What a room means to me.

Back in mid-2004, as I grew ripely pregnant, I embarked on the time-honored expectant-mother ritual of preparing my baby's room. Armed with my well-thumbed, tabbed, highlighted copy of Baby Bargains, I put together my baby registry and then strongarmed hubby into driving me up to the Baby Boudoir furniture outlet in New Bedford in the truck. We picked out a lovely baby furniture set that matched the beautiful woodwork already in the room, and I spent the last of my money saved from when I had my own business buying it. I also bought an inexpensive glider/rocker/recliner and gliding ottoman set from K-Mart, of all places, because I couldn't afford a fancy baby glider, and hello, those don't recline anyway. It didn't match, being black, but I left that to deal with later.


And then? The accessory search. I didn't want any trite theme, something that would look SOOO CUTE now but would become cloying after only months of hanging out in the room nursing the baby. I just wanted the room to look happy, airy, mildly stimulating without causing epileptic seizures. After much shopping, and agonizing, in multiple home furnishing establishments, I settled on yellow curtains, a yellow crib bumper set, yellow bed linens for the queen-sized guest bed which we'd decided to leave in there for the time being, and a very cute primary-color checkerboard area rug, again from K-Mart. My best friend's mom contributed a hand-embroidered Noah's Ark themed wall hanging. The one item that took the longest to find was a yellow fleece throw to go over the black glider/rocker.

Then my baby shower happened. Now I had all these wonderful baby things to settle into the room. I spent many a happy hour assembling baby toys, swings, etc. and finding their proper places.

Finally, all was ready. All I had to do was wait. And wait. And wait, as babygirl took her time about being born. We finally brought her home from the hospital, nine days after her due date.

I was so glad for all the preparation we put into her room. I spent hours in there, nursing her, changing her, failing to get her to sleep in her crib, sleeping (or just lying there desperately wanting to sleep) with her on the guest bed. Then she got a little bigger, a little more independently able to move, and we began playing in there with her toys, her swing, her fingers, my toes. Her room was the warm, peaceful oasis of the house. Even when the rest of the house went completely to pot, I made a point of keeping her room neat and clean. Her bed always got made. Her clothes always got folded and put away. Her rug got vaccuumed. The shades got opened every day and the sunshine streamed in through the sunny yellow curtains.

Babygirl learned to crawl, and even started toddling. She loved moving freely between the living room, the kitchen, and her bedroom. She loved it when the dog laid his big, achy Great Dane bones on the bed in her room. She loved it when her daddy and I lay with her on that bed and just rained down our love on her. She loved it when I nursed her, quietly rocking back and forth in the glider with the extra stereo, set up next to me, softly playing classical music.

Then, the soap opera started. The state Department of Children, Youth and Families got involved in my brother-in-law's babymama's life. DCYF quickly figured out that my BIL and his wife had their shit together, and backed down from its investigation of Hyperactive Boy's case. (HB is the son of my BIL and Babymama). But DCYF did NOT like what it saw of Babymama's life, and how it affected her daughter Holy Terror, the spawn of an ill-advised one-night stand. Long story made short, one day at 4PM, Babymama calls my husband, an acknowledged softy, in hysterics. DCYF had given her until 9AM the next morning to find another place to live before they would come and take HT away and put her into foster care. My hubby comes to me, tears in his eyes, and begs me to let Babymama and HT stay with us for a little while until Babymama can get her shit together. With a heavy heart, I agree to let them come and stay in my babygirl's room.

Babymama came, with HT, and proceeded to make our lives absolutely miserable. She was always the victim, you see; nothing was ever her fault, and she was just helpless to make anything positive happen, ever. She had no interest in getting her shit together, or in anything but squatting in our space. HT was herself; that is, a completely undisciplined, snotty, feral little creature who was also miserable in the emotional sense of the word - she was clearly aware on some emotional level that nobody loved her, except her mother, who only just barely loved her and used her for leverage at every opportunity. Babygirl was not pleased either. She knew that they were in HER room, and never did understand why she could not freely come and go as she had since she learned to crawl.

