WEDNESDAY
3:30p: on my way
to a kind of focus group session for a baby-supply website i shop from
frequently. had to leave work early to make it there for 4:30, but a $100 gift
certificate toward future purchases on the site was at stake and—i'm sorry—diapers
ain't cheap. i'm going.
3:54p: convinced
i'll be late, and distracted by anxiety from leaving work early, i mistakenly
think the PATH train is about to depart so i decide to sprint toward it. however,
my moccasins refuse to cooperate and i wipe out right there on the platform.
i'm airborne for a few milliseconds and then land in this order: ankles, knees,
hands. ankles are scraped real bad, knees will surely be bruised, hands are
gross with platform grime. no one seems to notice that i've done anything out
of the ordinary, so i get up and onto the train in a relatively fluid, graceful
motion. then i sit down and try hard not to bawl. oh dear. i can't even blame this on PMS.
3:56p: i text the
hubster, because i need to tell someone what happened. i'm a ball of anxiety lately, i have no idea why, i write to him. you need a relaxing day, he writes back.
and then: be careful. we love you and
miss you. sometimes that's all a girl needs.
5:51p: on my way
home after a successful—and, i have to say, fun—session during which i was
quizzed about my online habits and then observed as i tooled around the
company's website-in-progress. easy-peasy way to save $100 on stuff the kiddo
will surely need. i ride home on the light rail. when i disembark in Hoboken, i
have to walk a while along the water. it's a mild night and the breeze smells
like spring. to my right, lower Manhattan is just starting to glitter in the
dusk. i feel safe here, i think,
meaning in the vicinity of the city just across the river. why does that skyline reassure me? my brain starts to do work the
issue yet again—should we stay where we
are? should we go to the suburbs? would we love it? hate it? but i stop
myself. i'm too tired to think that hard. i really just want to get home to my
guys.
6:15p: i walk in
the door and find the hubster feeding our kiddo his dinner at the table.
Matty's arms flap when he sees me, which makes my heart twirl. i take over the
feeding duties and we catch up on our respective days. as Matty eats his
lentils, we realize we're both starving. i mention i have the ingredients for
linguine with white clam sauce—sold.
6:28p: Matty
plays on the floor with plastic bowls and measuring cups as we boil a pot of
water, peel garlic, set the table, heat the bread. marriage is not easy; we've
learned that many times over this year. but i'm so thankful for the rhythm
we're in lately. we've been completely in sync and having endured a few rough
patches makes me all the more grateful for nights like these, when there is
nowhere else i'd rather be than sitting at our old IKEA kitchen table slurping
linguine while our sweet son sucks down his bottle of milk.
8:10p: after a
bath, PJs and four or five songs' worth of rocking in the glider under a 'sky'
of green stars, Matty is asleep in my arms. when i gently place him in his
crib, he wakes up—like clockwork. this has been an issue for a few weeks now
and i'm (more or less) determined to find a solution. tonight i pull up the
glider's footstool and sit next to his crib. "it's OK, Matty," i tell
him, over and over. "you're not alone. mama's right here." his cry is
not desperate; he seems to be feeling inconvenienced more than anything. i'm
sure it's much cozier to sleep in my arms, but mamas need some downtime, too.
after i sing "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" a few times, he finally conks
out. and i successfully tiptoe out of his room.
8:30p: the table is cleared and the
dishes are done and i sink onto the couch with a Diet 7-Up and two Pepperidge
Farms dark chocolate chip cookies. relief.
for a moment i'm in control of the remote, so i flip to HGTV and find an
episode of "Property Brothers." hubster sits down a few minutes later
and mumbles, "is there anything else on?" i hand him his iPhone and
say, "entertain yourself. i want to see this." see? so in sync.
9:00p: happiness
is... a new episode of "Modern Family." i even manage to not fall
asleep during it (mostly). hubster tries to fast-forward through every
commercial break—we're used to watching our shows on DVR.
9:35p: bedtime
for me. yes.
9:45p: Matty
starts to cry in his crib. Michael goes in to calm him down, and seems to
succeed at various points, but the crying persists. i'm in bed, watching and
listening via the baby monitor. i get up about five times, only to force myself
back into bed. once i make it as far as Matty's door, where i hover for a minute
or two, before retreating. finally, i go in and get him. it's getting late and
even if he falls back asleep now, it won't last long. that's the thing about
being a working mama—getting as decent a night of sleep as possible trumps
everything else, even potentially disastrous bedtime habits. i scoop Matty into
my arms and we hunker down in my bed and are both asleep almost instantly.
