Recently in Career Confusion Category

Yesterday I had an appointment to get my hair colored. I'd decided it was getting too blonde in the front. But then--in a mode typical of how I've been operating lately--by the time I was sitting in the seat at the salon, I decided the color looked fabulous.

So I asked her if she could just give me a trim.

As she's cutting she's asking me about whether I need any more shampoo or anything and I say something about Tigi products. But instead of saying Tee-Gee, as I guess the company is pronounced, I said Tig-Ee.

This causes her to laugh and say, "It's Tee-Gee.You're reading kid's books all the time so you're all Tig-EE, like Tigger and Pooh. That's so funny."

Uh, excuse me? She might as well have asked me if I have "Congrats Class of 2008! Go Badgers!" written in window paint all over my mini van.

And for your information, we don't have a mini van. (Yet.)

Mark keeps pictures of the girls on his phone so he can show them off to people at work. Since I'm always with Kate and Paige, I clearly need to put some pictures on my phone from when I was a business woman.

"Now in this shot I was signing a multi-million dollar contract with a client I brought in."

"Here's me at the Monday morning management meeting."

"Oh and in this one I'm running through a spreadsheet, telling my team about our finance goals for the quarter."

It's so weird not working. Somehow I haven't managed to purge the subconscious corporate brain activity from my psyche. So, when I'm not actively engaged in diaper changing, toddler taming, or maternal mammalian activities, I find I have this subtle nagging feeling that there's something else that I should be doing.

Do I have a presentation to write? Employee to lambaste? Meeting that I'm somehow extremely late for?

I wrack my brain. Truly. Isn't there something I should I be doing right now, while I have the chance with both kids sleeping? Are there voicemails from ornery clients on my cell phone that I've neglected to check? An issue of Ad Age I forgot to read? HR forms to fill out? For the love of God, isn't there something other than this?

I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure I'm just coming down off of a stress addiction. And man, it sucks. I don't feel it all the time, but it's like the no ciggie after a meal thing. When I do remember I want it, I want it bad. I sweat and slap the inside of my elbow staggering around the house. Where's my next hit going to come from? Certainly there's some shit storm brewing ugly revenue-loss implications somewhere. Or an employee who is right now saying the exact wrong thing to a client?

But no. Often there's nothing. The kids are fed, the house is tidy and often actually clean too. And I'm caught up on my People Magazine reading. Nothing is bearing down on me.

The best I get is a load of laundry I'll find that's lingered in the washing machine forgotten. I open the door, crouch down, and sniff to see if it's gotten mildewy. Maybe I'll have to re-do the load! Maybe it'll all happen when Kate needs me to tie her shoe! Oh the challenge of it all. But, no luck. It's just fine and I sigh and heave it into the dryer.

My heart races slightly when we're dangerously low on milk. Only a quarter of the carton left, I think! I'll need to get to the store quickly before we totally run out and Kate is standing forlorn--worse tantrumy--demanding "milkie" in her "new Sigg cup with the cars smiling on it." But deep down I know that even if we're suddenly milk-less, it won't rock Kate's world too extremely. Nor is it too hard to get to a store to buy some. There's a glimmer of stress I work up around it all, but it's hardly the hit off the pipe I'm needing, if you know what I mean.

The other day, while racking my brain for what it could be that I need to attend to, I remembered my long-neglected scrapbook project. It was something I decided to delve into when I was home with Kate as a baby. It would have been more efficient to simply sit on my front steps and burn wads of cash. But going to the scrapbook store and browsing at "papers" (all part of the "scrappers" lexicon) seemed to fill some void in me at the time.