The crib came out of "their" room because we were desperate to get Babygirl out of our bed. This was a huge pain in the ass - the crib was wider than any of our doors, so it had to be taken completely apart. Then our bed had to be lifted up to make way for it to come into our room.

It was so hard, Babygirl not having a room while Babymama and HT were squatting in our home. Babygirl is a lousy sleeper, and in the past we had felt free to plunk her in her crib, shut the door, and let her scream for awhile while we regained our composure. Now that was just not an option. Her sleep problems became our insurmountable sleep problems. No breathing room. No escape hatch. No pressure valve. Just hubby, me and a screaming, angry baby at 2AM when I needed to wake up for work at 4.

Ultimately, it was this problem that finally gave me the strength to show Babymama the door. Babygirl needed her room back. We needed babygirl to have her room back so that we would be able to step away when the nighttime pressures built up to the point of imminent explosion. When it came down to weighing babygirl's welfare against the possibility of putting 3-year-old HT out on the street, there was no question which way to go.

We still haven't gotten babygirl's room back to its pre-Babymama state. Moving the crib back in is just going to be a humungous project, and I'm waiting for a replacement for a critical broken part to arrive. But it is OUR room again, mine and hubby's and babygirl's, and the filthy twilight darkness that Babymama filled the room with is finally gone.

A couple of days after I kicked Babymama out, hubby looked around the room, and said wonderingly, "You know, we made this the nicest room in our house, and we just gave it away for six months." He was right. We've been in our room for 3 1/2 years and it's the only room in our house that has proper curtains in it, not to mention furniture that matches the woodwork. But more than that, the room was our haven. Our oasis. Our peaceful place, full of love and play and calm and music. It was that place, and now we are well on our way to making it that place again. And, you know, it's amazing. The more the room is restored to its harmonious, peaceful state, the more our family life is doing the same.

We will give up our own room before we ever give up babygirl's room again.

Mama's little mischief maker

I just talked to my hubby and the babygirl on the phone. In the five hours since she woke up this morning, she (a) chewed up a blue crayon; (b) while visiting Auntie A. and L'il Cherub Baby upstairs, found Hyperactive Boy's pack of Trident gum and shoved two pieces into her mouth, wrappers and all, while the grownups were momentarily distracted; (c) snuck a piece to L'il Cherub Baby, in whose 7-month-old toothless mouth it lay undiscovered for nearly two hours; and (d) drank the last mouthful of hubby's coffee and then whacked the mug repeatedly on the rim of the garbage can while hubby dared to take a bathroom break.

All of this with that dazzling smile and that impish gleam in her eyes, I'm sure.

God help us - she's only sixteen months old. Will we ever pee in peace again?

In which my heart breaks into a million tiny pieces

Last night I was sitting on the couch with babygirl. I hugged her, kissed her round soft little cheek, and said "I love you, babygirl."

She says back, clear as day, "Love you."

Hubby and I looked at each other, stunned. Then tears started pouring out of my eyes.

I felt like that the first time she said Mama, too.

My sweet beautiful smart little baby girl loves me. I know this, because she told me.

Love you too, sweetheart. Yesterday, today, tomorrow, and forever.

Busy!!! And Fours...

I've not had a chance to post since Saturday's big news because I've been very busy at work doing lawyer-type things that make me feel all tingly and important inside. But I think this phase will be wrapping up soon and when it does, I've got some thoughts I'll be posting, inspired of my new/old, Babymama-free home life.

In the meantime, Teri at Blueberry Pie tagged me for the ubiquitous Fours meme. (I think it's pronounced "Me-Me" and if it's not, that's still how I'm gonna say it!) So, without further ado, here's my Fours meme answer list.

Four jobs I've had:

1. Bakery shop counter sales person. This turned out to be a bad idea as it allowed me to discover the joy of fresh, warm-from-the-oven pastry and rolls. Still an obsession today.
2. Customer service representative for AT&T Long Distance. Eleven words on this one: "Good morning, how may I provide you with excellent service today?"
3. Bill collector for R.I. Hospital Trust Bank, which got swallowed by a bigger bank that also got swallowed and then more, like piranha Mamuschka dolls. Alternate job title: professional bad guy.
4. Lawyer. By far the best fit, and the only one I've ever been truly happy with.

