Back Home (And oh-so happy to be so.)

One of the reigning rules of new motherhood is this: do not wake the baby up. Ask anyone. Once that baby is napping or in a deep sleep at night there is not a cable guy, UPS delivery man, or pest control specialist that will be forgiven.

And that's a testament to how much you can miss a baby after just two incredibly fast days away. I got home last night from the airport around 9:30 and tip-toed upstairs to open Adelyn's door. The door always creaks. I know it's a surefire way to stir her out of a REM cycle, but I did it anyway. And I stretched over her crib and kissed her eyelid, which immediately fluttered open. She cooed and reached for me, and I held my hand out and let her grip my pinky. And slowly, quietly, I eased out of the room. Of course she fussed for another ten minutes before falling back asleep. I just couldn't help myself, though. And the poor girl has just now taken her first real nap of the day, because I can't stop kissing her little eyelids and nose and cheeks after I put her into the crib.

The good news is it that it feels so incredible, warm, and comforting to be back in your home under your family's roof even after just a short time away. The bad news is I leave again tomorrow evening for a three day training to kick off my new job.

My mother-in-law said it best when I called her an hour ago to thank her for all of her help with Adelyn. As much as I dread it now, on Friday I'll be back home and life will resume it's normal, never-ceasing cycle of diapers, interrupted sleep, rushed dinners and force-feeding a baby bananas. (It will also resume it's never-ceasing cycle of watching and admiring the happiest, funniest baby learning more and more about the world around her. That, right there, is the hard part about going away.) And then, like she said, I'll be back to thinking how nice it would be to have three days to myself in a hotel with provided meals.

But for now all I can think is that leaving your family--and I know I sound crazy here because it's such a miniscule amount of time--is not an easy thing to do. It's not an easy thing to do in the morning on your way to work, dropping him or her off at day-care or with a babysitter. It's not an easy thing to do when you're just going on a date with your husband or with friends, just for a few hours. That's not to say it's not necessary and enjoyable, but it's not easy. As a mother it's never, ever done without careful thought. It's never done without just an ounce of sadness, even if the feeling of absence if fleeting. Being a mother is possibly my favorite thing I have ever done. And it's also the heaviest. Living is never done now without another life weighing every option.

This all really hit me this weekend in New York, visiting with my incredibly successful sister. She is older than me, and has always been the brains of the family. She works as a lawyer at one of the best firms in New York City, rising to the top while many of her colleagues are desperately trying to find a way to stay in the game. She works her butt off and even the thought of working her hours makes me tired. She has a gold name-plate on her office door, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the entire New York skyline. She isn't even thirty and she has success that most people will never reach, no matter how hard they try. I couldn't be prouder of her.

I am a recent college graduate, who worked for a short time as a paid professional in her chosen field before getting pregnant and rethinking her entire life plan. I excelled in college, was editor in chief of my college newspaper, got national accolades for my reporting and even interned and was published in a Pulitzer-prize winning newspaper. I never thought I'd have a gold nameplate on an office door overlooking New York City, but I did always think I'd be a success. I'm not the most confident girl in most areas of my life. Except maybe for that one.

And now it's all about Adelyn. And for now that is all the success I can handle, that amazingly healthy, joyful, little girl. She is already a success. The rest will be figured out around what's best for her.

The job I'm starting next week is only the tiniest stepping stone toward where I hope to be later in life. But it is a job that allows me to work from home with Adelyn two days a week. It allows a rare flexibility as a new mother, and for that I know how lucky I am.

Living is never done now without another life weighing every option.

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Working after pregnancy

I have a hard time talking to people about my philosophy on working and motherhood, mostly because I have no right to act like I know what I'm talking about.

But I've noticed the question coming up more and more, with relative strangers and colleagues and friends.

"So will you continue working after pregnancy?"

The question is kind of a moot point, isn't it? Whether I go back to an office or not, I'm always going to be working. Taking care of a living, breathing human being 24/7 is work, too, is it not?

Are these people asking me if I will quit my job and assume a life of partying, sleeping in, lazing around, and letting my mind wander? Because I can assure you--no matter what--that's not what I'll be doing.

At first, I didn't really know how to answer the question. No, I won't be returning to the job I have now, because A) it makes me miserable, B) I make about three-fourths of the amount child-care would even cost, and C) I WANT TO FOCUS ON BEING A MOM FOR A SMALL, TINY, FLEETING MOMENT OF MY LIFE.

I do not want to be a so-called "stay-at-home-mom." I don't want it to be my identity. I have absolutely nothing against women who choose that route, but I also know that I would be miserable doing it everyday with no expiration date in sight.

But I also want to take some time after baby and focus on the new life I just created.

This would all be a different story if I'd landed my dream job already, or if I got irreplaceable pleasure out my work. But I don't.

