There's no such thing.
Today I saw Henry for a groggy hour in the morning, during which I tried to coax him into drinking some formula, put Sesame street on for as long as my mommy-guilt would allow, then did my best to persuade him to go back to sleep. I then saw him for about an hour before he went to bed.
Now I'm up studying and while I'm glad that Henry is asleep, I'm also feeling so unfulfilled with how today went. How do those moms do it? The ones that wake up before the baby, make some fresh homemade baby food, do their hair, and go off to work, all before the time I'm pulling myself out of bed in the morning. At this point, I can't even imagine having the wherewithal in the morning to nourish my spiritual side.
I think I'm just going to have to face facts: I'm no super-mom. If I'm going to survive next year, it's going to have to be by forgoing my plan to work. I know. I could get child care. But every job that I would have wanted is not an 8-hour a day, get home in time for dinner sort of gig. Before I got pregnant I was looking into working for tax firms, corporations, maybe even the IRS. While there are tax jobs out there that aren't as bad as the Big Law jobs, none of them are quite flexible enough for the kind of mommy that I want to be.
I might be able to do it all, but I certainly couldn't do any of it very well. So it looks like things are about to get interesting as we plan to become a one-income family of three.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Old Friends
I went to a bridal shower today and ran into some old friends I hadn't spoken to since middle school. It was interesting, once I got past the initial small talk, to look at them and try to answer the questions.
The questions, however they were actually phrased, were these: "Who are you? What have you done with what you had all those years ago? How did you grow up? What did you care about enough to work for?"
In some ways the answer was easy. I wasn't embarrassed to say I was happily married, with a beautiful baby boy. That I had just finished law school and was studying for the bar. But part of me was disappointed. I thought back to how I was back then, so hopeful, so sure that everything I wanted would work out. I talked to a friend who had always shared my love of literature and dream of one day becoming a writer. (I say "becoming" a writer to mean writing full time. I still maintain that you are a writer if you write, published or not).
For a number of reasons, this dream has always been put on the back-burner for me. I didn't have time, I didn't have experience, I couldn't afford it. And now, with school over and the end in sight (the end of constant studying, that is), many of those excuses will be stripped away, and the deeper reasons will be all that is left. These are that I am insecure, that I am afraid of being judged, that I am afraid that I will never be able to express what I have to say.
One of the hardest parts about writing is that the more you do it the more you find to criticize about yourself. This can be good, but it can also be so hard. The tough part is not the ideas; the inspiration. I can honestly say I've never had writer's block. The tricky part is the labor. The organization, the editing, the nitty gritty toothbrush-scrubbing work of fixing individual sentences. Basically, it's hard work.
But it's also familiar and comforting. It's one of the only things that I feel like I was born to do. And when I do get an hour to write, it's like coming home, or like catching up with an old friend.
The questions, however they were actually phrased, were these: "Who are you? What have you done with what you had all those years ago? How did you grow up? What did you care about enough to work for?"
In some ways the answer was easy. I wasn't embarrassed to say I was happily married, with a beautiful baby boy. That I had just finished law school and was studying for the bar. But part of me was disappointed. I thought back to how I was back then, so hopeful, so sure that everything I wanted would work out. I talked to a friend who had always shared my love of literature and dream of one day becoming a writer. (I say "becoming" a writer to mean writing full time. I still maintain that you are a writer if you write, published or not).
For a number of reasons, this dream has always been put on the back-burner for me. I didn't have time, I didn't have experience, I couldn't afford it. And now, with school over and the end in sight (the end of constant studying, that is), many of those excuses will be stripped away, and the deeper reasons will be all that is left. These are that I am insecure, that I am afraid of being judged, that I am afraid that I will never be able to express what I have to say.
One of the hardest parts about writing is that the more you do it the more you find to criticize about yourself. This can be good, but it can also be so hard. The tough part is not the ideas; the inspiration. I can honestly say I've never had writer's block. The tricky part is the labor. The organization, the editing, the nitty gritty toothbrush-scrubbing work of fixing individual sentences. Basically, it's hard work.
But it's also familiar and comforting. It's one of the only things that I feel like I was born to do. And when I do get an hour to write, it's like coming home, or like catching up with an old friend.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Dear Karem Alvarez of Trenton NJ
Why did you cash my money order that was supposed to go to the NJ Board of Bar Examiners?
BUSY!
Finished up finals, graduated from law school, had great graduation party.
Started BarBri classes.
Henry turned 7 months, sits up, stands holding onto something, eats cookies.
Started BarBri classes.
Henry turned 7 months, sits up, stands holding onto something, eats cookies.
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