Four movies I'd watch over and over:
1. Yellow Submarine
2. Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon
3. Jackie Brown
4. Everything is Illuminated

Four places I've lived:
1. Providence, RI
2. Boston, MA
3. Allston, MA
4. Revere, MA

Four websites I visit daily:
1. Pibgorn. Beautiful artwork, bizarre storylines.
2. Salon.com. Especially its Broadsheet (women's) blog.
3. Angry Black Bitch. For those who like their politics tart, served with a cold Vodka Cran.
4. CNN.com. Because nobody likes an ignorant lawyer.

Four of my favorite fattening foods:
1. Fettucine alfredo.
2. Annie's Mac and Cheese, made with half-n-half and lots of real organic butter. (My daughter generously shares hers with me.)
3. Pizza.
4. Cheesecake.

Four places I would rather be right now:
1. Paris.
2. Sanibel Island, Florida. My hubby and I got married on the beach there.
3. Home. In bed. Asleep.
4. Hmmm... can't think of anything right now...

Four bloggers I'm tagging:
I don't pass on chain-letter emails as a matter of principle, so I think I'll just let this peter out here. Plus, at this point this meme has been out there so long I don't think there's four bloggers left who haven't done it.

Hope y'all are having a good day/week/whatever. All is well in WOTH-land, and I'm looking forward to having more posting time very soon.

I did it! Hooray!!!

Well, I kicked Babymama and Holy Terror out of my house today. Backstory - Babygirl has been getting worse and worse about sleeping. She just does NOT sleep through the night. It's like each nice she wakes up more and stays up longer. Last night she slept like a newborn. It was not a good situation. I desperately needed a place to put her that was safe, like a crib in her/Babymama's room, so I could close the door and walk away and just breathe for 10 minutes to regain my cool. There was, however, no such place. I was up, and my hubby was up, and thhe babygirl was up, and there was yelling, and there was breaking down, and it was a great big ugly scene. I *needed* a break - after 16 months of this cr@p from babygirl who has always been a poor sleeper - so I stayed out on the couch and did NOT sleep. I lay there, my mind racing, worrying how to deal with this problem, and the other big stressful problem in my life, that being miserable moochy Babymama who never did bother looking for a job once I bought her a car, or even thanking me for that matter, when suddenly I realized that the answer to both problems was the same, and that it could no longer be put off, but that it had to happen right away.

So when Babymama woke up in the morning, I sat her down at the kitchen table and said "I need you and HT to move out today. Here's the number for [Agency]; it's the coordinating agency for all the homeless shelters in the state and if you don't have somewhere to stay they'll find you a place." As I said this, she blinked like eight times really really fast, looking as though I had slapped her. I stood up the instant I was done speaking and walked out of the door, shutting the French door behind me. Three hours and forty minutes later she and all her crap was gone.

This was the most beautiful day of the last six months of my life.

Hubby and I cleaned out the room. I put fresh linens on the bed and washed the throw rugs. We haven't moved the crib in yet, as we will have to disassemble and reassemble it, not to mention purchase a replacement for a broken part on the slide-up-and-down mechanism, but we will get it done very soon. Babygirl played in there ALL DAY LONG. Running in, running out, jumping on the bed, sliding off the bed, playing with Mama's books on the bookshelf. I was able to sort through her dresser ande clear out all the too-small stuff, and then fold and put away everything we'd been keeping for her in a laundry basket in our bedroom. The room's not back to its prior peaceful coordinated self yet, but it's SOOO much better, and it's ours. It's Babygirl's room again.

I put her down to sleep on the bed in her room tonight; she passed right out and is sleeping soundly there now all bolstered in with many pillows. I'll sleep with her in there tonight, but tomorrow I'm going to buy a baby monitor and maybe sleep with my husband, in our own bed - alone. We shall have to see how it works out from here. But in the meantime, I am so very, very happy.

