motherhood

What’s Important

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“But you’re so good.” “But you can make so much money here.” “But… this doesn’t make any sense.”

Those were the responses I heard from the partners at my law firm when I told them I’m leaving the legal profession. In a way, they’re right. It doesn’t make sense. And yet somehow it does. Because more than success, more than money, more than anything, what I want is time. I want time with Pidge, time with my wife, time with my family. I want time to write, time to create, time to be me.

I’ve been spending a lot of time recently thinking about who I am and what is important to me. For so many years my identity has been wrapped up in being an attorney. But on August 14, 2017, I became a mother. My whole world changed.

And yet, it didn’t. I was still going to the office each day, still measuring life in 6-minute billable increments, still stressing about malpractice and procedure and the Civil Rules and the (dis)satisfaction of divorcing clients. I would spend time with Pidge on the weekends, or in the early mornings before I went in. At first, when I would leave her in the mornings, she would cry and scream for me, stretching her little arms my direction. Now she just says “bye” and waves. She expects me to leave her each day, and I hate that. When I come home late in the evenings, she’s already melting down. Maybe we’ll have dinner together. Maybe I’ll bathe her. Or maybe I will see her for 15 minutes before she needs to go to bed. I was missing my child. I couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, there was a better way. Maybe I should settle for more.

I’m not sure who said it, but there’s a quote I think about often: “Don’t cling to a mistake just because you spent a long time making it.” I spent a long time becoming a lawyer. I studied and studied and studied and took the LSAT and applied to schools and got in and studied more and stressed and cried and graduated and studied and studied and passed the bar. Phew. Then I went to work. I worked in private firms and for nonprofits and as a public defender and as a solo practitioner and then back to private firm. And to be honest, I’ve not loved any of it. The closest I came to enjoying my career was when I was working as a public defender because I love being in court. But even that was arduous. I worked very long hours for very little pay. It was unsustainable. For me, every way I have practiced law has been unsustainable because it does not sustain me emotionally. I find no joy in sitting in an office by myself, staring at a computer screen answering countless emails. I am simultaneously stressed and bored. I like being in court, but time in court is sparse. I sit and stare at a photo of Pidge I have framed on my desk and my heart yearns for her.

I’m opting out.

I’m choosing what’s most important to me. I’m choosing my family. Today starts the beginning of a new adventure: I’m studying and preparing to become a teacher. While the pay won’t be as good as attorney pay, I am looking forward to having a schedule that is better suited for my family. I am looking forward to being able to exercise creativity. And I know that I will be a damn good teacher. I just will.

But anytime there is a big change like this, excitement is always tempered by fear. And I am afraid. I am afraid of walking away from financial security and from my future as a respected lawyer. However, I look at what that future looks like and I don’t want it. I don’t want to be a partner at a law firm, a business owner. I don’t want to be hustling for the next dollar. I don’t want to be afraid to take time off of work. I want regular hours, summers off, and a pension. I want a lovely, modest life filled with family and love.

It snowed on Friday. Pidge, who is getting over her first illness, toddled over to the window seat and stared at her backyard. She was looking at the same space she has seen every day for 15 months, but today it looked different. It was shimmery and white and fresh with promise. Pidge placed her chubby little hand on the glass, knuckles dimpling in that adorable way that they do. That’s my world too, little one. The same, but different. The same, but new. Let’s build a snowman. Let’s eat the snow. Let’s put on our boots and our mittens and our hats and do anything we want. Let’s do it together.

Together.

That’s what’s important.

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A letter to our (known) donor

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Dear [Donor],

“Adoodookrukra,” Pidge explains what she’s doing matter-of-factly. She flashes a toothy grin, nods, and goes back to her stacker toy. Her bottom lip protrudes as she concentrates. It’s so Pidge. We know this because we know this little girl—her mannerisms, her moods, her desires, her displeasures. She is our whole world; our everything.

How can we possibly express our gratitude? How can we ever say thank you enough?

Pidge was born and time stood still. Our once empty arms were filled with this tiny bundle of joy and wonder. Our hearts felt like they could burst. Over the past year, we have shared every moment with Pidge. From the first time she laughed, to her first tooth, to rolling over, sitting up, crawling, and her first solid foods. Every day has been magic.

You have given us such a gift. Pidge would have been impossible without you. Thank you—for your willingness to help us grow our family; for the self-sacrifice it took; for adjusting your schedule repeatedly to be on our clock; for understanding and respecting your role as a donor. You are more than we could have ever asked for. You are more than we could have ever expected. And we are so thankful.

