Knitting and unrelatedly, life in the city

T. is modeling a sweater that I began last January and finished a month or so ago. The pattern came from one of my grandmother's old books (old meaning the books she used to knit stuff for her grandkids in the 60s and 70s), back before people were into the "quick knit" approach. The gauge was incredibly small and it really took forever. The exciting parts, the cables along the raglan sleeve, were finished pretty quickly and the rest was incredibly tedious. I finally got myself to finish by eliminating the rest of the buttonholes beyond the first three and placing a moratorium on new yarn purchases until I finished. It was so nice to put it on her this foggy morning (even as I forced her hands through the cuffs--who knew the wrists could be too small? Usually I find myself forcing the poor girl's head through an unyielding neck band.).

And so, with sweater buttoned, we strolled over to our cafe before I sat down to "work from home." On the way we passed T.'s first sighting of a streetperson dropping pants and taking a crap. I want to be sympathetic when I encounter situations like that, but it's really hard. This scenario along with one the other day (I was holding T. as her Dad and I walked home from the park. A woman passed us, paused, and before we could say or do anything, she squeezed T.'s cheeks and gave her a kiss, also on the cheek.) make me wonder about our neighborhood choice.

This second incident came up when I was visiting T. at daycare yesterday post-buggy ride. The teachers all reeled. I hadn't brought the story up in relation to the buggy ride, but maybe they felt my concern because they volunteered that when they're out with the buggy, they never let people touch the kids or take their photos. Who would've thought there'd be such issues?

t.'s new ride.

After a rough start this morning (who's mother left a key bottle part--the nipple--at home?), the little teaspoon (or perhaps I should say tablespoon as she's been mistaken for a 9 month old several times recently?) and I are going about our respective days. Before I left to see her for lunch, I gave the daycare a call and learned that little t. was out on a buggy ride. She's currently cruising around, enjoying some fresh air in a version of the appartus depicted below. That's right, my little girl on her first buggy ride! I really hope the teachers have a camera.

First Hike.

We took T. on her first hike yesterday. My co-workers got us the baby carrier pictured above and this was our first time breaking it out. T. seems to be about the minimum size/age for such an apparatus, but as far as we could tell, she enjoyed it. She spend the first half of the hike gumming the front of the carrier, then she passed out for a while although it's really not ideal for sleeping. Towards the end of the afternoon, she finally got tired of the newness of the gear itself and realized that we were walking along a beautiful tree covered trail. She seemed to really like the outdoorsy thing and was entranced by all the foliage, that is until I took over the carrier and she became obsessed with something else:

Back to business.

T. is at home with her Dad today and without my many bike trips over to the daycare, I'm actually getting a lot done. The students are returning to campus so things have a nice energy (ask me about that again in a few weeks). Soon the coffee kiosk will be open all day again, serving up lattes past the now too early hour of 3 pm (did you all know that a single latte has only 35 mg of caffeine while a regular cup of coffee has about 4-500 mg?). I've been toggling between pumping sessions for the girl and orientation sessions for the students, a bit of a schizophrenic switch, especially when the new grad. students look about 10 years old. Really. No more than 15. At most. It's frightening. I should be able to relate to the new students, having been a new grad. student 3 times myself, but yikes, are they even legal?

Anyway, the first of many orientation sessions happened earlier this afternoon. We suffered through the requisite equipment malfunctions, like demonstrating a database when the computer/projection system fails, but it went all right. Their faces were pretty blank, probably because we sounded like a trio of bumbling chimpanzees, as if they keep us locked away except for special times of year when we get the vulnerable newbees all to ourselves to demonstrate our freakish knowledge of "discovery tools." I never said phrases like discovery tools two years ago, but now they roll off the tongue. You know, discovery tools, like an exersaucer, but way, way, less stimulating.

