The Menagerie

10 things I wish I'd known before getting pregnant

I’d been thinking about this post for a little while, but now that a close family member is expecting a baby, I pushed it to the forefront.  Here are a few of the things that I wish I’d known at the time Peach was born (I’ve already listed the de rigueur gear in a previous post, and LL has some fantastic updates to her list, five months on). 

It goes without saying: I really wish I’d known I was developing preeclampsia and would be induced at 35.5 weeks, because I would have been infinitely more prepared, otherwise.  But here’s a list of the things I wish I’d known of or thought about before getting pregnant:

1.    Those inexpensive snack-packs of peanut butter/cheese and crackers, purchased in bulk at Costco.  I’d have kept a few in my bedroom at all times, because when I was pregnant, I would inevitably go to bed and not be able to go to sleep because I was starving, or I’d wake up at 2 am and would be starving.  A friend brought some over right after Peach was born, and they were a godsend when I was too exhausted to do much more than roll out of bed to make the next bottle. 

2.    Pack a cardigan in your hospital bag, in case you get cold. I didn’t even think of this. 

3.    Pack some of those snack-packs of crackers in your hospital bag, because you will be hungry in the middle of the night.  Matthew would nag me to call the nurses, because (he assured me) and I have to say that when I did and they would bring me food, they were always really sweet about it, but I hated to bother them over something so trivial. 

4.    When you’re postpartum, pay attention to the meds you’re handed, no matter how exhausted or out of it you might be after the baby is born.  Some resident tried to prescribe ibuprofen and codeine for me, neither of which I can take (ibuprofen would burn a hole in my stomach, and I’m allergic to codeine).  And if they give you meds and you’re still in pain, push the call button and ask for more.  There’s no excuse for under medicating someone

5.    Pampers “Gifts to Grow” program.  Basically, each Pampers product has a code on it that you can enter on their website.  You accumulate enough points, and you can redeem them for prizes (mostly toys and books).  I didn’t catch on to the points program until Peach was four months old or so, and I would have a lot more points if I’d started from the beginning.  We go through a lot of diapers – my philosophy is that there is no such thing as a little wet.  If she’s wet at all, the diaper gets changed.

6.    I would have stocked up on Diaper Genie refills, or looked for something that uses ordinary trash bags (I wonder if I can rig something up for ours – hm, that’s worth looking into).  We have two Diaper Genies (a I and a II) and we go through a lot of refill packs.  That’s where they stick you, by the way.  Diaper Genies themselves are inexpensive, but those refill packs (in our area, at least) are $5.50 to $6. 

7.    Buy or register for one of every type of bottle out there, instead of a lot of one kind.  As LL and I discovered, our kids didn’t work well with the bottles we’d stocked up on (but fortunately, our kids liked each others' bottles and we were able to swap)!

8.    You don’t need a lot of clothes for the first six months.  I take Peach out quite a bit, and I am self-conscious about taking her out in a sleeper (although it’s been made clear that this is just my neurosis), but seriously, other than five or so sleepers, you need maybe three more fancy outfits.  I struggled to get Peach to wear everything she was given at least once, and that’s just silly. 

9.    Two piece pajama sets are much, much more versatile than one piece sleepers.  My kid’s got the trunk of a 12-18 month old, but the legs and arms of a 9 month old.  This means she wore 6 and 9 month outfits for maybe a month.  Her 12 month sleepers are already too small, trunk-wise, but the feet are huge on her, and I have to fold up the arms and legs.  But if I put her in 9 month two piece PJs, they fit perfectly. 

10.      It goes as fast as everyone says it does.  Take lots of video. 

The baby's first Christmas, Grinch-style

Holidays in my family are high drama.  Six Chrystals with big personalities, then grandparents with big personalities - yikes.  So it was stressful getting to church Christmas eve, stressful getting up for stockings to unwrap, stressful with the formal breakfast, stressful waiting for four children, grandparents, and parents to all get ready for the formal unwrapping of gifts, the tallying of gifts for the purposes of thank you notes, and the painful one-by-one unwrapping.  Done by noon, it was exhausting -- and the formal Christmas dinner preparations hadn't even begun yet.  That meal was another drama extravaganza.  The last couple of Christmases Matthew and I took part in at Speedwell Manor involved the kids and Matthew hiding out in my brothers' room and drinking beer to avoid the fireworks up in the kitchen. 

