They have been taking us down to the new hospital in small groups for orientation and I thought I would share some of my pictures with you. It is a very impressive building!
Ann and Robert H. Lurie Children's Hospital of Chicago, opening May/June 2012
I arrived here in the pouring rain, and now it is bright and sunny with blue skies! Typical beautiful fall day. My husband met me for a coffee, and now it is just me, my head phones and Spotify, and an empty powerpoint presentation that I need to fill up in less than two weeks. The dreaded blinking cursor syndrome....
But, with good coffee and a tummy full of an oatmeal raisin cookie, I think I will get through it.
What I originally thought was a very, very bad thing is turning into a somewhat good thing. Or a mixture of good and bad, oscillating with my mood, which is dependent on how easily I find parking around work or if I've made it through our morning pre-work race without getting spit up on.
Up until recently, Jim was able to work from home with the baby on Thursday mornings, which is when I go into work for a half day. He found out a few weeks ago that he could no longer do this, and so we have had to add another day at the daycare for the baby.
The killer is that this extra day of daycare will essentially slice my already meager take-home pay in half. Ugh!
So when I was grumpy about this (after dragging out the calculator and thinking over our budget), I started dragging out the questions that invariably surface anytime I brood about these things. Why work? Why go through these crazy mornings of pumping, getting the kid ready, us ready, lunch ready, bottles ready, solid baby food ready, diapers ready, changing after getting spit up on, dragging ourselves back to the elevator after I realize I've left my cell phone upstairs, feeling frazzled all the time, etc etc? Why why why?
After asking this question, I always feel two pangs in my gut.
Pang #1: I can't imagine giving up my work- my coworkers, clinic, and working with our families.
Pang #2: Even if I stopped working, I wouldn't want to take the baby out of her daycare.
Sometimes you have to trust your gut, and on this topic, I do.
We LOVE our daycare (a Bright Horizons center downtown), and we love what the daycare has to offer the baby. I really believe that it does her some good to have time outside of her home and away from us, and to learn to trust other caregivers. I think it is helping Eleanor become a very social baby too- she smiles and laughs at her teachers and at the other babies in her room (sometimes when they are crying...this is a social skill that we will have to work on if it persists. hehe). She truly seems to enjoy it there, and I couldn't imagine taking that away from her.
So I work to work, but there are many benefits. With this attitude adjustment, I began thinking more about this situation. This means I will have Thursday afternoons...free? Open? All to myself? It is a strange new revelation. And for the past three Thursdays, Jim and I have met for lunch (Pequods, Emerald Loop, and The Pasta Bowl). Three dates, three weeks in a row. I can't complain about that.
I am faced with the decision of what to do during those remaining few hours before picking up the baby from daycare. Today, armed with a notebook and my ipod, I ventured into Noble Tree, an independently owned coffee shop on Clark (wedged between The Galway Arms and Mickeys). I climbed the stairs to the second floor after getting some tea and could not believe my eyes. There were robust circular tables throughout the room, several occupied with people typing on laptops or reading. And it was quiet. Trickles of conversation made their way up from downstairs, and music played through the speakers, but no one was gabbing on a phone or engaged in lively conversation. It was almost like it was a set aside quiet work space, though no signs advertised it as such. I was in heaven- this was truly what I have been hoping for to get me into a writing zone. I sat down, put on my headphones, and I wrote for two straight hours. It was more than I have done in over a year, not since I was taking classes at Story Studio.
I loved taking those classes at Story Studio, and would love to take more, but that would likely be fiscally irresponsible at this moment in time (please refer to the third paragraph of this post). Besides though- similar to how paying for gym membership makes you work out, even though you have the natural and free availability to go out for a jog anytime and anywhere, taking writing classes is what has gotten me to write. I am not very happy with the fact that this was the only way I became dedicated to the process of writing, and it is time that I become a big kid and do this on my own. I got a great start today, and I hope to get into a comfortable groove and really take advantage of this time.
The baby saw and smiled at me through the window to her classroom when I arrived at 5 to take her home. Her teachers told me that they think she may have her first tooth coming in. I looked at her in surprise and said, "Oh my goodness is this true?" She gave me a big gummy smile and let out this funny guffaw laugh that she has now. It sounds like she is yelling, "Eh-huuuuuuuhhhh!" while she leans forward and bats her arms.
