Addy Finds Her Dog Hilarious.

Minutes before I left for Atlanta I witnessed Adelyn's second laughing fit. (Not a giggle, but a full-on, minute-long belly laugh.) And what was so funny? Louie. Again, it was Louie. I can see why a baby would find him so amusing--he's a ball of fur, full of spirit, has a penchant for licking baby toes and adult noses, and looks like a teddy bear that was somehow brought to life. Adelyn was sitting up (on her own! for one whole minute!) watching Louie attack Jason with kisses and she couldn't contain herself.

I'm in Atlanta at my first full day of this conference. Learning a lot about poverty and fighting it and just how important this kind of work is.

(And I met a formerly homeless man, probably six-foot-four, three-hundred pounds and African American, who pulled himself out of the vicious cycle of poverty and has started his own non-profit homeless shelter. I'm going to write some grants for him, partly because it'll be great for my resume and partly because people like him make me happy to live in this world.)

Jason has heard about my love of hotels for years. And I'm currently sitting on a cushy, maid-made bed in a sparkling clean room that I didn't touch, full after eating an amazing meal cooked, served, and cleaned up for me thanks to the conference.

But I want to be back in my unmade bed watching Addy giggle at Louie and her dad.

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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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The Schlep, Part Two.

In the beginning I called the process of getting Adelyn out of the house "the great schlep." Those first few voyages with a baby are so daunting--it's such a shock to your old life that you can no longer up and leave the house at a moment's notice.

Five months later, and I've come to terms with it. Working between your schedule and your baby's infinitely more complicated schedule (you can wait until you get home to eat. She, on the other hand, cannot. Or will not.) is a delicate balancing act. Next month when I officially start working Adelyn will be with a babysitter three days a week (the other two I get to work at home), which should make our conflicting schedules a little easier to manage. But, still, getting Adelyn ready, myself ready, and the entire gamut of Adelyn's necessities ready before work will require additional planning. For instance--Addy still sleeps in her NapNanny. In fact, Jason and I are thinking we need to break her of this habit. We're wondering if it's maybe why she hasn't rolled over (because she doesn't get to squirm around in her crib all night and in the morning). It's getting harder to stay out with her for long periods of time (when we can't just lay her flat on her back at her grandparents' houses for a nap). And when I think about what I'll need to carry with me each day we leave the house--I don't want to add a bulky, pink, sleep-assistant to the load.

We started talking about this yesterday, when we were planning our trip to Delaware with Addy for my sister's wedding in August. We'll bring the pack 'n play, obviously, for our stay in the hotel. And tons of formula, bottles, clothes, bibs, burp rags, toys. And what about the Nap Nanny? Do we pay extra to check it in on the plane? Then haul it through both airports and cabs and through the hotel along with bags and bags of her other stuff, just because we--it's not her fault, really--are scared to endure a few sleepless nights weaning her away it? No. I think the time has come. Adelyn doesn't, I think, have reflux. Or if she does it's no longer a major concern for her. She's just not used to being on her back at night. Our fault.

So. The "great" schlep? I wish I could go tell myself five months ago to chill out. She weighed, like, seven pounds and she slept all of the time. We hadn't even approached the true schlep of schlepping. I don't know if we've even hit the peak now.

Yesterday, I took Adelyn with me to a meeting. I went with a co-worker to meet the people who run a ministry here in Murfreesboro, because I'm going to be coordinating a lot of literacy programs with them (helping people earn their GEDs, people who have never learned to read, among many other things). Since I was only going to be gone two hours I brought Adelyn with me.

And I timed that thing like a pro--we left precisely when it was time for her afternoon nap. This would mean, I thought, I hoped, that she would fall asleep during the drive and stay asleep for the next hour. But the second I opened the car door at our destination, her eyes opened, too. And that's how they stayed--for the next three hours. Who needs a nap when there are buildings to look at, people to smile at, things to learn? I'd brought the stroller since we were walking from my organization's office to a building a few blocks down. And it was HOT outside. It's been hotter here than I can ever remember.

