2008 hopes

Today, i am permitting myself to fantasize that things will be easier by this time next month. It's a really nice fantasy, even though there are no ponies.

from a business trip in october

Sitting at this bench, flicking on the
old-fashioned green library light, watching the
red umbrellas and pouring rain
through tall thin windows, listening to
old men sometimes making sense,
sometimes not-
It's no matter to me.
I only lightly touch this place.
I am spread over the last three days.

I am at the airport on Sunday, trying to convince you to eat.
I am watching you take your morning nap right now, your arms spread wide.
I am tossing you up in the air on Saturday
making you laugh and laugh.
And I am walking in the door tomorrow
you're sitting on the kitchen floor-
did you even know I was gone?
And I guess I am here, three hundred miles away,
talking about which lunch place is good,
but how can no one notice
I am pulled so tight
they can see right through me?

damned

A friend/coworker is struggling with whether to keep a pregnancy. She is young, the father is adamently opposed to having the baby, and she had a wonderful life of travel and adventure planned out. But she wants to keep it. And so I find myself encouraging her to keep the pregnancy, even though I of all people know how hard it is, how crushing sometimes, how you look and think is it going to get any better? and its not, not anytime soon. I am wondering today if I did the right thing.
but I also know what happens when you end a pregnancy and you are not sure- or even worse, if you feel talked into it by others. You end up thinking about it for years and years and crying at every period until, checking account and student loans and daycare be damned, you are pregnant again. A recent revelation on my part- so that's what went on in my head for those three years....
I wish I could make it easier for her.

ah, monday

Read-overs bore me
so sometimes I skim and rush.
I'm an idiot.

back on the chain gang

It looks so innocent and sweet, doesn't it? So streamlined? So easy?

Who knew I'd ever get nostalgic for my little wheezing box?

how can i bitch about my brother

when he takes this picture of his legs and B?

He really is an awesome guy- on Friday, while I was hard at work bitching about his weirdness, he was in fact watching my kid because the daycare had a professional day.

In boob news, we are now in Day 1 of The Milk Supply Crisis. My $250 Medela pump's motor gave out over the weekend, a very bad thing. Especially when my mom suggested about two minutes later (yes, my solution to family overwhelm was to hang out with more family. Brilliant, huh? It's amazing my husband still speaks to me.) that I could supplement with formula. An excellent point, oh mother person. But, eh, the wrong time.

But it looks like its going to be OK- Medela kindly took a bank statement as proof of purchase and is overnighting me a new one. In the meantime, I bought a manual pump.

It is a messy, sticky, slow, kind of process involving lots of boob-squeezing by me. Hot. The boobs-- they don't like that too much. But it's not as bad as I would have thought- and a nice thing to have for carrides, etc. That being said please get here NOW new pump!!!

feeling surrounded

and its not even about the baby! baby, i can deal with. but the weirdness of my brother and my general family's lack of communication skills leading up to us standing in the front yard and my two old brothers collectively telling my husband that no he was NOT invited to dinner with them, my father, and his own wife. That, that is too much on a Thursday evening. And then me crying and going home, to the house I share with said weird brother.
So I'm thinking making it till Christmas was optomistic indeed. And that I need to get the !&*$ out of town.

keeping up appearances

Wall Street Journal's blog for working parents, the Juggle, had a post today regarding the importance of appearance at work; the commenters have some really high standards. Apparently, if I every want to be anything in life I better be getting my eyebrows waxed, be wearing designer suits, and getting every other week-mani/pedis. Most disturbing of all, the commenters probably would disapprove of the GIANT POOP STAIN ON MY KHAKIS I've been trying to cover all day by pulling my sweater down. So judgemental...

looking rough, looking tough

B. had a very happy weekend- between the naps, his live-in cousins, and (most importantly) their corgi, he spends a good portion of the day with a shit-eating grin or just cracking up. But you wouldn't think so to look at him- he's got two bug bites on his head and one right under his eye, which, eh, is not a particularly healthy look. It is more like- stay away from my kid or you'll get infected. Sigh.
Judging from the many funny-looking people in my family (myself included) B's best-looking days may be behind him. Guess, like us, he'll just have to try and be sarcastic instead.

Feeling paranoid around the office. Or is it paranoia if its real?

