Revelation

There's been a lot going on.

I left my job in April.

I had a baby - at home in the water - in May.

I started working for myself in June.

Now it's November. My baby is 6, almost 7 months old. I'm not sure where the time went. Every day I hold her, kiss her, smile and play with her, and try to burn the image of her into my retinas. I don't want to forget this. I can't wait to do it again. Babies are more precious than anything else. They are life, love, and laughter.

But that's not why I decided to post today, after an 8-month hiatus.

It's almost 3am here in Virginia. I'm up this late for the second night in a row. Not sure if I'm developing insomnia, but it seems that the most transcendent thoughts can happen in the wee hours of the morning.

Since becoming a freelancer and leaving behind a very well-paying, high-profile job, I've been struggling. Mentally, financially, emotionally, socially, and even physically. Most of those are posts for another day. My revelation this night/morning, however, deals with the first.

I never realized how difficult it would be to work from home full-time. I did make an awesome plan that got disrupted through uncontrollable and unforeseeable circumstances, but that didn't mean I needed to throw in the towel. However sometimes it feels like I've done just that - day after day and I can't seem to find the time to work.

The time is there, most days. I'm blessed with children who actually like napping. I just seem to find other ways to fill it. Laundry. Cooking. Cleaning. Taking my kids to the park, on the bus, to playgroup, to DC. Chatting with my friends on Facebook. Reading news stories and blog posts. Catching up on the DVR. All of that makes for a full life, but none of it pays the bills.

Part of me is balking at the responsibility. I've always been the bread-earner, but now if I don't make enough, we can't afford our rent. That's a scary thought, because there's no steady paycheck coming in. I have to work. And yet, over and over again, I find other things to do, and at the week's end my billable hours = 0.

I'm a hard worker. But I'm also greatly affected by my work environment and co-workers. Both of those are huge reasons for leaving my last two positions. I didn't realize until today, an hour or so ago, that it's happening to me again. Home is now my place of work. And most days I feel like I'm the only one who is pulling any weight around the house. All of it. So what do I do? I rebel. I procrastinate, I slack off, I take myself down to the level of those around me. There's no pressure, other than from myself, to get things done or do them right. But in the end that's not healthy, or helpful.

I'm not sure how to get myself out of this slump. Realizing that I need to treat every day as if I were hopping on the bus into DC may help. Getting up at a set time, instead of whenever the kids wake me up. Planning out what to wear and checking the weather the night before. Getting myself dressed first. Making a to-do list every day, and every week. These are things that got me through 6 years of working full-time in DC. Now I need to rely on them to get me through full-time mothering and part-time freelancing.

I know I can do this. I'm ashamed that I haven't gotten myself together yet. My mother says to give it more time - it's only been a few months, after all, and we all need a little transition time when starting a new position. This is more than a new position, though, and maybe that's why I've been subconsciously shrugging off the load on my shoulders. It's a life-altering process. Raising children can't be re-done, can't be quit, and there are no bosses checking on my progress.

All that's left to me is to make it work. I CAN do this. Starting now, by going to bed.

My exercise demons

Yes, I spelled that right. I don't have demons to exorcise, I have exercise demons. I'm terrible at getting myself up and going, and I've always been that way. That's why, after gaining the freshman *cough* my first year in college, I walked-on to the swim team. Nine practices a week got my tushie in shape and ensured I'd be staying healthy(ish - my diet wasn't great) and fitting into my clothes. After college, I had my wedding to get ready for almost immediately. After that was when my waistline, thighs, and pretty much everywhere else started to bulge. Before getting pregnant with Adrian, I actually managed to lose 20lbs through a combination of being more active (taking the stairs, free weights) and a better diet. I have Eating for Life to thank for much of that - it's a great book to change your philosophy on food, and contains a meal planner and some healthy recipes.

But then I had a baby. And, you know, life gets in the way. I've never been a gym rat, past NCAA-athlete status aside, and even paying for a membership hasn't gotten me to go with any regularity. I know I need to be working out. Working a desk job, plus a long commute, lead to a fairly sedentary lifestyle. I hate running, I stink at trying to do TV exercise, and basically unless someone is standing over me with a whip I have a lot of trouble finding the motivation to work out. I wish it weren't that way.

