, she attended her first play, The Wizard of Oz. Her review: the weather was a bit warm for her taste (it was outdoors), but the music was pretty catchy. Dorothy scored numerous gummy grins.
And speaking of gummy grins, Miss Tish also appears to be cutting her first tooth. I can't really see what's going on in there, since Gabby permits only momentary glances, but the other day she was gnawing on my knuckle and I felt something really sharp. So, either my darling girl is cheeking a shiv, or she's cutting a tooth. Either way, I'm gonna break out the nipple salve.
Rolling is now a fairly regular occurrence, although the poor dear still cries when she flops onto her tummy and then forgets how to get back onto her back. Sitting happens, sometimes, with assistance, and inevitably results in a comical tipping over. At least now she's got the muscle tone to not bonk her head really hard when she goes down.
And here's a really big one: Tomorrow we start . . . oh, wow, I can't believe it. . . solid food.
Things are going to start changing really fast around here, aren't they?
And speaking of gummy grins, Miss Tish also appears to be cutting her first tooth. I can't really see what's going on in there, since Gabby permits only momentary glances, but the other day she was gnawing on my knuckle and I felt something really sharp. So, either my darling girl is cheeking a shiv, or she's cutting a tooth. Either way, I'm gonna break out the nipple salve.
Rolling is now a fairly regular occurrence, although the poor dear still cries when she flops onto her tummy and then forgets how to get back onto her back. Sitting happens, sometimes, with assistance, and inevitably results in a comical tipping over. At least now she's got the muscle tone to not bonk her head really hard when she goes down.
And here's a really big one: Tomorrow we start . . . oh, wow, I can't believe it. . . solid food.
Things are going to start changing really fast around here, aren't they?
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Time, Part II
I return to work in two weeks. I never thought that would be something I dreaded. I never imagined that I would fantasize about being able to stay at home with my little one.
But I do.
It's crazy -- after 13 years as a lawyer, after all that expensive education and dues paying and incredibly hard work, I'd be happy as a clam to ditch the whole shebang to sit at home and play peek a boo with Gabby.
This turn of thought is particularly mystifying given recent events. My office just celebrated a HUGE victory in a civil rights case. By righting a long standing injustice, the court changed the lives of lots of people for the better. It's not an exaggeration to say that the world is a fairer and better place because of it. I worked on that case, and although my contribution was small, that victory felt like the proudest moment of my career.
When the decision was announced, celebrations erupted throughout the city. I desperately wanted to run down to City Hall and join the party, but Gabby chose that moment to take a much needed nap. And I was totally content to rejoice quietly and skim the decision on my laptop as she snoozed next to me. Seemed kind of a fitting way, actually, to celebrate a decision affirming the right of all people to form families.
Even in the afterglow of that event, I feel no strong pull to return to work. These six months have been such a luxury, and I am so glad to have had them.Being able to Having to stop what I'm doing to pick up Gabby when she cries, feed her when she's hungry, change her when she's wet feels like such an indulgence. I get to say to the world, hey, fuck off, I'm busy. I work for Gabby now.
I have a feeling that the anticipation is worse than the reality will be. I know I'll be ok, in part because I don't care as much about my job. That's not to say I won't do it well -- I might even do it better, more efficiently. But it's no longer my identity and sole source of pride.
And that feels like a good thing to me.
But I do.
It's crazy -- after 13 years as a lawyer, after all that expensive education and dues paying and incredibly hard work, I'd be happy as a clam to ditch the whole shebang to sit at home and play peek a boo with Gabby.
This turn of thought is particularly mystifying given recent events. My office just celebrated a HUGE victory in a civil rights case. By righting a long standing injustice, the court changed the lives of lots of people for the better. It's not an exaggeration to say that the world is a fairer and better place because of it. I worked on that case, and although my contribution was small, that victory felt like the proudest moment of my career.
When the decision was announced, celebrations erupted throughout the city. I desperately wanted to run down to City Hall and join the party, but Gabby chose that moment to take a much needed nap. And I was totally content to rejoice quietly and skim the decision on my laptop as she snoozed next to me. Seemed kind of a fitting way, actually, to celebrate a decision affirming the right of all people to form families.
Even in the afterglow of that event, I feel no strong pull to return to work. These six months have been such a luxury, and I am so glad to have had them.
I have a feeling that the anticipation is worse than the reality will be. I know I'll be ok, in part because I don't care as much about my job. That's not to say I won't do it well -- I might even do it better, more efficiently. But it's no longer my identity and sole source of pride.
And that feels like a good thing to me.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
I Hope You Dance
Oh, gracious, I must be hormonal or something, because I have turned into the world's biggest sap.
WARNING: the following post is utterly devoid of sarcasm, ironic detachment, or postmodern sensibilities.
More than a year and a half ago, some of my friends in the computer organized a mix CD exchange. All of us were going through fertility struggles, and we all needed some inspiration. One of my favorite songs of those I received is called "I Hope You Dance" by Lee Ann Womack.
I got teary the first time I heard it, and thought, "That's what I want to tell my daughter some day." And then I thought "That's what my mom taught me. Given the choice, I've always danced, and I've never regretted doing so."
I played that song on the way to our first IUI. I played it again right before the egg retrieval in our IVF cycle.
Today, I played it for my daughter. I picked her up and we danced together in the honeyed late afternoon light in her room, and I sang to her and she beamed at me. I realized yet again that she is a dream come true.
One of Gabby's fairy godmothers has predicted that she will be a healer. In a way, she is already. I'm grateful to her and for her, and to H4F for sending me that song and to all the amazing loved ones who walked that hard road with us and shared their support, prayers, and wisdom.
May we all always choose to dance.
WARNING: the following post is utterly devoid of sarcasm, ironic detachment, or postmodern sensibilities.
More than a year and a half ago, some of my friends in the computer organized a mix CD exchange. All of us were going through fertility struggles, and we all needed some inspiration. One of my favorite songs of those I received is called "I Hope You Dance" by Lee Ann Womack.
Dont let some hell bent heart leave you bitter,
When you come close to sellin out reconsider,
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
I hope you dance....I hope you dance
I got teary the first time I heard it, and thought, "That's what I want to tell my daughter some day." And then I thought "That's what my mom taught me. Given the choice, I've always danced, and I've never regretted doing so."
I played that song on the way to our first IUI. I played it again right before the egg retrieval in our IVF cycle.
Today, I played it for my daughter. I picked her up and we danced together in the honeyed late afternoon light in her room, and I sang to her and she beamed at me. I realized yet again that she is a dream come true.
One of Gabby's fairy godmothers has predicted that she will be a healer. In a way, she is already. I'm grateful to her and for her, and to H4F for sending me that song and to all the amazing loved ones who walked that hard road with us and shared their support, prayers, and wisdom.
May we all always choose to dance.
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