I'll never...

Not make time to write. Or so I said before Ragsy was born. After a nearly two-year hiatus (yes, I've been writing some during that time - just not regularly and mostly for work), I've finally found a tentative rhythm that gets me writing some more. Usually it means sacrificing sleep and getting a little less done around the house. But, oh well. I was never a neat freak anyway and my husband has always remarked on how little sleep I need to function well.

So it has begun. In the last month, I've completed about 20,000 words, some of which I've trashed, some have been quick & dirties to get me going in the first place and only about a quarter of those have been spent on my long lost novel, which book proposal I was about to send into an editor acqaintance who was really excited about it when I went into labor. Given the rusty hinges and joints of my writing ability now versus what it was after two years of being a freelance smut and business writer, I'm thinking I'll finish a good two thirds of the novel before I dust off the proposal. I know I can make business cases - I do it every day in my double life as a product manager, but don't usually have to throw in the clinchers that go along with a fiction proposal.

So that's that. In other news, I'm not a big fan of my job, but most people know that. Which is fine. It's not unbearable and, to be truthful, it's one of the best things I could ever have done for myself career-wise, particularly if I want to keep increasing my salary and stature at future positions. But in the next few months, I need to do a lot of thinking.

It struck me after having a conversation with a co-worker - who's also not happy - that, before you start a process, you need to have a vision of what you want on the other side. The same is true for employment. I understand generally the demands on my time I'm willing to deal with - my priorities are vastly different than they were when I started the job I'm in now - and I know what I'm worth (a good 20-30K more than I'm making now, but that's true for a lot of people) but what can I do that will make me feel good while I'm there and not have me staring at the clock? Good question.

To date, I haven't been in a position where that could be a consideration. I'd gotten my masters, refused a PhD candidacy and had done a 180 on my career choice and had to start from the bottom. Now I'm at the high end of the middle and I have a little more latitude and bargaining power.

What I do now used to make me feel good, but it's hard to quantify and provide a case for promotion, even though anywhere else the things I do would be director-level or above. We have some tough products and even tougher clients, internal and external, which have taught me a lot about diplomacy, preparation and have given me an extraordinarily thick skin.

All of these are good things. But it's starting to get old and wear on me. I expected to have to do a balancing act and I knew it would be hard. But I feel like I'm penalized for putting my family first. So this time, I'm going to go about things differently because I can. When I took the job, my priority was job security since we were having a new baby. It was also a smart choice since I got in on the ground level of a never-before-launched product and it gave me a unique perspective, knowledge base and skill set that only a small handful of people in the country have. Now, what am I gonna do with it?

Movie!

My husband and I went to see the new Indiana Jones movie last night - the first movie we've seen since March. He really enjoyed it. So did I, though going to a movie for me isn't what it once was. For me, enjoying a movie no longer is really about the movie itself (though if it's a particularly bad one, I'm sure it would be) but more about the fact that I'm at the movie and not at home and probably didn't have to cook or clean beforehand.

Anyway, we've seen exactly three movies in the last three and a half years - Chronicles of Narnia the December before Ragsy was born; The 300 last March; and Indiana Jones last night. I was amazed how, over just a few short years, how few people there are in the theater. On the one hand, paying for a movie is kind of painful. Especially so for us yesterday, when seeing a movie wound up costing us $40. Yes, you read that right.

The deal was that I had gotten the tickets online initially and stupidly didn't think to use my regular credit card number - I used a secure online number instead and didn't write it down. I figured - hey, they gave me a confirmation number. That's what they're for, right? Apparently not. The confirmation numbers they give you? Useless at the movie theater. You have to have your credit card number. Yes, this is probably movie going 101, but still - what are those confirmation numbers for anyway? They couldn't call up our order with it, couldn't use the credit card of which the secure number was based, so we had to buy another set of tickets. Oh, well. I'm going to harass someone about it.

Just last year this would have really pissed me off, but I no longer have the inclination for recreational outrage as much as I used to (don't worry - I still retain some, for my friends' and family's viewing pleasure).

Despite that, the movie experience was a good one. I'm glad I went. Wonder what we'll see in 2009?

You Are My Sunshine - or Not

I did something really, incredibly stupid tonight. You know that song, "You Are My Sunshine?" Yeah, don't sing that to a 2-year-old, even if they've heard it a zillion times before. No matter how much they ask, don't sing it in its original form.

If you haven't guessed, this evening, Ragsy asked me to sing the aforementioned song. Like a big idiot, I ignored that soft inner monologue that hissed, "Hey, dummy. Think again before you sing this. It will not go well - it ain't exactly a happy song." So I sang it. My toddler quietly asked me to sing it again. I did and he sat up and began to wail. Oh, God.

I sat up and held him, while he asked me if I was crying. When I said no, he started sobbing again. He then said he was crying and when I asked him why, he haltingly explained to me that he was going to be taken away and I'd be sad. Then he sobbed, "Sunshine song, mommy!"

