I feel like it's been a long time since I wrote here, though I guess it's only been a few weeks. It's been a hell of a few weeks, though. The brief version: I'm reaching market saturation in terms of networking labor/employment lawyers here, so I've slacked way off on that. I've had no interviews coming from places I was nearly sure I'd have a shot, and two interviews coming up for places I was just sort of winging my resume at, not expecting to see anything. All leads for jobs through possible connections seem to have dried up and blown away. As my swearing-in date gets closer, I think more and more about setting up some kind of half-assed private practice so that I can at least start to take cases while I look for something a little more sustainable. I temped last week, though it didn't pull enough hours to really do a lot for me. And I've got a contract job for the next week or so.
This market demands an entrepreneurial spirit that I seem not to possess. My parents are total company men- they've both worked at the same job, for public institutions, for upwards of thirty years. We are not risk-taking people. So while a solo practice appeals to me in some ways, in other ways I'm terrified of failing, and the risk hardly seems worth it. I prefer to lean up against the stability of more seasoned people, at least for now. And while I'm looking at getting into a legal field that is still pretty healthy, everyone seems to be holding their cards close these days. It leaves me feeling ground down, and it's hard to hold onto my belief that my credentials are sufficient. It doesn't help that the whole class-rank question has come up again twice, though both times were much more benign than that first knock-out punch.
Other than that, though, things are good. Training for the triathlon is going well, though I'm having some physical issues from all the running, and should probably go to the doctor just so I know I'm not fucking myself up permanently. The little man is a big ball of joyful fantastic and will be walking and talking clearly soon. He's started waking up in the night again, which is Not Awesome, but it's been pretty noninvasive so far. The sun is out, and some great new and old friends are popping out of the dark of winter, and there are kickball games and cookouts and movie nights all over the place. Good stuff.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
EMOTIONAL TOLL
In the last couple of weeks I've been starting to realize the emotional toll that jobhunting takes on me.
It's never been particularly easy, but now I've got six-digit loans and a baby. A baby who, despite his blinding and heartbreaking sweetness, needs shit. So I bundle him off to daycare every day, and I come home and I do my absolute damnedest to find work, preferably as an attorney, or at least as something law-related. I incurred that six-digit debt for a reason, after all. But the market sucks right now. It sucks so, so bad. I've been calling every attorney that I can get my hands on who does anything remotely related to what I want to do, and I make them have coffee with me, or at least talk on the phone, and I ask them who else they know. Then I call those people. I've had coffee with upwards of 15 people by now, and I just got five or six new business cards at a conference and mixer last week, and there are another five or six contacts on my to-do list who are pending or on vacation or whatever. Twice a week I go through my list of ten or so sites where jobs are posted, looking for new openings. And in the last two months, I've applied for only five jobs, only two of which were attorney positions. One (not an attorney position) rejected me in spectacular fashion, by form email, telling me my (over)qualifications were not "within reach of the position". This week, an attorney who has become a kind of de facto mentor suggested that I start offering to work for free, in order to try and get in the door. Which I'm doing already, but whatever.
It's not even that I'm being picky and not applying to the big firms or the corporate firms or the family law firms or whatever. It's just that absolutely nobody is hiring, except for tax lawyers or patent prosecutors (who must pass a special bar). I've become a mercenary- I'm calling one person simply because I heard her boss is retiring, and I noticed she's 6 months pregnant, and there's only the two of them. Gross, but I'm calling her tomorrow.
It's so hard for me to pick up the phone and do these calls, and to chirpily send off my resume "so you can get an idea of my background and experience". It's so depressing to do these job searches I do every week and to see nothing coming up. I'm getting worried about what the fuck we're going to do if this goes on into the summer. Everybody I meet says the same thing: you seem qualified and competent, sorry, we're not hiring. Try back later. Try that guy; I heard he might retire soon. I feel so empty every Monday, checking the postings, dragging my feet to put together a cover letter for some bankruptcy firm, or some construction litigation firm, or some guy who is rumored to be kind of crazy and who got his license suspended for a month one time. With that cast of characters, it's no fucking wonder I'm getting tired of this shit, right?