She looks at me warily
but doesn't she always look wary?
Tells me he is METICULOUS
and there it is, the rest of the sentence unsaid:
And you are not.
Don't screw up
You lazy slacker.
So I think bitch
but is that her unsaid sentence or mine?

outside the fluorescence

There is a warm rainy morning that smells great, the boy just watching from underneath the umbrella.
There is E., my five year old niece, playing peek and boo and making B. belly laugh so so hard.
There is the quiet of an unexpected night alone where we sit at our table eating spaghetti and remembering how much we like each other.

the perfect handoff

I brought him down, got him sleepy, and put him in the crib for his afternoon nap. Meaning he is not doing anything cute right now except sleeping, and I know all about that. But it's rainy out -- and who doesn't want to keep a baby in their lap all day when it's rainy?

Tired with Superpowers

I have been feeling a new, more powerful kind of tired this week, only achievable after multiple weeks of sleep deprivation. When I wake up in the morning I must use my best litigation skills to convince myself that dying is not preferable to getting up. This tired makes me think crazy, destructive thoughts, always a winner. The best feature, however, is that it makes me forget to self-censor, so yesterday at the ballgame after my husband chided me for spending twenty five of our hard-earned dollars on a used highchair I stared out to space and prepared to think nasty thoughts but instead found myself saying out loud
What the fuck is wrong with you?
As I was feeling only temporary annoyance, not some WWIII H-bomb (or F-bomb) anger, this was a little inappropriate. But I was so tired, I didn't even try and backpedel, it just seemed too many words to explain.
And, since I was holding B. at the time, it was also kind of Britney-esque. In a bad, bad way. (Well, at this point, there's probably not a good way, but just to be clear).
I now have a puddle of breastmilk spilled onto my pants, overflow from the pump. I didn't even notice. Oh, tired, you do have superpowers.

Can you tell I'm pissed?

i went downstairs to deliver some milk and there are the two very lovely, very caring childcare ladies pushing B.'s crib back and forth as he WAILS. Wails. Unless he is hungry, B. does not wail (the only exception being after 3 hours in a carseat, usually on I-95). So if he is crying, he is probably hungry. So I ask if he is hungry and they just look like I am an idiot because he did only eat an hour before. But this is B. we're talking about- of course he's hungry after an hour! He's hungry all the time! And they have been hanging out with him for three months now! They should know this! It is not rocket science! Plus, I am always saying, you know, that baby of mine? He is hungry all the time! I, too, want my boy to sleep more during the day. And I understand that to be a childcare lady you have to learn to ignore the wailing sometimes. But I am so pissed that they couldn't see this was not his normal behavior and that he was hungry- the most basic cue there is.

So what did I do? After I got them a bottle and told them he was hungry? Apologetically said that I understood that he had to cry some to start napping on a regular schedule. Even though that was not the point at all. Why? Well, perhaps because I am a pussy.

We have a houseguest in from the Cinncy suburbs. He has a two year old so we were comparing daycare prices. Ours costs THREE TIMES what their (apparently excellent) daycare costs- even when little Alex was an infant. So perhaps this is not a great morning for me to reflect upon my childcare arrangement.

a reason to have kids

Well, finally giving birth has done me some good. I had my Scary Security Clearance Interview yesterday, where I was asked all sorts of insane questions ("but WHY were you sad in 2003?" And, more often, "What was the name of the temporary company you worked for in 1999 for a month? Who was your supervisor?"). I was trying to convince some 24 year old guy that I was a Very Good Person despite my unwillingness to characterize my pot smoking as "experimental" (um, I would tell you that, if I could keep a straight face) and my refusal to say yes to whether I now believed drugs were BAD (an expert hedge, if I do say so myself), so well there was some shameless exploitation of B.

• Hi! welcome to my office WITH MY MANY PROMINENT PICTURES OF MY BABY!
• What was I doing in August 2006? Well, waiting to start my job and VOMITING BECAUSE I WAS PREGNANT. WITH MY BABY.
• Social life? Well I have THIS BABY...
• Alcohol? Well, I'm NURSING MY BABY...
• Ah, please excuse for a moment while I call downstairs to the nursery WHERE MY BABY IS.
• etc.

Do I feel ashamed? Nope. Instead, I think I should have laid it on a little thicker. Only two baby pictures? What was I thinking? Cute baby= clearance.

It's kind of funny though- the idea behind this is, well, in the past a person may have been irresponsible/insane/a bad person/ illegal activities doer but now that she has a BABY she must be GOOD. Which is kind of ridiculous, because everyone knows bad/irresponsible people have babies all the time. But as a society I think we really hope and wish that people who have babies are good, or else it's too scary to send them home with the babies.