Adelyn stayed content for the majority of the meeting--a few squawks here and there, quickly remedied by being picked up and shown off.

By the time I strolled her back to the car, though, she was desperate to fall asleep. Rubbing her eyes, blaring crying, onesie soaked through from the heat.

This is where the schlep really starts. The people in the car parked to my left are waiting for me to get this done so they can escape the heat and drive. After giving them a little "sorry this is about to take so long" wave, I hold the stroller in place with my foot, right by the car. I twist and stretch my arms to the front door, open it, and put the keys in the ignition. It's too hot to put her in the car without some sort of ventilation already in place--even I feel woozy when I first get in. So while I'm stretch-Armstronging my body to make sure the stroller doesn't stroll away without me, Adelyn is still crying. Screaming. After a few seconds of blasting the AC I lift up her increasingly-heavy car seat and put it in the back. (How I don't have arms of steel at this point, I'm really not sure.) Then I put the diaper bag in the front seat, and wheel the stroller around to the back to put it in the trunk. The car next to me has started backing up at this point. Luckily, she has a toddler in the backseat of her car and shoots me an understanding glance.

I fold up the stroller and hoist it up into the trunk--teasingly close to being done with the whole thing--but then--oops!--I forgot I'd grabbed a Diet Coke from the office and put it into the stroller's cup holder. So the already luke-warm drink splashes down the front of my shirt, my pants, down to my feet. It's so hot I don't even mind. I just want the stroller in the damn car. Once it's safely in I slam the door shut, climb into the front seat, and speed off. As soon as we hit 30 miles per hour Adelyn is fast asleep--and she stays that way once we get home, even snoozing through the removal of her sweat-soaked onesie and the transition to her swing.

This is a schlep. Not the nonsense I was talking about months ago. Look up schlep in a Yiddish dictionary and there would be a picture of a mother, baby crying in the car, with a stroller halfway inside of the trunk and Diet Coke all over her outfit.

It does get easier with time, though, getting Adelyn out of the house. You learn new little tricks and timesavers every day. Mostly through trial and error (like, put the diaper bag in the car FIRST, then come back and get the baby, or use nap time or independent play time to get everything ready, rather than waiting for the last minute). If you have any tricks of your own, I want to hear them. Please. E-mail them to me, comment them here, or send them to me telepathically. Share your wisdom on making the schlep as painless as possible.

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Changes.

I got a job. It's the one I've been talking about, the perfect one (for right now) that will allow me to work from home most of the time. We're looking into part-time daycare. Just so I have maybe two or three days a week I know I can work uninterrupted. I start in July, after a three-day training in Atlanta. I'll be taking Adelyn (and my mom) with me.

Even though my life has changed in all of the biggest ways possible over the last year--pregnant, married, crazy full-time job then jobless, becoming a parent, having a new name, a new apartment, a new lifestyle--my life feels mostly the same as it always has. People keep asking me if I feel different, now that I'm married, and for some people I know marriage is a huge step. But for us it wasn't so much a step as a gradual thing that just happened. We were married, essentially, when we moved in together two years ago. Our bank accounts became one. When we found out about Adelyn there might as well have been a preacher standing over us while we we sat on the couch staring at the positive pregnancy test, making us say our "I do's." The wedding was just a celebration of all of these things (and it was also the best weekend of my life), and something we would have done a year ago had it not been for the planet orbiting my ever-growing belly.

One of my biggest problems over the past seven years has been a nagging desire to do more. See more, be more, experience more. Even when I know it's not feasible, and even when I know, deep down, I'm happiest where I am, a part of me always wonders what else is out there. I'm not talking about Jason. I'm talking about my self-worth and my career, my day-to-day life and the stories I will one day tell my grandchildren.