One of the networking things I went to last week was a summit on the crisis in civil legal aid. The situation is grim: Prior to the economic downturn, low-income legal aid services only covered 1 out of every 5 people who qualified and needed legal help. The major funder of civil legal aid, the state IOLTA funds (which skim the interest from client funds, which must be held in trust, and dedicate that interest to legal aid), have plummeted by 2/3 because of the low interest rates. That means even fewer lawyers to represent poor people, who have an average of one legal issue requiring intervention per year. Lack of intervention for these issues can affect a family for generations- without eviction defense, they may end up homeless; without family law help, an abusive parent may retain custody of kids; without a bankruptcy lawyer, a person may have assets claimed that they had a right to retain and that they need to live on. So there's no money to pay lawyers to handle this stuff, and even if the money were there, the big law firms are deferring their associates, paying them lower salaries to take a year off and go do whatever, including legal aid. Looking for a job right now reminds me of looking for an apartment in San Francisco during the dot-com boom: there was always somebody who got to the open house an hour early, checkbook open, references in hand, ready to offer hundreds of dollars more than the asking rent. And the vacancy rate is .001%.
All that being said, I'm trying really hard to remember how fortunate I am to have a degree, to be able to pay for child care while I look, to have internet access, to have taken the time off that I did, and to be in the position of offering legal help, rather than seeking it. We are incredibly lucky, and while it doesn't help me look forward to another day of hunting, it's still the truth. But it's so hard, and I feel so useless, even with all the volunteer work I'm doing in the meantime, trying to get some good experience. Bar results come out in a couple of weeks, and I'm really hoping I passed. Having to retake it will set me back badly in jobhunting, and exponentially badly emotionally. I really hope I find something soon. Seriously. Really.
It's never been particularly easy, but now I've got six-digit loans and a baby. A baby who, despite his blinding and heartbreaking sweetness, needs shit. So I bundle him off to daycare every day, and I come home and I do my absolute damnedest to find work, preferably as an attorney, or at least as something law-related. I incurred that six-digit debt for a reason, after all. But the market sucks right now. It sucks so, so bad. I've been calling every attorney that I can get my hands on who does anything remotely related to what I want to do, and I make them have coffee with me, or at least talk on the phone, and I ask them who else they know. Then I call those people. I've had coffee with upwards of 15 people by now, and I just got five or six new business cards at a conference and mixer last week, and there are another five or six contacts on my to-do list who are pending or on vacation or whatever. Twice a week I go through my list of ten or so sites where jobs are posted, looking for new openings. And in the last two months, I've applied for only five jobs, only two of which were attorney positions. One (not an attorney position) rejected me in spectacular fashion, by form email, telling me my (over)qualifications were not "within reach of the position". This week, an attorney who has become a kind of de facto mentor suggested that I start offering to work for free, in order to try and get in the door. Which I'm doing already, but whatever.
It's not even that I'm being picky and not applying to the big firms or the corporate firms or the family law firms or whatever. It's just that absolutely nobody is hiring, except for tax lawyers or patent prosecutors (who must pass a special bar). I've become a mercenary- I'm calling one person simply because I heard her boss is retiring, and I noticed she's 6 months pregnant, and there's only the two of them. Gross, but I'm calling her tomorrow.
It's so hard for me to pick up the phone and do these calls, and to chirpily send off my resume "so you can get an idea of my background and experience". It's so depressing to do these job searches I do every week and to see nothing coming up. I'm getting worried about what the fuck we're going to do if this goes on into the summer. Everybody I meet says the same thing: you seem qualified and competent, sorry, we're not hiring. Try back later. Try that guy; I heard he might retire soon. I feel so empty every Monday, checking the postings, dragging my feet to put together a cover letter for some bankruptcy firm, or some construction litigation firm, or some guy who is rumored to be kind of crazy and who got his license suspended for a month one time. With that cast of characters, it's no fucking wonder I'm getting tired of this shit, right?
