Adventures In Sleep Training

I'm not sure how I managed this, but I think this past week was even less productive than the week before.

Remember I was planning (somewhat) our wedding reception and Pokeroke night and coordinating with relatives in town. (Did I mention all that on the last post?) I also was dealing misdelivered wedding gifts and an EZ Pass bill in collections even though I have an EZ Pass transponder, oh and the huge corporation that owns the apartment we rent is looking for a 14% rent increase. Well all those things were still going on. And it was my birthday last Thursday and I decided that birthday breakfast is more celebratory than birthday lunch, so I got to work at 11 or so and then proceeded to generally not work for the rest of the day. I have been daydreaming about creative projects, running for office, helping to create a climbing gym, and other things that do not resemble practicing law in the least. I haven't even been doing this a year.

So, since I seem to be neglecting it, let's talk about the mom part of my life for a bit instead of the lawyer part.

My sweet boy is seven months old. Against the recommendation of the books (mainly Weissbluth), I have been putting him to bed while sound asleep. He nurses, falls asleep in my arms, and at some point I carefully stand up and slowly walk to his crib and gently, oh-so-gently, lay him down. But recently, after a week of depriving him of regular sleep due to such things as a Friday night wedding reception, visiting with family, and getting shit done, the bedtime routine was starting to wear on me too. Senior and I had been talking about getting on a regular nap schedule. And then one night I sat and nursed and nursed and sat and sat and nursed and...you get the idea. For an hour and a half I was putting the baby to bed. So the next night, just like that, we decided it was time to stop putting him down dead asleep.

And he cried and cried, but not that long. It was about 45 minutes. I put him in his crib about 8:15 I think. He immediately rolled onto his belly and screamed his head off. Senior went in after awhile and rolled him onto his back again. More crying. One more flip back from his belly. A little longer and the crying stopped. I didn't cave in! I definitely almost did. The book says at night you have to just let him go until he falls asleep. For naps they can cry for an hour. An hour! That was news to me and sounded like a long time. Letting him cry until he stopped crying seemed like a really long time. But it worked! He finally fell asleep around 9, on his belly (we checked), and stayed that way until 8 in the morning. 8! He used to sleep until 8 but as he started going to bed earlier the time moved to about 7 and sometimes a bit earlier. It took a few months before he started going to bed before 10 or even 11. But the thing was, he started sleeping eight hours at night about two weeks after I went back to work. So at three months almost like clockwork. I didn't really care that he was up until 11, or going to bed dead asleep, when we all got our eight hours in. And he has typically been sleeping ten hours a night since about four months. (I know I am so lucky.) But now it seems he needs more scheduled sleep. Kind of a drag to be putting the baby to bed at 7:00 in the summertime, but I guess this is parenthood.

So today, you must be wondering what happened. He woke up at 8, like I said. We went across the street to the Wegmans because his right eye was swollen and I wanted to talk to the pharmacist. And get bagels. The pharmacist said check with the pediatrician because she would need to tell me the dosage of baby Benadryl since J (that is now le bebe's blog name/initial) is under age 2. Checked with doctor and did not give him anything. Ate a bagel. I am not usually in charge of naps but Senior worked today--damn it! J is making sounds. It's 10:47. He never does this. Wait, I think he's quiet again.--so I was in charge of naps. Put him down awake at 9:59. Cried. Asleep at 10:05.--He's definitely awake and fussing now. Wait, maybe not.--J slept until 12:30!!! And woke up happy and playing in his crib. And soaked through his diaper, outfit, crib sheet, mattress cover, etc. Changed him, fed him, washed all that stuff and took him to visit my uncle who is recovering from a stem cell transplant for myeloma. --J is definitely crying now. Not sure what to do. Seriously, this never happens.--Deprived him of second nap because visit went too long. He fell asleep in the car on the way home and stayed asleep for only about 30 minutes. I would probably be mad at Senior for doing this. Didn't tell Senior that I did this. Then I started the night routine (there's not really a routine) at 7:15 and J was dead asleep in my arms at 7:50. Called that a victory! Did some bloggy stuff, 25 minutes of self-led yoga, read some New York Times non-news articles, ate avocado with carrots, and more blog stuff. You can get a lot done when the baby goes to bed before 8! But now he's awake.

Admitting defeat...

Distractions

So I went apeshit and washed the baby's toys tonight. Do other people do that? They do, right? I also spot-cleaned his tuxedo. That's right, my six-month-old has a tuxedo, and he's wearing it to his mom and dad's vows ceremony on Friday night. More on that later. I've had this little chore hanging over my head and it feels good that it's done. Taking three and a half minutes to clean the tuxedo sure took some pressure off. Okay.