Not many people would step up and offer something like this, but you did. Your kindness, thoughtfulness, and generosity is a testament to who you are. We are so thankful that our daughter will have a piece of that. Many women who want to have a child end up using an anonymous donor at a sperm bank. They have no idea about who makes up half of their child’s genetics. We feel so fortunate that we not only know who makes up Pidge, but that her genetics were contributed by a person who we admire and who we would want her to emulate.

We understand that [your wife] was a part of these decisions as well. That also means a lot to us. Her support for you being our donor underscores how incredible both of you are. You two have given us something more precious than we could ever describe. You have given us family. We will forever be grateful.

Thank you. For offering this to us, for following through, for helping create Pidge, for… everything.

Love,

Us. [Mom, Mama, and Pidge]

Hello, again.

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Busy is an understatement.

Between work and home and baby (now, toddler!) everything is a blur. Days splash into days and tumble into nights that crash like waves. A series of nurse, sleep, comfort, nurse, wake up, snuggle, nurse, nurse, nurse. I’m tired.

That is not to say that it has not been wonderful. Outrageously wonderful.

I’ve been meaning to write about how wonderful it has been. In fact, part of the reason that I have not posted is because I kept meaning to write about my beautiful first Mother’s Day and I couldn’t bring myself to post anything until I had posted about that glorious day. We lounged in bed, open gifts, ate brunch, and then lazed outside, blowing bubbles and adorning our daughter’s hair with dandelion halos.

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It was perfect, and I meant to write about it, but I didn’t. Then I meant to write about other things, and I didn’t. And I grew tired.

Here’s to getting back on track, despite being tired. Here’s to the world’s best Baby (who from now on I will refer to as Pidge, her nickname). Here’s to sleep deprivation for all the right reasons, and here’s to hoping better sleep comes soon.

Here’s to the renewed commitment to blog, and to tell you about all of the outrageously wonderful things that have happened and that are happening in my tiny one-year-old’s world.

Dear Baby

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Dear Baby,

Let me start by saying that you are my world. My sun rises and sets with you. You bring me such joy. Because I am working full-time, I don’t get to spend as much time with you as I’d like, but when I do, it’s so sweet.

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I love waking up next to you each morning. You usually wake me up to nurse shortly before my alarm goes off at 5:30 AM. You make a little searching noise and I know that it’s me you want. I roll on my side and you nurse. Sometimes you coo and grunt while you’re nursing. I feel your tiny little legs kick, kick, kick me under the sheets. Not hard, but rather it’s as if your body is saying, “Oh, yeah. That’s the good stuff.”

I hear the buzzing of my alarm and I roll out of bed, careful not to wake you. I go through my daily routine — turn on the heat, start the coffee, put away the dishes, clean the cat litter, shower, pump. I wait for you to come down.

I hear footsteps on the stairs and know that it’s Mama. You’re in her arms, bright as a shiny new penny. You look at me with your open little face. Sometimes you give me a big smile. Other times you’re sleepier, staring at me glassy-eyed. Your mama hands you over to me and I melt. We snuggle for a bit and then I put you on your little potty to do your business. You baby-talk and bounce. We tie up your footie jammies in the back and it looks like your donning butterfly wings.

Then we play. We sit together on your rug and play with your book, your stacker, or any other toy. Sometimes you just roll around. I smile and stare into your perfect face, telling you over and over again how much I love you. Sometimes I cry when I have to go to work. Leaving you is really hard.

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But you are there, in my office. Your face adorns my walls and your smile is framed on my desk.

At 5:30 PM, I rush home to be with you. Mama is usually cooking dinner and you’re hanging out in your swing or on your play mat on the floor. Sometimes you give me a big smile but usually you just look up at me like, “Oh, it’s you. You’re supposed to be here.”

I scoop you up and we go upstairs so that I can change out of my work clothes. You sit on the bed and watch me. Once I’ve changed, I bound on the bed. You giggle. I kiss you all over and blow on your tummy. You squeal with delight. I kiss underneath your chin and you chuckle, “heh-heh-heh.” You smile so big that I can see all of your gums and the two small teeth you have on the bottom. After we’ve played, you nurse.

We eat together. I love watching you try out new foods. So far you’re a lot like me — you like things that are saucy. You like to suck the sauce out of broccoli. You like scooping up noodles or rice and slurping out the sauce. You’ve been surprisingly adventurous about spice, but if something is too spicy, you’ll hold your arms straight out to the side and shriek. You’re very good about communicating how you feel about things.

