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Aug 19, 2007

My Self-Esteem Was Shot Down By An Elf

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It was a good Saturday, overall. Cordy was with grandma, and Aaron, Mira, and I went west to Indianapolis to spend the day at GenCon. I think we’ve established that Aaron and I are geeks, so this should come as no surprise.

There were only two bad events all day today. The drive home was miserable, thanks to construction on Interstate 70. If you don’t live anywhere near I-70, let me explain: you can never travel on I-70 without at least one traffic jam, due to construction, accident, or just something shiny on the side of the road that everyone must stop and look at.

Today, two miles of construction took 45 minutes. And Mira, who doesn’t mind being in the car as long as it’s moving, did not appreciate the slow crawl during that time. The fussing and crying nearly made me turn the car around and set up a new home in Indy instead of facing that traffic. Sure, I’d miss Cordy, but maybe we could see her again someday when they started construction on the other side of I-70?

The other bad moment ruined my high for the day at the convention. I was dressed in an entire outfit of non-maternity clothes, had shaved my legs, brushed my hair, and thought I looked pretty damn good. Aaron was carrying Mira in the baby sling, which always gets a lot of attention (women love a man wearing a baby), leaving me baby-free and feeling non-mom-like. And then the following happened while visiting a friend’s sales booth:

(20-something woman dressed as an Elf walks up to us)

Woman: Awww…she’s cute.

Aaron: Thanks.

Woman: (gesturing to sling) That’s a great idea. She looks so comfortable!

Aaron: Yeah, they’re wonderful…(starts talking about pros of babywearing – I admit I wasn’t fully paying attention at this point)…It’s really a great way to get around and keep the baby happy.

Woman: (turning to me, and I swear she said this) And it looks like you’ve got another on the way?

At this point, I should also tell you that when she said this, she actually began to reach out to touch my belly! Seriously! Thank her little elven Gods that she didn’t complete her impulsive action or I might’ve gone all Orc on her.

Me: (totally aghast) No, I’m not pregnant, I’m postpartum.

Woman: (who doesn’t seem to realize the social faux pas she’s committed) Oh. Well, she’s cute! (walks away, elven cape flapping behind her)

WTF? Maybe an Elf has a shorter pregnancy, but I don’t see how I could be pregnant and showing when I have a baby who clearly looks like a 12 week old. I spent the remainder of the day sucking in my belly and plotting a trip to Macy’s to lock my mid-section into some kind of support garment for the rest of my life. Maybe corsets could come back in style?

And so I offer this small public service announcement: unless a woman tells you directly that she’s pregnant, or you see a baby’s head crowning, NEVER ASSUME SHE’S PREGNANT. Sorry, don’t mean to shout, but this obviously doesn’t get through to some people. Save yourself and the poor other woman some embarrassment and leave any and all topics of reproductive status alone. (Oh, and don’t touch other people’s bellies without permission, too. You might just lose that hand, especially if the woman isn’t pregnant.)

Filed Under: Mira, pregnancy, rant · Tagged:


Aug 15, 2007

Three Haiku In Praise Of Coffee

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(My childless, tea-drinking self from years ago would never believe I wrote this.)

Long night, baby cries
I pull up to the drive thru
“Welcome to Starbucks”

Eyes sting from no sleep
“Grande iced mocha with whip”
Mom’s Little Helper

Bitter chocolate taste
I’m addicted to mocha
Sweet caffeine mistress

Filed Under: me me me ·


Aug 14, 2007

WOHM, Now SAHM/WAHM*

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It’s done.

Yesterday afternoon I did something that was, surprisingly, hard for me. I went back to work, where I met with my supervisor and handed over a crisp white envelope containing my letter of resignation.

I was due to come back to work next week. A little part of me knew deep down that it wasn’t going to happen, but the other larger percentage of my brain was still trying to leave the door open unless some miracle solution would appear to me like a burning bush.

It’s not that I wanted this job to be a career. It was only part-time, and I had my difficulties with some co-workers now and then. I was a student advisor, which was rewarding, but also meant I had to deal with a lot of obnoxious students who tried to work the system. It wasn’t what I had in mind when I graduated with a BA in History, and I’m currently back in school pursuing a nursing degree, so I knew I would never be there long.

But it was still hard. Damn hard. I nearly cried when handing over the letter, blubbering that I wish I could still work there, but circumstances being what they are, it’s not possible right now, blah, blah, blah.

There was no way it could work. Since losing the babysitting services of my friend, who charged a very low amount, I looked at other daycare options. But $1500 a month for three days a week is more than my salary, and even two days a week at $1000 would be my entire salary, making it pointless to leave both girls with someone else three days a week. I can make no money just as well from home as I can from working with the girls in daycare. Also, with the possibility of Cordy being diagnosed with a delay of some sort, I want to be available to get her any help she may need.

The truth is, I’m thrilled to be a stay at home mom. Thrilled that I will be able to continue breastfeeding without scheduling pumping sessions into my day. (And thankful, because so far Mira hates bottles.) Ecstatic that I get to be there every day as my second daughter grows and develops, instead of hearing what new trick she did at daycare.

I had planned to be a work at home mom when Cordy was born – at that point I had been working from home for four years – but then my former company cut telecommuting from its benefits while I was on maternity leave. Daycare had never been in my plan, but we were forced to find care quickly and leave infant Cordy there while we went into the office five days a week. I was miserable and depressed, which is why I sought out this part-time job I’m now leaving.

(Let me clarify at this point that I in no way see moms who work outside the home as bad moms. I just didn’t plan on working in an office when we decided to have kids, so it was a bit of a shock to me. I’m a big believer in “whatever works” parenting – whether for financial need or personal need. No SAHM-WOHM war here, OK?)