I understand that she is staying with her mom "for tonight at least." Why didn't her mom take her - and her own grandchild - in six months ago, when this whole mess began?! Family should take care of family. Babymama and HT are NOT our family.

I'd be just fine if I never had to see either of them again.

Good night. I'm going to go have myself some very sweet dreams.

Good dinner!

Yesterday I made a dinner that I was actually pretty proud of. It was pretty quick, fairly creative, and not terribly unhealthy. The sodium was probably a little high, but calories/fat were low, and it had both fruits AND vegetables. I was so happy with myself that I had to post it here.

What would I name this dish? I don't know - Orange ginger turkey with fruity spring greens salad? Whatever, here it is:

Simmer 4 turkey breast fillets in a saucepan, in ginger-tamari sauce (2 parts) and orange juice (1 part). While that's simmering, take 1 box premixed/prewashed organic baby spring greens, add chopped MacIntosh or other crisp apple, diced pineapple, crushed walnut pieces, and crumbled Feta cheese. Mix well.

The turkey fillets should be cooked by now (they don't take long). Spread a couple of tablespoons of sesame seeds on a plate. Remove the fillets one-by-one from the saucepan, shake off the extra sauce, place on the sesame seeds and then flip over - the goal is not so much to coat the fillets with the seeds as it is to use them as garnish. Place a serving of the salad in the middle of 2 dinner plates. Place two fillets on each plate on either side of the salad portion.

Add additional orange juice to the remaining sauce in the saucepan until the flavors balance out. Warm it back up. Spoon over the salad as dressing. It should be warm enough to just slightly wilt the greens. Spoon a little over the fillets, too, but not too much or the sesame seeds will wash off. You shouldn't need much anyway, as the fillets will be tender and juicy.

My hubby remarked on the nice presentation, and then ate his whole plate. Babygirl ate lots of the apples, pineapples, feta, and turkey. (I'm afraid she'll choke on the walnuts, and she has no idea what to do with salad greens.)

I'm not the most creative or ambitious cook in the world, but once in awhile I pull off a good one. And this one was easy, too, so I'm sure to reuse it many times. Yay, me!

Pictures!!!

OK, why I couldn't get the upload picture button this morning remains a mystery to me... But anyway...

Here are some pictures from the long holiday weekend. First is a batch of pix from babygirl's weekend playdate with her Gramps, otherwise known as my dad. For Xmas, I bought babygirl a nice, handcrafted wooden dollhouse with furniture, people, and pets. I decided it should live at Gramps' house for babygirl to play with on her visits. First of all, it gives Gramps something specific and defined to do with her, which I think he appreciates. Second, it means babygirl doesn't have to share this very special thing with Holy Terror. (Yeah, we teach our kids that they need to share - what does it say when a parent goes to great lengths to protect her kid from having to share?) I love the relationship that's developing between babygirl and her Gramps - he loves her so much but has trouble expressing it short of just plain beaming constantly. I think he's finally realizing, too, that she's not actually all that fragile, and he won't break her picking her up or putting her down.

Second is a batch of pix from the nuthatch, er, I mean, my home. Babygirl wanted desperately to play with HT, so I let her. They played dress-up, though babygirl was indifferent to the game. The picture of her does *not* do justice to her indescribable cuteness as a little green Tinkerbell. (And I have NO idea what that facial expression was all about!) HT feels completely left out if I don't snap a pic of her when I take one of babygirl, so I took one of her too - she's the angelic-looking smiling toddler in purple.

Project Stuff-A-Baby gets under way.