The truth? I am pretty much good. But, Mr. Clearance Man, I was pretty much good before I had B., despite whatever I smoked. I just look the part now.

i am a pumping machine!

I know it's dumb, but I love looking at those little bottles. They make me feel quite proud. Go boobs go! No matter what else got done or didn't get done today, there is that.

Tightly wound up with the Boy

missing B.- as I seem to do most acutely every monday. I'm just getting used to every day with him and then- work?
this weekend was particularly intense, since my husband was out of town, and B. did not seem to have his usual tolerance for being ignored/staring at the mobile/jumping in the swing while his mother does four weeks of laundry. So it was holding B. in one hand/doing the laundry with the other. Standard stuff but a little overwhelming. And now -- things to highlight, notes to take, think, think, think -- it just feels really odd not to have him by my side.
We are now living with my brother and his wife; their 3 kids will soon descend. My brother was a stay at home dad/smartypants night law student for many years; he and my sister-in-law have raised really cool, smart kids that are pretty independent and fearless yet supersweet and like a good snuggle. I'm a little self-conscious about my parenting around him, he's very laid back about it and though I THINK I'm laid-back, it's made me realize that compared to him (at least by the time he was watching all three), I am holding on a little tight -- I jump at the slightest noise, always checking, don't let B. fuss much, etc. Classic first time parenting. Last night he suggested a nanny for all four of the kids, something that might make sense $wise and would give B. one-on-one attention during the school day (which, let's just say, is a little different from the daycare scene). So it may be an excellent option. But the thought of not taking B. into work with me or seeing him at lunch had me in tears (not shown, however- he is my older brother after all).
Tight or not, only fifty-four minutes till I see the boy! I have only have 5 hours per weekday to smother him!

the unthinkable has happened

Got into my office this morning and did the routine- change shoes, check email, list tasks, close door, pull out pump stuff WHERE IS THE PLUG? HERE? NO, HERE?

Nope. Thankfully my (insanely expensive, see below) daycare is in the same building so it is possible for me to feed the boy myself. Thing is, I make a lot more milk in the morning than he eats. So now I'm going downstairs every hour or so and pleading with the ladies to CALL ME if he shows any sign of hunger- because my pump-happy boobs are not too happy right now.

Unfortunately, this probably is not the end of the drama. My brother moved back into his house this weekend (we've rented it from him for the last year and will now live upstairs for a month or two in order to come a little closer to affording daycare), meaning a thousand boxes are now in our house and the plug could be anywhere. But I'll find it- or else the boobs will rise in protest and smother me in my sleep (yes, they could probably reach that far).

moving monday

ah, monday-- time to get crackin'. There's the move upstairs so we can become the idiots in my brother's attic, which is mostly done except for the mountains and mountains of random crap we've deposited throughout the house over the last year that i need to box and move upstairs so that my brother and his family will have room to deposit THEIR random crap. Which will take a while. I was kind of sad about the move this weekend, even though it means the return of my beloved niece E. (um, and K. and J.- I do love them all, she's just got that youngest-cute thing going on). While B. is still a baby, this is a transition from his newborn days and our days as brand-new parents-- we moved out of the room we brought him home to and out of his purple nursery with the beautiful quilts. So I mourned a bit on Saturday, went to bed, and seriously bummed out my husband G. Like toothbrushes, toxic tired moods are not to be shared. But now we are both just focused on getting it DONE.
Then there is the pouch. I am at least 15 lbs too heavy- I'm 172 at 5'8". And it shows- I am a chubby girl these days. I can't complain- I've been eating whatever I want and not exercising (except for me and B's walk to the Metro). And that made sense for a while-I 've been way too tired to exercise or eat anything other than what was in front of me. But that time is over. Going to the gym last week was, if humiliating, also pretty quick- I can do a solid weight-training circuit and be back upstairs in 30 minutes. So there is no excuse not to. Food will be harder, as we are not cooking shit right now (and I'm packing up our pots and pans tonight). So maybe I'll start with the exercise and wean myself off of my breakfasts of Dots (yup, Saturday) a little later.
And here at the palace of excellent lighting? It's all about getting my head chock-full of my new case so I can beat back the poor work habits and general sloppiness that have characterized my post-partnum work. Thankfully no one seems to have noticed but I know I can be better. And now I'm going to do it.