One of the networking things I went to last week was a summit on the crisis in civil legal aid. The situation is grim: Prior to the economic downturn, low-income legal aid services only covered 1 out of every 5 people who qualified and needed legal help. The major funder of civil legal aid, the state IOLTA funds (which skim the interest from client funds, which must be held in trust, and dedicate that interest to legal aid), have plummeted by 2/3 because of the low interest rates. That means even fewer lawyers to represent poor people, who have an average of one legal issue requiring intervention per year. Lack of intervention for these issues can affect a family for generations- without eviction defense, they may end up homeless; without family law help, an abusive parent may retain custody of kids; without a bankruptcy lawyer, a person may have assets claimed that they had a right to retain and that they need to live on. So there's no money to pay lawyers to handle this stuff, and even if the money were there, the big law firms are deferring their associates, paying them lower salaries to take a year off and go do whatever, including legal aid. Looking for a job right now reminds me of looking for an apartment in San Francisco during the dot-com boom: there was always somebody who got to the open house an hour early, checkbook open, references in hand, ready to offer hundreds of dollars more than the asking rent. And the vacancy rate is .001%.
All that being said, I'm trying really hard to remember how fortunate I am to have a degree, to be able to pay for child care while I look, to have internet access, to have taken the time off that I did, and to be in the position of offering legal help, rather than seeking it. We are incredibly lucky, and while it doesn't help me look forward to another day of hunting, it's still the truth. But it's so hard, and I feel so useless, even with all the volunteer work I'm doing in the meantime, trying to get some good experience. Bar results come out in a couple of weeks, and I'm really hoping I passed. Having to retake it will set me back badly in jobhunting, and exponentially badly emotionally. I really hope I find something soon. Seriously. Really.
Monday, April 06, 2009
HOME
I'm home with the little man today, because we partied a little too hard with my brother and his sons the Muffins in Vegas this weekend, and also the little man is getting two (TWO!) molars. If you're gonna do it, do it big, is what he says. Here he is, in the little man equivalent of a robe and slippers, playing with his favorite toy in the world, The Shelf With All the Stuff On It in the Kitchen. Yes, he is wearing rainbow striped baby legwarmers. And only one sock. Because that's how he rolls.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
FANTASTIC
I'm having a chill night watching food network challenge, since we're getting rid of cable this week. It's been like the Great Depression up in here lately- we've been making a loaf of bread every week, we're trying to figure out how to oven-dry fruit (anybody know anybody with a food dehydrator in Seattle?), and we just bought a bike seat (craigslist FTW) for the little man so I can start biking him to school. I start officially training for a sprint-length triathlon with my fabulous femme-thlete buddy stefanie in a couple weeks, so I'm thinking the biking will cut down on our longest car trips of the week, and I'll get training in at the same time. It's no iron man, but I'm still inordinately excited about it - .5 mile swim, 3 mile run, and a 12 mile bike ride - it's not gonna kill me, but I sure as hell can't do it right now. It's all part of our trying to ration money hardcore while also getting into habits we wanted to do anyway, like being outside, canning, gardening, etc.
I'm reading a book called "Beyond the Fields" about the organizing strategies used by the United Farmworkers and how those tactics shifted traditional labor organizing, and were used in other social justice organizing efforts later. It's good stuff, and is great for me to be reading while I job-hunt. It's reminding me that I can hold out for the work I really want to do, and that my ability to do stuff I'm proud of doesn't begin and end with lawyering, even if it's a skill that I can put to good use. So that's good to keep in mind, as I do my best to network the living shit out of this town. And re-learn to ride my bike.
I'm reading a book called "Beyond the Fields" about the organizing strategies used by the United Farmworkers and how those tactics shifted traditional labor organizing, and were used in other social justice organizing efforts later. It's good stuff, and is great for me to be reading while I job-hunt. It's reminding me that I can hold out for the work I really want to do, and that my ability to do stuff I'm proud of doesn't begin and end with lawyering, even if it's a skill that I can put to good use. So that's good to keep in mind, as I do my best to network the living shit out of this town. And re-learn to ride my bike.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
TODAY
I woke up bone-tired, in the dark. The kitchen is too dirty to make coffee. The little man has a fever that may or may not result in puking, depending on what he picked up at daycare, so he's home today and probably tomorrow as he has to be fever-free with no meds for 24 hours before going back. And I have a contract job (six hours woot!), so I have to go into a law firm today to sign papers and shit like that. So to recap: tired, no coffee, baby home, legal research, must wear nice pants. Shoot me.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
ONE YEAR
A year ago, I was having a hospital lunch and staring at this phenomenal little critter that had just unceremoniously shoved himself through my lady parts. Because my mom had so little recollection of my birth, I decided that my gift to the little man for his birthday was to write him a letter telling the story of how he got born, in an effort to create a tradition of telling him the story in various age-appropriate forms on his birthday. Writing the experience down will hopefully be good for him one day, and was certainly great for me.
