Stress Bomb

There's a twitch under my right eye that has been steadily beating away for about three days now. But I knew I was stressed before then. Its my lot right now, my choice really. To choose freelancing over a staff job when you also have to think about child care is a bit tricky. It never bothered me before about the renewal of a contract on a Friday for a Monday. But now trying to book childcare this way, without the benevolence of our dear friend nanny who has to leave us now to have her own baby, is proving to be tricky indeed.

It's just that she's the most precious thing that we have ever been in charge of. And yes, we have to hire a total stranger to be responsible more waking hours of the day than we are with her. Oh god, I'm making it worse. Breathe. Unclench jaw. Wait. (I'm waiting to hear on a nanny share, but if they turn us down, it's back to the drawing board.) (Oh right, as soon as I know I am booked.)

And then on top of all this running static in my head, we decided to speak to a mortgage broker to get a pre-approval letter in case we see a house we might like. Owing a house has never been a big passion of mine. I'm not nuts about spending money in general, let alone tens of thousands of dollars for a down payment. I've been keeping tabs on Chicago real estate for months, so when I found out what we should be spending, I got a bit disinterested even more. Motoboy put me at ease by reminding me that we are not going to buy just because we can. Renting is always an option, and in Chicago you can rent in just about any neighborhood or school district you fancy. So that's just another thing to put on the busy burner that is my mind of late.

Work. Baby (which is the fun part). Nanny? House Winter. Work. Booked? Baby. WINE.

Wine and open mouthed baby kisses on my cheeks filled with teeny tiny baby teeth make it all worth it.

xx

SHE CRAWLS

“SHE CRAWLS,” read the post from my nanny / friend on facebook. It was only the weekend before that we saw her make the big big leap from just scooting around merrily backwards, to perfecting her plank post and actually using her hands to move forward. These big jumps apparently come together, and she has also figured out to stand up in her crib and peer over the side.  I watch her from the video monitor and go YIKES, and run to put her back down until her daddy can adjust the crib. Yes it is time to lower it to a more middle-sized-baby friendly height. And then, Wednesday night, motoboy says, oh by the way, THERE IS TOOTH. I was cuddling her on the couch as I always do the second I can get home and take of my coat, scarves, jewelry. Oh golly, I feel it. I feel TWO! And then I said we should try some finger foods so along with her usual pureed smoothie whatever I cooked up some carrots real good, sliced and diced and mushed and tried to see if she would put them in her mouth. Which she didn’t really get at first at all. The pieces were stuck to her hand and she was putting her hand in her mouth but it’s fascinating to think – she doesn’t know how to do this yet. Even though every other thing she touches in the world goes right in her little dimpled gobsmacker. You can eat girl, you can do it yourself.

 

And for some reason with motoboy at home this week, using up some of his irretrievable next year vacation days, I am feeling really sad about not being with her during the day. She is handling all the changes in stride and still smiling and squeaking and laughing and generally enjoying herself at all times. One more week of work, and then I can have as many baby cuddles as I’d like, even though her Nana will be here to compete with me for time.  I should probably let her in a little. She is over the moon about Christmas in Chicago. Prepare for the whirlwind.

 

Postscript. The Sandy Shooting happened before I could post this. I have nothing to say, of note, of use, that would make sense of this. Beyond the fact that I hope Obama takes strong action now to curb assault weapons sales, and I hope for stricter gun controls in the near future. Lots of cuddles and I Love Yous and no desire to do anything this weekend but sit inside, while the gloomy winter rain continues, and cuddle my precious girl. Those kids were just like her, babies of someone, a few years on. 

E

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Working for the Weekend

Talk about where did did six weeks go, where did the last month go? I have to admit, the first few days of work were hard, weird. It was hard for me to just walk out the door that first morning, our friend and nanny holding the baby and looking very sympathetic. I had never really left her for more than about five hours before.