So, as I posted before, my babygirl hasn't really been gaining any weight to speak of, and the pedi told us that he's expecting to see her grow before her next checkup in April. Part of the problem is that she doesn't generally eat a lot of food, still nurses, and didn't really take to cow's milk. So this weekend I decided to embark upon Project Stuff-A-Baby, as in "full of food," and shopped accordingly. I bought vanilla flavored vitamin/calcium fortified soymilk, a bunch of boxes of Annie's Mac and Cheese with organic half-and-half and butter to make it with, rice pudding with cinnamon and raisins, chocolate pudding, avocados, and french vanilla fudge ripple ice cream. She took to the soymilk right away, and has been reliably drinking it in quantities two to three times that of the whole cow's milk. (It's really affected her poopies, too, but that's another story that doesn't deserve posting.) I feed her, not just at meals, but all the time. I constantly have something ready to put in her mouth if she shows any inclination. She especially likes the rice pudding, especially if there's raisins in the mouthful. And guess what? We bought her those plastic toddler spoons and forks, and she actually has pretty much figured out how to eat rice pudding with a spoon! Sometimes she has the spoon upside-down, but once we turn it right-side-up for her, she can spoon it into her own mouth. Aaaawww! Anyway, I was able to get a pretty considerable quantity of food into her this weekend, but it was a lot of effort. I'm hoping she'll show a little more enthusiasm for the project, thereby making it a little easier for me, as time goes on. Oh yeah - and it would be really nice if she'd stop rubbing her food-y hands in her hair every time she eats. Always the same spots - the clumps of hair behind and above her ears. It's kind of funny - like she has these Hasidic Jewish curls coming down, frozen in place with hardened Annie's cheese sauce.

Ouchie.

Hubby's truck needed some work. Work that couldn't be put off, because, you see, the four-wheel-drive functionality for which we actually purchased the truck was non-operational. Also, it was making these scary clunking noises. The bill? $783.34. Thank goodness for home equity lines of credit. Credit. God, I hate credit. On the one hand, it acts all like it's your best friend, the one who talks you into doing fun, nice things for yourself that you'd never do if left to your own devices. But then, it sends you a bill for the fun. It tries to offer you pretty little low interest rates to disguise the fact that you're getting deeper and deeper into a hole, but really, even a low interest rate isn't going to save you when you charge more *every single month* than you pay on your various credit instruments. I don't know how I can be earning the salary I earn and still be relying so heavily on credit.

But anyway, the truck is running pretty nicely now. And we'll be ready the next time it snows. Only, perhaps, now that we've spent so much money we don't have making the truck snow-worthy, it won't snow at all anymore this winter? It would be ironic, but a worthwhile trade-off.

why oh why?!?!

Why is it that on some days, Blogger doesn't give me the controls to upload pictures?!?! Today I have pictures I'd like to post, and Blogger is just not being helpful at all!

What we are going to do about the problem.

Well, of course the Texas thing didn't work out. I pretty much knew it wouldn't. I just *really wanted* it to.

So here, instead, is what we are going to do. Brother-in-law T. and his wife A. and Hyperactive Boy and L'il Cherub Baby are going to move out of our upstairs apartment and join Mom-In-Law in New Mexico, approximately 2/19. Other brother-in-law C. is going to move from our basement, uh, ultra-efficiency apartment (one big room with a big closet, kitchenette, and half-bath) into the upstairs apartment. Babymama and Holy Terror move downstairs into the ultra-efficiency. They will be allowed upstairs two evenings a week to use our shower, because we can't afford to install a shower stall downstairs. BIL C. can't afford to pay the full rent that BIL T. has been paying, so we'll make it up by charging Babymama $75 a week to rent the downstairs. She will pay this out of her welfare money, or her job if she ever gets one. If she doesn't pay it, we will kick her out. (Free ride's over, you pathetic little mooch.) And she had better not keep coming upstairs to hang out with us, because I will have no problem at that point telling her that the main reason we relegated her to the basement is that we want to be seeing a whole lot less of her.

I am seriously considering hiring an exorcist and a Feng Shui practitioner to help me clean out all the bad vibes in Sarah's room once they're out.

De-Lurk Week: anyone there?

Aside from the three people I know for sure occasionally read my blog, it's entirely possible that I'm just shouting into the void. And even if I am, I will continue to do so because it's tremendously cathartic and satisfying. But please, if you're out there, I'd like to know about you, so won't you please stand up and take a bow? In the spirit of National De-Lurking Week, I thank you.