Behold:
Dearest little man,
It's your birthday today, when we celebrate the day you and I got to meet in person for the first time. In honor of that, I want to tell you the story of how you got born, because it was the most beautiful day of my life, and because if ever in our lives we feel distant or disconnected from one another, we'll always know that during that time, we worked together, supporting each other, listening to each other, to make your incredible birth happen.
It started the night of Monday, March 3, 2008. I was nearly a week past my due date and was feeling a little demoralized by all the exclamations of "Gawd!! Haven't you popped that baby yet??" from well meaning, if socially awkward strangers. Your Papa and I had been taking all kinds of measures to try and get labor going, including walking seven miles between Thursday and Monday night, and even trekking out to the suburbs for some pizza that was rumored to put women into labor that very night. I was so huge with you, and you had settled into my pelvis like a bowling ball that had finally found its favorite place and planned to stay forever. Your papa and I went to bed at about midnight, after a long discussion about how long we were going to give you before "getting bossy" about you getting born. We both felt a little exasperated, and took some time that night to connect with each other and with you and let you know that we were willing to be patient.
Twenty minutes later, my water broke. I felt the tiniest tearing sensation- not painful, just a relieving of a tension so small I hadn't even realized it was there- and about a half cup of water ended up in our bed, smelling like ocean and something else I would only smell again in the seconds before you popped out of me. We called Amazing Doula and your grandma, and we all agreed that even though you were jumping all over the place, we should just try and get some sleep. We both got to sleep around two, and woke up wonderfully rested at about seven. Turns out it was good we got that sleep, because we had a couple of long days ahead of us.
When we woke up Tuesday morning, I called the hospital and let them know my water had broken, and they told me to come in, even though I wasn't having any contractions. So we had breakfast, called Jesse F for our ride, and put our hospital bag together. It was the morning that the California Supreme Court heard arguments on same-sex marriage as a constitutional right, a huge deal for our family and so many of our friends, and I remember how gorgeous it was as we drove past the courthouse, sunny and clear, how energetic and alive I felt, so excited for the whole big experience to finally begin, so excited to welcome you into the beautiful world, changing every day for the better.
We got to Kaiser and they checked me in. Everything seemed great, even though I still wasn't having contractions that I could feel. I had been all set to try and give birth in my normal clothes (actually I dreamed of wearing my "sissy" shirt, which I'm sure will be long gone by the time you're old enough to read this) but the nurses were insistent ("no really. we really prefer the gowns. it's easier. no really.") and given everything that was still to come, I'm glad I followed their suggestion. Little did I know that in 24 ridiculously long hours I wouldn't care at all what I was wearing.
Because there was still nothing happening, I decided to start walking again. I started doing laps around the (really not very large) L&D ward. Your papa, grandma and Amazing Doula took turns walking with me, but I mostly just felt silly waddling around and around and around. And around. I was sure I'd walked enough to have at least one certifiable contraction, but no, still nothing. Then finally finally finally, at around 2 in the afternoon (remember that we got there at 9- I walked a LONG time), I felt a tiny... something. Like a funny twinge- was that really it? that tiny thing? Oh, I can totally do this (famous last words). It finally seemed like things might one day start getting going.
The next few hours kind of went on like that. I was still walking around (and around) the ward, with the contractions progressively getting stronger. As they got stronger, I needed more often to stop talking and walking during them, and this progressed until rather than gamely smiling at my walking buddy while I sort of rubbed my belly and gritted my teeth, I was grabbing their arm and squeezing. Then leaning on them. I started walking the halls with your papa, and each time I felt a contraction coming, I would turn to him, swaying in place, dancing slowly until it crested over me and I could walk some more. I remember feeling the big bump of you between us, moving around under my belly muscles as they pushed you slowly, slowly down.