After putting together about seven scrapbook pages chronicling Kate's life--I barely covered events beyond the first days in the hospital--I decided the world of scrappin' was not for me. I'd toiled and fretted so much over each page, working painfully to achieve supreme cuteness and creativity and never committing to using the permanent double-sided tape to adhere all the nostalgic crap down. When I wasn't working on the book, I berated myself with guilt for letting life's little and big moments pass us by without photos, collages, and puffy stickers to commemorate them. Like watching Leave it to Beaver as a child, where I internalized stress over every of the Beave's misdeeds to near the point of bleeding ulcers, I knew this hobby was no fit for my OCD innards. It just wasn't healthy to be cutting colored paper with scalloped scissors over and over again to make the perfect oval border to showcase Kate's umbilical stump when I could be spending her babyhood engaging with her instead.

But now, with my anxiety level so dangerously low and my days filled with plenty to do but all of it mindless busy work, I can't help but wonder if I could practice scrapbooking moderation.  It might just be the antidote to the What Now? Blues I've been having. Maybe I can control my scrapbooking--dole out just enough to myself each week to boost my blood pressure slightly and get me chewing my cuticles again?

It's something to consider as I daydream during my next meeting with Paige's poopy diaper.

With three weeks to go before my maternity leave started--which was also when the Christmas holiday was beginning--lots of things happened.
a) I got a new boss.
b) Three days later a client pulled out of some projects leaving a gaping hole in my P&L for next year, upwards of, well, a monetary figure with many many zeros in it.
c) We got a chance to pitch for new work.
d) My nesting mode reached bionic heights and I went on an obsessive Excel-monitored Christmas-gift shopping bonanza in all of the time that I wasn't a) trying to make a good impression on my new boss, b) doing damage control over the significant loss of work to my team, c) writing PPTs to win a new client
e) I began to understand what being an insomniac is like, which for anyone who hasn't experienced it should know totally sucks, but it does allow for you to run threw a lot that's on your mental To Do list between 3 and 6AM.

Oh sure, I've been diligently taking my prenatal vitamins, along with a host of other supplements that will help my little inner parasite be the healthiest, smartest and most emotionally balanced being ever produced. But really, I don't think all the other factors had a positive effect on me.

Working long hours, sitting in epic commuter traffic, subsiding on the copious amounts of holiday candy, popcorn and chocolate-covered pretzels, and trying to tap dance fast enough in front of a new boss that she doesn't notice that the shit has hit my division's fan--none of these things are pretty when you are waddling around nine months pregnant.

For the past month or so my internal mantra had been, "Cope, cope, cope." When needed, I can draw on considerable reserves of energy, optimism and drive. And if I push myself hard enough, I won't have enough time to stop and feel sorry for myself. This, plus allowing myself an occasional half-caf latte at Starbucks, can provide much of the necessary energy to light up whatever grid we're on here out West.

Yet, aside from the lack of loving attention I've been focusing on this little baby-to-be, I was also dreadfully lacking the holiday spirit. Sure, I was get the family's gift shopping done. But in the rote emotionless way an astronaut runs through a pre-take-off check list.

Then, something happened--but what was it? Oh, Neice Maia's dance performance. Sitting watching a group of urban kids interpret the Nutcracker with everything from ballet to hip hop to break dancing, while my sister held Kate--who was enraptured--on her lap. It was just enough to make a knick in my steely outer shell of "Cope cope cope" and left me considering briefly a change to "Savor savor savor." I got a small hit, akin to those you can get watching a grocery store commercial during the holidays when PMS makes you sentimental.

But it vanished more quickly than a spritz of fake Christmas tree scent.

Next thing you know, work was over. I was out of there. And then we were in the wind-up to Christmas. I realized that on the same day our nanny would be leaving us, it would be Kate's last day of preschool before the holiday, our house was being cleaned for the last time pre-Xmas, and I was heading out for maternity leave. Thankfully my insomnia gave me plenty of time to process the convergence of all this the night before--while panicking about the appropriate gifts for the house cleaner, teachers and my team--all of which had been ruefully forgotten until my most awake refreshed part of the "day" over the course of the past month, which happened to come while lying in bed between 3AM and 20 minutes before my alarm went off.

And the other thing is, this baby has continued to gestate! Despite my utter emotional neglect. And while I was spending time realizing how unfocused I was on the holidays, I was even unfocuseder on how damn soon this baby will arrive.

