Bail me out

As the Democrats and Republicans fight over this massive billion dollar bail-out deal that will hopefully save the American and global economy from completely collapsing, I'm really starting to get a bit worried. What if I or the reluctant grownup should lose one -- or both! -- of our jobs?!

Like any late and guilty converter, I'm starting to pay more attention to the financial picture. I've put all our financial information into mint.com (it's online, it's free and it's so much cooler than Quicken) and have started examining our family’s budget a bit more closely.

Exercises like this are always way too revealing. Kind of like the time I decided to keep a food diary. Two generous glasses of red wine, schmears of creamy Brie cheese, several slices of French bread and a handful of olives. Eighteen thousand calories. And that was just the first course. Needless to say, I'm one of those people who prefers to play dumb when it comes to the number of calories that I am consuming. And, as reality avoidance would have it, the same also goes for the number of dollars that I'm typically spending.

So here's the harsh reality: our family budget has been set up to accommodate the appetite of a new 90210 starlet when in fact we have John Goodman raiding our refrigerator.

What I've budgeted for:

• Childcare - Nanny, 40 hours
• Transportation - Subway/bus
• Clothing - A few sensible items from the Gap, Old Navy a few times each year
• Groceries - For healthy, non-processed, home-cooked meals
• Recreation - Netflix
  

What I actually spend:

• Childcare - Nanny, 45 hours, competitive DC rates, extra $ so she won’t leave us, several hours each week of time-and-a-half overtime due to client emergencies at work
  
• Transportation - Car payment, exorbitant gas prices, downtown parking garage fees, speeding tickets (as I rush home to avoid paying nanny overtime)
  
• Clothing - Designer clothing to better “complement” those curves, several pairs of $40 Spanx control top/butt/thighs/tummy undergarments (because I haven't had time to work out and haven’t lost the baby weight)
  
• Groceries - Groceries (many of which typically rot in the refrigerator), Chinese delivery that has our credit card on file, Dominos.com, cases of wine, bottles of single malt
• Recreation - Bar tabs, food/wine tabs, babysitters, pharmaceuticals (and resulting therapist bills)

And the first shall be last

Over the weekend a friend and co-worker jokingly mentioned that she was basing her self-worth on the number of social media followers she had. I had to laugh because I realized that even more sad was what I use to evaluate my self-worth on a daily basis: number of ounces.

Lately it's been a measily 6 oz per day. Back in the day I could easily produce 12 or 15 oz.

Of milk that is. (Most of you are getting totally grossed out right about now.)

Of all the jobs I have, being a mammalian mother may be the toughest. I'm not discounting the hard work that ALL mothers have to shoulder. What you feed your kids -- whether it be the purest drawn breastmilk, Gerber baby formula, or Doritos and Diet Coke -- has little to do with the bulk of the effort. It's a hard pill to swallow when you realize that even after the pregnancy is over, it's still not my body, my choice. Having to think about what I can and can't put into my body, having to force in pumping time at work, and having to wake up at odd times in the middle of the night for months on end can take a toll on a gal.

Maybe the hardest thing about breastfeeding is the knowledge that you've got to take care of yourself in order to nourish the baby. And as all my mom friends will agree, one of the hardest things is trying to figure out where they stop and you start -- or maybe it's where they start and you stop.

Taking the time to exercise or eat a healthy meal or - gasp! - put my feet up is nearly impossible at worst and a selfish indulgence at best when the baby needs feeding, the 3-yr-old needs corraling, the laundry needs folding, the dinner needs stirring, the dog needs relieving, the husband need loving, the bills need paying, the report needs proofing and the dishes need washing.

So, ok, I guess it's not a breastfeeding thing. And maybe it's not even a mom thing. Universally we all struggle with where to put ourselves. First certainly doesn't work, but too low on the list ain't a good thing either.

For now, I'll try to keep up the breastfeeding gig. For all it's annoyances, it does guarantee some sweet cuddle time with the little guy and it does help out in the cleavage department. Speaking of which...