Over the next several hours, as the contractions got stronger and stronger, I started to feel less sure that I could do it. I remember feeling afraid when I felt one coming, knowing it was going to be so hard, thinking if I could just have a break, just ten minutes, or a half hour without being in pain, that I could come back and start again. But that's not how it works- once it was time for you to come out, I couldn't leave you hanging halfway (and I hope I live up to that truth for the rest of your life). Twelve hours after that first contraction, the doctor said "Congratulations! You're three centimeters dilated!" and my heart just about broke- I thought I was less than a third of the way to the ten centimeters you needed to get out, and I was already so tired. But here's the amazing thing that happened between us- right when I didn't think I could work any harder, you decided it was time to take a break too, and the contractions slowed down and I laid in bed cuddled up with your papa, and we all rested.
When the contractions started up strong again, Amazing Doula knew it was time for me to get up and move around some more. I hated having to move because it always made the contractions worse, but Amazing Doula knew it would help you get into the right place to be born, so she (very nicely) made me stand up and rock, or sit on a birth ball and move my hips, or lean against the bed. This went on for the rest of that long night- stand up, contraction, rest, contraction, get on the birth ball, contraction, rock, contraction, rock, and on and on. Your papa was incredible, so strong and comforting, and loving both of us so much as we worked and worked. Your grandma was there too, helping me stand up when I needed to, giving me water, rubbing my back- even when you grow up, your mom can still make you feel better when you hurt. The nurses came in every hour to listen to you and make sure you were doing okay. Everyone had a job to do, but especially me and you.
I don't remember many details from that long night, but I remember when the sun came up. It was a beautiful morning, and I could see the big hill of Alta Plaza Park, with trees on top, and the clearest, sunniest sky. A nurse came in and said we would be having our baby this morning, and I thought no, it can't be. That night had been like time had stopped, and the whole world was just me and you and the contractions and that little room. But sure enough, a couple of hours later the contractions changed- they were deeper and lower, and I could feel you moving even farther down. I still didn't believe we were almost done, and couldn't understand why suddenly everyone was moving things around and wanted me to get in bed, but your papa remembers it differently- he could tell you were close and was afraid you were going to drop right out onto the floor!
Once I got up into bed, things really started moving. And here I have to offer you a special thanks, little man, because I have never felt so good at anything in my life as I felt pushing you out. I was really good at that, and I was determined- I was so tired, and I knew you were too, so I just pushed as hard as I could, as hard as I've done anything in my whole life. I remember things in flashes from that time- your grandma and papa holding my hands, the doctor being splashed by a final burst of amniotic fluid, the last of the water you grew in, and most of all I remember the smell right before you came out, that same smell that was in the amniotic fluid, like a meaty sort of fertile mud, or tadpoles – like new life. And I remember the feeling when you shot out of me, like an explosion, your long arms and legs wondering what to do with all the sudden extra space, and I said "It's you! You're finally here!" and we just looked at each other. In the pictures, I am awestruck, all shocked with my mouth wide open, but you are so calm, just looking at all of us with this inscrutable expression, like you're trying to figure out if you picked the right folks, and what on earth just happened.
As I write this now, you're having your first birthday, and you continue to amaze us every day. This has been a big year for our family, with lots of incredible changes and challenges, and you've been with us every step of the way, always friendly and flexible, with your arms wide open to the world. Your face shines with joy when I tickle your ribs or make a funny noise for you. You radiate such pure pleasure at being here with your papa and I, and I'm so glad. I would have a hard time feeling successful at anything I did if I couldn't make you laugh. I want to relive the moment of your birth over and over, hundreds of times until it's seared in my muscle memory, so I can never forget the amazing, miraculous moment when I pushed you into the world, even though I had no idea how hard it would be, even though it hurt so bad I wanted to climb out of my skin and start all over again. All that, though, and the fact of you is so miraculous that I can't believe I didn't have to work harder for you. My love, my son. Every day is a struggle between clutching you close and loosening my grip, trying to stretch each moment with your sweet baby self into infinity. Mama loves you always, sweet boy. Happy birthday.
Behold:
Dearest little man,
It's your birthday today, when we celebrate the day you and I got to meet in person for the first time. In honor of that, I want to tell you the story of how you got born, because it was the most beautiful day of my life, and because if ever in our lives we feel distant or disconnected from one another, we'll always know that during that time, we worked together, supporting each other, listening to each other, to make your incredible birth happen.