Babygirl update

She had a well-baby checkup yesterday. Folks, my 15-month-old babygirl weighs 18 lbs. 15 oz. Not even 19 lbs. yet. She's 31 inches long. Such a little peanut! But my pedi isn't worried because she is clearly healthy, happy, smart, and active as all get-out. However, she needs to start putting more weight on right about now. Part of the problem is she isn't a fan of whole cow's milk. My pedi suggested Vitamin D and calcium fortified soy milk, and/or Pediasure. We'll give them a shot. In the meantime, yesterday I fed her Edy's Butter Pecan Ice Cream with the pecans picked out. Yeah, she eats THAT just fine! And for dinner, I made her Annie's Shells and Cheese in an extra-fat version, with whole milk and about half a stick of butter for the whole box. She ate a bunch of that too. She loves mac and cheese with these tiny shells because she can spear them on, and eat them off, her little bitty fingertips.

She figured out how to open up the fridge the other day. We heard a rattling sound from the other room, looked at each other quizzically, and then saw her coming into the room with the little tub of crumbled Feta cheese, shaking it manaically and smiling from ear to ear. (Did I mention she loves Feta?) The next day we went out and bought fridge safety locks.

We don't have room for a hamper in our tiny bathroom; instead, dirty clothes just get heaped up behind the door. She loves to dig around in the stack, pull out one of my dirty bras or a pair of undies, HANG THEM AROUND HER NECK, and go walking out into the house. Then she wails when I try to remove them. Said I to her father, "It wouldn't be so bad if she was pulling clean ones out of my drawers to wear." Said her daddy, "Yeah, but the dirty ones smell like you." All together now, AAAAAAAWWWW-EEEEEUUUWWW!!!

Here's to you, babygirl; the most precious and wonderful 18 lbs. 15 oz. in the whole entire world. I love you more and more every day.

Texas...?!

So, last night Babymama spent some time on the phone with her older brother in Texas. He and his wife moved there with their baby a little while ago, and moved in with the wife's family. Turns out he had to leave his job because it cost more to put the baby in daycare than he made at work. (I guess his wife must be the primary income earner? don't know, don't really care...) He had the bright idea that maybe Babymama and Holy Terror could fly down to Texas and move in with him in his wife's family's house, where they supposedly have a nice empty guest room waiting, and babysit his baby so he can go back to work. He's going to ask them & get back to Babymama on it. I don't know how likely it is - probably not very. It sort of feels like daydreaming to me. Babymama seems mildly excited at the prospect. I think it's sad that her idea of getting herself out of our house is to get herself into someone else's. But you know what? I don't care. If it does happen, the instant she and HT set foot on that plane to Texas, they are officially SOMEONE ELSE'S PROBLEM. For the rest of their lives. Because they will never, ever, ever live with us again.

By the way, aside from my ear which is still screwed up, I'm feeling healthy so far today. Babygirl is still sleeping. And I'm sitting here blogging while eating chocolate chip cookies with milk for breakfast - crispy little mini Abigail's Cookies in a plastic tub from Whole Foods. Delish!

And now for something entirely different.

I have gotten sick of blogging about being sick and being saddled with Babymama and Holy Terror. Accordingly, today I shall blog about something different - that being my professional life.

I am a lawyer. I really enjoy my profession, most of the time. The cerebral challenge, the logic puzzles, the dry, informational, hopefully persuasive writing - these all satisfy my Libra soul. Not to mention, I win fairly often, and this is also satisfying.

Law school was an educational experience on many levels. I went to the law school that was ranked #26 the year I applied - not first-tier, but extremely respectable. My undergrad alma mater was a very small, inexpensive state college. I had done very well there, I felt, largely because the average student there was so very poor that it made my middling efforts look exceptional in comparison. So I get to this law school and am thrown in with folks whose undergrads are Harvard, Yale, pretty much all the Ivy Leagues and exclusives. I made a concerted effort not to allow myself to be intimidated. I studied and prepared for class. I spoke up in class. And you know what? I was as good at the game as anybody there. And by having the guts to open up my mouth and speak, I got a reputation as one of the smart ones, one of those who "got it." In other words, other students there were sometimes intimidated by me. This was very startling, and educational - it's not the name on your degree, but what you actually got out of your curriculum that matters. Anyway, law school was hard work, but in between, it was a lot of fun, and I made some good friends there. I actually miss that period of my life, sometimes.