I started to tear up as I reached the door, and then sped up my exit as to keep momentum moving. It was strange to retrace my commuting steps, the last time I walked this path on this particular schedule I was about ten months pregnant and wearing the same pair of jangling motorcycle boots every day, because they were the only ones that would fit over my swollen feet. I may still be sporting the the leggings/dress/boots combo, but I can move a lot faster. I can run when the train bells start, I can jog up the steps of the downtown stop coming home. (Also it helps that post baby, I still no longer smoke, even if I still have a bit of weight to lose.)

Being in the office was like being in another world, and yet exactly like I had never left. I had vague sensations of being hungry and having to pee all the time, but I knew that was just an association from being pregnant. Since I know this agency so well, it was so comforting to be back, it eased the separation anxiety considerably. Everyone stopped me to say hello, ask about the baby -- it was hard to get anywhere without stopping for a chat. I was overwhelmed by adult conversation after months of only talking out loud to the baby in Target, in the house, on our walks. All these people here and they just chat to each other all day?

And then I did the unimaginable. I went to a meeting. Where a bunch of people sat around a circular table and had a dumb agenda about something that could have been emailed and covered off in a 5 minute round of feedback. And personalities clashed, and people interrupted, and management terms were used, and I could not believe that this is what the world does when people are home having babies. But they are paying me a nice day rate so I smiled, and pretended to take notes on the dumb agenda, and thought of the nice house I can buy for my cute baby some day. All the same, and all so different at the same time.

E

The Time Has Come

It's back to work next week. Where did six months go? Is she really that old, she's been with us for half a year already? This maternity leave thing is all wrong. They should be handed out to nannies when they are newborns and much more work (at least for half days). Now that she's six months and laughing and cooing and playing is when all the moms should leave work again and stay home and enjoy them and have fun. Oh well.

I like being freelance though because its not as if its the END. Its just a few weeks, maybe more, but I can always demur and say I want to be home. I probably will follow the money as I usually do. But I like the option, I like not 'working for the man', I like the idea that I might have another chunk of time with her again.


Doing the math on nanny costs was an eye opener though. It makes sense for me as I make good money when I do work, but motoboy was alarmed and had to go through his monthly budget to make sure it will work. Good thing race season is over! No more racebikes with broken parts that have to be ordered from Europe! Time for him to clean out the bunker and sell some old bike parts on ebay. It does feel like we are really a family now, with family budgeting and cost cutting to be looked at. Packing lunches. No thrice weekly meals out. Trimming those utilities and bills. Thinking about mortgages. Its actually a lot more fun than it sounds though. Because we have this sweet little person who looks almost exactly half like him and half like me. That's why we do it. We get to come home to her every night to remind us.

It will be interesting to see if work feels more stressful for me, knowing she is at home, or if it will be some sort of guilty relief that I can actually get personal stuff done during the day. You know, like uninterrupted phone calls, or lunch with adults. A pedicure in the middle of the day. A walk through downtown. TJ Maxxin. I think I will keep having that flash worry of 'where did I leave the baby?' Oh at home, with our friend and nanny who loves her so much.

I feel a little sick about it, a little excited. And blessed that I had this much time to begin with. Here goes, adult stuff. You really do only feel grown up at certain watersheds, this being mine I guess.

E

My Other Writing

Listen. I know this blog isn't very good. I know this because I don't try very hard at it. I'm tired of trying to be cute, or clever, or in the zeitgeist of whatever is trendy online that week. Blogs are over with anyway. Remember before facebook or twitter, when if a video was going viral you had to actually copy and paste the embed language into your blog post? Now I can just tap and put it on facebook and you can glance at it, laugh, and be over the joke - all in the time it used to take me to post it.

This blog serves a much more selfish purpose. I don't even care if anyone reads it, and I don't promote it or tell anyone about it. Not surprisingly, no one asks to see it even when I casually mention I have one. I'm writing this to remember. My friends who have kids 3, 4, 5 years older than my girl can't remember anything about the infant years. Its all such a blur, so they are terrible at advice giving. Your brain has to make room for new things like learning to read and school choices and nutrition I suppose. I get it. But I've kept in touch with my friends who had babies also this year because they REMEMBER. The sympathy is more fresh, and the advice more on topic. I'm going to enjoy flipping back here and revisiting our struggles with firsts - sleeping, feeding, staying above water in every which way. There is nothing more challenging than this. I thought it was a joke before I got pregnant. THIS IS NO JOKE. But I wouldn't change a damn thing for the life of me.