So.  In our family?  Matthew and I rarely have a tree (in law school it was important to me, but not before or since).  We have a low-key dinner, cooked by me, Christmas eve, then unwrap gifts.  (If we give gifts: recently it's been more like budgeting how much we can spend on ourselves, and then we choose what we want - that's how I have a new Treo and Matthew has a new chip for his PC).  If other people gift us, that's when we open those.  And ten or twenty minutes later, we're done, and I might play some Christmas carols on the piano (although no more, since the piano has gone via Craigslist).  Christmas morning?  We wish each other merry Christmas and have a nice, low-key day.  I abhor the commercialism of Christmas, the idea that I should go into (more) debt to buy people things they probably don't need or want, and the hypocrisy of the "most wonderful time of the year," when people do the kind things they really ought to be doing all year round.   I am the annoying un-gifter, who will give money to charity in people's names, or will get gift cards.  Too Scottish, I guess. 

But maybe I hadn't already mentioned that I'm the Grinch?  And that this minister's daughter (me) and former evangelical (Matthew) are non-believers?  Sure, I love the idea of celebrating the winter solstice, and the return of the sun, and I do know multiple verses of every Christmas hymn (and like them all, except for "Away in a Manger").  Most years we go to the Portland Revels.  But...I just can't get past disliking Christmas. 

And now, here comes Peach.  For months, people (women) have been cooing about the magic and wonder of Baby's First Christmas. I have outwardly nodded and inwardly cringed at this.  Before we'd settled on the baby's name, we'd established ground rules for Santa Claus.  (No, Peach, there is no Santa Claus.)  And the tooth fairy, for that matter.  (We might let that one slide.) And we've tried to come to grips with the notion that now that there is a baby, we have to celebrate somehow. 

We did, actually.  Not on a big scale -- I didn't dig the tree out from the garage and I retrieved only a few decorations.   And it was only last minute that I decided I might as well get Peach a couple of gifts, if only to prevent a future therapy session devoted to her mother's neglect.  (It was a hard call: the child wants for nothing.  Everything I think she might need, she has.  What else is there?)   But I relented and hit a toy store, and so she's now the proud owner of some German-made toys and a machine washable cloth doll (alas, made in China - but did I mention the machine washable bit?).  So far the toys are a hit, and the doll has been hit, back and forth, on the ground -- but hey.  Progress.  For me, for Peach, for the family. 

As expected, the wrapping paper was the best part. (I had been threatening to give her some wrapping paper and call it good.)  The Christmas eve gift opening was postponed to Christmas morning, due to Peach pique (she was screaming - it didn't seem like a good time for any of us) - which explains why Mama looks as though she just rolled out of bed.  (No, no stocking drama, breakfast drama, or getting dressed drama in this house.) 

The night before Christmas, I sang Christmas carols to her (with multiple verses, because an upbringing like mine has to be good for at least that!), and we visited our neighbors across the way.  Peach wore a Stuart plaid dress (we are Stuarts, Peach and I) and a hat that just barely fit on the massive noggin.  (I am now purchasing 2T hats for her - I am so, so glad the child was a preemie!)

So we've survived our first Christmas as a family. It ended up being low-stress, all the way around.  We didn't bother with a big Christmas dinner, although Peach had some peas with her formula.  My siblings and I declared a moratorium on gifts (we usually draw names), which ended up being quite nice - less stress and no clutter.  The Peach's first set of formal pictures were finished December 20, and they went out, framed, as gifts.  I made little scrapbooks of the Peach for my parents. 

The real holiday is still coming up - on December 30.  That's our fifteenth wedding anniversary (crystal, if you were wondering) -- and that's a holiday worth celebrating. 

Lawyers Appreciate....

PT-LawMom tagged me to participate in this year's "Lawyers Appreciate..."  campaign.  Here are five of the things I appreciate the most in my practice.