3 weeks to be precise. And, given the holidays are past, work is behind me, and we've actually finally (and successfully, I may add) moved Kate into her new room and Big Girl Bed, I'm suddenly staring into a abyss of space and time in which thankfully there is one thing left I can do so I won't feel totally bereft--realize that we are about to have another baby. That I am in fact. Out of this here body.

I never made the change from "cope cope cope" to "savor savor savor," but I'm hoping that I'll be able to get "baby baby baby" in under the wire before I'm moaning in Labor and Delivery and it's much too late.

Somewhere between drinking too many glasses of zin at dinner with the Politos and waking up at 7AM to attend a work event I lied awake in bed and fretted about Kate. Well, more about me really. And this whole work thing.

It's super unusual for it to happen, but this weekend there is a big work thing going on that means I have to work Saturday and Sunday all day. Sure I'll get to take two comp days some other time, but last night as I was in bed it seemed like being away from Kate for the weekend was almost unbearable.

Of course, the more I realized how desperately I needed to sleep off the wine and stow away some energy for two long days on my feet--the more wide awake I was. And sure my brain grazed several neurotic topics (and some of a practical nature), but it seemed to cling most fervently to this idea of Kate and my need to be with her.

Somewhere into my second hour of awakedness my thoughts of Kate made me miss her so much I wanted nothing more than to go into her room and be with her. And then, the baby who always sleeps (knock wood) from 7PM to 7AM with nary a peep, woke up and said, "Mama! Mama!"

I swear there is some crazy bond thing between us.

I'd never been so happy to get out of bed in the middle of the night. I'm sure Mark wondered why I was heading towards her room after the first seconds of her peeping. In general if this had happened she'd doze off again in a matter of seconds.

Anyway, I got her out of her crib and she clearly was bewildered by the suddent burst of attention she didn't realize she was able to so easily summon. The moment I was holding her she pointed down to the mattress and said, "Night night!" So I put her down and satisfied myself with our brief visit.

Not long after that when I crawled back into bed I seemed to finally doze off. But today my thoughts of my work/Mama balancing act linger. Perhaps they'll pass once this work weekend is over and we're back to our normal routine. But if not I don't want to sweep them under the carpet. If 4 days a week is too much, is 3 days perfect? Or is this a grass is always greener thing?

At any rate, secure in knowing I'm not going to let go of these middle-of-the-night thoughts, I'll hopefully sleep better tonight. And in the light of day at some point I can spend some time thinking about what--if anything--I want to do to address them.

It's so damn boring to bemoan the plight of the working mother. Despite its triteness, I can't help but feel a bit of the "not doing either job well enough" thing.

Though, when I really think about it, I am doing right by Kate. It's just my job seems to be able to fill up whatever space it is given, like some B-movie blob invasion. And the fact is, I’m allowing it to take up more space than I probably should.

Which brings me back to the other age-old question: "Is there really such thing as a part-time job?" Or, as I prefer to ponder: "Is there really such thing as a part-time job that doesn't require a hairnet?" Sure, there are plenty of part-time jobs out there, I just don't want to be on my feet all day wearing a name tag and earning minimum wage to fill one of them.

The thing is, I'm pretty lucky to have this job. It's a great company, great position, and given my level of responsibility, pretty cool that I'm able to do it (allegedly) part-time. I just need to exercise a bit more restraint around not working when I'm not supposed to not be working. But the Email Temptress is just to strong a siren for a communication junky like myself. And add to that my control freakishness, and God help those poor employees if I don't have a hawkish eye on them at all times.

So, the alternative is to let go a bit. But when I consider that option, I tend to envision letting go altogether--just stepping aside while briskly slapping my hands together, and watching from the sidelines what happens when I don't interject myself into all the scenarios I'm certain will result in angry clients and confused aimless employees without my guidance.