So I'm writing this post with the hopes that it will serve as a surrogate coach for me. I gained 50lbs in my last pregnancy. It was too much, and even though (thankfully) Adrian wasn't too big, I believe that my weight gain and lack of conditioning lead me tired me out too quickly, and aided in taking the fight out of me. I can't have that happen this time - there will be no drugs to help me sleep, and I will need to get myself through from beginning to end.

I'm at about 24lbs gained right now. I started 10lbs up from my first pre-pregnancy weight. I'm in dangerous territory, with a little under 2 months to go, and I need to be smart from here on out. Tonight I walked for 30 minutes on the treadmill. Feeling a little better about myself, but only if I can keep this out. I wish I'd had the time for a group yoga class, or gotten myself back into swimming a few times a week, but if wishes were fishes.... Roughly 50-ish days to go. I can do it.

Is this how it's supposed to work?

Life has been so overwhelming recently. I guess having a full-time job (with a commute), a toddler (almost 2 years old!), and being 6+ months pregnant will do that to you.

But still, part of me wonders if the problem is me - why am I not satisfied with the way my life works right now? I have a good job (minus some boss issues) that pays really well, I have a dedicated caregiver for my kid, and I have excellent support from my family and friends.

It's still not enough. I'll admit to being a perfectionist, a tad neurotic, and a control freak. Those are excellent qualities when it comes to the work I do. Not so much when I have to depend on other people for so many things in my life. I'll admit to being overly critical when people don't do things the way I want them to (which is, of course, the only way things should be done). I know the answer to that is, if I don't like the way things are done, I need to do them myself.

That is SO easier said than done.

At least now I have a plan. It's been hatching in my brain for about two years now. I'm done with the full-time work force and have no plans to come back anytime in the near future. I'm going into business for myself - a scary prospect - but one that will give me the ultimate control over my life's direction. I just need to hang in there a bit longer. This baby is due in just 67 short days. I think I can make my current situation work until then. I don't really have a choice.

My Tale of Booby Traps

The website Best for Babies has put out a call for stories from moms about the booby traps they faced when attempting to breastfeed.

I think I've experienced every booby trap in the book - with my first baby. Now that the second is due in a few months I'm armed and ready for battle again. I hope it won't come to that.

My story of booby traps started with birth preparation - I went to a collaborative OB/Midwife practice that prided it self on a low(er) c-section and epidural rate. I was never, not once, asked about my plans to breastfeed.

The only class I took was a hospital-based birth prep class. I don't even think breastfeeding came up, and if it did all I really remember is my shock at hearing 94% of the women giving birth in that hospital had epidurals.

While the first 15 hours or so of labor in the hospital went fine, I ended up with the lovely "cascade of interventions" culminating in a horrible c-section. It was horrible because I think something went wrong, but I was never told this and it's not in my records. I was worn out, devastated, and had a TERRIBLE reaction to whatever it was I was on (the epidural, the anti-itching drugs, etc.). I was shaking so uncontrollably that it was probably an hour, at least, before I was able to even hold my baby. That didn't last long, either, before he was whisked off to the nursery for tests due to maternal AND infant fever (thanks to the medicine, not infection).

It was probably another 2 hours or so before I saw him again and was able to even attempt nursing. Post-bath, traumatic blood draws and separation, he was sleepy and I couldn't get him to wake up. We spent four frustrating days in the hospital trying to nurse. We had to track down the LCs, who just shoved the baby on my breast and left, leaving me wringing my hands in confusion. I was told not to keep him in bed with me, but if we were alone I could not get up and get him out of the bassinet when he cried. Well-meaning family and friends continually urged me to send him to the nursery so I could get some sleep.

I could still barely walk when we left the hospital, with our free diaper bag of formula, still unsure how to latch and high on pain killers. That first night home was one of the most traumatic of my life, with a screaming, hungry baby, a husband who was never breastfed and didn't understand my desire to, a hand-me-down pump from a friend that I couldn't get to work, and a feeling of utter failure. I felt I had no choice but to supplement with formula. My milk had finally come in and was leaking profusely, but I didn't know what else to do. To top it off - my husband contracted the flu while in the hospital. We were a total mess - first time parents where dad couldn't touch the baby and mom couldn't get out of bed.