Most nights, we give you a bath before bed. You used to bathe with me but now you’re big enough to sit up in the tub on your own. You splash and play in the water. You like playing with a ping pong ball and with a cup. You watch that ball and you follow its movements in the water. Then you reach hard and grab it, so proud of yourself.

We head upstairs for bed. Mama has gotten everything ready, from your diaper to the sound effects to the twinkly rainbow lights above your bed. I tuck you in and you instinctively roll toward me. We nurse and snuggle and eventually you fall asleep. I kiss your little head and whisper softly, “Sweet dreams, my precious one.”

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Snow Day

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Snuggling under the warmth of a cozy blanket, I watch the snow fall gently through the window. Baby’s sweet murmurs, coos, and simple sounds fill the silence, punctuated by the occasional giggle. I can’t believe she is already six and a half months old.

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This has been a season of firsts. In December, we celebrated Baby’s first Christmas. My wife’s family flew across the country to be with us and we spent our days eating and laughing and attempting to sled through the knee-deep snow in our yard. Our plan was for my wife’s brother and his wife and baby to join us. Unfortunately, their daughter was too sickly to make the journey. They have been struggling a lot with her. My sister-in-law gave up on breastfeeding after four days and our niece has not done well on formula. She developed serious acid reflux and was hospitalized over Christmas. We were all very concerned. My wife and I offered to donate our surplus breastmilk to them, but they were unwilling to accept it. Today, our niece seems to be on the mend, though she is being medicated for reflux and she gets sick often. We feel so fortunate that our daughter has been nothing but happy and healthy during these first few months of her life.

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Although my maternity leave was too short and despite not wanting to work at all, I’ve been fortunate to spend the last six months working from home as a staff attorney for an international animal rights nonprofit. Although this experience was short-lived, it was wonderful while it has lasted.

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The flexibility in my schedule allowed me to be present with Baby as she moved through her early milestones: rolling over, laughing, sitting up, and starting solids. We are trying a Baby-Led Weaning (BLW) approach, having Baby join us during our meals and letting her serve herself selections from some of the foods we are eating rather than spoon-feeding her purees. It has been a joy to watch her discover tastes and textures. So far her favorite foods are green apples, avocado-filled tortillas, and spaghetti.

 

In addition to BLW, my wife and I have implemented other parenting strategies, many that are Montessori inspired. For example, after never using it, we officially returned Baby’s crib in February and replaced it with a full-sized mattress we placed on the floor. We decorated it with bright colors and pillows, but when Baby sleeps on it, all those things come off. We are currently in the process of baby proofing the entire room. For now, the new setup is working great, but we will see how we feel about it when she becomes mobile!

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We have also been practicing Elimination Communication (EC). This approach encourages learning and listening to Baby’s cues, and helping them to the potty when they need to eliminate. The idea is to help Baby avoid sitting in her own mess. Another benefit to doing this is that it often results in getting baby out of diapers much faster. In our experience, not only has Baby been receptive to this practice, she seems to enjoy it. We’re enjoying doing less cloth diaper laundry. In fact, we have not had to launder a poopy diaper in over two months!

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Baby is a traveler. So far, she has been to 15 states! We recently did two trips to New York City and Brooklyn, toured Philadelphia, visited my grandparents’ grave at West Point, and visited my wife’s brother’s family in Virginia Beach. We have taken Baby hiking through the snow and watched as the flakes gathered softly on her long, dark lashes.

 

My wife and I spend every Sunday downhill skiing on our local mountain. We take turns hitting the slopes while the other parent watches Baby. Our daughter spends her time on the mountain charming everyone she meets, from other skiers to the cleaning crew to the lodge bar staff. “A little skier?” people ask. “As soon as she can stand!” we reply.

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I have cherished every moment with Baby. In fact, I have been so present with her that I struggled to find time to update my blog. I am mesmerized by her—the way she discovers the world around her, the hard work it takes for her to do the simplest things such as bring a piece of food to her lips or manipulate her mouth and tongue to form the word, “Mama.” She is a wonder. Her next project is clearly crawling. Baby has been pushing her little hips up in the air from her tummy position, and using her Pikler Triangle to improve core strength.

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As the temperature began to warm (they dropped again this week), I took Baby to watch the ice jams in the river. For those of you who are not familiar, it gets so cold in Vermont that the rivers freeze in thick, icy sheets. As the waters begin to thaw, they crack off loudly and are carried by the current until they are pushed into the river banks. There, they pile up and create what looks like a stone wall. I pointed and explained the phenomenon to Baby. She squinted her eyes in the sunlight and squealed with glee.