Because if you get rid of all of the expectations you have for your life, it really forces you to appreciate what you do have. And those expectations, for me, are plentiful. I spent a lot of time being sick growing up, and I think that forced me to constantly wish and hope for something else, to lie in bed and plot out my next adventure, to take a look around me and ask, "What else?"

Jason and I are both guilty of this. We spend a lot of time--especially after we've been drinking--sitting around dreaming up what's next. We know all about our dream house (in the country, with a writing desk overlooking a garden in a big, warm library with all of my favorites, and an expansive room above the garage with guitars lining the walls where Jason can turn up his amps as loud as his ear drums can stand it), our dream vacations, our dream life for Adelyn.

But this, this live I'm living now, is what a life is all about. I'm surrounded by love, and creation, compassion and inspiration. What more, aside from the physical, superfluous things, could one ask for? Our apartment is small but each wall is filled with pictures I love, each crevice, already, reminds me of a happy memory.

This is nothing original. Most people--especially us youngins', the ones who might have found their lives taking a sudden, drastic turn from what was expected--worry about what they'll think sixty years from now. I can't imagine what I'll think. Then again I couldn't imagine, ten years ago, being a mother.

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Child-led Parenting. Or What Just Kinda Happened.

Yesterday I had lunch with three other moms. Two have babies three weeks younger than Adelyn. One has a baby who's seven months old. I've talked about that particular baby before. Her name is Ella and her cheeks are infinitely kissable and she hardly ever cries. Now she's developed the ability to say her name, which she does over and over while awake. "El-lalala-la. El-lalala-la." She's adorable.

At lunch we got on the topic of Baby Wise, because these are the kind of things four young moms talk about. Baby habits, formula types, breastfeeding vs. bottlefeeding, being hungover and taking care of your baby, the concern over a baby who doesn't care about rolling over, and, I think, the topic of spray tans made a brief appearance. But mostly we just talked about living as a mother.

One of these women, Ella's mom, works full-time. More than full-time, actually. The other just went back to work, working three days a week. The other goes back to work, working from home, in just a couple of weeks. And then there's me, who is caught somewhere between a former desire to devote herself, all of herself, to being a success and trying to figure out how to be a parent.

I did not expect to be a mom right now. I hope when Adelyn someday, inevitably, reads this she understands that that doesn't mean I'm not extraordinarily grateful for how things have turned out. It just means that I was thrown for a loop. Graduating from college and trying to figure out what to do for a living is confusing enough. Doing this with a baby is a bit more so.

I think--fingers crossed--I'm a couple of weeks away from getting the job I hoped for. It doesn't pay much, but it's for an organization I care deeply about and it would allow me to work from home most of the time. Between two family members who are teachers off for the summer and a great grandma who seems to have an infinite number of baby-tricks up her sleeve--along with the generosity of my mother-in-law's friend who's offered to watch Addy whenever I need her to--I think we can avoid putting Addy in day care.

The job does require a three-day training in Atlanta. I have to figure that out. My mom might come with me and watch Addy while I do the required stuff. But other than that, I think we'll be just fine.

But it brings up, once again, this increasingly-tricky question of creating a routine that is predictable. It doesn't have to be on-the-nose scheduled, but it has to be somewhat smooth, like, knowing that within the next three hours I will have an hour I can devote solely to work. And little Adelyn, God love her, does not like predictability. Our newest schedule involves getting up around four thirty in the morning, eating and playing until she's sleepy again, and then putting her in her swing to nap while mommy snoozes on the couch. I never used to need so much sleep. When I was pregnant, even, I woke up at six on the dot. Now when I hear Addy babbling over the monitor at four, five, six I'm desperate for just one more hour between the sheets. (Sleeping.)