I made an appointment with the hospital lactation counselor the next morning. There we rented a pump, weighed the baby, and worked on latch issues. I was given a nipple shield, syringe, and all other paraphernalia, with instructions to come back for a group class later in the week. Later that day we had a pediatrician appointment with a young doctor who didn't even have kids yet. She was nice, but with a bit of "know-it-all" attitude that rubbed me the wrong way. She told me I needed to pump, nurse, and supplement 1-2 oz at every feeding because our son had lost 11oz since birth. That routine sounded nuts to me, but I'm not a doctor.

The next day we went to see my OB/MW practice for follow-up. I was still in a TON of pain, but they were very flippant and told me I needed to wean myself off the painkillers. They removed my staples (5 days after surgery), said I looked great, and sent me home. My mother came to stay and help - she had breastfed myself and my two siblings, but had no idea how to help me. We still had problems nursing due to poor latch so I spent my days attached to the pump while someone else held my baby.

The following day was our group breastfeeding class for new moms at the hospital. There were 8 or 9 moms there, with 2 LCs. I was seated in the middle of the horseshoe, and the LCs started at the ends and worked their way around, assisting with positioning and latch. I was the last to get seen - and the most in trouble. Out of all the babies there, mine gained the least during the 1-hour class. He was lethargic, I was sore, and we were almost beyond help it seemed. The LCs instructed me to return the next day, for a reduced rate (none of this was free), so we could get more help.

So the next day we returned and got another private session. The boppy hadn't been working well, so we bought a My Breast Friend and worked hard on latch problems. We made some progress. The next day we returned to the pediatrician for a follow-up, and despite that I'd only been supplementing with my own milk for the most part (against the pediatrician's advice), we were given a thumbs-up on weight gain.

That was our first week home. It would be nice if the story ended there, but unfortunately it continues.

The following week, after having the steri-strips removed from my incision, I awoke to sopping wet underwear. My incision was leaking all over the front of me. We made another OB appointment, and I was diagnosed with an incision infection. The treatment I received during this was horrific, but in regards to our breastfeeding story it's neither here nor there. Suffice to say I was put back on bedrest and assigned a home-visit nurse, who would come and change my bandages & repack my wound for the next 8 weeks.

During this time of forced bed rest, we still experienced difficulties nursing. I was still supplementing with formula on occasion, though normally it was with my own pumped milk. We worked on a variety of positions, holds, and latch techniques. I went through one serious bout of pain that, after some internet research, I suspected was thrush. The pediatrician's office told me the OB needed to treat me, and the LCs there gave me two cans of formula. The OB's office told me they couldn't help me either. I had to start working from home at 6 weeks post-partum, because my job did not offer maternity leave and my sick and vacation leave were almost out. I was blessed to have a good employer that allowed me to work from home part-time for the following six weeks - but during this time I was still on bed rest and still having breastfeeding issues. A friend stopped by to visit, and seeing the problems I was having, left me with some reading. On Becoming Babywise was the first ever book on childrearing or breastfeeding that I ever read. I could never, ever recommend that to anyone as it's been linked to failure to thrive in breastfed infants. I'm glad I was too lazy/tired/overwhelmed to do more than read it and feel bad that my child wasn't perfect, and that I was a horrible parent for not putting him on a strict feeding schedule.

I eventually gave up on the LCs and sought out help online. I discovered the LLL online forums and Kellymom.com. It was there that I learned what turned out to be the key in fixing our nursing relationship - I had oversupply and overactive let-down. It went unnoticed and undiagnosed by everyone we'd seen, but a website with some practical tips taught me how to fix it. Gone was the love-hate relationship my baby had with nursing. Gone was the screaming before and after nursing, the engorgement, and the general feeling of hopelessness. This took a total of 11 weeks - one week before I had to return to the office.

Going back to work presented its own set of new challenges. I was already friendly with the pump (I'd bought my own after renting the hospital pump for a week), and I had oversupply, so milk production was never an issue for me, thankfully. I was even able to donate my extra milk via Milkshare.