Partial retraction

I spent lunch with T. at the daycare. She was incredibly sweet and seems to be spending most of the day catching up on all the naps she's never taken there. After I put the post-feed, sleeping girl in her crib, I chatted with the folks up front who seemed really alarmed to hear that there might have been a stranger in the infant room. I played the role of the psychotic helicopter mother and they managed me quite well. It turns out that I hadn't met all of the teachers originally (some were on vacation) and the unknown woman who was rocking the little girl to sleep when I arrived yesterday afternoon was a teacher from another room. There are no temps/subs/unregulated helpers, but sometimes an extra pair of hands from the room next door.

I will drink my latte now and calm the f... down.

signed,
one overprotective geobrarian

giving your daughter a popular swedish baby name doesn't make you swedish

There are many days when I wish we were living the Scandinavian dream, after seeing the excellent exhibit on Finnish architecture at the Scandivania House in New York, shopping online for tasteful nordic baby items, and of course, hearing the maternity and babycare benefits of the socialized wonderland. Yet despite my recent tone and general childcare anxiety, I'd actually been coming to terms with the daycare situation on this side of capitalism. That is, until yesterday.

When we visited the daycare, we met 4 extremely qualified teachers, all of whom had been working there for years, and it made me confident that the little t.spoon would be getting great care, even if she had to wait her turn sometimes. Now when I visit her, more often than not there's at least one unfamiliar person in the room (I'm sure that some of this is due the fact that we've just started and I haven't seen the schedule make its rounds), and really, do I want my daughter being handled by up to 7 people (or more?), some strangers to me, in a given day. Is this normal in daycare? I assume the temps/part-timers have been thoroughly screened, but how is a parent supposed to maintain a relationship with so many potential caregivers. The whole thing is really frustrating, but since she is generally smiling and eating well there, she will stay for the time being. These doubts, along with the realization that a 35 mile commute isn't very baby-friendly, makes me really want to resume the nanny search (or perhaps convince some of you long distance aunties to rotate through every week or so).

Next year in Helsinki?

daycare cold takes down parents

T. has been to daycare a total of 4 times. On the night of the 4th day, Wednesday, she was sick. Her sleep schedule has yet to return to its pre-eastcoasttour grandeur anyway, but the cold and the daycare has completely upended the whole thing. I'd heard about the babies and the daycare and the colds, but I didn't expect to get them myself. Nonetheless, we all spent the weekend not sleeping and passing her cold around. T. wouldn't go to sleep last night, deciding that screaming was a better option. Is this the four month sleep regression? Will it ever pass?

This is totally not sustainable. I'm already imagining arriving late to work tomorrow (and indefinitely?).

Still somehow in the midst of baby's first boogers, we managed to put in a small patch of lawn for rolling around:


And in other news, the boppy has finally found its purpose in the world:

week two.

no one tells you that the second week is much harder than the first.

Part-time = 3 day weekends

When every weekend is a 3 day weekend, going back to work feels quite manageable.


Unrelatedly, T. appears above in a jumper I made for her cousin who has since outgrown it. I was very excited to have it back. It's adapted from this pattern.

Week one.

Some observations from the first week, in no particular order:

• everything will be okay.
• when it seems like it won't be and feelings of guilt overwhelm, turn to feelings of competitiveness, as in: I may be leaving T. in daycare, but she's totally the cutest, smartest baby in the room.
• lactating--the best way out of dull workshops and other work commitments.
• babies make better people. for example, I've been early for work every day this week, early meaning I'm up by 6:30, on the 7:15 train, at my desk at 8 or so. I've also noticed that fellow trainriders who stared at me throughout the pregnancy are now really nice and make faces at T. when she rides the train.
• when you're away from baby, you can wear necklaces.
• it's nice to know exactly how much milk not-so-little T. requires.
• C. has joined the ranks of dads who meet their wives at the train station with babies in tow. there's really nothing better than busting out of here at the end of the day and seeing their faces.
  

How it's going.