I don't like the idea of Baby Wise. Neither do the other moms I was with yesterday. Ella, her mom told us, has developed a schedule all by herself. And she sticks to it. None of us are fond of forcing a schedule on our babies. I think the experts call this "child-led parenting." I call it trying to find something that works. I can't hold off giving Addy a bottle if she's hungry, a nap if she's tired. My neighbors--who are generally incredibly sweet--told us they used to do everything in their power to keep their daughter awake past six p.m. They'd even sprinkle water on her face if she was drifting off. (This might have been a joke. I hope.) And that meant she started sleeping through the night from the start.

I can't do those things. I've tried--not with the water on the face part--to plan out our day, thinking she'd get another bottle in three hours, then another at noon, then a nap, then so on. It never works for me. I always give in.

Am I setting myself up for disaster later on down the line? Am I raising a child who will get what she wants, when she wants it? Or am I just a proponent of this thing called child-led parenting? I don't know. But I do know that Addy wants another bottle, and I'm going to give it to her.

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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.

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Off the Mommy Clock.

This weekend I had my longest stretch of Adelyn-less time. My mom and I spent Saturday, almost the entire day, working on wedding stuff and shopping. We went to lunch. I got a facial. It was a much-needed break.

Jason watched Adelyn from nine in the morning 'til about three in the afternoon.

When I came home he was in the recliner, Adelyn snoozing on his chest. There was a half-eaten bottle on the table beside him. He had a burp-rag thrown over his shoulder, another draped across his knee. The sound of whining teenagers on "16 and Pregnant" played in the background--surely not his show of choice, but whatever happened to come on after what he was watching. The remote was across the room, on the couch. (You can't really run to fetch it when you're in the middle of feeding her, burping her, playing with her, comforting her.) He was in the same clothes as when I left, plaid pajama pants, Sonic Youth T-shirt. Whenever Jason gets time to himself he picks up his guitar, and I know he was hoping he'd get some playing time in that day, but it was still in its place in the corner of the room, untouched.

I walked over to him and pulled Adelyn off his chest. She immediately started crying, as she usually does when she's torn from a position she was comfortable in, and Jason got up, wiped a spot of spit-up off the front of his shirt and took a deep breath.

"I need a shower," he said. And he gave me a kiss and went upstairs.

It was the most validating moment of the past two months yet.

Later that day Jason told me what I needed to hear--what I didn't even know I needed to hear. He told me how hard the day had been, fun and rewarding, but hard. Adelyn had one of her needy days, as she does sometimes, when she's only satisfied attached to a human body. Those moments are sweet, those moments when you can tell she's only happy lying on your chest. But those are also the moments you have to continually forsake a shower, or answering the phone, or being productive. Doing the dishes or doing your work.

About a month after she was born I started working on my own business. I've been trying to establish a freelance career, focusing on writing grants for non-profits, and I've been luckier than I expected in finding projects to start with. But even if you can land that parenting holy grail--working from home--the battle doesn't end. You still have to find time to work, even if you are in your pajamas. And that's infinitely easier said than done when you're doing it on a newborn's time.

Does it make me a bad mom, or a bad fiance, that my most validating moment so far was seeing that frazzled-look on my partner's face? There are those women--those crazy strong women--who do it on their own, who don't even get a moment to see that look mirrored back at them. I think about them all the time, especially when I get a day to myself and come back home to my baby renewed, refreshed. Eager to change a dirty diaper because I got an afternoon away from it.

Seeing that look was like having your boss pat you on the back, saying that all those long hours are appreciated. That maybe you're up for a promotion.

I think we need to see that look in someone else, us mothers. Especially us mothers who are, either permanently or for the moment, treating motherhood like a job. It is work. Even when we're wearing spit-up stained PJ pants while we're on the clock.

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Stir-crazy.

It's funny how I feel like so much of my life is riding on an uncomfortable exam with my obstetrician. An invasive doctor's appointment should be something to dread, right? Except I find myself looking at my calendar daily wondering if I really have three more weeks until I go back to the doctor.

I'm dying for the okay to act like a human.