I reassured him that he wasn't going anywhere and neither was I. He asked me to sing the song again (glutton for punishment), so I did some quick thinking and made up some alternative lyrics, which seemed to satisfy because he made me sing it again. And again. And again. Then he asked me if he would be going away and I reassured him that no one could take him away from me or vice versa. So, on his request, we sang the song another five times. Finally, it was about time to go to bed. So I sat up. I knew it was a bad idea to expect him to just lay there (he has a remarkably long memory), so I went to the bathroom to make sure he wouldn't get too freaked out even by that small separation. That went well, so I cuddled him to sleep (but told him before he dozed off that once he was sleeping I'd go down the hall to see daddy).

I could have gone the rest of his childhood without singing this song at this particular time. Particularly since my kid has developed enough imagination to have determined that the thunder he's been hearing over the past few days can steal inside his room and eat his head, eyes and tummy and hasn't slept through the night since Monday because of it. I'm glad I don't remember a lot of my toddlerhood.

And I've always hated "You Are My Sunshine." Now I hate it even more.

Another baby?

To start, no, I don't even suspect I'm pregnant. There's absolutely no chance. So get that out of your head. However, my husband and I are considering the possibility of having another. One thing that's really frustrating and scary, though, is contemplating the possibility of having eclampsia again. One side of me says to go ahead and get pregnant and get an epidural at the time of delivery (which I'd probably do anyway - a 32-hour labor plus seizure does not a good unmedicated experience make). The other side says why take the risk of having a life-threatening complication (apparently it's the second most common cause of death in delivery) if I've been blessed enough to have one already?

So I've been doing research. Lots and lots of research. Unfortunately, eclampsia is so rare that there are no long-term studies on its likelihood of recurrence. The results of studies that have been done vary wildly, too - in some studies, women were up to 50% more likely to have eclampsia again; in others, having it made them even less likely than they were before to have it. In yet others, magnesium sulfate administered when the warning signs started prevented it; in different studies induction or cesarean section was recommended and worked well.

Add to all this a predisposition to have seizures anyway and I'm really uneasy about getting pregnant again. But I don't want to throw in the towel yet. I'm going to talk to my doctor. But I'm scared, dammit. I don't want to be completely out of my head again. I would prefer not to have a two-week-long migraine. It's funny, though. The thought of another 32 hours of labor doesn't scare me. I can deal with pain. I firmly believe that part of my recovery problem was the post-delivery treatment - with a catheter for three days, I wasn't permitted to move at all and by the time I managed to get out of bed, I couldn't even sit up in a wheelchair, but slumped over my little boy, breathing hard from the effort of remaining upright instead.

And I don't want to be too sick to take care of a new baby's and Ragsy's needs. Ergh. What to do? Is wanting another baby despite my previous experience selfish? Stupid? Both? I want another one for a myriad of reasons, including the pregnancy part (I loved it), the joy of bringing another life into the world, learning more about the potential new little one and, most selfishly, I want to be there mentally to enjoy the act of giving birth.

I want to enjoy the fruits of my labor so to speak - immediately after, not a month later. I want to remember it - all of it. I have little snippets that I cling to: the feel of Ragsy's slippery little body against mine immediately after birth, his already distinctive features right out of the womb and the satisfaction of finally, finally pushing him out of my body after a full day and a half of sometimes unbearable pressure. But there's so much that's gone. I had to be convinced that I had been pregnant at all. I couldn't fathom that I had had a baby. And my husband and I couldn't share in the enjoyment of Ragsy together until much, much later because I simply wasn't capable. I'd also like Ragsy to have a little brother or sister. Although it wasn't until much, much later, I really love my sister and share a lot with her. I'd like Ragsy to be able to do the same.

Loose ends.

I'm at loose ends right now. My husband and son are on their way back from a morning at the zoo and I'm going to leave soon to meet a friend for lunch. I've cleaned out my dresser, making room for slimmer clothing, and am now stumped as to what to do. The place still looks like a bomb went off and I'll probably fold laundry shortly to occupy my hands, but I still find myself trying to relax a little. And it's weird because relaxing takes more effort than cleaning does.

The weekend has been a good one so far. I haven't gotten much on my To-Do list done, but we did all get out to the Ren Faire yesterday, though now for quite long enough. To my delight, one of the side effects of having lost some weight is not getting so sweaty so easily. Yes, I was pretty slick by the end of the trip - carrying a 30-pound toddler who's also sweaty will do that to you - but I was surprised how, even in 85-degree heat and high humidity how much higher my threshold was for heat. I still have a ways to go with the weight loss, but it's a bit like taking off a winter coat already.

Anyway, on my list of to-dos for my two days:

• Take clothing to Goodwill
• Organize study
• Organize kitchen
• Vacuum
• Finish organizing living room
• Feed soil
• Lay mulch
• Plant the rest of the dianthus
• Create bed and feed soil, then put my green beans and peppers in the ground
• Thin coriander and mint plants
• If time allows, remove bathroom wallpaper

It's a pretty long list for two days and doesn't include all the other stuff I want to do. It's funny - I tend to do a lot of manual labor on my days off. But it's more satisfying than being at work, even though I actually get money for that. Mostly it's because I get to enjoy directly the fruits (sometimes literally, with my veggies & herbs) of my labor. At work? No way.