THURSDAY
6:45a: i'm
awakened by the sweet sounds of my son babbling. he thinks i'm still asleep, so
he's talking to his binky. the sun is shining and the trains are rumbling by
outside. after kissing his cheeks a few dozen times, i carry him into the
bathroom, where he plays on the area rug while i coax my eyes to life with
Visene.
6:47a: i glance
down and see toilet paper across the bathroom floor. Matty discovers a new
trick pretty much every day, and this is the trick du jour—pulling on the roll
of toilet paper. i race for my camera to capture this developmental milestone.
i can't get enough of this kid.
8:45a: Matty, his
daddy and i leave for his appointment at the pediatrician. originally the
appointment was to find out what to do about a rash on his back. but now it's
about...poop. in fact, as we head down to the car, i have a fresh sample sealed
inside a Ziploc bag, inside a brown paper lunch bag, inside my gorgeous leather
bag from Anthropologie (a lavish Christmas present from the hubster—this is
actually the second time it's held a sample of my son's stool; it's literally a
carryall). Michael thinks i'm ridiculous. he doesn't say it, but i know he's
relieved when we manage to make it downstairs in the elevator without anyone
else getting on. the scent emanating from my bag is pungent. but, hey—our kiddo is having some issues. i want the
pediatrician to be armed with as much information as possible.
9:10a: "i brought
you some poop," i find myself telling the nurse practitioner who is seeing
us instead of Matty's regular doctor. it's amazing the sentences you never
realized you'd utter, say, when you were 28 and able to stay out drinking until
two in the morning. we've already determined the rash is nothing to worry about
and she's asked if there are any other issues, which is when i pull out the
goodie bag. instantly the small exam room is filled with the kind of scent not
ideal for this hour of the day—it's l'eau
d'rookie mom.
9:25a: i have to
be at a recording studio by 11 o'clock for a work-related voice-over session.
that leaves time to grab a quick breakfast with my family. after a short drive,
we decide on a cute little cafe in Jersey City. "this is a mommy
place," Michael says to Matty when we walk in and see a shelf of books and
a case filled with pastries. indeed.
10:15a: after a
ham-and-swiss croissant (for me), an egg-and-pepper croissant (for Michael);
and a plate of scrambled eggs (for Matty), we leave the cafe and stroll down
the sidewalk toward our car. the day is beautiful—more suited to late April
than late February. i know Michael will be taking Matty to the park later to go
on the swings and my chest aches a little knowing i will miss it. if i weren't
completely maxed out on time off for the current fiscal year, i would seriously
consider taking a personal day. instead, i kiss my boys goodbye and board the
PATH (this time without falling).
11:30a: sitting
in a studio on 23rd Street, offering direction to the person in the sound booth
who's recording the VO for a script i wrote. in the suite with me is the
recording engineer, a guy named Brian who has a two-year old daughter and a
laugh like Seth Rogen. the script is part of a project we've been working on
for two years. it's been a helluva process, but it seems like it's finally
coming together and i feel really good about how the script has turned out.
being involved in the recording session is—at the risk of sounding like the
geek that i am—exciting. i love my job,
i text the hubster. i generally feel lucky with my work situation. at times
it's been brutal, for one reason or another, but overall i have a great set-up
and i love that i get to do what i love for a living.
12:51: Michael
sends me a video of Matty on a swing at the park. puts a huge smile on my face.
2:45p: back in
the office. it's time for a cupcake break to celebrate a co-worker's birthday.
mid-afternoon sweets are my idea of a good time. and chatting with my work
friends (about airplane anxiety, awkward puberty moments and why the hell
"Fear Factor" is still on TV) constitutes 80 percent of my social
life these days. i'll take it!
3:30: two more hours
and i'll be on my way home. work keeps me busy, but even on the most hectic
days i occasionally find myself staring at a picture of Matty, and i feel a
sort of tickle in my arms—the quirky physiological reaction i experience when
i'm happy, giddy or anticipating something good. today i'm looking at a picture
of his face taken earlier in the morning, during the toilet paper incident.
it's perfect. he's perfect. i do think it's beneficial to both Matty and me
(and, of course, the mortgage) that i have my job. but there is absolutely
nothing better than walking in the door at the end of the day. i'm happy with
my job; i'm happiest when i get home.
mbm