Saturday, November 22, 2014

On the selfishness of motherhood

When Avery was two months old, a bicyclist died in Seattle. It was a regular morning commute. She was riding down 2nd Ave. It was three days before a new light system for the 2nd Ave bike lane was installed. She was going straight. A truck was making a left turn. They didn't see each other. She died. Instantly.

I didn't know this woman. I had no connection to her, nothing in common with her, beyond the fact that we were both mothers to young babies.

Monday, November 17, 2014

Child Care (aka paying 2k a month to have your balls in a vice)

We found out that we were pregnant about 7:30pm on Friday, October 11, 2013. By 8am on Monday, October 14, 2013, we were on two daycare wait lists. A third soon followed. We knew generally where we would be sending our baby to daycare before the doctor even confirmed I was pregnant.

When people tell you that you need to be on a daycare wait list the minute the stick turns blue, they are not kidding. Avery was three months old when we were notified that we'd gotten off the wait list at our last choice daycare. We anticipate getting off the wait list at our first choice daycare about the time she turns 18 and we send her off to college.



Friday, November 7, 2014

Requiem for my hair

There are a lot of things people don't tell you about the process of gestating, birthing, and sustaining a child until you are already pregnant. It's the grand conspiracy of the human species: only disclose the unbelievable indignities of the process when it's too late for the poor mama-to-be to change her mind.

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

The Black Plate, Chapter 3: Swearing at the Receptionist

My first day back at work after maternity leave was emotional one to be sure. But it also had its moments of wonderfully delicious randomness and absurdity -- you know, the things that make blog fodder.

The most prominent of these moments arrived at about 9am. On my way back to my office from a meeting, I ran into our receptionist, who gleefully exclaimed that she's just dropped off something fun for me on my desk (did that read creepy? I think it read a little creepy. I didn't sound that way when she said it). Clearly excited to see my reaction, she trails me back into my office, actually clasping her hands in the way that bubbly people do as my eyes alight on the plate of homemade brownies that some loving soul had hand delivered for me that morning.

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

I voted. So should you.

This year, I voted. Just as I have every election since I became legally eligible to do so at age 18 (that magical age when I was deemed old enough to help decide the fate of our country, not to mention die for it, but not quite old enough to have a beer. But that's a rant for another day.).

The process of voting in the 2014 mid-term election was not any different for me, but the meaning behind the ballot I cast has changed. Today, for the first time, I voted not just for myself and my future, but for my daughter and hers.