The Priorities, They Are A-Changin'

Three weeks is the longest I've gone without blogging.

Didja miss me?

This new motherhood thing is work. Serious work. So serious, in fact, that I've decided not to return to my fulltime job. Instead, I'll continue to freelance for the magazines I've always freelanced for, but will focus on those instead of the full-time gig.

I still get general staff emails from my boss at the full-time gig, imploring the staff to meet their deadlines and updating people how the magazine hasn't shipped out the door on time.

I don't miss that one bit.

Because now when I'm working at midnight, it's at home feeding my son, instead of sitting at a desk, bleary-eyed, having sat there for the previous 15 hours reading or researching.

So I called and told both the HR department and the above boss that I'd be available to freelance from home, or somehow work part time, but I just could not return to the office in the full time, work-til-midnight-during-deadline-week capacity.

And because I am old (i.e., 37, not 27) and doing motherhood for the first time, I didn't feel bad at all about not returning to work in an office. As I've mentioned before, I spent my 20s and much of my 30s being Supercareer Gal, committed to inching my way up an editorial ladder.

Now that I've had the editorial jobs I've had, worked in the offices I've worked in, and had the names on my resume I have, I feel like I've done a lot of what I wanted to do in my career. Of course, I still love working as a journalist/reporter/researcher/writer/editor, which is why I'm continuing to freelance. But schlepping into an office for many hours each day, while I have my cute Baby L at home being his newborn baby self, just doesn't cut it anymore.

Ah, Baby L. So cute. So vexing. Such a baby.

He's nine weeks old this week and had his vaccinations last Friday at his two-month appointment. While not as harrowing as his Bris, I still cried when he got the three (!) shots. He screamed in bewilderment and pain and I felt bad. So bad. He was ok a few minutes later, looking at himself contentedly in the mirror in the examination room, while I was still drying my eyes. Later that night, after he slept the afternoon away, he was inconsolable again and needed his first dose of infant Tylenol.

But my time with him hasn't been all shots and tears. Far from it--I love singing to my son. "Where Is Thumbkin?" Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" and when he cries while I change his diaper ("A-wah!" "A-wah!"), I tell him to hold on for me to fasten the fasteners, to hold on while I use a million wipes to clean him up, and to hold on when I segue into Richard Marx's "Hold On To The Nights."

I love cuddling with him, holding him over my shoulder to burp him and he throws his arms over one shoulder while resting his tiny face on its side. Watching him kick as he's lying in his bassinet (he's very kicky--swaddling blankets just don't work on him anymore). Watching him sleep with his arms thrown to the side or above his head. Watching him smile when I say his name, or kiss his face.

At this stage, I'm told, you don't get a lot back from infants--more personality traits, more laughter, more sleeping through the night--tends to happen around the three-four month mark.

But he's so great as a tiny infant.

We go to different Mommy and Me-type classes in my 'hood every week. With my researcher skills still sharp, I've found all sorts of these classes in different towns near me. I've found three different theaters that show movies for moms to bring their babies--the lights aren't so dim, and no one minds if your kid starts to cry during the show. I've gone for walks in my town with a group of stroller-pushing moms who are also trying to shed the baby weight (I've still got a lot to shed).

And I spend a lot of time pumping breast milk--up to six or seven times a day, twenty minutes at a time, trying to eke out whatever milk I can give my boy since breastfeeding wasn't in the cards. It's funny how my life has honed in on this activity. When I got a hands-free bra to pump, freeing my hands up to read or surf the Internet, it completely changed my life. Seriously. I got a car adapter soon after, and now I can leave the house for more than a short few hours at a time. I've pumped while parked in my car. While driving my car. I schlep a bulky black bag that isn't a snazzy sleek diaper bag because the bulky bag has a compartment to put ice packs for me to cool my expressed breast milk on the road.

I mean, really--my life and priorities have changed a thousandfold since giving birth. Which is why my full-time gig and blogging haven't been at the forefront of my mind. But I'm still around, reading a lot of your blogs and posting when I can. And I'm committed to maintaining my blog. It's just hard to know when I'll have pockets of time in between the kissing and the pumping and the doctor's visits and the smiling for my boy. My sweet Baby L.