Not too long ago, I lived my life like a little Pavlovian pup. My cell phone would ring and an editor would be on the other end of the line, telling me about a shooting at a local church, an Eric Rudolph arrest, a Terri Schiavo court battle, a family that lost their son in the Iraq War. “Can you get over there and find out what’s going on?” these editors would ask me. And I’d always say yes, all the while mentally preparing myself for how I’d drop what I was doing – the leisurely morning with the husband, the in-law visit, the plans with the girlfriends – and get myself into indispensable get-to-the-bottom-of-it mode.
Being pregnant with my first child did not stop me from carrying on like this. Seven and a half months along, I covered a story about a woman held hostage by a courthouse shooter. I drove two hours to Augusta – The soundtrack? My constantly ringing cell phone. – to cover a press conference where the onetime hostage asked the media to leave her alone. It was cold outside that night, and colleague of mine told me I shouldn’t even be there. “Why?” I barked at him, knowing what his answer would be. “I’m pregnant. I’m not dead.”
Or was I?
A month later my water broke at the end of a day when three news outlets called me about covering the story of a missing bride-to-be. Halfway through the calls, these editors realized I was “due to pop any day now” and decided not to send me out on the assignment. “Come on,” I said. “I’m not due for another two weeks. It’ll be fine.” They begged to differ. And before long, the phone stopped ringing altogether. Meanwhile, I was full of that terrible little feeling you got back in grade school when you weren’t picked for the kickball team; you want to be in the mix, but you’re forced to sit there and watch.
Though I didn’t know it at the time, these editors saved me from myself. Hours later, I was in a hospital gown, readying myself for the womb-cracking effects of the Pitocin that started dripping into my veins and for a life that probably wouldn’t resemble the one I knew before I walked through the hospital doors.
For the first time in years, it was time to turn my cell phone ringer off.
It has remained that way ever since, thanks to a little hazel-eyed bundle who helped me slow down and recognize that the most important call to answer was her own. These days, I don’t jump into action – and out of my own precious existence – every single solitary time the phone rings. Thanks to my daughter and husband, I’ve learned that it’s possible to be a good reporter and still tell an editor “No. I can’t work during the holiday. I’ll be spending it with my family and friends this year.”
Paige Bowers is an Atlanta-based freelance journalist whose work has appeared in The New York Times, TIME Magazine, People and Allure. But her proudest accomplishment is her 20-month-old, duck-loving daughter, Avery Lane. She blogs about life with this tough little boss at The Avery Lane Experience, which is where you can find Christina today. If you’re interested in participating in next month’s Blog Exchange, click here for more details.
This brought me to tears. Because I can see myself – who I used to be – in this. And I can see what has been gained, and what has been lost, in the process of having two children, at least for me.
I can see the positive aspects. But the downsides as well. How identity shifts. How Mommyhood calls.
Kudos to you for finding balance. I think being yourself and being a mom brings twice the joy.
Isn’t it amazing how life slows down a little once the baby is born and the older they get the faster it goes by?
I find that I’m always wondering where the time went. My son isn’t a baby anymore. He’s two….a little boy!
Isn’t it crazy how those most untouched by the world show us how the world should truly be?
I used to be a reporter/editor myself and while the excitement of it and the “no day is ever the same” aspect – I got tired of the go, go, go of it. Sometimes I miss the woman that I was then – without all the responsibility – but, as we all confess, I wouldn’t trade my boys for anything!
Paige, I hear you! I still struggle with this, but am much better than I used to be about saying, ‘no.’ And saying ‘yes’ to Rachel, especially today — we’re have a a big sticker sale here today, you know, so I must attend! 😉
Once I learned how to NOT answer the cell phone…I learned to NOT answer the house phone. Now? I NEVER answer the phone. My friends and family usually leave voicemail messages that sound like this, “we know you are there! Answer the phone! Ok, well you better AT LEAST call us back!! please.”
🙂
Why is it this never seems to happen to the male of the species? Father’s are still expected to drop everything in pursuit of that all-important job; yet they too want to spend time nurturing their wonderful bundles of joy. Loving your children isn’t the sole province of women – yet it’s as if women give birth in some sort of vacuum. We as a society need to change focus here. Room has to be made for nourishment of family within the most demanding of jobs. That means parenting has to stop being looked at as somehow less than. We look at teaching that way too – but don’t even get me started on that subject! Wonderful post, my dear. I hope you are able to strike the right balance according to your own wants and needs.
mHaving kids really changes your perspective on things.
My Kids Furniture
not answering the phone – now that’s a skill.
Great read!
I loved your post and I loved the comment by the Fat Lady Sings! Caller ID is one great invention.