These new Thursdays are a good thing and a bad thing. But I am thinking this is all mostly good.
Along the lines of motherhood and free time, I found this article a few weeks ago which spoke to me:
I have been having the HARDEST time posting onto this site recently. This post, for example, is the product of three separate abandoned attempts to sit down and churn out something that has been dancing in my head the entire weekend. Such actions have proven to be very difficult, especially now that Eleanor is moving ALL over our living room, which would be fine and I could let her be were it not for the sharp edges of our side tables and that annoying space beneath the couch that she continuously slides beneath. It's a trap and our baby-in-residence has not yet mastered the ability to put her little body in reverse. One thing I am learning about babies- they do not enjoy getting stuck. But anyways, there is no big rush on the weekends, so why not sit back and watch this little mover as she covers vast amounts of space through the act of determined wiggling?
But, again, when you've been hoping to create a blog post when an idea hits your head, like you used to in the good ole' days, but can't, it is like having an itch you can't scratch. Once I do find the opportunity, I am often exhausted and my muse is squashed. I set off this weekend to try and find a used baby playzone through Craigslist, so that the baby can have a little play area to herself with no immediate dangers around the corner, and Jim and I can actually simultaneously get ready on work mornings (gasp!) without one of us standing over the living room acting as a sentry. We were in contact with someone and were all teed up to go pick one up this afternoon, when the seller emailed me late last night to say it was no longer available. Oh, just drive a spear through my heart why don't you?! Craigslist is coming up empty on any others (both for Chicago AND Detroit), so our baby hovering will continue (and I will never be on time for work again).
The vast percentage of my reading over the past year has been from the baby genre, but I'm always in the middle of a book for recreation. During my maternity leave I plowed through The Hunger Games trilogy (for new moms out there, I'd wait until your baby is at least 6 months old before tackling The Hunger Games. For weeks I feared that the Capitol of Panem was coming to snatch my newborn from me). After that I needed a change of pace, and in my quest to tackle some of the classics, I chose A Tale of Two Cities next. I have been reading it for about the past 4 months and can now say that I am about 65% of the way through (or so says the tracker on my Kindle). I CANNOT get myself through this book. Each night before bed I am able to read about one paragraph before needing to call it a night. And with that pace, each night when I "open" the book (what does one say when reading a book on a Kindle? I "turn on" the book?), I can't remember what has been happening in the section before, so need to rewind a couple pages to get caught up again. And I need a reading group or Cliff's Notes or something. Are the Marquis and the Monseigneur the same person? What is the point of that lawyer friend who is always hanging around the doctor? I just realized in typing this that there are Sparknotes online that I might need to read!
Yesterday morning the baby went down for her nap and I decided to take a bath. One of my favorite nice things to do for myself is to sit in a hot bath with a good book and a beverage (sometimes it is wine, yesterday it was my morning coffee). While the Kindle is likely not the best choice for anything aquatic, I have an ongoing paperback "bath time book," which at the moment is Barbara Kingsolver's High Tide in Tucson, a collection of essays. Having a book of essays as your bath time book is really quite perfect- by the time you have finished reading an essay the water has gone lukewarm and the baby starts to stir from her nap. Not to mention that your comprehension withstands reading gaps of several weeks (as much as I would enjoy taking a nice bath numerous times a week, it just doesn't happen).
This is about the third or fourth time I have gone through High Tide. It was first gifted to me in high school by an English teacher, and then we reviewed it in an undergraduate writing class under the direction of another favorite teacher (you know who you are <3). This collection was also frequently mentioned during an essay class that I took at Story Studio Chicago. I have found that anyone who likes these essays is someone I would like too. My tub read yesterday morning was "Civil Disobedience At Breakfast" (found on page 85), and I forgot how much I love this essay about motherhood. "...the motto of my youth blazed resplendent on my breakfast table, the color of Florida sunshine" is the sentence that clinched it for me the very first time I read it. Barbara Kingsolver's writing is such an art, it sometimes takes my breath away.
Combing through "Civil Disobedience at Breakfast" yesterday morning was even better than the first time I read it, because I now have a child of my own. We are not yet at the point of tipping orange juice onto the breakfast table, but I know those days are coming (and I think it's hard getting out the door on time now???? Just you wait, Lindsay....). Reading about Kingsolver's thoughts about her fragile newborn being an extension of herself (Yes! I get that!) to suddenly acquiring her own will and independence (who keeps getting stuck beneath the couch???) so resonates with me, even though we haven't hit the one year mark yet.