It started the night of Monday, March 3, 2008. I was nearly a week past my due date and was feeling a little demoralized by all the exclamations of "Gawd!! Haven't you popped that baby yet??" from well meaning, if socially awkward strangers. Your Papa and I had been taking all kinds of measures to try and get labor going, including walking seven miles between Thursday and Monday night, and even trekking out to the suburbs for some pizza that was rumored to put women into labor that very night. I was so huge with you, and you had settled into my pelvis like a bowling ball that had finally found its favorite place and planned to stay forever. Your papa and I went to bed at about midnight, after a long discussion about how long we were going to give you before "getting bossy" about you getting born. We both felt a little exasperated, and took some time that night to connect with each other and with you and let you know that we were willing to be patient.
Twenty minutes later, my water broke. I felt the tiniest tearing sensation- not painful, just a relieving of a tension so small I hadn't even realized it was there- and about a half cup of water ended up in our bed, smelling like ocean and something else I would only smell again in the seconds before you popped out of me. We called Amazing Doula and your grandma, and we all agreed that even though you were jumping all over the place, we should just try and get some sleep. We both got to sleep around two, and woke up wonderfully rested at about seven. Turns out it was good we got that sleep, because we had a couple of long days ahead of us.
When we woke up Tuesday morning, I called the hospital and let them know my water had broken, and they told me to come in, even though I wasn't having any contractions. So we had breakfast, called Jesse F for our ride, and put our hospital bag together. It was the morning that the California Supreme Court heard arguments on same-sex marriage as a constitutional right, a huge deal for our family and so many of our friends, and I remember how gorgeous it was as we drove past the courthouse, sunny and clear, how energetic and alive I felt, so excited for the whole big experience to finally begin, so excited to welcome you into the beautiful world, changing every day for the better.
We got to Kaiser and they checked me in. Everything seemed great, even though I still wasn't having contractions that I could feel. I had been all set to try and give birth in my normal clothes (actually I dreamed of wearing my "sissy" shirt, which I'm sure will be long gone by the time you're old enough to read this) but the nurses were insistent ("no really. we really prefer the gowns. it's easier. no really.") and given everything that was still to come, I'm glad I followed their suggestion. Little did I know that in 24 ridiculously long hours I wouldn't care at all what I was wearing.
Because there was still nothing happening, I decided to start walking again. I started doing laps around the (really not very large) L&D ward. Your papa, grandma and Amazing Doula took turns walking with me, but I mostly just felt silly waddling around and around and around. And around. I was sure I'd walked enough to have at least one certifiable contraction, but no, still nothing. Then finally finally finally, at around 2 in the afternoon (remember that we got there at 9- I walked a LONG time), I felt a tiny... something. Like a funny twinge- was that really it? that tiny thing? Oh, I can totally do this (famous last words). It finally seemed like things might one day start getting going.
The next few hours kind of went on like that. I was still walking around (and around) the ward, with the contractions progressively getting stronger. As they got stronger, I needed more often to stop talking and walking during them, and this progressed until rather than gamely smiling at my walking buddy while I sort of rubbed my belly and gritted my teeth, I was grabbing their arm and squeezing. Then leaning on them. I started walking the halls with your papa, and each time I felt a contraction coming, I would turn to him, swaying in place, dancing slowly until it crested over me and I could walk some more. I remember feeling the big bump of you between us, moving around under my belly muscles as they pushed you slowly, slowly down.
Over the next several hours, as the contractions got stronger and stronger, I started to feel less sure that I could do it. I remember feeling afraid when I felt one coming, knowing it was going to be so hard, thinking if I could just have a break, just ten minutes, or a half hour without being in pain, that I could come back and start again. But that's not how it works- once it was time for you to come out, I couldn't leave you hanging halfway (and I hope I live up to that truth for the rest of your life). Twelve hours after that first contraction, the doctor said "Congratulations! You're three centimeters dilated!" and my heart just about broke- I thought I was less than a third of the way to the ten centimeters you needed to get out, and I was already so tired. But here's the amazing thing that happened between us- right when I didn't think I could work any harder, you decided it was time to take a break too, and the contractions slowed down and I laid in bed cuddled up with your papa, and we all rested.