The other side of this is that I’m a little scared, too. It’s strange to not have a job to go to each week, or have an office as my home away from home. It’s frightening to realize our income is taking a serious hit and I will have to employ some drastic budget cutting strategies to make ends meet. There’s enough foreclosures in our neighborhood – I don’t want to be one of them. It’s also a little unnerving to have to think of something to do with the kids every. single. day. Oh, and have few chances at intelligent conversation with adults. I’ll miss that the most.

As I’ve said before, it’ll all work out somehow, and even though I’m very nervous about our finances, I’m grateful for the chance to be home with Mira and Cordy. And this change in status may give me the chance to find new work online – I’m already proud to be working for Family.com, and there’s always the possibility of finding other paid writing gigs.

If the past two years have taught me anything, it’s that I can’t fight the tidal wave of change that life sends my way – instead of being pulled under flailing and kicking, better to get on top of it and surf, baby, surf.

So here I am. A stay at home/work at home mom, arms outstretched and surfing along that wave.

*Translation: Work out of home mom, now stay at home mom/work at home mom

Filed Under: daily life, me me me, money, the J-O-B ·


Aug 13, 2007

Bits & Pieces

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Mamamichelesbabies tagged me to reveal eight random things about me. I think I did this one recently, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to ignore her tag. Instead, I’ll modify it slightly to share some of my thoughts and updates that simply aren’t long enough for an entire post.

1. Cordy had her transition from the county to city school district early intervention today. Not one, not two, but three women showed up at our door to discuss where we’re going next. That’s three people to clean the house for, so I was up early trying to de-clutter as much as possible. The school district representative had to do a preliminary screening as a formality before the evaluation on September 5.

2. Can you guess how she behaved during this screening today? Yeah, like a perfectly normal, practically angelic two year old. Figures. I was half expecting her to offer them something to drink while she put away all her toys and made her bed. Still, they are going forward with the evaluation based on past screenings and my description of some of her behaviors. After they left, she had a big meltdown over a banana.

3. The onesie has now undergone three laundry treatments, and the stain has yet to relinquish its hold on the white cotton garment (although I do chip away at it a little each time). I’m going for the last-chance treatment: the bleach pen. Pray I don’t bleach myself and anything nearby in the process.

4. As an only child, I have to say I don’t know how second-born children ever get any sleep with a crazy older sibling around. Seriously, Mira doesn’t get a single good nap when Cordy is home. She can be in a deep sleep, and Cordy will run screaming past her, or accidentally kick her ball into the bouncer, or have a tantrum loud enough to wake her upstairs in her crib. My sympathies to all of you who were second born or later. You need a nap.

5. According to another neighbor, our next door neighbors (yes…them) will only be there through the end of September at the latest. They’ve already filed for bankruptcy, the house is included, but there is a state loophole that lets them live in the house another 60 days if they put it up for sale. So efforts to sell the house are all so they can live 60 days longer with no housing bill. I doubt they’re even doing much to stage the house. That would explain why the average visit by a potential buyer has been around two minutes. I don’t think they make it past the threshold of the front door.

6. How have I become such a bad bill payer? I used to pay every bill well ahead of time before kids. After Cordy, I still got everything paid by the deadline. Now? Unless it’s a bill I pay online, I’m lucky to remember to send the bill in before we get a second notice. Sigh. Must work on that.

7. But speaking of bills and money, I’m glad I took the time to look through all the bills from Mira’s birth. Turns out the stupid insurance forced me to overpay my doctor’s office by $500. The doctor’s office never bothered to tell me about the mistake, even after they noticed it. I called the doctor’s office last week to tell them I had found out about the overpayment, and I’d like a refund. I’ll get it in about 3-4 weeks. Had I never checked it out and called, they would have happily kept that $500. Check your insurance payments and bills carefully, readers. It could save you a lot of money. That money will help cover the other hospital bills.

8. I just realized that Mira is 11 weeks old. Next week marks the end of my federally granted 12 weeks of maternity leave from work. More on that tomorrow.

Filed Under: being a mom, Cordy, meme time, Mira ·


Aug 13, 2007

This Is My Daughter

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Driving home from school last Thursday:

Me: (noticing a cut on Cordy’s knee) Cordy, how did you cut your leg?

Cordy: Leg? (pulls up leg to examine it)

Me: Yeah, how did you get the boo-boo on your knee?

Cordy: Boo-boo! (continued to look at the cut, tracing it with her finger)

At this point, I give up trying to get an answer from her and continue driving.

Cordy: Mommy! What letter?

Me: Huh? Do you see a letter somewhere?

Cordy: (very excited) What letter, mommy? What letter?

Me: (confused) Where do you see a letter?

Cordy: V!! It’s a V, mommy!

Me: Where do you see a V? (looking back at her)

Cordy: (pointing to the cut on her leg) It’s a V, mommy!

Me: (now realizing, and no longer enthused with this game) Yes, you’re right, Cordy. The cut on your leg does look like a V.

Forget the fact that she has a somewhat deep cut on her leg. Apparently she’s more interested in the shape it’s in. I go back to driving, wondering exactly where she rates on the 1 to 10 scale of creepy-weird.

Cordy: (again, very excited) What color, mommy?

Me: (not looking back) Oh, Cordy, let’s not play name-the-color-of-our-wounds, OK?

Cordy: (ignoring me, as usual) Mommy, what color?

Me: OK, fine. I give. What color?

Cordy: (practically exploding from her car seat in excitement) It’s RED! A RED V!! I have a red V!

Never mind. I know she’s an 11. Which means she fits right in with Aaron and I.

***************

Thank you to my fairy laundry godmothers for all of your advice! I’m still working on the stain (two products tried, stain won’t surrender), and will provide a full update soon after I’ve exhausted all available options, or I give up.

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Filed Under: Cordy ·