Almost every single ounce of me has changed since having a baby. I love my baby girl more than I could ever have imagined- it wells up within me at the slightest thought and in any situation. At work, when I see a mother in clinic holding her child, I can sense my own baby's chubby-soft leg beneath my hand, or hear her sweet sighs as she softly squeezes my arm. Pre-baby, I was never really distracted by or understood the depth of love that lay hidden in those gentle caresses between a parent and his child.
I am a part-time working mom. I think it is good that I am able to do all of this- to get away and attempt to regain myself as an adult doing the work that I spent so much of my twenties prepping for. I am grateful for my work, but there are times when the act of sitting at my desk as though I don't have a baby seems like I am faking. Are my working and mothering roles mutually exclusive? That line between working and mothering becomes further blurred as I hide out in the corner of my shared office and pump, and then waste time walking all the parts to the bathroom to rinse. In the past, discussions with my work friends often led to plans to catch happy hour across the street after work. But nowadays if someone asks me what I've been up to, I am more inclined to reply, "well, I have been thinking about if we should try out the Baby K'tan or the Ergo carrier instead of the snap n' go when we run our errands." If the topic isn't on baby, I sometimes don't even know about what to talk about instead.
Friday evening as I drove the baby home from daycare, I passed a couple walking home from Pequods. One of them clutched that characteristically wrapped cardboard plate of leftovers that I know so well, along a satisfied walk home that I used to know so well. Jim and I would take turns holding that awkwardly shaped package of amazingness as we walked through the summer dim of street lights and looked into living room windows of the homes we passed. As the couple crossed the four-way stop ahead of the line of cars that I had been sitting in for our entire trip home, tears sprang to my eyes. I am not lying. A couple walking home with their Pequods leftovers actually made me cry. Immediately following this reaction was my thought that perhaps it is now time to shop for a babysitter.
I do feel at times like I am going crazy with this transition, but at other times this new life feels as natural as putting on a pair of thick socks on a winter morning. I love weekends spent with the three of us sitting together on the floor, yet an instant later I find myself yearning and missing that life of spontaneity and fun that we left. I do think that this craziness is, for the most part, normal, and therefore continue to ease my way through these days. I am thankful of so many things, particularly my husband for listening to my almost constant musings about being new parents. And the ability to soak in the tub from time to time.
So, on that note, we will continue on with our Sunday morning. It will likely involve a myriad of baby toys, a lot of rolling over, and an occasional need for repositioning after reaching a dead end. And perhaps a Pequods carry out....
For anyone interested in reading "Civil Disobedience at Breakast," I found it online through Google books :-) Enjoy the day!
Last Wednesday was a bad day. Our house was a mess and I felt like I had a million other things to do- we were out of food and had no meals planned, the laundry was piling up, and there were too many dust bunnies to lasso by hand. I was exhausted after having family in town and working, and truly did not feel like doing anything that required effort (other than taking care of that cute baby who lives here. She always gets a pass). Working part time can be a challenge, because I feel as though I am working two full time jobs at once sometimes. I am never fully on top of things at work OR at home. And in my mind, it doesn't make any sense for our house to be a complete dump when I am home two and a half days out of the week. I recognize that this is my expectation of myself, and not my husband's or anyone else's. But my self-imposed Scroogeness makes me trudge up the slippery and emotionally messy slope of completion, and I need to be honest with myself that I will likely never get there on most days.
Jim and I had a good long talk after he got home from work that evening and he helped me talk out my frustrations and do some problem solving. What I am working on right now is prioritizing (and taking time for myself without instantly falling asleep). Perhaps we need to have cleaners come in and give this place a thorough scrubbing down every-so-often. Perhaps it's fine to let the kitchen island pile up with junk mail as the week progresses. I went to working part-time so that our baby would have more time with one of her parents during these precious early years of her life. I have to remember that this is my number one job, not making sure that the dishes are put away. The more refreshed and up to par I feel, the better Mom I will be. And THAT is the scary part- I am now responsible for a little person and I can't let my craziness rub off on her just yet (better to wait until she's in middle school...)!