When the contractions started up strong again, Amazing Doula knew it was time for me to get up and move around some more. I hated having to move because it always made the contractions worse, but Amazing Doula knew it would help you get into the right place to be born, so she (very nicely) made me stand up and rock, or sit on a birth ball and move my hips, or lean against the bed. This went on for the rest of that long night- stand up, contraction, rest, contraction, get on the birth ball, contraction, rock, contraction, rock, and on and on. Your papa was incredible, so strong and comforting, and loving both of us so much as we worked and worked. Your grandma was there too, helping me stand up when I needed to, giving me water, rubbing my back- even when you grow up, your mom can still make you feel better when you hurt. The nurses came in every hour to listen to you and make sure you were doing okay. Everyone had a job to do, but especially me and you.
I don't remember many details from that long night, but I remember when the sun came up. It was a beautiful morning, and I could see the big hill of Alta Plaza Park, with trees on top, and the clearest, sunniest sky. A nurse came in and said we would be having our baby this morning, and I thought no, it can't be. That night had been like time had stopped, and the whole world was just me and you and the contractions and that little room. But sure enough, a couple of hours later the contractions changed- they were deeper and lower, and I could feel you moving even farther down. I still didn't believe we were almost done, and couldn't understand why suddenly everyone was moving things around and wanted me to get in bed, but your papa remembers it differently- he could tell you were close and was afraid you were going to drop right out onto the floor!
Once I got up into bed, things really started moving. And here I have to offer you a special thanks, little man, because I have never felt so good at anything in my life as I felt pushing you out. I was really good at that, and I was determined- I was so tired, and I knew you were too, so I just pushed as hard as I could, as hard as I've done anything in my whole life. I remember things in flashes from that time- your grandma and papa holding my hands, the doctor being splashed by a final burst of amniotic fluid, the last of the water you grew in, and most of all I remember the smell right before you came out, that same smell that was in the amniotic fluid, like a meaty sort of fertile mud, or tadpoles – like new life. And I remember the feeling when you shot out of me, like an explosion, your long arms and legs wondering what to do with all the sudden extra space, and I said "It's you! You're finally here!" and we just looked at each other. In the pictures, I am awestruck, all shocked with my mouth wide open, but you are so calm, just looking at all of us with this inscrutable expression, like you're trying to figure out if you picked the right folks, and what on earth just happened.
As I write this now, you're having your first birthday, and you continue to amaze us every day. This has been a big year for our family, with lots of incredible changes and challenges, and you've been with us every step of the way, always friendly and flexible, with your arms wide open to the world. Your face shines with joy when I tickle your ribs or make a funny noise for you. You radiate such pure pleasure at being here with your papa and I, and I'm so glad. I would have a hard time feeling successful at anything I did if I couldn't make you laugh. I want to relive the moment of your birth over and over, hundreds of times until it's seared in my muscle memory, so I can never forget the amazing, miraculous moment when I pushed you into the world, even though I had no idea how hard it would be, even though it hurt so bad I wanted to climb out of my skin and start all over again. All that, though, and the fact of you is so miraculous that I can't believe I didn't have to work harder for you. My love, my son. Every day is a struggle between clutching you close and loosening my grip, trying to stretch each moment with your sweet baby self into infinity. Mama loves you always, sweet boy. Happy birthday.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
IT'S IMPORTANT TO KNOW ONE'S STRENGTHS
Apparently the little man's job for the day was to point out to me the sheer number of life-threatening calamities I am able to save him from, as if to try and make me feel better about not having a job yet. He's all "Look, mama, I nearly pulled the DVD player down on my head! Where would I be if you were at work instead of here to stop me? Dead, that's where. Thank heavens you're unemployed!" Thanks, little dude. A for effort.
Yes, yes, I know I just finished taking the bar like two minutes ago. But the legal job market sucks right now and I'm taking this whole Fred Flintstone family wage-earner thing very seriously.
Also, I was just exhorted by a culinary school commercial to "explore my inner asian". Wow.
Yes, yes, I know I just finished taking the bar like two minutes ago. But the legal job market sucks right now and I'm taking this whole Fred Flintstone family wage-earner thing very seriously.
Also, I was just exhorted by a culinary school commercial to "explore my inner asian". Wow.
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