1. Honesty.  From clients, opposing parties, opposing counsel, staff, and jurists.  As a newbie lawyer, I remember how shocked I was when I realized clients lie to their attorneys.  I went across the street, to where my experienced lawyer neighbor was working in his wood shop and blurted, "You didn't tell me that everyone lies!"  (Which, in retrospect, was an odd way of bringing up the subject -- it's obvious now that I felt very betrayed by my client, who had very flagrantly misrepresented his situation.) He gave me a beer, sat me down, and explained exactly why it is clients lie.
   
   Now I've learned to see through a lot of the BS, but it's difficult for me.  I take people at face value, either because I know them to be truthful, or because I know it isn't socially productive to question what they're telling me.  (I had been trained, in social situations, not to point out people's inaccuracies.) In time, maybe, I'll get more artful at my anti-lying speech, which currently goes something like this: "In order for me to do my best for you, you must be completely truthful with me, even if you think you've done or said something that could hurt your position. I need to know, so that I can deal with it."
   
   
2. Articulate opposing counsel.  I do a lot of written work, a fair amount of which is "pure" legal writing in response to someone else's memo or brief.  Nothing annoys me more than a  stream-of-consciousness, cobbled together memorandum.  It's very difficult to put together an organized, thoughtful response to a chaotic piece of work - it requires a complete reframing of the issues from the ground up.  Sometimes it's impossible to really tell what arguments they're making.  Occasionally, it's taken me hours just to organize a response, because the opening document is so completely random - not a good use of anyone's time or money.  And I always wonder if a judge reads the opening memo or brief, then throws up his or her hands and ignores mine, preferring instead to let the parties duke it out in oral argument. 
   
   But when I get a beautiful piece of legal writing to respond to?  It makes my job so much easier.  I can respond point-by-point to their arguments and I can focus on the substance, rather than the organization.  It's heavenly.
   
   
3. Civil opposing counsel.    Attorneys who don't take themselves seriously are wonderful to work with.  I'm talking about both courtly counsel who treat me like a grown-up, even though their bar numbers predate my parents' first date, as well as the counsel who weren't old enough to watch Charles and Di tie the knot.  I blogged earlier about the good ol' boy who likes to pretend I don't exist, even though I'm making him work for his fees.  Although I find that sort of thing pathetic rather than insulting, at least he's quiet about his deprecation.  What drives me nuts are the guys (and they are guys) who call and start ranting about the horrible things my client has done, even before I've finished saying "hello."  (Note to these guys: it takes a lot to intimidate me.  That won't cut it.) 
   
   But those who are comfortable in their own skins and don't need to posture, who let the legal issues and the factual issues speak for themselves, and leave the saber-rattling for the courtroom?  I so much enjoy working with them. 
   
   
4. Non-attorney friends.  I consider it a huge victory to have kept my friends through law school, when I was a rotten friend to them.  Often, when I'm feeling down on myself because I haven't done something or other as well as I think I ought, or because I feel like I should be further along in my master career plan, my non-attorney friends put it all in perspective for me.  They have told me how proud they are of me, and of how nice it is for them to be able to say, "My friend, the lawyer...." and to have me around to ask questions of.   It really means a lot.   And oh, to be able to talk with people who don't want to talk about the law?  It's wonderful.  In case you haven't noticed, most law is pretty boring.  I'm glad people still want to have me around, even if my conversation skills are substantially limited, and I'm known to rant on and on about the misuse of the word "foreseeable."
5. Doctor jokes.  Everyone's got lawyer jokes -- my father has told me the same joke, over and over, about the lawyers in the bottom of the ocean ("a good start" is the punchline).  I'm not sure why people love to get their digs into lawyers, considering all the good lawyers do in the world, but the jokes are ubiquitous. (And if someone else tells me that they can't possibly vote for John Edwards because "he's a rich lawyer," I will probably hurl.)
   