Maybe Letting Go won't be half as bad as I think it will be. Or maybe it will be catastrophic, but fun to watch. Maybe my boss won’t even mind, and will say, “That sure was a good show, Kristen! I can see why you wanted to test the laws of entropy!” Or maybe—most likely—the results will be uneven and I'll realize there are places where I can ease off and others where I need to wrestle with the details like some leather-faced Floridian alligator wrangler.

For some reason I'm struggling with figuring out how to let go a bit--even though I know that I need to in order to make this job a marathon, and not collapse in three more months after a sprint. (It seems so cool to try to use sports analogies. How’d I do?) There's got to be some workable middle ground between Madame Micro Manager and All Hell Breaking Loose. And for starters I think part of that middle ground should include me not working on my days off.

What's funny is, I wonder whether all that it is that I think I'm doing to get things on the right path are even the right things to do. I'm not sure why I'm so convinced much of the time that my ideas are better. Today for instance, I had this moment while walking into the bathroom (my two minutes of reflection all day until now) in which I wondered whether the client will even be happy with the proposal we are pulling together, or if I am on crack.

But that was weird. Mostly I’m convinced that I’m at least making a smart decision based on some past experience. Have I been raised to embrace an unhealthy and unrealistic self esteem? Am I not a team player? Or maybe have I just been around the block at this point in my career and I do know a thing or two? Whatever it is, I just hope I’m not obnoxious.

Maybe I need to make a concerted effort to go with another person's idea at work even when I'm fearful it’s not the best approach. Maybe I need to let go of the "how will this reflect on me" stress and just let some of the chips fall where they proverbially may.

All this said, I need to go print out some documents and outline how I think we need to handle a proposal we're putting together tomorrow. Of course, I'll be wide open to hearing how the other folks I'm working with want to tackle it, but I want to have my ideas on paper just in case...

Okay, so I need to work more on letting others fly (or flop). But I do intend to take both Thursday and Friday off this week while my Dad is in town, and only check email once those days.

I will control the blob, some day. I know I will!

A few years ago when we were in Connecticut visiting Mark's sister and hubby they had Pop Tarts in the house, and in the course of the visit we had them for brekkie. So when we got home Mark got some at the grocery store--two packs since they were a BOGO item, i.e. "Buy One Get One" free. (This is what you learn from having a grocery store client for as long as I have.) I lamented that we shouldn't eat those. They were a special "when we were at someone else's house or up in Tahoe" treat. (For some reason when you go to Tahoe you're allowed to eat like a 12-year-old latch child.) Then I polished off both boxes before I think Mark even got one.

We went for a spell without getting them. I put my (much fatter) foot down and managed to convince Mark that cinnamon toast was just as sugary.

Well I looked in the cupboard a couple days ago and what do I see but two gargantuan boxes of Pop Tarts. Brown sugar--not even my flavor. I prefer blueberry. Though that didn't stop me from snarfing them up in the past, nor did it this time.

And so I'm sitting here with a cup of Earl Grey decaf and now my second Pop Tart and thinking this gastronomic decline just makes perfect sense right now. Everything else in my world seems to be coming a bit more unglued than I'd like--though I did check in with Mark recently to see if I was just being dramatic and/or hormonal. He kinda didn't answer....

Yesterday morning we finally had our pitch. A response to an RFP to keep an existing client. Their bean counters (I assume) have all vendors bid or re-bid as it were for the work every several years to make sure they’re getting the most bang for their buck. And while I don't blame them, bidding to keep work you already have is the worst. Losing hurts more than losing to a client you never had. And winning really just gets you back to where you were before you devoted weeks of stress, extra work, and new gray hairs to it all.

That said, pitching at a publishing company does beat pitching at an agency. I mean, this wasn't a 25-person roller coaster ride from hell that involved experts pulled in from offices in other time zones and executives who two days before the pitch determine all the work that's been done is in the totally wrong direction, and 'y'all should probably execute against this strategy now.'

Weirdly, I was the exec in this pitch. Not that I haven’t been a Big Girl on these things in the past, but at least then I was one in a team. And now it's just kinda me and other people who don’t seem to have tons of experience pitching who intermittently seem to get it, then suddenly do something leaving me fretting that they don’t get it at all.