i crack myself up

my favorite joke to myself, as B. makes baby noises around my nipple in between eatings-
B to boob: You, you understand me. Not like HER. Let's run away together, just you and me. We can be in Mexico by morning...
OK, not as funny when written down. But if you saw B's face when this was said, you'd know Chris Rock has nothing on me.

my modest opinion

This is not related to raising my wee one under the fluorescence, but hey, it's my blog and no one actually reads it, so here are my thoughts on modesty maven Wendy Shalit.
What Shalit is highlighting is the undeniable fact that many women sleep with men or dress provocatively out of insecurity or weakness, doing so because it’s what the guy wants rather than having anything to do with what the woman wants. This process sucks- it's dehumanizing and can be profoundly exploitative. But it’s the weakness and insecurity that’s the problem, and really causes the pain and damage, not the sleeping around or the low-cut dresses. Plenty of women have multiple partners or a high number because it's what they want; it is part of their healthy and secure lives. When a woman choose out of weakness, however, whatever the choice, the outcome isn’t likely to make her happy- whether this choice is to dress in a tight skirt and give a guy sex because she feels it’s the only way a guy will pay attention to her or not pushing for sex in a relationship when she wants it, not sleeping with other people, or agreeing to marriage when she’s not ready because it's what her boyfriend wants and she’s afraid what others might think of her. Both of these ideological spectrum of choices are about pleasing men, not herself- and that’s the patriarchy. We need to raise our girls to be strong so that they can say no without regret to boys’ (fairly incessant) demands for sex if it’s not what they want AND say yes to sex (even, horrors! with multiple people!) if it IS what they want- and we need to raise them to be self-aware enough to know what it is they actually desire.
This is not easy, its much more fun to talk about long skirts v. minis, like Shalit and her ilk do. I'm embarrassed to admit it's one of the reasons I was relieved when I found out I was having a boy. I'm not sure I know how to teach a girl to be this strong-minded and self-aware by her teens -- I had a really hard time with all of this myself. But it’s clearly the answer- and the whole modesty v. everything else debate is just two straw men fighting. Making women strong enough so that they can make their choices regarding sexuality based upon their own desires, rather than those of their partners or peer groups, is essential to creating a world where women are happier and not men's pawns.

a fraudulent mommy

the boy's daycare has special keycard access- you stand and wait for the light to glow green and the door unlocks. but every once in a while it doesn't work, and i get a big red light instead. and my first thought is one of guilt and shame- they found out something wrong about me (perhaps that i was quite the fibber in elementary school?) and are now denying me access. isn't that fucked? thankfully, it's followed by a more appropriate mother-bear reaction- hey MY KID is in there! Let me in!
But it highlights two things. one i still feel like a bit of a fraud about this whole mother-thing. which is understandable- it's only been 3.5 months. and, two, and more seriously, my guilt and shame for the unforgivable act of being ME are still, at the age of 31, off the hook. i hope someday soon my mother-bear reaction will trump because really, who needs the other crap? i think it handicaps me as a mom- it's important to follow your gut with this mom thing, but to do that i've got to tune out these other destructive and useless messages of fear and doubt.
in other news, the boy is nursing in my lap, all curled up. a yellow jelly bean today. and oh, those feet.

a morning in almost one sentence

in ten minutes late, thinking its no big deal because i've been working my butt off this week and the project's DONE but then my buddy says hey M the nasty boss has been looking for you and there he is, he's found all sorts of mistakes in the project and gone to other people and made them do MY work and now they are looking at me with those i'm-pissed-but-let's-just-get-this-done faces and i'm wondering what are these mistakes? are they big? are they glaring? how did i miss them? Why is the nasty boss such a little bitch? (though that's a constant thought these days, the other constant thought is- that i worked hard, but I didn't give him my over-the-top because i don't like him and GUILT.) Catalouging in my brain for everything i possibly did or did not do wrong and then i look down and I'm leaking. And now I'm in my office trying to pump and despite the boobs' rock-hardness it is slow going. so i'm trying to relax. can't you tell?

routine love

back to the routine- up at 6, go to work/daycare, the boy munching on me at 12 in my darkened, mini-fluorescence-lit office. not too great for me- i mean, it's monday and yesterday at this time i was sitting on the beach looking at the atlantic with the sun and the wind and that sky (mmm- it was nice), but for the boy, this rocks. he is so much happier and more settled than he was over the weekend. i'm not quite sure what to do with that. i think the good mom answer is probably stop travelling, but after not doing much while i was pregnant i just want to GO on these beautiful weekends. but apparently it's not about just me anymore. huh.
guess i better find some routine love of my own...

