Just a quick update because last week’s Debbie Downer post really can’t be the thing I see when I pop over here to take a peek. This weekend was so excellent. Aside from having pals over for pizza and a so-bad-it’s-good movie Saturday night, I did nothing but write and play with the Squirrel.

This was the first time I’ve actually done any real writing since the Squirrel was born in late August. It was amazing. Lila was very cooperative with two long (2.5 hours!) naps on Sunday, giving me ample time to revisit a funny essay and do some serious editing/re-working. I’m going to make people laugh at this reading. More importantly: I’m making myself laugh and realizing that I’m a writer if only because writing makes everything better.

Squirrel is launching into separation anxiety full force all of a sudden. Which sucks, but is getting easier now that I’m starting to see a pattern and know where it is coming from. It hits some kids harder than others and I thought she’d get out unscathed, as she’s had to deal with me being away from her for most of the day since she was 6 weeks old. But mama is what she wants—she’s even started to be weird with Shaun. If I put her down for a nap and he comes in to get her upon waking, she FREAKS out. Apparently this might continue to happen until Lila reaches her 2nd birthday.
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What makes you a writer?

I hate Debbie Downer blogs, but since nobody reads this I feel free to write one.Buckle up kiddies…

I usually nurse the baby when she wakes in the morning and at daycare before I leave her for the day, but today she wasn’t having any of it at daycare. She’d woken early and her schedule–and mine–was just a bit off. So perhaps I’m just feeling blue today because I don’t have my usual double boost of oxytocin, but whatever the cause I’ve got a clingy, seeping sadness following me around today.

For starters, I’m pretty sure I’m going to get a ticket from one of those stupid intersection cameras. I’m usually such a cautious driver, but today I was following a giant truck too closely in an attempt to scoot through an intersection, only to find out too late that truck was basically running a red.

Also, this week Shaun and I were asked to read at a literary series at our favorite bar. I was totally shocked that I was asked: I don’t consider myself a writer—that’s a profession and I simply don’t have thick enough skin or good enough discipline for it. I’m just a person who writes things sometimes. I’m also secretly intimidated to be sharing a stage with my husband. He’s an actual writer. Someone who makes money from and gets interviewed about his work. I’m just a random person with a blog. I accepted the invitation to read because I was flattered and in the moment and I have a general tendency to say “yes!” to most things. But now that I’m sorting through my essays and stories and stuff, I’m realizing that 90% of the things I’ve ever written are pretty craptastic. And as for my bio? What to say? “Chicagoartgirl23 is an egotist with a blog who used to write a lot but nowadays she’s too busy extracting milk from her boobs and working to pay the daycare people to do much of anything else.”

And then there’s work.Can’t really say much more because, well, because.

Sigh.

I used to sit behind a woman at a past job who sighed all the time and it made me want to punch her in the face.

Sigh.

There was a new caregiver at daycare today. Lila usually gets a bit panicked when I leave, but is easily calmed/distracted with toys. This new caregiver, though, made her incredibly uneasy and she was sobbing when I left. That is hard, people. I don’t even know this woman’s name. This whole situation is so unnatural and sick. I just want to leave work and be with my baby. Possible write something worth sharing at this stupid upcoming reading during her nap. But I’m here. So it’s time to put on a happy face and just freaking work.

Some people slack at work on a regular basis and that’s fine. Who am I to say that stopping every half hour for a gossip, a Starbucks, or a lipstick retouch isn’t fueling some underlying mental process? As long as a project gets done, jimmy crack corn and I don’t care how you do it. I just happen to be the type of person who likes to be a hop and a skip ahead of the game; procrastination and waste make me panic. Plus, I’m already squeezing every last drop out of a day when I abscond thrice daily to my pumping room to eek out Lila’s food for the following day, so I really don’t have two minutes and thirty four seconds to sit around and watch your hilarious YouTube video of a cat playing with an iPad; I’ve got a budget to reforecast.

Today, though, is different.

I took an actual lunch break today instead of eating salad at my desk for the millionth day in a row. I strolled in the sunny sunshine. I bought a sassy $10 pencil skirt from H&M. I ate a cup of chicken chili. I flirted with the idea of indulging in a chocolate milkshake but decided that fitting into my new skirt was more important. For the first time in a long, long time: I enjoyed a complete hour to myself, doing frivolous things. Miraculous things. And I loved it.

 The bad thing about breaking my workflow is that my workflow is broken: it don’t flow no more. I’m technically waiting on info for one thing before I can finish my current project, but I could be prepping future projects, organizing my desk, cleaning out my emails, researching the newest/hippest thing to wow and amaze my boss with.

But it’s Friday. And I’m feeling Friday-licious. Sure, I’m overworked, underpaid, and exhausted from the relentless responsibility of being a good girl. And yes I did simultaneously sprout  my first gray hair and varicose vein this month. But I’ve got a sunny day, a fresh weekend, and a brand new skirt. And I’ll be damned if I don’t look pretty hot in it.

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How are you feeling today?

I had a dream last night that I was fired from my job for texting a friend that Martha Stewart was on-site. When management asked me if I’d “leaked” the information, I honestly didn’t think that texting my pal qualified as “leaking,” so I said no. Then they showed me a print out of my text and I was escorted out of the building straight away. And I remember feeling nothing but emense relief.

Snugglebot woke Satruday night feeling feverish and sad. Today, her fever has held steady at 103 (100 with regular doses of Motrin). Any fever above 100 means baby is barred from daycare. We don’t have any family in the state to help us out in situations like these, so I’m at home today with my girl. Again.

In the past four weeks, Lila has been sick with three separate illnesses—one of which put me out of commission for about four days. We’ve been told this is par for the course for daycare babies. Since I’m salary and Shaun is hourly, I’m always the one who has to stay home with the snugglebot. I’m happy to care for her, but I’m really starting to worry about my standing at work. I’m sometimes able to work from home, but often the demands of baby really prevent this.

After health insurance, daycare payments, and parking, I only take home $100 per month, which about pays for the gas I need to make the daycare/work commute. I work for our healthcare. Shaun is contact labor, so his job can’t offer insurance. I wish it were 2014 already so that we could just buy into the government option and spare me the waste of time and energy of working at a job that barely allows me to break even. Even still, Shaun’s contract only gives us 8 more weeks of his great pay and then it’s back to where we were, with my measly $30,000 being our primary source of bread. Lila however, will be out of daycare when Shaun is back home, freelancing part-time. We’re hoping that Shaun gets brought on full time and I would then just quit, stay home with Snugs and find part-time work when Shaun can be home with her. But nobody wants to hire anybody on full time these days. The recession taught everyone how to survive with skeleton crews and freelancers without benefits.

I can’t get too bogged down in it, primarily because my poor overheated baby just woke up from her sorry excuse for a nap.
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Working mamas: how did you do it?