Self-imposed stress can be the worst of it all. As long as someone else more senior than you tells you what you’re doing sucks, you’re confident in that assessment. But when it's you telling you, you can't help but wonder if maybe what you’ve been slaving over is really okay, or even kinda good, and you're just being hard on yourself. Then, moments later, you are utterly convinced of its suckingness.

At any rate, there were no endlessly long late nights. Nor excessive weekends of work. But my brain was totally co-opted by thoughts of this so even Kate Time occasionally felt slightly tainted by work thoughts. Which is not The Plan. The Plan is to have the job that I do when I do it and not obsess over it and have it affect my sleep, and make me snap at the people working with me since I wish they had more experience pitching, and decide to go into the office on my work-from-home day, so not be able to drive Kate and the nanny to Gymboree and then feel guilty that my work is seeping into places that are not in The Plan.

For all this I had to be in LA overnight. Kate did a great job of making me feel even worse about it all by getting a cold and being especially sad and Mommy-clingy. And it was all about me just getting home after the pitch and then I'd have the rest of the week and weekend with her, but my bag got lost and I ended up sitting in the airport fuming and waiting for the next plane to land. An hour spent waiting for your bag to turn up sucks in any scenario, but one in which you are desperate to get back to the baby you've been fearing you're been short-shrifting, makes it intolerable.

At one point, with only 20 more minutes to wait, I considered getting in my car and driving home to see Kate, and just getting the bag another day.

Of course, while waiting I had umpteen work calls and several of them indicated I might need to do some work the next day (my day off). This sent me into the stress stratosphere.

Thankfully by Friday morning it became apparent that the meeting I thought I might need to have wasn’t going to happen. I might get my day off after all. And the clouds--like those white fluffy ones in the opening sequence of The Simpsons--seemed to part and some rays of sun made their way down to me and my self pity. I resolved that next week I'd take my work-from-home day from home, and to take my day off off.

And if that wasn’t good enough, when I did check work email later that day (despite my best intentions—clearly I am part of the problem), I discovered that something I’d been working on for weeks that had been caught up in corporate red tape had suddenly slipped past the goalie and my mission was accomplished. It was one of those things that I was resolved to get up my dukes over and suddenly and anti-climactically the problem vanished. Poof!

It’s so weird when you are in a mental groove and then you’re spit out the other end of it. It was like my psyche was still crunched up in a grumpy stress ball and was having trouble shaking it off and going to the light.

I can have work-life balance. I can spend time with Kate and Mark and still have a satisfying career. I'd still be getting this new crop of gray hair even if I was home being fed peeled grapes. If I keep chanting it, it will all be true, right?

Perhaps I’m approaching the recent appearance of Pop Tarts with the totally wrong attitude. Maybe I should behold them as a celebratory indulgence that's suddenly there for the takin', not the specter of poor nutrition that’s symptomatic of temporary poor life management.

Either way, they sure do toast up nice.

Oy vey. This week has just got to be better than last week. If not, someone please send me a cookie bouquet or something. Sheesh.

So the job seems like it will be good. Smart and funny folks. And everyone is crazy friendly. At times I've felt like I'm back in the groove--asking the right questions, making insightful observations in meetings, and even looking natty in my new work clothes. At other times I've sputtered out the totally wrong word (voicemail introducing myself to client saying "See you at the lay-off meeting" instead of the "layout meeting." D'oh!) And then sometimes I get in that kinda sleepy, slap happy mode of being too familiar and jocular with people who instead of having fun with me seem to be mildly freaked out that I'm their new boss and I suddenly realize I should cinch my personality girdle in a bit tighter.

The nanny. We've clashed once already when I called to say I was stuck in traffic and would be 5 minutes late and she told me in a not so friendly manner that she just couldn't stay. She had things to do and somewhere to be. I mean, I appreciate her life and respect her time but it was the second day with a new commute and I was still trying to figure out how long it would all take.

