Planning It All Out.

I knew when I got pregnant that this would become a battle, this trying to figure out what I want to do for a living. It was a battle when I wasn't pregnant, when I had just graduated college and started to realize that the "career" I had when I was in school--editor in chief of the college newspaper, internship at a Pulitzer-Prize winning publication, award for best journalism graduate--meant little toward my actual, need-to-earn-money life.

The job I got after graduating was one that most journalism students would envy. Because, well, it was a job in journalism, which is rare these days. A few months after that pregnancy test I knew that it wasn't gonna work out post-baby. The overnight hours, the commute, the teeny, tiny salary in exchange for ridiculously expensive childcare. That and Jason and I made the decision that we wanted to be Adelyn's primary caretakers, especially in the beginning.

And I know--oh, I know--how incredibly lucky we are that we even have that option. Jason and I are not wealthy by any means but we have the ability to live off of his salary during Adelyn's first few months, maybe not luxuriously but comfortably, and that's all anyone in their 20's who suddenly finds themselves a part of a family can ask for.

My mom runs a homeless shelter in Nashville, and last week she hired one of the women who had been through its program to clean our apartment. Her shelter only takes in families--not just anyone off the street can wander in--and once they're there, they have to follow certain guidelines, like working, and counseling. This woman had "graduated" from the program and now owns her own cleaning business.

After she got done we sat and talked for a while, and it was one of those moments when the fact of how lucky I am comes and hits me over the head repeatedly and I feel stupid for ever complaining about not having my dream job or having Crohn's disease or only getting six hours of sleep a night. This woman has raised three boys--now 16, 19, and 21--by herself. Sure, she wound up in a homeless shelter at some point, but the woman held her head up and moved on, started her own business, and found a way, any way, to take care of her children.

Still, though, no matter how lucky I know I am, I can't get this nagging question of what the hell I'm gonna do out of my head. Hardly a minute goes by, when I'm feeding Adelyn, when I'm playing with her, when I'm getting a rare shower, that I don't think about it. And that sort of defeats the purpose of staying home for the first few months of her life, if my mind is always somewhere else.

Before I was even considering being a mother (I think it was maybe 1,000 on my life to-do list), I had all sorts of plans. I was going to work at a newspaper, obviously. But the thing is--none of them are hiring. And trust me, I applied at every single one--applied over and over again--within 100 miles, even beyond. I was going to win a Pulitzer (again, that pesky not-hiring thing). I was going to get my master's, then a PhD, just like my parents.

Part of me feels like I should just throw in the towel and go get a crappy, dead-end job just so I can stop stressing about it. Holding on to all sorts of big dreams puts a lot of pressure on a girl, especially one who just had a baby.

About a month ago I started writing grants for local non-profits, and it's been a great way to keep my work-juices flowing. I really don't like being at a standstill when it comes to my career. I gave myself four months to focus solely on parenting, but it only took three weeks for me to feel like I was sinking.

I'm up for a perfect job right now, actually, writing grants and doing public relations work for a non-profit I love. It's full-time, but it would allow me to work mostly from home--we could probably divvy up my time away between family members. And best of all--after a year of service it provides a stipend for me to go get my master's. After that, I could get a job as a professor. While I'm doing that, I could start work on my PhD. My dad has been an English professor since before I was born, and it's given him the flexibility to focus on a writing career on the side while still providing for our family. Like father like daughter, I guess. And after decades of accomplished teaching, he now only "teaches" two days a week--the rest are spent writing or watching TV. (My dad is a television scholar. Watching TV is part of his--and my entire family's--livelihood.)

See, I'm a planner. I cannot allow myself to live in the moment, to my own detriment. And the thing I've realized most from this whole experience is that things don't go according to plan.