The first couple of years out were pretty educational too. First I worked for a tightwad solo practitioner (I always knew I didn't have it in me to give the 70+ hours a week demanded of associates by the big firms.) We eventually had a meltdown due to personality conflicts. Then I went to a "boutique" litigation firm - a small firm specializing in high-profile litigation work which nonetheless billed itself as a "lifestyle" firm. Yeah, what a load of bull. I toughed it out for almost two years. I got married while I was there and my hubby and I honeymooned for 2 1/2 weeks in Europe. I expected to be refreshed when I returned to work. When, instead, I was twice as miserable as I had been before by virtue of having tasted freedom, I knew I had to leave.

I then spent a year and a half as a self-employed contract lawyer, meaning I hired out my services as an associate to solo and ultra-small-firm lawyers needing an extra hand in a pinch. This was the free-est, most enjoyable period of my legal career to date. I met and worked for some really interesting lawyers. Also, I got a ton of really valuable practical and substantive experience. I would still be doing this today if it weren't for one overwhelming cost factor - insurance. Health insurance, and malpractice insurance. These two things were crushing costs. I was barely affording a bare-bones health insurance policy, and malpractice insurance was out of the question. This was just too big a risk to run in the long term.

Duriing this period, I got a callback on a clerkship application I had filed a long time ago. The person selected had bailed out on the clerkship with 4 months to go - would I like to finish out her term? Of course I would. Federal clerkships are like gold on a lawyer's resume. I did 4 months of the clerkship at the same time that I was doing the self-employment thing.

One of my primary tasks during this clerkship was to review, evaluate, and draft decisions on cases in the large backlog of cases coming to the court out of one particular administrative agency. It was pretty boring stuff, but the law of it was easily picked up. Towards the end of my clerkship, I saw a vacancy announcement for a lawyer for that very same agency. I figured, what the heck, and put in my application. I wasn't sure I wanted the job given that the subject matter wasn't overly exciting, and I wasn't upset when I didn't hear anything back.

My clerkship ended. Back to the self-employment thing full-time. Enjoying it, but more and more concerned about being unable to afford malpractice insurance. Getting by, but barely, financially. Then, literally eight months after I submitted my application, I got a callback from the agency. Would I like to come in for an interview? Sure, why not. Shortly thereafter, a second interview. And then I got an offer. I turned it over in my head for a few days and then accepted. With a steady government job, I wouldn't have to pay my own health insurance, and wouldn't need malpractice insurance at all. I had my doubts over whether I would find professional satisfaction there, but that wasn't my primary concern at the time.

I came to be glad I made the decision to work here. First of all, the people I work with are pretty d@mned cool. My boss is just the best, nicest, most understanding guy you could ever want to work for. The people here are a wealth of information wrapped up in various degrees of coolness and/or niceness. I got tons of support during my pregnancy and recovery from my c-section. And there is no pressure to bill hours. As long as you're putting in the required 40 hours, you're golden. Granted, I'd love to make more money, and I'd love to be accruing vacation and sick time faster than I can here, and I'd love to have dental insurance as well as health insurance, but all in all I think I'm happier and have a much more balanced life that most of the people I went to law school with.

I can't say I'll be here forever. It's a very long commute from home, and it's getting inconvenient all the time. (The bus company I've used the whole time just cut out the bus I've taken home every day since I had my babygirl. Now my only choices are a bus that leaves the same time I get off work - 20 min's away - or one that leaves at the start of rush hour and would get me home 2 hours later than I now get home. Or carpool home with the same guy I carpool in with in the morning, passing up my current transit subsidy and leaving me dependant on another individual's attendance blips. Or just drive my butt in and pay $12/day for parking and risk road rage and/or falling asleep at the wheel at 5AM.) And now that I have a kid to put through college I have a nagging feeling I'm going to need to bank more cash at some point than is currently an option. Plus I'd like to retire someday, and have to admit to my great shame that at age 35, my & my husband's current retirement savings are exactly $0.00. So I think eventually I'm going to have to go back to law firm life. But in the meantime, with a small child at home, I know I've got a good thing going on here, and I am very, very grateful.