So, in a panic I called four local friends getting voicemails all around and leaving desperate pleas could they please call me if they got this and maybe go to the house and sit with Kate for a few minutes until I screeched into the driveway clutching the steering wheel with sweaty palms and a throbbing headache? No one was home. No one called back. I called the nanny again and really what ensued is too annoying to even go into but suffice it to say I wasn't left with the warm fuzzies for how she and I will relate under duress.

But thankfully it was a three-day work week since Mark's cousin Dan was getting hitched in Louisville (pronounced Loo-vul), Kentucky. So Thursday morning with the new-work-and-new-nanny part of the week behind me my alarm clock went off at 4:15AM and I greeted the day by dragging excessive luggage to the car, waking up a sleeping baby and schlepping to the airport in the icy dark morning. Once there I was making a bee-line for the gate since it was boarding time, but looked at my seat number (17A) instead of the gate number (3), so ran the length of the terminal with baby on hip, stroller loaded with large carry-on and carseat strapped to back chanting internally "one foot, the other foot, making progress, I can do it" only to arrive at last at destination, exhale with exhaustion, realize my error and turn around, sweat trickling down my chest, to run back to gate 3 twice as fast since I was really late then. (The argument with the gate attendant about why I couldn't take the carseat onto the plane for Kate, even though there were free seats, was just gilding the lily.)

In Houston we met Mark. And boy was I crazy happy to see him in that misery loves company or at least loves to complain a lot to someone you really love way. In our second flight he unburdened me of baby, luggage, and most importantly the daunting feeling of doing it all alone (hail to you, single parents!). He really stepped up for much of the weekend too.

And Kentucky was fun at times. The Miller clan is always a hoot to hang out with, and many of Aunt Terry's Lexington posse we've come to know a bit. And Kate had some babies to play with, and grandparents to adore her. Three nights of parties (BBQ, rehearsal dinner, wedding) were all fabulous and social, but really I would have been well-served to sit at home with greasy hair blankly staring at the TV and feeding myself Dove Bars. Since that wasn't in the cards I did a sort of body cleansing by inbibing excessive amounts of bourbon. Not what I needed to feel rested and geared up for Week Number 2 of New Job, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Time to sleep since I'm already cutting into my much-needed 8 hours. And I know it's all going to get so much better, if I can just wake up for it.

Do not start a new job and leave your daughter for the first time with a new nanny who for all you know could be an axe-murderer in the same week when your husband is away on a business trip and on Thursday you'll already need to take a day off and be all packed and get yourself and your baby onto a 6AM flight to go to a family wedding.

Do not get your period the morning of your first day of work and have miserable cramps. And don't forget to take Advil before you leave the house and spend the whole day hoping that you'll magically find some in your office in the 30 second breaks between your back-to-back getting-to-know-you need-to-make-a-good-first-impression meetings.

Do not wear a pink dress shirt under a black dress on your first day of work, thinking it looks cute until you arrive at the office and realize you look like an overgrown girl in a Catholic school uniform.

Do not take on management of a community event when you are starting a new job and your husband is away on a business trip.

Do not freak out that the nanny that you hired is possibly terrible and that your daughter no longer loves you after one day left with a total stranger who you hope she will come to like someday, but not too much.

Do not get lost on your first drive home from your first day of work and ultimately sit in extra traffic and have to call the nanny and tell her you'll be late and can she possible stay longer--establishing yourself in her mind as irresponsible (and as having a bad sense of direction).

Do not cry on the phone to your husband after feeding and bathing a crying overtired baby who didn't take an afternoon nap, making him feel terrible about being away on a business trip.

Do not spend an hour updating a spreadsheet for your community event planning (which you have foisted off on your benevolent friend) when all you want to do is space out and watch TV, then have your computer crash and lose all your work.

Do not underestimate the many emails and calls you got from friends asking how your first day of work was, sending heaps of encouragement, and making you feel somewhat validated that this is indeed a big transition and worthy of stress, exhaustion, and anxiety but given time could turn out to be just fine and maybe even very rewarding.