In thinking of priorities, one of those household tasks that is very high on the list for both Jim and me is the preparation of good food. And this takes me into the second part of this post. Preparing meals gives us structure for the day, keeps us on track with the quality of our food intake, and in the end saves us from spending money on take out or other expensive options. We love trying out new recipes, particularly healthy ones that we end up liking. There is nothing as enjoyable as eating together after spending a day apart. Family mealtime is such a pleasant experience, and now that we have a baby who will very soon be a child sitting with us at the table, we feel it will become even more important.
I have loved breastfeeding my baby more than I ever anticipated prior to her birth. Breastfeeding was painful for those first three weeks, and then, click, it all magically fell into place. I feel that Eleanor and I have such a connection during those times, even if it is at 5:15 am like this morning. To see what a big, healthy girl she is and to think, "Wow, I did that..." makes me feel, well, really good, for lack of a more complex description (remember, I've been up since 5!). It has taken a lot of effort- I pump every single morning and twice a day at my desk when I'm at work, which I actually enjoy because it allows me to pause and think of the baby. I am fairly certain that we would have needed to supplement with formula if I worked every day of the week- Eleanor's bottle binging surpasses the yield of my little pump so I pretty much need to prepare all week long for her two and a half days without me. I know breastfeeding can be a very difficult and frustrating experience for many women who struggle with their supply and other issues, and I am very thankful that for us it has been able to go quite smoothly.
This leads me to the fact that my little baby is turning SIX months next week, and the thought of having to share her with solid food could have felt like the introduction of a third person into our food marriage. But instead it is turning into something that is so enjoyable! My very good friend tipped me off on the book Child of Mine- Feeding with Love and Good Sense by Ellyn Satter. I've been reading it over the past couple months off and on. The book helps you through the art and language of feeding your child, with a focus placed on the division of responsibility between you and your child when it comes to providing food. What has really helped me are the author's thoughts on introducing food to an infant. She encourages you to follow the baby's cues and to never force food onto your baby or create a battle. There is a language to be followed too- you lean in with the spoon, and the baby leans in and opens her mouth in acceptance. In addition, the author recommends waiting for some time before taking this step, again, by following the baby's lead.
A few weeks ago I made up a small batch of rice cereal, strapped Ellie into her high chair, and tested her out by putting a smidgen on her lip. The baby licked her lips and shuddered, so I unclipped her from the chair and we went about with our afternoon. Last week, a couple weeks after our first attempt, I tried again, and this time the baby leaned in and accepted what I offered, but shortly after preferred to gnaw on her bib and stare at the ceiling lights. Again that feed ended there. Over the course of the next few days into last weekend we tried a few more times, and each time she leaned in and opened her mouth for more and more spoonfuls. And now, that kiddo is flapping her arms in excitement as I head over to the high chair carrying the bowl and spoon. It is really, really fun to watch her start this big new phase in her life. She is already a fan of taking the spoon and putting it into her mouth HERSELF :-) And what I really like is how much we make eye contact and communicate with each other while I feed her. It is nice for Jim too, to now be able to join in on this connection with the baby. Over the next few weeks we will start to slowly add to the rice cereal offering, and already we have some pureed apples and mangos in the freezer. I am eager to see her explore all these new foods, my little baby trying her hand at the real world.
Thankfully the Child of Mine book goes further into feeding toddlers and preschoolers, as I know that time can bring with it its fair share of challenges! I can happily and selfishly report that our breastfeeding will continue on for several more months as we explore these exciting new tastes, though in the not too far future she will politely accept my offering as a small palate cleanser to whatever lip-smacking meal gets set at the table. If it is shepherd's pie or a Pequods Pizza, I will hardly be able to blame her.
As you can see with the electrical plug in the background, this last photo also segues into the next big task we have at hand here on Roscoe Street. BABY PROOFING. Oh boy....
When my imagination searches through the card catalog of my brain looking for possible interpretations of my life and current position within it, I always picture myself as a little Girl Looking Up. It is not an image that is purely figurative. For such a long time I was the little Girl Looking Up. Mouth slightly agape, I watched the fourth graders- those big kids from the "Upper El"- as they sauntered in High Tops across squeaky-floors to join the overwhelmingly boisterous chicken nugget lunch line every Thursday. The chicken-patty-on-a-bun lunch line on Mondays was more composed and not as exciting, but if it contained any of the Upper El kids, you can bet that it still got to me, small piddly first grader that I was. They were so fascinating, all of them. The velcro on their Trapper Keepers ripped away fresh as new with each and every use, and the shadows cast by their classrooms into the dark hallway were always vibrant and exciting. Thankfully the fifth and sixth graders were tucked way down in another wing of the school, or else I probably would not have known what to do with myself.