   To my mind, doctors engage in serious ethical conflicts, such that would get an attorney in my state in deep water.  Most doctors take gifts, large and small, from drug companies for "education purposes," but really so the doctors will prescribe the company's drugs.  To me, it screams "self-dealing" and "bias," and remember, we're talking about something that impacts whether a person lives or dies (not whether they make or lose money in a lawsuit).  Many spend only five minutes at a time with each patient, while charging $120 (or more) for the "visit" (OK, I know they may only get $60, but it's still a lucrative 5 minutes.)   They don't hire RNs to assist them, but marginally trained "medical assistants."  Here, at least, they do an abysmal job at policing themselves via their state board, and it's very difficult to get a malpractice claim to stick. 
   
   But the strangest bit yet, they blame lawyers for their malpractice insurance.  So yes, I love my doctor jokes.

I tag: Skelly, Mellow, and Yin and Yang.

Product Review: Bissell Pet Hair Eraser Vacuum

We have a meticulously researched, reviewed, and relatively young vacuum.  It's broken.  That's how I ended up at Target a couple of weeks back, looking at vacuums.

I am not the Consumer Reports maven in our family (that would be Matthew).  All I really knew about vacuums was that I wanted a decent upright until the fancy canister was repaired.  I'd narrowed it down to Bissells, somehow or other (maybe because I've never been all that fond of Hoover, which made our steam cleaner, and someone had told me Dysons were overrated).  We had a Eureka years ago, but it was just OK.  Did I mention I didn't want to spend much money?   In fairness, we'd looked online and found a Bissell model that fit the bill.

But that model wasn't there, despite what the Target website said.  And in looking at the Bissells, I was immediately drawn to the one that says "Pet Hair Eraser," because I have the world's hairiest short-haired dog (and he's not even a whole dog, what with the missing leg!).  While the couch and carpet were carefully selected to avoid showing dog hair, my wardrobe was not.  So - the Pet Hair Eraser, or PHE.  It had a border collie on the box, which pretty much sold me.  (This is why I am not the Consumer Reports maven in our family, in case you were wondering.)  I called Matthew; he reminded me about the model we'd found online.  I hung up, then called sales "associates" over to assist.  At 9 PM on a Wednesday night at Target, they were, as you might imagine, not helpful - and told me that the model I'd come for wasn't there.  I was tired, the baby was tired, and I needed to get this done.  Five minutes later, I was the proud owner of the PHE. 

At home, Matthew started assembling the vacuum (I worked on the jumperoo, also purchased at Target that night).  He finished before I did, and vacuumed a small section of our living room.  The vacuum is bagless, but has HEPA filters (a must with us) -- and that small section of living room filled up the dirt container with dog hair.  We were seriously impressed.  (And being a germophobe, I was also grossed out at how filthy my floors apparently were.)   

Essentially: one room = one filled dirt container.  (I would guesstimate that one filled dirt container was equal to about half of the bag of the fancy canister, which was probably replaced once a month.)   The carpets look great. And emptying the filled container every room meant no dog hair smell while vacuuming - not an option for the canister, because it would become prohibitively expensive.

As for handling, well - it's big.  It's bulky.  It sounds like a jet engine.  The attachments are nowhere near as convenient as the canister's. It doesn't handle the wood floors all that well.  It does self-propel and it has a nice headlight.  Most importantly, though, it does a damn good job on the carpet (which accounts for 75% of the house), and I feel a lot better about the Peach learning to crawl. 

A day in the life (or why I love four day weekends)

In the juggling act that is my work-at-home life, one of the things that has to give when I'm in crunch time is blogging -- for that, I'm sorry about the recent silence. I'm fine, health-wise, Matthew and the baby are healthy (although the Peach is now fond of making a weird sucking-in-breathing sound -- deliberately, Matthew determined -- which freaks me out every time I hear it, and I hope she forgets about it soon).   Life is pretty good. 