I thought I was going to get a pedicure after work so that my feet will look pretty in the whatever old shoes I wear with the Macy's Juniors dress I just ordered that seems to work well for my wedding reception. More on that later. But I came home instead so I could take the baby for a walk, which is something I call exercise these days, but then he wanted to nurse as soon as I came home and then it rained so those plans were scuttled. It's probably for the best because by some act of living and breathing I strained my back the other day and should let it rest for a few days. And that allowed me to wash the toys.

Now about the wedding reception. My son looks so much like my husband that I am going to call my husband Senior. Which is also a bit funny to me because when I was a senior in high school, for example, he was in fifth grade. Senior and I met through mutual friends and of course it's a long story but we got married in NYC at the Marriage Bureau when I was 16 weeks pregnant, not because I was pregnant but because we wanted to get married. Neither one of us has been married before but we just wanted our own special day. Even though I had lived there for a few years and he never had, it became "our" special city to me too. We didn't invite anyone but a witness, one of my law school friends. Another friend of mine since sixth grade who still lives in the City (I say that because most people I know have moved out) told me she wouldn't miss my wedding which was sweet so I didn't tell her she couldn't come, even though it did make me a bit uncomfortable that two of my friends were there and none of Senior's. We also had a photographer and a co-worker of mine from snowboard instructing (did I mention yet that I graduated law school in 2010 and it took me two years to get a law job?) who helped us carry our crap around Lower Manhattan so we could take a bunch of awesome pictures.

Like this one:

And this one:

So anyway, it was very, very small and intimate and we did not have a party because I wanted to focus on starting my job and having my baby and we planned a reception for our first anniversary. We are going to recite vows and exchange our rings again so our friends and family can be part of our union, if you will. Our mutual friend who introduced us will be making a best man speech. Really all I wanted were speeches. And gifts.

I've been quite distracted at work the past few weeks planning the parties (Fri night reception hosted by my parents and then Senior and I are hosting a Sat night poker and karaoke party we are calling Pokeroke that was my idea of which I am quite proud. You know, you say you're not going to have a wedding because you don't want all the hassle, but then you have a party that's supposed to be just like your wedding and then you have all the hassle. (It's not that bad actually and I've only had like two fights with my mom over it.)

Oh yes, and then today I got an email from my boss telling me to get my hours up because so far this year I am only on track to bill 1,896 hours and my requirement is 2,000+. I actually thought this pace was pretty good, especially since I have not even been at the firm a year. I responded to this admonishment by requesting to take off the entire day on Friday instead of just the afternoon as I had originally planned. Who was I kidding, really? But in addition to spending time with family in town for the wedding reception and going to breakfast with Senior for our anniversary, I now have to get a pedicure.

Maybe I should take off tomorrow afternoon, too.

Monday: The Donna

A law school friend of mine posted on Facebook one day that "In the spirit of Crossfit," he was going to "start applying names to small collections of various activities." Last Sunday, he did Steve, which involved waking up hungover and reading and marking up a stock purchase agreement for 74 minutes. One repetition. The next day, he did Stacy, which included waking up 20 minutes late, tripping over the cat in the kitchen while trying to grab an untoasted English muffin for breakfast, and various encounters with characters old ladies and messenger bags on the NYC subway. (Oh, I do not miss that place!)

So, in the spirit of my funny law school friend Peter C., last Monday, and every Monday, I did/do Donna. It seems to me that if you are a woman who is going to end up litigating a workers' compensation claim with your employer, you have about a 23% chance of being named Donna. (No disrespect to my mother-in-law.) Not sure why, but we have a number of female comp cases against claimants named Donna.

So here's your Donna:
Wake up at some varying degree of lateness, because even if the baby woke you up early, then it was probably too early, and as you fed him you both fell back to sleep. Wake up again, rouse husband from child-like deep slumber to take care of baby. Dress in uniform of snap-strap nursing tank top, pants that at 6-months postpartum you are no longer permitted to close with a BeBand, and 3/4-sleeve cardigan from Target.

Fill breast pump bag with supplies. Turn on BlackBerry. Finish packing lunch, which is weight-aided by husband who makes your sandwich. Kiss baby and husband good-bye and exit home carrying two to four bags for all your crap. Forget to check emails at red lights. Dutifully drive past Starbucks due to lateness. Arrive at office 32-44 minutes after staff arrives.