My son turns 2 in March. As of this writing, we are still nursing, though that may cease as my pregnancy progresses. Well-meaning LCs, family and friends could not help me, and if I had listened to any of them I would have given up a thousand times. I'm not normally an emotional person or a crier, but I don't think a day passed when I didn't break down in tears during those first three months. The only reason I made it this far is that I HATE to be told I can't do something, when I KNOW I can. That makes me ornery sometimes, but in this case that's what I needed.

Over it

I am so done. I've never felt this physically and emotionally sapped in my life. Actually, I probably have, but I'm a champ at repressing and forgetting bad memories and this will certainly be one of them.

The culprit? Work. What else. I just can't do this anymore. I give and give and give and get nothing in return. I guess a paycheck counts. But that's not enough. It's never been enough. So unfortunate that I need that paycheck. Because I might be tempted to just walk out the door, go home, and not come back.

I am an urbanite

A good friend of mine currently lives in a busy metropolitan city, but dreams of having a big house in the suburbs. One of these days, she and I will sit down to discuss her desire to live there. But it's made me think of my own strong aversion to suburbia.

First off, I've never lived in a suburb, at least that I remember. I grew up in a very rural setting, with trees and cow pastures, country roads and dirt or gravel driveways. My house was on a street - no neighborhood, no subdivision, no HOA, just a street. It was off the beaten path and away from traffic, but also from people. Sure, we had neighbors, but I had no friends whose houses I could walk to, even if I'd been allowed to walk on the street (I wasn't).

For a too-brief time in college, I lived in Spain in the city of Bilbao. My room was in a dormitory, ten stories up and looking out over a bustling city. I loved it. I could walk out of my door and hop on the bus or the metro. Walk down the street and see families and singletons taking a stroll at all hours. Bop in a bar or restaurant, shop or park. I felt alive for the first time in my life. It was also the first time in my life when I probably went more than a day or two without riding in a car. I knew, then, that I belonged in a city.

Cities in Europe and cities in America are very different animals. American cities are meaner, more gritty. Where I live now, I've managed to capture some of that old European feel here in the U.S.

Things I love about cities, and mine in particular:
Public transportation, sidewalks, parks, paths, the waterfront, activities, shops, restaurants, entertainment, people.

My only hang-up - are cities really good places to raise families? I had wide open spaces and no fear of violence growing up. If I stay in the city, my kids won't really have that. I like to think that they'll have so much more, though. More life, more fun, and more experiences. I guess I just need to pick the right city. I think I've found it.

Did it work?

After my last post about work-life balance, I took a long break from blogging (and from reading blogs - my Google reader was up to ~800 posts. yikes!). Recently I bought a book about getting work and life to be in better harmony (review on that to come another day). So, did the time and perspective help any?

Unfortunately, nope.

I actually ended up doing that oh-so-embarrassing thing called practically killing myself (OK, maybe that's melodramatic, but I WAS told to go to the ER). Instead of life getting simpler, it got busier. And then I got pregnant. And anyone who's been there know how entirely awful first trimester can be. I won't list all of my woes, but suffice to say my body gave up on me.

Wednesday I had to leave work early - even got my darling husband to drive INTO DC (which he abhors) because I wasn't sure I'd make it on the metro. I was shaky, my chest felt funny, and I couldn't concentrate. Every other word I wrote looked like Klingon (while I don't actually know what that looks like). I tried getting an appointment with my old OB/MW office (even though I'm not going back there for this baby, more on that later too), but I made the mistake of mentioning that funny feeling in my chest. "Oh chest pains! You MUST go to the ER!" Pretty sure I wasn't dying, or having a heart attack.

So, self diagnosis: dehydration, low blood sugar, and exhaustion. Lovely, huh! So yesterday, I made up for it by laying around in bed all day and reading Sookie Stackhouse novels (finished #9 last night!). I did do some work in the AM, and made sure I ate healthily throughout the day. Drank plenty of water and went to bed early. One of the nice things about having a sitter is not having to worry about my kid. Yesterday reminded me of the perks of not being a SAHM.

From here on out, I will take better care of myself. I will sit down with my boss and discuss options for flexibility. If she cannot work with me on that, I will find a new job that values me as a worker AND as a person with a life. Because I like being able to have both.

So, perspective was earned. Balance? Still working on it.