Your Turn - Sara's Story

"Your Turn" is a series of posts where readers share their stories of parenthood, work, the struggle for a balance, or just life generally.  If you are interested in contributing a story, please email me at butidohavealawdegree@gmail.com, or click here.

"Good morning, Professor!"

As I heard my name from across the law school classroom, I couldn't help but smirk at my title. Just twenty minutes prior, I was trying desperately to get out of the door in time for class, only to find my two-year old son drawing crayon circles all over one of my student's briefs that I had left out on the kitchen table.  After waving frantically on multiple street corners, I finally found a cab, realizing only once I buckled my seat belt that my newborn daughter had left a huge blob of spit-up on the corner of my white silk blouse.  Oh well, class started at 9:00 am, and there was no turning back now.  If anyone noticed, I could always just pretend it was foam from the vanilla soy latte I would have loved to get if I actually had time to stop at Starbucks before I left.

This is how it goes these days.  But I wouldn't trade it for anything.

No one told us women before we endured the rigors of law school that the legal world isn't always the most family friendly profession.  And once I became a mom, I knew I could no longer stress about meeting my billable hours while trying to get home in time to put my son to bed.  But I was told that a law degree opens doors and could lead to endless possibilities.  So I thought about what I was passionate about and set out to do something I had always wanted to do - teach law.

A Relaxing Vacation with Kids - An Oxymoron?

Last August I went out to lunch with two of my closest friends in DC, along with our kids.  It was a beautiful August day, we sat outside, and our kids were well behaved.  In short, it felt almost like I was on vacation. So much so, that I had an idea:  This time next year, why don't we all go to the beach for a week with the kids?  If we're hanging out here in DC, we might as well be hanging out at the ocean!

Months went by, filled with casual conversation about a potential beach week, and then in January we got real about it.  We researched beaches, houses, and prices, and we actually booked it.  It was predominantly to be a week with just the moms and the kids - our husbands could probably only take a couple of days of of work, anyway.  A weeklong playdate, really.  Six kids.  Three moms.  Easy enough, right? Relaxing?

Ha!

Child Care Woes

When I got the news earlier this week that I had to devote four hours of my day to the glucose screening (which came back negative, by the way), my first thought wasn't of the needles or the discomfort or the ramifications of gestational diabetes.  It was - who is going to watch the kids?  

These days, with frequent OB appointments and occasional work demands and a lack of school/camp, I find that I am asking myself that question more and more often.  And given that I am adding one more kid to the mix somewhat soon, it is stressing me out big time.

One of the things I hated the most about working and having a child was the child care issue.  We opted for a nanny, and for the most part, things went smoothly.  But there was always the occasional hiccup - when the nanny's mother died and she had to leave for two weeks unexpectedly.  When I needed help later into the evening and she couldn't stay.  When the nanny got sick.  When I needed to work on what was supposed to be my "day off," and the nanny had another job.  Ultimately, my job was the one that was sacrificed, and I would work from home, or take a day off.  Other times, family from out town would come to visit and fill in. It always ended up working out, but the anxiety of a child care fail hung over me at all times. When I quit my job, I had a huge sense of relief that I didn't have to worry about "those kinds of things" anymore.

But alas, I was wrong!  In some ways, the child care issue is harder as a stay at home mom, because when I need someone, I don't have someone waiting in the wings to go to.  I have gone through countless babysitters, ranging from high school to college to middle age, and no one has really stuck.  Some have gone away to college or moved or taken on other full time jobs.  Others have flaked out so many times I have blacklisted them, or have passed out on the job at the sight of blood (true story), or, most recently, have stolen my husband's spare coin stash (very disturbing).

Sugar Fail

I hate failing tests.  Especially when they involve gross sugary drinks and needles and blood draws.

I heard the news this morning.  I FAILED the most annoying test in the course of a pregnancy - the one hour glucose tolerance test.  And what reward do I get for FAILING this test?  Yet another test!  Three hours long!  (Plain english translation - there's a small possibility that I have gestational diabetes - further testing is required).

First, lets go over the joys of test #1 (which I FAILED).  At around 26 weeks, we pregnant ladies get to chug a ridiculously disgusting sugary drink, that sits like a pit in the bottom of our stomachs. Then we get to wait, exactly one hour, in a gross and overcrowded medical lab, and get blood taken.  Then, some of us, I don't know, like myself, reward ourselves afterwards with a cheeseburger and fries.  (I was craving salt).  Approximately 80% of us will pass this test and never look back.

That means 20% of us aren't so lucky.

