What am I doing?

Today was my sixth day of work, post-LG. It was my second day of work this week that had me sitting at my desk, spinning my wheels, producing no journalism of any kind, and there were tears at the end of it.

Let me back up a bit: For the past 10 years, I have worked in newspapers at a very high level of efficiency under daily deadline pressure. First as a copy editor, then as a designer, then as a front-page designer, then as a news editor, then as an A-section coordinator at a major metro with three editions, then as the national and international news editor here in Tacoma.

I could go into boring detail about those last three steps, but let's be clear: I was a butt-kicker and could cram more good journalism work into an 8-hour shift than most people can. And I loved it, even though my hours stank and my days off were Tuesdays and Wednesdays.

But after 10 years of those last two things, I finally had the life I wanted and I wanted to live it, not be at work during it.


So I asked for and received a lateral move to a reporting position.

The move came six weeks before the LG was born, so at the time I didn't feel too frustrated at my utter lack of news production because I was feeling more frustrated by my utter lack of baby production.

I was as big as a barn and the only things I wanted were a pot pie and to go into labor.

So I did. (Both, I think. I'm pretty sure I ate a pot pie the evening before the contractions started.)


And then, blah-de-blah, my feelings about work versus baby were well-documented on this blog in real time after Ryan was born. To sum up: I easily could have handed him over to daycare during the first two months. Then, suddenly, staying at home with him stopped sucking and became pretty great. Then, suddenly, I had to go back again and now we're at today.

Today, the second day of placing at least two dozen calls and getting nothing but voicemail, or to set up coffee/get-to-know-you source-management dates. Today, the day I crashed a conference in the sheer hope that news would be committed there, and it wasn't, so I go back to the office to place more unreturned phone calls and to write nothing. Today, the second day I sat at my desk sighing so heavily that my editor said, "I know you don't have anything... I don't have anything for you. Hang in there."

I felt like hanging myself by my toenails.

Instead I left early to pick up Ryan from daycare. As I walked in, a daycare worker I didn't recognize was holding him, and he had a big crocodile tear on his cheek.

"Oh, baby, you're crying!" I said, as he gave me massive grins and a big hug.

"Yes, he just started fussing because he wanted someone to play with him," said Miss Julie.

He wanted someone to play with him.

I started to cry myself. Right there in the Guppy Room. In front of the Guppies and the Pollywogs who really are all babies and none of them were crying. My son just kept touching my face as I sobbed.

It took me a minute to understand what was happening. It felt like I was back in the first two months, when things that normally wouldn't faze me would make me bawl. Hormones, and all. But then, as I sat down and snuggled Ryan and cried, I figured it out.

And it all came pouring out to these women in the Guppy Room.

"I got nothing accomplished today. Nothing! Or yesterday, either! I sit at my desk and get nothing done! I can't even pump enough breastmilk for him, and I pump twice a day! I'm not writing anything, my house is a mess, I want to be a good meal planner and I hate meal planning so we'll have quesadillas again for dinner and all he wants is someone to play with him and THAT I could do."

Then Ryan ooo-ooo-ooo-ed at me. And smiled. And I started to laugh through my tears. And the women in the Guppy Room patted my shoulders as I gathered his things to take him home.

"It's always hard," Miss Julie said. "But you'll get back to it."

That better happen soon or I might just move into the Guppy Room.