At the time, first grade felt YEARS away from fourth grade. It was eons away, really. But as time has a tendency to move along, I oozed my way up and up the layers of elementary and secondary education. The thing that got me though was that I never felt any inner celebration upon reaching that level that I once envied. For when I reached fourth grade, those former fourth graders had become SEVENTH graders. They were so big, so big that they no longer even attended my school! Sometimes they stopped by to visit (which they could do, since they were released from school a whole HOUR before we were), and with heads cocked at an angle they told us of a world where bells rang and students shuffled to a different room each hour. There were hall monitors and tardy slips, and textbooks wrapped in paper. And it would be years before I got there.
I continued to look up years later, even as I leaned cross-legged over the student undergraduate handbook pressed open on my bed. Ahead of me were all my courses, stretching away and across semesters and seasons. This class needed to be completed before that one. But that one was only offered in the spring and fall and not winter, and it was only 3 credits and not 4. Regardless of how it would be done, it had to be done, and hence I continued to look up.
Why am I telling you about all of this right now? Well, two weeks ago I turned 30 years old. And for the past two weeks I have been ruminating over this a LOT, much much more than I thought I would. Just ask my husband, who probably feels that if he has to hear me start yet another sentence out of the blue with, "You know, I've been thinking..." or "But here's the thing..." he may drive home to Michigan for the weekend just for a breather. Or at least go to the bar across the street- that would be a lot cheaper than stopping in Gary to fill the tank with gas.
I know that many men and women feel deeply changed after having a baby. Yes, many things have changed and there is no doubt about that. But for me it was turning thirty that really threw me for a loop. After mulling this over for a full fortnight, I think I understand why it messed with my mind the way it did. I have been too busy dodging spit up and kissing little baby piggy toes to come across this realization earlier, but as I drank my birthday pint at Pequods Pizza and thought about where I am in my life at the age of thirty, it occurred to me that maybe I am no longer that Girl Looking Up.
For what felt like forever and a day I chugged along- went to college, went to grad school, moved to Chicago, started working. The twenties, that insanely active decade of our lives, have come to an end for me. I am not crying about this, don't get me wrong. I have no desire to stress out over future examinations or to wonder what to do with myself after getting my bachelor degree. I am happy to be settled and expect to forever appreciate quiet evenings and slow sips of coffee on Sunday mornings. But still, turning thirty, and realizing that I have reached this plateau, has given me pause.
There will be many more events to come and I still hope to achieve, though what I will achieve next is the big mystery of my new thirty-something life!
Though a baby now, my daughter will one day look at those big kids parading past her in the hallway and wonder with longing when she will be like them. And as the Woman Looking Down, I will love and support that little Girl Looking Up each and every step of the way.
So...I haven't posted much in the past few weeks. Time flies when you're back to work! Unbelievably, this past week marked my fourth back in the real world, and I can say with relief that things are going fairly well. I've been tired as Hell these past couple weeks, partly because my sweet beloved Major has decided to emulate a fire engine throughout the night, pacing throughout the condo and wailing. The baby herself has been sleeping quite well (or at least far better than the cat). We have had the grandparents in town and Jim and I have been bunking with the baby in her room. And because she's so smart, I think she knows we're there so has been breaking her sleeping-through-the-night roll that she had going for a while. Now she is getting up midway through the night and babbling until I come satiate her. Little Punk.
When we sleep in the master bedroom, we lock Major out so that we can get some sleep. Thankfully, the baby does not wake up when the cat meows, which is extra good since the walls of her bedroom, unlike ours, do not go all the way up to the ceiling. With us sleeping in the baby's room, this is how our nights have been:
Baby to bed.
Us to bed.
Cat stays up.
Cat meows.
And meows.
I get up.
Cat meows.
I go back to sleep.
Cat meows.
I get back up.
I go back to bed.
Cat goes to bed.
Baby wakes up.
I nurse baby.