I fell down at work today.

My earache is clearly of the inner-ear-infection, balance-affecting variety. As I walked from the restroom back to the office, I turned my head towards a noise and all of a sudden the room spun and I was on the floor. I was glad nobody was around to see.

My incredibly kind boss is giving me a ride to the train station so I can catch the 12:00 back to my car. My doctor is going to try to fit me in around 1 or so. Hopefully he can prescribe some antibiotics. I just cannot go on like this. Seriously, I know it's just a cold. But I just feel so completely done in by now. One cold after another since September, culminating in this. I'm ready to declare a quarantine on my apartment. I'd just have to find Babymama and Holy Terror someplace else to go for awhile. Yeah, right.

Photos

Because a picture tells a thousand words.

1. My at-work arsenal of over-the-counter cold treatments. Each item has a twin at home.



2. The $100 car we bought for Babymama, in which we installed $184 in alternators and belts. Now get thee a job, woman.





3. Some pictures of babygirl. The last is with E., who was born to a friend from my childbirth class. He's all about books; she won't let me read her one without trying to rip it away and chew it up. But she's digging his baby monitor hard, much as she digs cell phones and remote controls. What's all this gender stereotyping Mars and Venus bu!!sh!t about boys being more mechanical and girls more intellectual?

Uncle!

OK, cold, you win. I'm at your mercy, down on the mat, crying Uncle!

As if everything else I had wasn't bad enough. Over the weekend I developed, in my left ear, a severe earache. It feels like a vaccuum cleaner is sucking my eardrum in towards the center of my skull. Pain. Deafness.

And on top of everything else? Cold sores. Multiple. All along the left side of my upper lip. Now I don't just FEEL like Typhoid Mary; I LOOK like her too.

Oh yeah - and I have apparently overindulged in Afrin, and it no longer works to open up my nose. So just breathing is an issue on top of everything else.

Please, sweet lord, have mercy on me. I am a good person. I do kindness where I can. I do the best I can to harm nobody. Many people are dependant on me for their basic everyday needs. So can't you please, please, PLEASE take some of the burden of this miserable ongoing cold off my shoulders?

Goshdarndagnabbit, STILL sick, STILL tired...

For how long can this go on?!?!

The six adults and four children/babies in my house have been passing variations on the same cold around and around and around since friggin' September. Now I have the version that comes with uncontrollable sneezes, occasional uncontrollable tickle-throat coughing, a low-grade fever, a mild earache, and nasal passages that slam shut like Alcatraz as soon as one assumes a horizontal position. Needless to say, not good for sleeping. I actually slept on the couch to allow my hubby and our babygirl to sleep uninterrupted by my hacking and sneezing.

Anyway...

I just wanted to express how grateful I am to have this space to air those feelings which have no outlet in my flesh-and-blood life. Perhaps you might have read my rant from last week about my long-term guest Babymama. Perhaps you thought it was really frigging harsh. I suppose it was, at that. But you know what? Having expressed those awful, mean-spirited feelings in some sort of outward fashion, without knowing whether anyone will (or has) read it, I feel as if they have been lifted somewhat from my shoulders. Not as if they have been taken away. More as if I have some sort of assistance in carrying them along. I was able to deal with her in a decent, kind, non-confrontative manner all weekend instead of seething over with unexpressed passive-agressive anger. I was able to see that this is a woman who is clearly suffering from undiagnosed but relatively severe depression, not to mention a killer attack of migraine headaches. Should she be taking more responsibility for her life and the course it takes? Absolutely, yes. But does she face more obstacles to doing so than I have ever had to face on even my worst day? Again, absolutely yes. I want to be helpful without being an enabler; I want to give her a firm but friendly push in the right direction without kicking her (literally) to the curb. And, oh yes, I want my babygirl's bedroom back... someday...