Do not give into the temptation to ask your husband to come home from his business trip early just because you miss him madly and feel bad that he feels bad that you feel bad. Do go to sleep grateful to have him and looking forward to how happy you will be to see him in the Houston airport on Thursday.

Yesterday, man, were we cranky. I'm not sure who started it but Kate was not herself. Maybe teething, maybe just asserting an uglier part of her personality that thankfully has been dormant for much of her existence. And she didn't take a morning nap and then I was jangled because it didn't give me a break and then I was snappish with Mark and/or either he or I or Kate started it all and it unraveled from there. At any rate, there was not a lot of merrymaking at this house yesterday. Nothing too terribly miserable either--just cranky.

At one point we took Kate to a local kiddy park that a kind of crazy person in the 'hood always talks about, and once we were there and Kate was on the swings for 3.5 minutes Mark and I looked at each other and wondered what else to do. Sometimes you just forget what to do with the baby and the time before her bedtime stretches on infinitely, like when you're watching the clock at a temp job.

And during this jaunt to the park, in which we spent a sum total of 8 minutes (but were at least grateful for having used up that much of time), Mark said something about the four-day weekend and running out of baby-entertainment ideas. Even though I was right there with him--baffled as to what to do with her, with all of us, next--it was an interesting insight into what it's like to have a job and not just do the Kate thing day after day.

This is of particular interest because I now have a job. Well, I got a job and I guess that means I "have" it, though it hasn't manifested itself into something that I go and do yet. Right now it just exists in the abstract, and my attention is focused on telling my friends and family the "I have a job" story, and looking for a nanny.

I met a nanny today who I'd held out irrational hope for as being a perfect Mary Poppins. She was the first person I interviewed and even though she was smart and sweet and seemed to be someone who would be responsible and maybe even fun with Kate, I didn't feel like she was The One. She didn't sufficiently flip out over Kate's beauty, intelligence, and charisma. And the fact that I didn't love her, and either apparently did Kate, left me feeling like I might get to a place of feeling desperate or scared or having to make a childcare decision that doesn't rock me to my soul with right-ness. Though really, I know Mark and myself enough to know we would never do that.

Today Kate exhibited more nap-refusal and crankitude that made me start thinking like Mark was yesterday. Soon there will be a day when I know that even if she’s having a rare grumpy day or even just an episode, I’ll have another place to go/thing to do tomorrow, and somehow that will make it easier to endure the fuss. (Of course, even having that thought made me feel guilty...)

It reminded me of the thing that you do when you’re moving out of New York City. (I did this, but I assume anyone who leaves there does it too.) So, when you move out of New York, in the time that you know you are moving but you haven't yet gone, you let all the totally crappy things about living there seep into your consciousness. Actually, you not only let them seep in, you celebrate them:
No more urine drenched subway tunnels!
No more $17 omelets!
No more having your feet in your shower stall when you’re sitting on the toilet because your bathroom is so damn small!

Well, you get the point. There is no place like New York. The place you are going won’t have anywhere near the energy or the opportunities or the 4AM Indian food delivery. But you need to rationalize hard about how you are making the right decision.

With my return to work date looming, I'm trying to trick myself into this very headset. So I will be away from Kate for 30 hours a week. Well, I'll have fewer stinky diapers to change! I won’t be calling Mark at his office when she’s cranky and I just need to vent for a sec because I won't be there either! I'll...

God, the fact is, it's hard to even come up with the reasons why it’ll be good to leave her. So instead of thinking of all the things that suck about NYC, I think I need to focus on the good things that await me in the place I am going to.

And hopefully, I’ll have a much greater appreciation for all manner of stinky diapers, toddler meltdowns, and long days before bedtimes when I get them.

Today marks one year that I have been out of work. I haven't not worked for this long since high school, or possibly before then. I feel like I should be getting a pin in some ceremony in a church basement where other stay-at-home moms clap and cheer on my progress.