I have done this test twice before, one with each previous pregnancy, and passed.  I assumed this time would be no different.  In fact, yesterday, as I was chugging down my sugary drink, I took solace in one thing, which I confirmed with my OB:  So assuming this test goes well, is this the last time I have to get blood drawn during this pregnancy?  

Why yes it is!  he told me.

Why, oh why did I ask that question?  I jinxed myself right there.

What Kind of "Opt-Out" Poster Child Will I Be?

Is it just me, or is the whole stay at home mom/working mom debate EVERYWHERE now?  It seems like every other day there's a new article in the Atlantic or the New York Times or Huffington Post or [you name that news medium] about women leaning in, opting out, or scaling back.  Don't get me wrong - I think it's great.  I love the debate, and for the most part I love the articles.  When I find good ones, I share them on Twitter and Facebook.  Occasionally, if one particularly strikes me, I write about it.  Like today.

Earlier this week the New York Times ran an article titled "The Opt-Out Generation Wants Back In."  This article profiles several women who, over a decade ago, decided to opt out of the work force to stay at home with their kids.  (They were profiled in an article back in 2003, which you can read here).  Most of the women left high paying, highly successful careers because the balance between work and family was too hard.  They did so willfully, and hopefully.  They wanted more time with their children.  Sound familiar?  The article asks, and answers, the question - what became of them?

Travel with Young Kids (or in my case, wild, loud boys)

This past weekend I drove myself to Chapel Hill, North Carolina and back.  The drive was nice, and I actually looked forward to it.  It's ironic, because I remember there was a time when I used to dread long car trips by myself.  I would get nervous and feel dread and make myself special "mix tapes" to stave off boredom.

  

My, how things have changed.  Now I view a long car trip by myself as a luxury.  Hours to myself, with no one to bother me?  Being able to listen to whatever music I want?  Or call whoever I want? Or opt for silence, if I so choose?  Ahhhhh.  Heaven.  

I suppose it's the contrast to travel with my children that makes a solo trip so enticing.  

We are a family that travels fairly often.  All three sets of grandparents live other states, as well as aunts and uncles and cousins and friends.  We also like to take vacations when we can, and I try not to limit myself based on the burdens of the journey alone.  We haven't flown the kids to Europe (yet), but I won't let a longer flight or drive keep me from going somewhere.  

But that doesn't mean it's not painful at times.  

Old and Pregnant and Sober at a Bachelorette Party

Pregnancies always seem to be ill timed with major events - perhaps because in a nine month period, there are inevitably some.  But this pregnancy, there is a major, major event - my younger sister's wedding.

One of my first thoughts when I got the positive pregnancy test was - will this conflict with my sister's wedding?  Thankfully, no.  I will be 34 weeks pregnant when my sister gets hitched.  I will be a fat, sober bridesmaid, but I will be there.  Huge sigh of relief.  

But I will also be fat and sober for the events leading up to the wedding as well, one such event being this weekend - the bachelorette party.  

As my sister's maid of honor, I was in charge of organizing the bachelorette party and corresponding shower. I took on this responsibility with excitement - after all, I am a planner.  I invited all of my sister's friends, booked hotel rooms in Chapel Hill, NC, made dinner reservations, and picked out shower invitations.  I have to say, it was fun!  

But as the bachelorette party approached, reality hit me - I am old, pregnant, fat, and sober.  In a college town.  At a bachelorette party.  

First the old.  

Missing my Boy

Braden started full day camp last week - eight solid hours.  If I'm honest, I was counting down the days until he started.  He has been home with me all summer long, and it has been a bit of a challenge.  That kid knows how to push my buttons better than anyone, and I am embarrassed to admit that I allowed my buttons to be pushed too often than not.  Go toe to toe with a four year old on their level, and you will always lose.  Always.

I felt that not only did I need a break, but Braden needed the activity.  Every day, in the middle of the day, we were confined to the house for two solid hours while Casey napped.  It's during that time that I usually get my work done, and Braden being home didn't change that.  As a result, he watched Toy Story 2 a ridiculous number of times (as in, every freaking day).  I felt guilty about the reliance on the TV, but not enough to change it.  After all, by that time of day I was usually out of energy and exhausted and regardless of if I had work to do, it was hard to muster up the energy to entertain him.  

Like all new things Braden embarks on, I think I had more anxiety than he did on the day of his first day of camp last week.  Eight full hours!  Wouldn't he get tired?  What if he got too hot?  Too tired?  Too thirsty?  Would he make friends?  Would he have fun?  Who would reapply his sunscreen, specifically to that part in the nape of his neck that is so easy to miss?  Who would help him put on his socks?  Who would hug him if he was scared?    As ready as I was for him to start, I found relinquishing control over my baby boy for eight solid hours to be nerve wracking.  