Debate whether to drink hot coffee or iced coffee. Decide on iced coffee, which involves multiple trips to the kitchen to brew, chill, ice and pour coffee. I told you this is a workout. Return to kitchen to make oatmeal for breakfast. Return to office. Boot up computer. Talk about kids with office neighbor while computer boots up. Close office door for pumping session. Look at pictures of baby on iPhone. While on iPhone text husband to send more pictures of baby. Check Gmail. 

Stuff, stuff, stuff and stuff. Close vertical blinds because afternoon sun obscures computer screen. Stuff, stuff, stuff and stuff. Describe stuff in overabundant detail in one-tenth of an hour increments on time sheet. Print something to read in case you might "work from home" later or feed baby while awake tomorrow morning. Power off computer.

Open vertical blinds so tomorrow morning it looks like you were there before staff arrived. [end workout]*

*But don't forget to cool down with various chores around the house, which don't include washing dishes, and a three-hour feeding and bedtime routine.

Modified Duty

"I probably don't need to mention that my boss is awesome and I love my boss." This said, naively, on this blog a few months ago. How far my boss has fallen. I hate him.*

That was the beginning of a recent post that has since been heavily redacted. It turns out angry posts aren't funny. And a good friend advised caution when speaking about your boss, however anonymously, in detail.

So yes, that was true, I hated him for a few days. But we're back to baseline. (I am cracking myself up by using workers' comp terms.)

I was just really angry about a number of displays of sexism. The innocent kind and the subtle kind that leave you scratching your pretty little head.

Like his last four hires were attractive young women. I mean, is this a coincidence? Are we to believe that in the worst legal economy in the history of humankind, the only competent people looking for work are good-looking women in their 20s and early 30s?

I was also annoyed about the lack of support and training that I am receiving. But I have had lots of jobs where they say you will be trained and you're not. You just learn as you go, make mistakes, learn slowly, etc. I guess in the end it works out. But people were convinced I was not coming back to work and I don't understand that based on the fact that I am the breadwinner and my husband now stays home. My boss knew/knows that. And when I was negotiating salary, I specifically declined the benefits, so I obviously wasn't just taking the job for health insurance so I could deliver my baby without going bankrupt. When I came to the casual holiday lunch at the office two weeks before my leave was over, and was talking to a male associate about coming back to work, he said, "blah blah blah if you come back blah blah blah. Yeah, like I chose to hang out with you people on my time off because I just missed you so much and will never see you again after you pay me for ten weeks to start rearing my child. Suckas.

That reminds me, we just got a decision in our favor last week, and it turns out I wrote the brief (i.e. a document--not usually brief--submitted to the court presenting our argument) in the first two days I was back. When le bebe was not sleeping through the night, might I add. I mentioned it to my boss that I wrote the brief those first days, and he sounded way too surprised. Now the claimant is appealing though anyway.

The prior post closed like this:

I admit, I was having a bad day last Friday, which was, geez, only yesterday. So we'll see how things go in the next few weeks and months. If some of my suspicions are dispelled...or confirmed.

And for the most part...well, nothing has changed except that I haven't been hanging around my boss much recently. But that's working for me for now.

*Yes, hate IS a strong word.

Breastfeeding: It's Not Just for Hippies

There are so many topics swirling around in my head, I just couldn't settle on one. But today, when I should be working on a brief while le bebe naps, I am finally catching up on blog posting.

I generally dislike Hanna Rosin and her opinions*, but I just might agree with her about breastfeeding. Here is the introduction to that article, which also appeared in The Atlantic in April 2009:

• In certain overachieving circles, breast-feeding is no longer a choice—it’s a no-exceptions requirement, the ultimate badge of responsible parenting. Yet the actual health benefits of breast-feeding are surprisingly thin, far thinner than most popular literature indicates. Is breast-feeding right for every family? Or is it this generation’s vacuum cleaner—an instrument of misery that mostly just keeps women down?

Oh, fine, I will even link you to the article. This doesn't mean I like you, Hanna Rosin.

The article points out the financial losses sustained by women who breastfeed for six months or more versus those who do not. Rosin also addresses the imbalances that can occur between moms and dads when the mom breastfeeds exclusively. Do I consider my time spent nursing my baby miserable? No. But, I am going on six months now of exclusive breastfeeding. And--see next post--I am thinking it is holding me back at work.

Should this be the case? Of course not. A nursing mother should not have to go to work for full days and hook herself up to a milking machine behind a closed (and wish it were locked, too) door for up to two hours a day. Because mothers should be able to be with their babies after they are born, and still have an expectation of returning to work a few months later. But does it matter what should or should not be? No.