"they keep pulling me back in!"

My old law school drama has reared its head. Glad I can spend time rehashing my own very own Melrose Place.

the best laid plans

i was running late today- the boy was up a lot last night and i couldn't seem to get out of bed on time (despite having gone to bed at 9:50- am i exciting or what?). so i decided i would nurse B. in my office instead of the nursery so i could start working on time. an excellent plan, up until the poop explosion. it was everywhere- my shirt, my pants, his leg, my desk. And no wipes, just paper towels. I snuck him down the back stairs, paper towels between him and me, hoping I would not encounter anyone who would want to play with or coo over my poop-encrusted child. Am I slick or what? Good think I am wearing a striped shirt- yup, that's a poop stain.
B. is making a lot more noise, really interacting the last few days. It's really cool. However, I am strangely a little freaked out by this positive development. I think my absentminded approach to parenthood may not continue to cut it. He's going to need actual stimulation, not just mom feeding or bouncing him while thinking of strange D.C. Circuit precedent or Nicole Richie's rumored pregnancy. Hmm. I may have to start paying attention.

hand to mouth

This morning I drew two dots for eyes on the side of my hand because, hey I'm in a meeting and why not look professional? I've been cracking myself up ever since with my talking hand. He sings songs. He makes faces. He is sad. Now he's happy! A few minutes ago I was talking to a colleague and start smiling just THINKING about the antics of my hand. Sleep deprivation? Or COMIC GENIUS???

babies overfloweth

downstairs in the nursery, things are getting crazy. as of yesterday they moved out the three mellow older babies from B's group and added six, that's right six, very young and cranky babies. It's pretty awful- each caregiver is surrounded by like four babies, all screaming. I guess they are following the 3 to 1 ratio generally, but it doesn't look like it. It makes me very, very, very uncomfortable. Do I complain? It's only been two days, but it's not like babies are going to stop needing to eat and get diapers changed. But if I complain, what do I say? Get rid of those other babies! Keep mine! I guess I could say they need more staff working with the babies. For now, it just makes me want to go down there all the time and make sure B is okay- I mean they literally couldn't hear him if he started screaming, there are so many other babies screaming. It's like my daycare went from awesome to shitty in one fell swoop.

all business

The baby comes up to visit me at lunch every day. At home the boy is not above engaging in some shennangins with his food. He may play with the boob, bouncing his head back and forth, or only eat for a few minutes until distracted, or out of nowhere decide that the boob is really PISSING HIM OFF and start crying. At lunch at the office there is none of that. There is only eating. Today it was twenty minutes before he came up for air. It is often an entire hour of solid noshing. I'm not quite sure why there is the difference, but it's pretty funny. Perhaps he is influenced by his mother's impressive work ethic.... Or the way I scarf down my own lunch...
In other boob news, my righty seems to be recovering. Was the threats of an additional morning pumping session? The bribe of actual solid food? (It's been a ginger ale and crackers kind of week). Who cares? Welcome back!

strike!

No, not from work- my underappreciated right boob has finally given up the ghost. Twenty minutes and a TRICKLE? THIS is what you give me? Not a crisis yet, but we're getting close. Shape up, right boob. Yes, life is hard- the boy certainly has abused you (repeatedly turning his head to watch the fan comes to mind). But that's what we do. We feed the boy. And someday, if we're good, we'll get 8 hours in a row off to sleep. That's the best I can offer. COME BACK!!!

missing the city

Summer's beginning and I'm in my windowless office- usually perfectly fine, but today I am nostalgic for what I would have been doing around this time last year- enjoying our lush if slightly seedy DC neighborhood, tutoring at the elementary school's summer program (which was so fun), running in Rock Creek Park (usually fun), and studying for the bar (not really ever fun). Even then I knew it was a temporary phase, a quiet space I needed to enjoy before the craziness of July and, oh yeah, being pregnant. But those cathedrals of trees, the blooming postage-stamp yards, and a day just stretched out for me to live inside my own head. Nice stuff.