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Last week, my mom flew out from California to spend a little time visiting with Baby and with us. We went for long walks, skied, and enjoyed an evening candlepin bowling. My wife decided having a baby on her hip was the key to success!

 

This Monday, I begin a new job with a firm in town. I’ll be focusing on LGBTQ and Family Law litigation, and possibly a little criminal defense. I’m excited to return to community-based practice and to the courtroom, but I am sad to be leaving Baby for nine hours per day. I just need to keep focused on the time I do have with her, remembering that while I may be a lawyer by trade, my primary job is Baby’s Mother. And it is the best job in the world.

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Regret

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I should have listened to my mother.

My mom was a stay at home mom. She hated the term “housewife” and often referred to herself as a homemaker. My sister and I would roll our eyes. We were too young to understand the value of a home, or the energy and effort it took to create warmth and cleanliness, order and comfort. Hominess. But even then, my mom’s role was not just homemaker, it was mother. She repeatedly claimed that being a mom, being our mom, was the best job in the world. Ungrateful as we were, we rolled our eyes even harder.

I know now what I couldn’t have known then – for me, just as it was for my mom, being a mother is the best job in the world. Being a mother is what drives me. It is what inspires my days. It permeates everything I do. It informs my reading choices, my eating choices, my drinking choices, everything. It is what I want to do. Problem is, it is the only thing I want to do and I can’t do it because I am a lawyer and the sole breadwinner of our family.

I made this bed. As a young adult, I was sure I wanted a lucrative and fulfilling career. I scoffed at women like my mother who warned that I may want to stay home with my children. Not me, I thought. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to have children! I passed over articles about work-life balance or about “having it all.” I didn’t need to have it all, I thought. I just want to have success. And for me, “success” meant a career, not a family.

Then my sister had my nephews and my thoughts on children changed. They might not be so bad. I wasn’t sure that I wanted any, but I wasn’t ruling it out, either. That said, I was still very career-focused and career-driven.

After college, my partner (now wife) put her career objectives on hold so that I could attend law school and pursue a career in law. I worked hard, graduated at the top of my class, and obtained employment. It wasn’t very lucrative. It wasn’t very fulfilling. I tried a different position. But the stress and 80+ hour work weeks nearly killed me. I tried yet another position. I soon came to realize that there were a few things I liked about being a lawyer, but there was a lot that I didn’t like.

Time moved forward. My wife and I married and a few years ago we bought a house. We built our nest and began to have discussions about filling it. By this time, I had come around to the idea of having children so much that I actually longed for one. We wanted a baby and because I needed to focus on my career, we decided that my wife should carry and birth the child.

After nine months of trying, my wife was finally pregnant. We were beyond excited.

About six months into the pregnancy, I had a talk with my employer about family leave. They had known my partner was pregnant, but seemed surprised that I would want to take time off when the baby was born. I was told that they would need to discuss the issue with HR. Discuss the issue, I thought. Aren’t I entitled to some sort of parental leave? I realized then that for all the laws I researched for other people, I hadn’t spent enough time researching the laws that impacted me. I looked up the Family and Medical Leave Act (FMLA). I didn’t qualify. I was shocked and crushed. I hoped that maybe my employer would be altruistic, that maybe they would realize how much this meant to me. Instead, I was told what I already knew: I didn’t qualify for family leave. However, they added, if I wanted time off I could take an unpaid personal leave of absence, capped at four weeks.

I took the four weeks. They flew by.

When it came time to return to work, I bawled. I thought back to my mother’s words, “Once you have your own baby, you’ll know.” She was right. The pull to be home with my daughter was stronger than I could have ever imagined.

I didn’t love being a lawyer before I had a baby, and now I struggle even more. I hate leaving my beautiful, smiling baby girl only to spend the majority of my day stuck in front of a computer researching statutes. Maybe it’s the type of lawyering I’m doing, I think. I apply for new positions. But even these new positions lack luster.

I wish I could just stay home with our baby. I envy my wife, who spends her days snuggling our daughter, taking naps with her, playing with her, and keeping the house. We can’t swap roles or even both do part time work because it does not make financial sense. Because she can’t earn as much as I can. Because her career ambitions took a back seat when I went to law school. Because this is what we agreed on. Because I thought I knew myself.

I feel stuck. We need my earning potential. We need the money to pay our bills, to support our family, to pay off my student loans. But I need something to change. Something’s got to change.

I just want to be a mother.