I can already feel the tension that comes with the dilemma. Women get PISSED about other women's choices, specifically if those choices allow them to spend the day with their child rather than slaving away at a desk. A lot of women--single moms, especially--HAVE to work full-time. And I applaud them. I bow at their feet.

I know how lucky I am. But I also am not going to apologize that I can quit the job that I hate. I'm just not.

Honestly, I never want to step foot in an office again. I've wanted to be a writer since the second I learned to read, and I have the "What do you want to be?" questionnaire from my kindergarten glass to prove it.

PS. I can't wait until I can sleep during the nighttime and wake up to the sun shining again. The two nights I get to do it a week always go by too fast, and before I know it it's noon on Wednesday and only a few hours of normalcy remain before it's back to bed for work at midnight.

PSS. No word yet on Austin.

PSSS. We went to the doctor on Monday. Baby's heart's beating at 150/minute. And it's the best sound I've ever heard.

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Can women really have it all?

She's the kind of woman who always dresses the part. She always walks into work with heels, looking professional, smiling, her shoulders up and back. She's the woman who has a picture of her pigtailed four-year-old as her computer background and another of her sitting on Santa's lap taped beside the screen. She's got an ease about her--you just know, from your first day in the office, that she's one of the head honchos. Even though she's only around 30, she produces the highest-rated news broadcast. She's been with the station for 10 years. She's a woman whose husband, when he calls in to ask a question like what she wants for dinner that night, doesn't ask for her by name. He asks for "the hot red head," and everyone--including me, the newest in the hierarchy--knows who he's talking about.

By any definition of the word, she's a success. She has it all.

During my first week on the job, I got to shadow her, follow her into the production booth while she ran her show. We made small talk. I asked her if she really liked this job--if the hours suited her, if she got enough free time (the question I asked nearly everyone during my first few weeks, when I realized I'd gotten myself into the entirely wrong field).

And she looked at me, sincerely, the smile gone.

"This," she said, gesturing at the wall of TV screens in front of her, the row of microphones she'd just gotten done speaking into, "this used to be my baby. But now my baby's at home, and working 10 hours a day is just too much. I try everyday to find a way out."

And here, with this realization off her chest-- maybe expressed to me so openly because I'm not her friend, nor anyone with a real place or reputation within the company-- her shoulders slump, her eyes glaze over. She doesn't look like she's enjoying herself. She has 20 minutes left to go before the cameras stop rolling and she can leave for the day.

This was before I knew I'd be faced with a similar dilemma.

Unlike this woman, this job is not "my baby." It's more like something to endure, something to suffer through because I'm supposed to suffer through it. Because in this economy, I can't expect all my dreams to come true like I thought they would. Sure, if I stuck it out, I probably would one day advance to a producer. I might even be seen, one day, as "that woman," that same woman who really just wanted to go home. But I don't want to. Not there.

I already feel immensely pressured by the battle of the Stay at Home Mom versus the Worker Bee, and I'm not even close to being in the thick of it. By our third-wave-feminist standards, if you stay at home, you're lazy. You're going backwards. You're not living up to your potential. If you work, you're likely going to have to work harder than any one person should. You're not giving your child the attention it needs. How can we have it all if the decision is moot? If you're destined to lose out no matter which path you take--and, even more, if the people doing the judging are women themselves?

I've gotten my fair share of judgement for the decision I've already made. I'll be quitting my job in the next few months. I will try to work something out with the powers-that-be that I might have the possibility to return. And even here, I'm tempted to spout off excuses for my decision--like my health (which, I'll admit, is something to consider) and the fact that as a new employee I'd get the bare bones of maternity leave.

I'm not quitting so I can be super-mom, so that I can be there for every single second of my child's waking life. I'm quitting for the benefit of the first few month's of my baby's life, the last few months of my pregnancy and my health and sanity, and for my career, because I genuinely dislike what I'm doing.

And the icing on the cake is that if I did stay, and I did take whatever leave they'd offer me, I'd be paying more for infant childcare when I returned than I even make.

I might go back to school for a Master's and then PhD. It's much more feasible to juggle school with a baby than a midnight til noon shift at a job that pays little and makes me miserable.

The truth is I have no idea. I know I'll only by 24 by the time I'm done with the beginning of babydom and when I think I'll be ready to resurface into the learning/career world. Most people haven't even started to fathom a career by 24. And I'm confident enough to say I already have quite a bit under my belt.

If you asked the woman I mentioned before if she had the unattainable "all," I bet she'd say no. But if the rest of the world judged her life (as it so loves to do), the answer would probably be yes. Hugely successful career? Check. Adorable baby? Check. Adoring partner? Check. But a satisfaction with life? Not so much, apparently.

I do think it's possible. I think we can have it all.

It's just hard to have it all at once.

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