I know from reading other women's experiences that a lot of people don't follow the six-week rule. And while I'm usually the last person to perfectly mind my doctor's orders, this time it's different. I guess 'cuz now there's a baby involved, and her health is the most important thing, followed by my health so I can stick around and take care of her.

But ohmygod I want to work out. Move my limbs, run until I'm out of breath. I want to take Adelyn into the world. I want to start merging these two lives--the one I barely remember, way back when Adelyn wasn't even a blip on my radar, and the other that I'm in now, where she is the center of my world.

This isn't a complaint. I wouldn't trade this new life for anything. I'd gladly trade in the parts in between her smiles and playtime, though.

When she's sleeping (which is a lot), I find myself thinking more and more about what's next. I know Jason and I don't want to put Adelyn in daycare yet, because we both want to spare the insane expense and realize that we're lucky enough that we don't have to put her in it. But I also know that I'll quickly go crazy without a path, a goal, a project outside of poopy diapers and warming bottles.

I'm not talking about tomorrow, or even next week. I'm talking about in the future, once our lives and my health start becoming a little more predictable. When we have actual bed-times. For now, I'll make do with the okay that I can start acting like a non-pregnant, non postpartum person. One who can drink a beer or lift some weights without suffering the guilt.

More than anything I want the okay to take her outside. There's a big world outside of this apartment (from what I can remember).

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Boredom setting in.

It's the first day I've felt like someone without a job. Or even a goal or an itinerary or a schedule. I woke up early and have spent my time since then reading and watching TV. The climax of the day's excitement came at lunch, when a friend was supposed to stop by to see the new apartment and to eat. So I hurriedly tidied up and traded my pajama pants for arguably real pants only to find out that she couldn't come after all because work had gotten too busy. Back into the pajama pants I went.

I don't function well without things to do. I'm on week three of no-job, and it's taken until today to have that creepy-crawly lazy feeling catch up with me.

I've never been able to take naps, no matter how tired I may be, thanks to that nagging voice telling me I should be doing. I can't sleep in because the second my eyes open, even just between dreams, that voice is back, demanding that I do, do, do. When my health demands otherwise--in the past when I've hardly been able to get out of bed for a day or more at a time--the voice doesn't rest. It only goes to war with my body, calling it worthless and ridiculing its lack of tenacity.

Back in August when I made the final decision that I'd have to leave work earlier than the average pregnant person, I knew this day would come. When I got done packing, and moving, and setting up the new place. When I got to my sixth novel of the month and the novelty of reading voraciously wore off. When enduring 12 more weeks of a task-less existence would suddenly outshine how impossibly fast the last 28 weeks have flown by.

I spent 23 years falling in love with language and words and writing and four years focusing that love on telling true stories and journalism. Then I spent 11 months after I graduated with a bona fide job. And not just any job, but a job with an impressive title in my chosen field, one that is--according to the innumerable experts and professors who drilled it into my heads during college--supposed to be dying, dying, dead. But within a month of getting my diploma I was an associate producer. I was writing the words people call "news." But I still wasn't satisfied.

In 12 weeks or less, I'll have a child. That thought has taken over all others. I've forsaken contemplating my future, my already-stalled career and exactly how I will occupy my time after baby-mania has worn off. And when the to-do list dwindles, I can't help but stop and think about it.

I've always been lucky that I've known what I want to do. Earlier this year, I found a survey in my parents' garage that I'd filled out in first grade. My favorite color is no longer pink. I no longer spell my name with a backwards "r." But one thing hadn't changed--next to future career, I already knew. "Writer." Backwards "r" included.

I only hope my daughter has the same focus, that she can love something so much to look back nearly two decades later and watch the progression.

I guess that when the time comes for me to start teaching Adelyn about hopes and dreams and goals and careers--and who knows what I'll be doing then--I can tell her that when she was born, I was at the precipice of figuring it all out. Teetering over the edge.

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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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