Baby goes back to sleep.
I go back to sleep.
Cat gets up and meows.
I get up and drag cat onto bed. Hold cat close and plead with him to sleep.
Cat squirms and jumps off bed.
Cat meows.
I finally get cat to sleep on my pillow.
Cat keeps tangling my hair in his claws.
I get fed up and sit on the floor.
Jim wakes up, tells me to get back to bed.
Jim holds cat in a head lock until cat falls to sleep.
And then the alarm goes off.
I walked into the baby's daycare room on Friday after work and Eleanor was lying in a little pow wow circle with several other babies and one of her teachers. It was so cute, and got even better when Ellie let out a happy shriek that extended into a gurgly peal while she airplaned her arms up and down. Her teachers told me that she had been singing for the past hour, and while I packed up her diapers and bottles to take home, those happy squeals continued to follow me around the room. Ah, there was really no better way to kick off the weekend than to see my baby so content in her daycare room. The rain beat down on the car roof on our drive home and the baby thought, "hey, Mom brought my noise machine from home!" and she fell right to sleep (I mean, after a full hour of singing, who wouldn't fall right to sleep?). I kept looking at her in my rearview mirror thinking, "Oh I love that baby, I love that baby, I love that....Wow, seriously dude- you're jay walking in the pouring rain at night? Let's see, where was I? Oh yes...I love that baby, I love that baby..."
Jim and I just got back from our first real date since October, and our first carefree non-pregnant outing in at least over a year. My parents are here and got to hang out with the baby while Jim dragged me out of the house. I am so used to schlepping around and looking out on Roscoe Street through the slats of the blinds like a 21st Century Emily Dickinson that at first it just seemed much easier to stay put. But I got out with my husband and it was fabulous! We went to Piece- YUM. It took us over 30 minutes to get a table, during which time we enjoyed a pint at the bar and TALKED like ADULTS out having FUN. Totally nice. There was LOUD music and BEER. And no one spit up on me the ENTIRE time.
I am a bit stir crazy today. Perhaps it's because I really haven't been outside (aside from our quick walkabout in the snow last week) since Tuesday. Twenty plus inches of snow, a husband out of town, and a baby will do that to you I guess! I could just go for a quick walk around the block, but it's snowing and dreary outside, so I don't even want to. Instead I have literally been pacing (ask Jim) around the condo all day, flailing my arms while moaning, "There's nothing to dooooo...I'm bored.....", just like a 7 year old child during summer vacation.
So, that said, I guess it's time to go back to work!
My maternity leave is over. O-ver. Looking into the future, I am optimistic about the big step I am taking at work by going part-time. For one, it is going to make my transition back to work SO much easier, and I hope to strike the work-life balance that I always wished to have when thinking ahead to life with a baby. I will be bringing home SOME bacon (more like bacon bits, really, but still), and keeping one foot dipped in my profession for these years will hopefully pay off in the end.
My melancholy moments ooze slowly over me when I think back into the past. How is it that this special time with my new daughter has come to an end? These weeks when my one role during the week has been to care for my baby...have passed. I so treasured these days. At 4pm on Friday, as my maternity leave entered its last hour, Eleanor and I laid together on a blanket and coo'd at the ceiling fan. When we got bored with that, we squeaked with Sophie the Giraffe, kissed Mortimer the Moose, and kicked our legs while listening to some Baby Einstein. When it chimed 5, I was no longer a new mother on maternity leave.
My last week on leave could not have been more unpredictable! My mother-in-law was supposed to come into town to stay with us but unfortunately became sick. My husband was supposed to be gone from Tuesday-Friday on a work trip but ended up on about 4 cancelled flights before finally heading out on Thursday. I had a fridge stocked with ingredients for meals I planned on having with my mother-in-law, then thought I'd be cooking them all just for me, then found out that I'd be having them with my husband (I was still able to freeze TONS of leftovers!). The blizzard that rolled in mid-week was absolutely amazing and I was so thrilled that Jim was able to stay home and enjoy it with us. Thursday and Friday it was just the baby and me here at home, and they ended up being two very wonderful days of me staring at my daughter and wondering with awe how she got to be such a beautiful girl.
I am a very lucky woman.
My parents scanned these two pictures side by side. On the right is ME as a baby, and Ellie is on the left :-)
Recent Comments