Like a scene out of the Handmaid's Tale or some such futuristic tale of reproduction and childrearing, all of the lactating mothers were spending their lunch hour at the daycare feeding their unconcerned babies. T. wasn't the only new baby at daycare today and although the babies were almost universally unphased, the mothers had extremely long faces. We all shot each other understanding looks that said "doesn't this suck in so many more ways than you expected?"

The drop-off this morning was okay. Terrible, but still okay. T. was fine. I cried. The first pump-at-work was also okay. But, lunch, that was hard. Finding her at daycare a little fussy but pretty much content, no recognition on her face, just a little growl to say how hungry she was. I should be relieved to hear that she took a bottle without a problem, that she took her naps, but is it so wrong to wish that she had cried some, that she had pulled out her emergency quarter to call me and demand I pick her up, or is that the whole crux of the working mother dilemma? So I fed her, handed her off quickly before I could get too sad and bicycled back up to my office where I'm eating my lunch at my desk and not even attempting to do any work.

And so it goes.

The hours.

Today is my last day of leave. T. is taking a nap and I've been packing our stuff. I printed out a bunch of digipics to show off and display on my desk. I bought her all the things on her day care list. The pump is ready. The bottles are ready. I should probably look through my work clothes and see which ones fit so I don't have to deal with the shock at 6:30 am tomorrow. The one thing I'm stalling on is that hands free pumping bra. I just can't accept that wearing one of those is in my future. Fortunately all of the likely venues that sell that sort of thing seem to be closed today. I'll see how it goes without my hands free I guess.

I've begun to imagine scenarios in which I arrive tomorrow and walk into my boss' office and quit. This is the first time I've really considered this option--up until now I really haven't thought about work at all. Quitting is really not a possibility for us, but maybe it'll seem like more of a possibility when I get my first 3/4 time paycheck and pay out for daycare. We'll see how it goes for a while and then re-assess?

Anyway, wish us luck tomorrow.

Reality and the librarian

We got home from our trip this afternoon. It's September 1st, Labor Day weekend, and summer is over. So is my maternity leave. I go back to work on Tuesday. I will deposit T. at my employer's day care facility and go sit at my desk and read 4 months worth of email. I will likely cry when I leave her and each of the many times I have to hang a sign saying "room in use" or "do not disturb" on the staff room door as I attempt to lactate on the job. As if I weren't worried enough about the whole thing, I came face to face with the New York Times front page story about Nursing Mothers on the job. After reading that, I realize how lucky I am. I will only be working 4 days/week, occasionally from home, and the little girl will only spend 2 days/week in day care. C. and I will be with her the rest of the week. I won't have to give up lunch or other breaks to pump; I won't have to pump in a shitty fast food restaurant bathroom; and I won't even have to pretend to work while I'm doing it. I can sit in a private space, ogle pictures of my sweet daughter and even nurse her in person at least once during the work day. I am really lucky. Still. It feels terrible.

I never wanted to be a stay-at-home mom, but I wouldn't mind being a stay-at-home longer mom. I arrived home today to a letter from my employer's third party leave management company telling me that September 5th is my last day of approved state leave. So I'll go back to work then because as far as I remember I like being a librarian, and I think, or rather hope, that in the long run it will be a good thing for me, for T., and for our family. Still it feels so ridiculous, leaving this sweet little person to answer reference questions. Clearly they have been getting along fine without me.

I remember people telling me that the first weeks/months with a baby are hard, but that around 3 or 4 months, it got really fun. I'm not sure I agree. The beginning was a bit of an adjustment, but each stage has had its own rewards. Yet I see why people say that. I am just starting to see T. emerging from her larval state. Poor word choice, but she really "grew up" on our trip. She rolls over again and again and again. She smiles all the time. She giggles. She stands. She lights up when her Dad and I enter her viewshed. She trusts us.

I know millions of mothers have returned to work, mine included, but it's still going to be damn hard.