I am not sure which stubborn part of me has made it this far. The part of me that thinks formula is gross? (Not that breast milk isn't, by the way.) The part of me that's in the competition that Rosin mentions in the intro to her article? Or the part of me that says "screw you, job, I'm going to feed my baby the way I want to and you can't stop me"? I feel like I am really succumbing to the status quo if I stop breastfeeding because of that last part.

Or would I simply be doing what's best for me? But this question is loaded, too. How many times do we lament the lot of working women, only to conclude that no one woman has an obligation to stand up for all women? And so we all make our own "best for me" choices, and we remain separated instead of united, and we never really fight for change in the workplace. Right now, in my life and in my career, I am just so angry about this. And I see how it leads a lot of ambitious, motivated women to just drop out of the workplace all together. I mean, why bother with all of this crap? My job and my career are important to me, but not that important.

And listen, I am not judging other women's choices...and I am not necessarily calling myself ambitious and motivated. I've always felt that people take themselves too seriously at work. I've never felt like work was the most important thing in my life. So maybe that is my problem? I will never become partner at my law firm because I don't want to become partner at any law firm. I just want to punch in, punch out, enjoy my work in between at about an 80-20 ratio, and get home at a reasonable hour so I can hang out with my kids, or train for a marathon, or whatever.

Wouldn't it be nice if you could be ambitious and motivated and still enjoy your life outside of work, too? Who is the spokeswoman for that group of people? And why isn't that group of people...I don't know...everyone?

*She is the author of The Atlantic article you might have read or heard about titled "The End of Men." Hey, I know why men are ending...and it's not because women are finally taking over the world. I am contemplating writing a full-length researched article on this topic, so can't share my opinion here just yet. (Who am I kidding? Check back in a few weeks when I have completely given up on doing anything intellectual outside of work.)

Out of My Pump Slump

So the other day my boss referred to breastfeeding as a disability. And I thought, "gee, making like a 40 of milk a day seems more like a (supernatural) AH-bility."

I think I'm out of my pump slump (I had no idea that would be so catchy), but I'm back to pumping three times a workday instead of two because I saw production going down to less than what le bebe needed while I was gone. Now I am outproducing him and keeping my door closed at work as much as it's open, but I don't mind trading water cooler talk for playing chem lab in my office. Actually, that's not true...have you been watching the Bachelor??

Well, anyway, I had to talk to my boss about getting advanced notice to cover hearings for him. I had just the day before asked about getting out of the office a little more, letting him know that I'm available to cover hearings and then he comes by a few minutes before pump time and says "let's go to this hearing together, you can cover it." First, I don't want to necessarily go along with him. I am still new and shadowing and learning, but I also want to cover stuff when it's necessary and we're not doubling up. Especially if I can't bill my time. (Which is, by the way, the worst and most stressful part of my job: accounting for EVERY moment of work I do. Or don't do. I can feel like I'm getting a lot done and then when I do my time sheet I wish I hadn't talked to my coworker about his wife's fad diet for five minutes. Or to one of the secretaries about last night's episode of the Bachelor or whatever trash I watched the night before with the baby attached to my breasts. And let's be honest, that's 15 minutes, not five.)

Anyway...Second, I just couldn't up and leave like that. The morning pumping was set to occur in just moments. But I didn't want to appear like I was reluctant to go to the hearing. I had just asked to go to hearings. Neither did I want to explain that I couldn't go because of my parenting responsibilities. He is a very family-oriented guy but I still feel like you have to leave your family stuff at home in order to appear driven and professional. And it doesn't matter what I think, this is simply true. I didn't know how to approach the topic with him so I asked our secretary who has worked for him for a number of years and who actually left years ago to raise her kids and then came back to work about a year ago. She suggested she get involved to recommend a better system for planning ahead. And also to avoid a one-on-one discussion with my boss about my boobs. About which we ended up talking anyway because he was really pretty dense about understanding what we were talking about. So that's how breastfeeding became a disability, because I need "accommodations" to pump while at work.

I've been a little feisty about having to work while I am trying to exclusively breastfeed and my son is still only four months old. But this is a whole big topic of its own that I just don't have the energy to write about now. Or maybe ever. My conclusion, without explaining all the stuff going around in my head (for example, --oops there I go--the company that provides generous paid maternity leave with unpaid leave of up to a year to management employees pays its union workers according to the collective bargaining agreement, which provides what? ZERO paid days of maternity leave.)...My conclusion is that we need more female lawmakers to think about how things like work and family go together and more female lawmakers creating realistic and practical paradigms for economic success. It really gets my dander up when I hear people--single white men, I mean--my age and even younger bitching about how Susie Q doesn't do her work because she has kids.

...