Too busy

Of all the titles I carry - Wife, Mother, Milk Bar, Executive Producer, Friend, Cook, Housekeeper, Accountant and Blogger - I've slacked most in the Blogger department lately. I have a list of draft posts that is getting embarrassingly long. And I have even more mental-note-blog-about-this ideas crowding my brain.

The irony of it all is that my work - helping clients understand and use social media - is really becoming a roadblock to my blogging.

The week started out mildly enough. The hubby and I were determined to get a head start and not have the head-spinning chaos of the previous week. So Sunday became the day we prepped for the week. Groceries were purchased. A slow-cooked meal was prepared. All laundry was cleaned, dried, folded AND put away. Even the pile of old receipts, unpaid bills, half-addressed baby announcements and forgotten tax forms was sorted through, organized into color-coordinated folders and neatly hidden away. We felt ready for the week.

Monday came and went in a flash. I actually started blogging about the week's menu -- exciting times now that the weather is nice and the grill has a new propane tank -- but then got sidelined working on a proposal.

Tuesday was so long ago I forgot what happened. Except that the baby who normally sleeps 12 hours through the night decided to get up at 2:30 and feed.

Wednesday involved business travel. Up at 4:30 am to pump a bottle, shower, blow dry and be at Reagan National for the 7:30 American flight to Raleigh. Met with very cool Lenovo executives about their Olympic Blogger project. Stole away for 15 minutes to hand pump a few ounces so my boobs didn't explode right in front of everyone in the conference room. Was back to DC in time to send a few emails from home, dash to the store, nurse and bed baby, and make Ina Garten's Roasted Salmon Nicoise Platter for diner guest. Drank slightly too much wine and smoked a regret-filled cigarette or two.

Thursday involved crazy day at work trying to catch up from being out the day before. Dinner was supposed to be the left-over salmon but both hubby and I lost our appetites when the smell of reheated fish permeated the house. Cereal is always good for dinner. When hubby heard that I'd need to work most of the night, he decided to go visit a friend whose wife was also going to be burning the midnight oil. It sucked to be home working by myself, but part of me was also grateful for the time to get some shit done.

Friday was the perfect escalation to the by now out-of-control week. Hubby had plans to spend the night away, and I was looking forward to a quiet Friday night with the luxury of a little alone time.

Friday morning involved big meeting with the U.S. Office of Personnel Management, which went well despite me and the client's mix-up over who was supposed to bring the print-outs. I returned to the office looking forward to expressing myself with my handy-dandy Medela pump, but realized I'd forgotten to bring storage bottles to work and made a mad dash to a near-by breast feeding store to pick some up. Grabbed grilled chicken salad at the Corner Bakery and got back in time to be 15 minutes late to creative meeting. Left half-eaten salad at desk as boss calls in the team for a crisis situation.

Shit! Now realize that we're going to be at work very, very late tonight and I have no one to watch the baby! Race home to pay the nanny and bring the baby back to work with me. Sit on conference call with big, important company people while jostling baby so no whines or cries give my situation away.

And they say us working moms can't have it all.

Pumping Moms

This week I had one of those moments when you kind of stop and realize what you're doing is utterly ridiculous - but also so indicative of your life. I was Googling "pumping moms" -- it's almost too painful to even admit/type.

The good news is that thanks to the Internet I now know I'm not the only woman out there who has a love/hate relationship with her breast pump...and struggles with everything from finding the time and privacy to do it, and the focus and dedication to actually fill enough bottles.

Ayelet Waldman at Bad Mother and the Rookie Moms' "Pump Project" reveal that it's better if you have a good sense of humor and realize that life as a pumping mom will never be perfect nor under your control. (Come to think of it, that's probably good advise for anyone out there.)

I realize that only a subset of woman will understand the intense obsession with pumping enough milk for your baby's next meal. But for the rest of you out there - try this analogy: How men equate their manlihood to the size of their penis; us pumping moms equate our womanhood to the number of ounces of breast milk we can eek out each session.

Perhaps it's a small symbol of a much larger feminist dilemma -- I want to be breastfeeding my baby, but I also want to work full-time outside of the home. Why should I have to choose between the two? In years past, women didn't have this choice -- it was probably either figure out a way to give cow's milk (pre-formula invented) or just never leave the baby's side.