The picture is from the NPS.

what everybody says

I took care of baby B pretty much by myself this weekend- I went to the shore with my folks while G had to fly to KY. It was exhausting. Sure I had a cold, as did he, so maybe we were both not our best selves. But he was still awfully good, and it was still awfully hard. I'm starting the week more tired than I left it.
BUT man I miss that baby. And it's only been two and a half hours. Every day he engages more (perhaps some day he will even respond to me as much as his does to his true love, the tinny classical music mobile). And I hate missing it.

I brought taffy for the office, but it seems this is not a taffy-loving office. So, to make up for the slack, I'm eating my entire box of taffy- publicly. Having just passed the it's-OK-to-diet milestone, I'm pretty much using my diet in order to give eating taffy, chocolate, etc. an additional transgressive pleasure. As for actually using it for determining what goes into my body, eh.

grey day

A grey friday. The boy had a sad afternoon yesterday- fever, crying. We are pretty spoiled- he's never even too cranky, so we kind of freaked out. Today he still seems a little off; i don't like being away from him and have been on the verge of tears all morning (an excellent workplace strategy). I just want to take him home and take care of him and stay inside for a long time. At least it's friday.
But at least good music- songs from my cheer-myself-up-after-the-miscarriage CD from a year and a half ago- Pete Townsend, Let My Love Open the Door; Ani Difranco, Not Angry Any More ("I just want to walk through my life unarmed- to accept and just get by like my father used to do- but without all the acceptance and getting by that got my father through...").

happy birthday to me

today is my birthday. I love my birthday- every time I see the date "May 17" it just makes me happy. Nothing particularly great needs to happen (though the alley party with the keg several years ago was pretty damn lovely). It's just nice that IT'S MY BIRTHDAY.
That being said, its a little weird that no one here knows. I always tell people- I always hate it when someone mentions offhand that oh yes last monday was my birthday because, as stated, I BELIEVE in birthdays. I buy cakes at lunch. I make paper hats out of printer paper (hmm, maybe I do know why people don't always tell me). But I feel like people here are already really nice to me and give me special treatment all day long, so inviting more special treatment by telling them it was the big day just seemed gratitious. But it makes me glad we are doing the whole family thing tonight. I can deal with a low-key helf of my birthday- but the whole day? No no no.
The boy has not had such a good day today, despite his obvious joy (to me) that his mother was born. He got his 2-month battery of nasty shots today and, while I was not there for them, apparently did not take it so well. Since he's been back here he's just been sleepy and hungry and sleeping a little lighter than usual- I hope that's the worst of it. I hope he doesn't remember this somewhere and every year on THE BEST DAY OF THE YEAR is haunted by a feeling that his parents are causing him pain. That can be the other 364 days of the year. Because we are of course.

heh heh

don't know what this has to do with babies and day care (well perhaps it means TOO much attention is a bad thing)- but a great picture, no?

watching the wee ones

ah monday- getting to be a political football at work. that's okay, i'll just sit in my office hole with my scary do-not-disturb-you-might-see-breasts-pumping sign on the door and wait for the storm to pass. Thankfully, my stupidness vanished enough last week so that the memo in question is good work.

Yesterday's Washington Post outlook section has an interesting article about people in my shoes, "how to handle the return" (http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/05/11/AR2007051102057.html) about coming back to work after a baby. Its an interesting article except for its total exclusion of the most stressful thing about going back to work- the scarcity of good-quality, affordable day care. Not a single mention. Perhaps Ms. Joyce has a nanny lined up?

I am very lucky- I have good day care. Its in the building, all certified. This should be the norm but is sadly extraordinary in our country. Even with the all-too-rare employer support that led to its creation, it's a whopping $1,500 a month, totally out of range for most people (including us, but who needs retirement savings?). And it still kills me- is it good enough? What about when he gets older and needs more stimulation?

There's a clear need for more public policy here- subsidies to make places like my day care affordable, if not for me than for many other folks. And as for the need for more places taking infants- how about some of those incentives used to build, say energy plants? But its one of those things people have been saying for years and no one does anything about, a stock play from the Democratic handbook that seems worn out even though its never been DONE. It's viewed as a rant, not a policy idea in the US.

being wrong

I have had an exciting run of being wrong at work the last few days- and i hate it. In the scheme of things it's not such a big deal, but I like to think of myself as the girl who has her stuff together, not the girl who doesn't read carefully enough, makes goofy assumptions, etc. I love being right, being the one in the room who really knows what's going on. Ever since I've come back from maternity leave, I'm not that one. Instead, my meeting notes more than likely contain notes like "what the ---?"
Eh.