Now I need to calm down by talking about something nice for a minute. My husband (who needs a snarky nickname for purposes of this blog) cooked dinner of rice and stir-fried chicken and fresh veggies all by himself and all from scratch tonight. He asked me some basic questions, but I am really proud of him for stepping up and getting things done without me. (Not that he is extraordinarily dependent or anything, but he is still a man.) It was even almost done by the time I got home from work.

Le bebe is a crabass tonight because he got some shots today, but he's in the 98th percentile for length/height and I just had to brag. True to his breast baby roots he has fallen to 50th percentile for weight, and, thank goodness, he is about 75th percentile in head circumference, down from off-the-charts* at his four-week visit.

*I really wish that were true because it is funny that way, but he was more like 95th percentile.

Breastpumping Is Unfair

I was 20 weeks pregnant when I started my job. I did some research and knew that you're really not supposed to tell your prospective employer that you're knocked up* so I didn't and on my first day wore a ruched shirt and a suit with the jacket open. When I told my boss on Friday of that week he did confirm that I should not have told him during the interview process (shew) and also said he was very happy for me and thought it was great (double shew). He even said a few weeks later that it was better I was going out on maternity leave in the first six months, rather than down the line when they will actually be depending on me to produce work. He also interrupted himself to say--not that you can't have more kids!--so that was cool too. After I came back from leave he said he thought I was pregnant because he thought I had "gained some weight." Now that was the worst part. I thought I was pulling it off!

I started the job and worked for exactly four months, and people still thought I might not come back to work. Like who works for four months on purpose? Why bother? I didn't even take their health insurance. So I found out when I returned that I wasn't really being trained because no one wanted to invest the time and energy in case I didn't return. Turns out the associate who was supposed to train me wasn't into it either, then he left for a new job about two weeks before I went out. Like, why do you have to blame me, dude?

I pretended I was advocating for someone else and made the argument to my boss that I deserved the raise a man would get in my position. I am not sure if I was successful but he somewhat apologetically said he was getting me a very small raise. He said if a guy were there for six months but broke his ankle so only worked for four months, then he wouldn't get a raise. But ankle-breaking is an equal opportunity accident. I said if I were a man and my wife had a baby I would have worked the whole six months and gotten the raise. So you really can't say that women aren't penalized for having the babies. I understand the argument, that four months of work should get rewarded at the four-month level, but again, that is the mentality that keeps women behind. Look at that guy Josh on Top Chef. He's in Alaska on the best thing ever for his career, and his wife is home giving birth. If he were her, he would be missing out. I know there is merit to the argument that you pay to play. However, when we as a society keep wondering why women keep lagging behind men, we can't keep treating two unequal things equally while expecting equal results.There is a partner at work, whose children are now teenagers or older, mentioned that she had two of her children while working for a real "hard ass" firm, and she took four months leave with each child. I sort of want to ask her about that, but I am still afraid of looking like I am not serious about work. So how will anything ever change? I can say I want the raise, and that I should get the raise, but then I still feel like I look like I am not serious about work if I show interest in being available for my newborn whose sole source of food is me!

Which kind of brings me to my next topic. Pumping at work!** I admit, I am in a slump right now. I've been back to work about six weeks now and the idea of being le bebe's exclusive source of food for two more months is kind of intimidating. I have hearings to drive up to two hours to, I have meetings with my boss as I try to understand what the hell I am doing at work, and sometimes I just get involved in my work and look up and it's an hour later than I thought I should be pumping. The good news now is that I don't have to be that precise about the timing of pumping/feeding. But it is still so exhausting to keep on track while trying to lead a normal work life. And I know that I have it pretty good. I have my own office to which I can close the door with a "do not disturb" note on it. I've got my system now so that I can be pretty efficient. But even so, one day I had to leave early for something and I was scrambling to get everything together and it's stuff like this happens: you pull the plug out and it falls into your ankle bone. Or you leave all the pump parts in your drawer so you can't wash them one night. Or your brand-new car adapter decides not to work for some reason. Or you learn that there is a car adapter and that women pump in the car. While driving. I realize that if I think this is hard, then anyone who doesn't have such a good work environment, or a flexible schedule (except for hearings) like I do, must think this is really hard! And my conclusion right now is that new moms should be able to stay home for six months...without sacrificing career mobility/advancement. So maybe that is why I am in a slump right now...because I am sort of bitter about having a baby and being gone for only 10 weeks and I already feel like I am sacrificing career advancement.

*I have a love/hate relationship with this term. It's kinda like, not pejorative if you adopt it yourself, nah mean?

**I promised this post as Adventures in Breastpumping, but I already forgot everything I was going to write about, except for the big end of the plug hitting me in the ankle bone. That really happened.