I think Emily Bazelon in this Slate article puts it best:

"In the end, breast pumps aren't proof of our maternal dedication or abdication, or evidence of our feminist cowardice. They're a convenience that allows us to have it both ways, for a little while at least. That's not the same thing as having it all, but it's a compromise worth savoring."

Back To Work

Maternity leave is officially over. Today was my first day back at the office after 2 months of time off. Spent the day discussing things with other adults. Spent the day in heels and a dress...with no spit-up on either shoulder. Spent the day emailing and not changing poopy diapers.

So, with the boys peacefully in bed and the hum of the dishwasher in the background, I'd like to thank the following for making the day possible:

• Spanx: Thank you, Spanx body shaper. Your "all-the-way-up" style with added tummy support slimmed and tightened me from rib to knee and helped me feel like I was sucking it in all day long. Who really needs to know that I really haven't lost the baby weight and was basically wearing a modern-day girdle? If only I had been wearing a slip -- then mother would have been really proud.
  
• Starbucks: Thank you, Starbucks. The regular cup of coffee I had at 6:00 am at home this morning got me to the office. But the tall skim latte at 8:30 am -- what a treat! -- was what really got me hyped and jittery. You even helped me appear awake enough so folks thought I was actually paying attention when they were telling me important stuff about budgets and deadlines and projects.
• Laura Mercier concealer: Thank you, industrial-strength Laura Mercier undereye concealer. You helped me cover those dark circles and bags...and made my face look brighter -- or so the lady at the Neiman Marcus makeup counter says. Perhaps you even covered up the listless look of 69 days and counting of no REM sleep?
  
• Medela: Thank you, Medela "pump in style" breast pump. Yes, we've had a love/hate relationship in the past and it's bittersweet to rekindle the tormented relationship after a 2-year hiatus. I still don't know why you say you are "in style." I haven't seen any breast pumps on the runways lately. And I certainly don't know of any breast pumps that are definitively out of style. But that's another matter. Thanks for giving me an excuse to shut my office door every 3 hours and remember that I miss my bambino. Thanks for making that weird mee-wah mee-wah sucking sound that sometimes makes me think I'm actually hearing some little beast chant, "Me want. Me want. Me want." Thanks for allowing me to breastfeed for as long as the wee one (reasonably) chooses. And most of all, thanks for helping me sport that rack.
  

Overheard This Morning

3-year-old: "Mommy, don't leeeeave."

Me: "Sorry, buddy. I have to."

3-year-old: "Mommy, don't leeeeeeeave. You're making me really sad."

Me: "Sorry, buddy. Mommy has to go to work."

3-year-old: "Why?"

Me: "Mommy has to go to work so she can make money so you can have food and clothes."

3-year-old: "And candy?"

Me: "Yes, food and clothes...and candy."

3-year-old: "Ok, bye mom. Keep it real."

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

Being on maternity leave means I get the chance to see what it'd be like to be a SAHM. I'm not even going to go there on which option is better or worse -- staying at home or going to work. I think we're all enlightened enough to realize that both have their unique challenges and rewards, but here's my take on the pros and cons...at least in my small microcosm.

5 Joys of Working Outside the Home

1. You are more likely to shower regularly: It's amazing how not having a routine schedule can place showering on the back burner of your day. Back when I was working, my day began every morning at 7 am with a cup of coffee and a shower. I took exactly 1 hour to groom myself, check the Blackberry for any overnight fires, find the desired Backyardigans episode on TiVO for the Jackal, slurp down cereal, throw the dirty laundry down into the basement for later attention, find my sunglasses, grab last night's leftovers to take for lunch and head out the door. These days my mornings go something like this:

5:30 AM - feed baby
6:30 AM - wake up, realize I have passed out, put baby back in crib, tuck boob back in nursing bra, crawl into bed
7:00 AM - hear baby whimpering, bring baby into my bed, pull out boob, pray for a few more minutes of sleep
7:30 AM - after 18th time 3-year-old has screamed "Mom!" at top of lungs, get out of bed, pull on robe, gently place baby in crib, go downstairs in search of coffee
8:30 AM - realize I've been watching (I mean, really watching. Watching to the point where you find yourself wondering why Jerry Falwell singled out Tinky Winky.) Teletubbies for an hour when you hear baby waking up; feed baby (has it really been 3 hours already?)
9:00 AM - change poopy diaper, fight to keep 3-year-old from physically harming baby
10:00 AM - spend hour trying to burp baby and settle down to nap
11:00 AM - remember I'm breast feeding and should probably put something besides Seattle's Best in my stomach
11:30 AM - consider taking a shower, hear baby whimpering, feed baby (repeat from above)

Needless to say, at noon when I found myself unshowered and still enrobed, I felt myself questioning my very existence because I obviously had no purpose in life.

2. Your Outlook calendar makes you feel productive: On the contrary, if I had an Outlook calendar that had each 30-minute segment tightly scheduled I'd be more likely to view myself as contributing member of society. There were many, many times at work when I'd have a day full of meetings -- all anal-retentively documented with 5-minute reminders -- and even thought I didn't do a damn thing all day long other than sit in meetings (some were even meetings about meetings) and at the end of day I felt that, by gosh, I had done something that day. Perhaps I should start scheduling the feedings and diaper changes...

3. Other adults may notice your contribution: Hubby has blogged about how our 3-year-old graciously, constantly and repeatedly tells us 'good job, daddy' or 'good job, mommy' for the accomplishment of any task ranging from drinking our coffee to blowing our nose. While it's nice to have his cheap praise, there's no one to appreciate the fact that yesterday I managed to clean the entire house, do 6 loads of laundry, buy groceries, pick up the dry cleaning, pay bills, get in 30 minutes of cardio, make a fabulous dinner from scratch (people, I roasted an entire chicken and de-boned it by hand to yield the meat for the chili) and recycle 2 rotten bananas into a moist banana bread that left the entire house smelling heavenly. And did anyone notice? Yeah, hubby complimented the dinner and banana bread, but it wasn't like my stellar accomplishments were going to make a client happy, or be discussed during my annual review, or noticed by an impressed co-worker who'd nominate me for employee of the month.



Made chicken chili on Monday night. This would have NEVER happened when I was at my job.

4. You have something to discuss with your spouse besides poop: My husband and I frequently call each other during the day for no reason in particular. The conversations go something like this:

Hey, what's up?

Oh nothing, just at work.

Yeah, so what's happening.

Oh nothing, just working on this proposal. It's so annoying because so-and-so expects me to do such-and-such by COB today....[launch into venting session about how life, work and people suck]

Now that I'm home, we still call each other but the conversations go something like this:

Hey, what's up?

Oh nothing, just feeding the baby.

Yeah, so anything going on?

No, not really. I just fed him and he spit up all over himself and me. And, oh my god, you should have seen the poop he just took....

[silence]

Hello?

[sound of typing]

You're emailing aren't you?

Um....[more sound of typing]...what?

Nevermind, I'll just see you later.

And at that point I realize I've become one of those people who only talks about their kids. Or maybe it's just that your state of mind is in a different place when you're faced with office stress versus being faced with a day of poop-slinging. What seems important to one just isn't all that hot to the other. I've been at work on days where my husband is having a less busy day. I'm in the middle of some crisis (e.g. $5M proposal is due in 20 minutes and I can't get the fucking formulas in Excel to work) when my husband calls asking what room we should take in the beach house we're renting with friends ...in 7 months! I can't deal and practically hang up on him.

5. You can afford to pay someone to watch your kids: This is the best and worst thing about working outside of the home. You get to leave the rug rats with someone else who will wipe their butts and referee their temper tantrums while you're typing at your computer and sitting in conference rooms. The stress is different but I often question which vocation requires the greatest amount of patience and restraint. I spend all day missing the kids and race home to spend a few hours with them before bedtime. Cooking their mac & cheese and giving them their baths takes on a sweet and memorable flavor and it's not until right before you read Goodnight Moon for the 7th time that you're getting sick of them. On the other hand, spend all day with your kids and you find yourself obsessively watching that clock for 6 when your spouse will be home to take care of at least one of them. Which leads to the the next blog topic: 5 Joys of Being a SAHM.