He started camp last Monday.  He did fine, as he always does.  But me?  I took it a little harder.  

Despite my eagerness to get him off of my hands, I have found myself missing Braden this past week.  I mean, really missing him.  I see him in the morning, of course, and then the day goes by.  I have Casey and we do activities and eat lunch and rest, and then at 4pm I pick Braden up again.  By the time we get home, there's barely any time for playing before it's dinner, bath, and bed.  

I miss my boy.  

I realize this sounds ridiculous.  Many parents, including my husband, and including myself before I quit my job, spend their days away from their child.  They are fine with it, as I was.  But being a stay at home mom has changed my sense of normalcy.  Braden, for the past two and a half years, has been my constant companion. And apart from a weekend away here and there, eight hours in a day is the longest he has been away from me since I quit my job.   

Eight hours is a long time.  

I miss him nagging me.  I miss him pushing my buttons.  I miss his hugs and his laugh and his sense of humor.  I miss his noise.  I miss his constant presence.  Casey does too.  We are fine, of course, but it is an adjustment.  A big one.  I miss our days as a team of 3.  

Braden starts school at the end of August, and it will be a full day program once again.  In fact, for the rest of his life, until he leaves home, Braden will be in school for the better part of the day.  I have known this, obviously.  But until last week, I didn't feel it.  And I certainly didn't expect to feel so sad about it.  

The weird thing about parenthood is it's ever changing.  You get used to one thing, and then BAM, it shifts, and you adjust to a new normal.  Until the next new normal comes.  As I become a more seasoned parent, I am realizing it's okay to mourn the end of one normal as you embark on a new one.  The new one will be fine, and one that I eventually will mourn once it's over.  But today - today I miss my baby boy.  I miss him a lot.  

I end this post in tears, which I didn't plan on!  I find myself mentally shouting at myself - GET A GRIP, SHANNON!  It's only camp, for God's sake!  But the fact is, it's just the tip of an iceberg towards a growing independence for my boy, who I am so incredibly proud of.  It's what I want for him - to go out there into the big world and find himself.  To not spend every minute with me. To find other people to rely on and other people to bond with and ultimately, to not need me so much anymore.  

But it leaves me so sad, in a bittersweet way.  Where is the time going?  Where did my baby go? Sometimes I feel like if I hug him tight enough, and long enough, he'll stay just like he is and never grow up.  

But he has grown up.  So much.  And he just keeps on growing, and changing.  

Two and a half years ago I left my job, in large part to spend my days with Braden.  From this point on, the majority of his days will be spent elsewhere.  That's okay, and it's exactly how it should be.

But I miss him.  And as a mom, I will probably never stop.  

In Defense of the "Good Wives"

When the news came out this week about Anthony Weiner's recent indiscretions, I honestly barely gave it any thought.  What do I care?  It's another politician, running for office in another state, and it has no bearing on my life at all.  And really, if it weren't for his unfortunate last name, would this have really made headlines in the first place, some 2+ years ago?

Regardless of my interest, I am a victim of the mainstream media, and I couldn't help but notice the articles, and what those articles were focusing on.

His wife.  

One such article on CNN was titled Why Does Huma Abedin Put Up with Weiner?  In its first paragraph, it stated that: 

"Tempted as I am to write about Anthony Weiner's sexual compulsions, I think it is more important to talk about his wife, Huma Abedin.  What the hell was she doing at Weiner's press conference Tuesday, where he once again asked her and the public for forgiveness for a new set of sexual transgressions, instead of being in her attorney's office?"

"More important?"  REALLY?  

Summer Survival Kits

Summer brings sun and fun and outdoor play..... and scrapes and burns and bites and falls.  So far, we've made it through to near the end of July with a bit of the above, but no ER visits (knock on wood - really, please do).

OTC Safety, an online resource for over the counter medicine safety, has prepared some great summer survival kits for parents to have on hand all summer long, covering the three main plagues of summer - sun, scrapes, and bugs (oh my!).  They are hugely helpful - I encourage everyone to print them, share them, tweet them, create an interpretive dance for them, etc. Perhaps your children will be lucky enough to escape the summer unscathed, but chances are, probably not.  

Without further adieu...

A cheat sheet for sun: 

A cheat sheet for scrapes: 

And a cheat sheet for bugs: 

For more helpful tips on summer safety, and over the counter medicine safety generally, you can follow OTC Safety on Twitter or like their Facebook page.  

Disclosure - I receive compensation as part of the CHPA OTC Safety Ambassador Program.  All of the opinions reflected here are my own.