So in this vein I'm also working on a TV pilot idea about all this stuff. I imagine its been done before. Certainly successful TV writers have kids and see the opportunity for new material? I won't let on my exact angle because I don't want anyone to beat me to the punch. At this once-weekly writing session  type schedule, it might take a while. And I have a lot more material to gather at any rate. So here's an excerpt of a draft, I hope you enjoy it. All three of you. I love you!

E

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CUT TO: A different darker rock bar, later that night. MARY is talking to ZOE, who is headed into the bathroom.

MARY: I’ll meet you at the bar!

MARY approaches the bar and a friendly tattooed female bartender gives her a nod.

BARTENDER: I’ll be right with you.

MARY: Ok!

Mary fidgets and stacks all the coasters in sight, taking furtive glances toward the bathroom.

BARTENDER: What can I get you?

MARY: Do you have any N.A. beer?

BARTENDER: Any what?

MARY: NON-ALCOHOLIC. Non-Alcoholic beer.

BARTENDER: Oh yeah, I’ve got Becks NA, O’Douls...

MARY: Becks, Beck’s I’ll take that. And a glass please.

The bartender nods her head and takes a few more minutes to get the beer, MARY is practically leaned all the way over the bar and has her money ready.

BARTENDER: Five bucks.

MARY: Here you go, thanks.

MARY pours the beer into a glass and slides the empty beer bottle near some others by the time the bartender returns with the change. At the same moment her friend ZOE returns from the bathroom. There’s a fine line of sweat above MARY’s brow.

ZOE: I told you I was getting the next round birthday girl.

MARY: Oh sorry you know me, always first one at the bar! Should we see if anyone is upstairs?

ZOE & MARY come out to a rooftop deck and see 4-5 of the original crew who were at the cocktail bar.  

BETH is there, with a small group of other girls and a few guys.

BETH: Oh look I got you a gin and tonic! It’s ginormous isn’t that funny its bigger than my regular tonic ha ha ha!

MARY, confused, takes the drink and gives BETH a look to take it down a notch.

VICTORIA: I was so shocked Beth ordered a regular tonic at the bar, I said ‘is something going on you haven’t told me about’?

BETH & MARY (forced): HA HA HA.

MARY: Anyhoo, have you guys ordered some food? I’m kinda starving.

Three Generations

My mom is here this week and even though I had to do a lot of annoying things (dermotologist, dentist, two trips to the North Shore to get my tire rim fixed), there's something so sweet about having grandma here.

The first night my mom went to sleep in the nursery (that's the only spare bed in the house, is the little soft daybed JenG gave us) I was overcome with a warm fuzzy feeling. My mom and my daughter are tucked up together in the same room, warm and cozy and...together. I can tell that the baby makes my mom so happy. She doesn't need to do anything or see anybody. She's just clocking in as much baby time as possible. When I tell her that I need to run out for a few hours she sits up straight and gets energized, excited that her role is here. Grandma powers concentrated! Also, she gets up and rocks the baby if she wakes up in the middle of the night, which is becoming more rare. But now that she's moved to the nursery its so nice to not have to get out of bed at all. This is such a win-win for everyone involved. Especially motoboy who is taking advantage and getting as much race prep done as he can since mom arrived. He's very lucky about this timing.


Am battling another on-edge week of waiting for a job prospect to call me back ('let's talk on Monday', he now says), but am trying to soak up all the warm fuzzy grandma and baby feelings I can muster. And giving grandma beer and wine with dinner also leads to little bits of gossip here and there. "Why no, I never knew she was a topless dancer!" I said. That actually came out over omelets this morning. Grandma is good for gossip any time.

And especially good at baby holding.

E