But the balancing -- well, did I ever mention how much I sucked at gymnastics?  I knew hitting the six month mark would mean she'd be much more demanding on my time, but didn't quite realize how much more.  Naps?  Maybe five minutes, maybe an hour.  Time to schedule a conference call?  I never bet on it.  Time to work on documents while she plays?  Only if I'm OK with drafting documents a sentence at a time. (Seriously: I drafted a response to a petition for review a sentence at a time.  It was maddening, but I did it and it didn't suck.  Why aren't there awards for that sort of thing?)  I absolutely love the clients and colleagues who communicate with me via email, because I dread phone calls -- the dog will bark, or the baby will cry, or UPS will appear at the door and then the dog will bark and wake up the baby who will cry.  It's the work-at-home trifecta.

Here's an example of an average day in the life:

5:00 am: Peach starts to fuss (in her papasan) or kick me (in our bed), signaling to me that meltdown is imminent, and I should start to prepare a bottle.  Matthew is awake and getting ready to go. 

5:30 am: Peach has been fed and I am falling asleep while holding her. Into her swing she goes.  Occasionally she fusses at me and so I'll sleep on the couch in her room (still partially our den - the TV and couch will be moving out of there in the next month).  Also, I will sleep on the couch if I lack the energy to get up and move into the bedroom.

8:00 am: Phone rings.  Matthew, client, colleague -- I don't know.  I answer and manage to sound awake and alert.  I write everything down, because otherwise I will forget it. 

8:05 am: Peach is awake and smiling at me.  I take her out of the swing and put her on her blanket on the floor.  She rolls around while I go in search of caffeine -- Diet Dr. Pepper or coffee.  Sometimes the coffee is a day old.  I microwave it and don't care. 

8:10 am: Water is running while I am changing Peach.  She's realized that she is hungry and her gums hurt, so she whines and sticks her fingers (or toes) in her mouth.  I hop up, wash hands, and make the bottle. 

8:10 am: While feeding Peach, I switch the Harmony remote to my left hand and turn on the TV (TiVo).  I mentally curse the American Pediatric Association for the guilt I live with as a result.  I angle Peach towards me, so that she can't see the TV.   

8:30 am: Thanks to a short attention span and the thirty-second skip hack for the TiVo, I finish a 30 minute program - currently BBC America favorites "You Are What You Eat" and "How Clean Is Your House?" (the latter has been marvelous for getting me to do things like clean the door shelves in my refrigerator in my few moments of free time). Peach goes back onto her blanket to play and roll around, and I grab some of her toys and books.  She's into eating her books, not being read to, but we try to do both. 

9:00 am: Peach is getting bored and fussy, but isn't ready to take a nap yet.  If she's spit up on herself, she takes a bath.  If not, I change her into a "daytime" outfit and skip the bath (although now that she's wearing mostly 12 month outfits, of which we have not been given a lot, there's a lot less pressure on me to make sure she wears everything).

9:10 am: Peach goes into the jumperoo (in the computer room) and I make my to-do list, check my email, and try to do a little bit more on the Times Sunday crossword (it now takes me about five days to complete).  Look at blogs, maybe start a post, but then:

9:40 am: Peach starts the morning meltdown. I pick her up, change her, and put her in her swing. She's out before the music stops on the swing. 

9:45 am: I start working.  I'm still in my PJs, but I can't let a nap go to waste. 

10:45 am: The dog barks and wakes Peach.  Sometimes she'll go back to sleep, but mostly not.  We'll play for a little while. We play an elementary version of "Pat-a-Cake," which means I hold out both of my hands, palms facing her, say "Pat-a-Cake" and then she smiles and puts her hands against mine.  (We're nowhere near, say, the clapping bit.) 

11:15 am: The feeding-playing-changing cycle restarts.  While she's playing, I will try to work on my laptop - usually a sentence at a time.

1:00 pm: Peach goes down for a nap.  I check the email again and then take a quick shower and dress. 

1:30 pm: (Yes, I can go from shower to hair done/make-up done in 30 minutes.)  Work.  Maybe dishes and laundry. 

2:30 pm: Peach wakes up.  I feed her and watch TV - Flip That House, maybe, or What Not to Wear. 

4:00 pm: Maybe a nap for Peach, maybe not.  I am exhausted by this point.  I clean up the room while Peach plays and try to figure out what is for dinner.  If Peach takes a nap, I can usually put something together -- or I might just fall asleep, too, and not wake up until Matthew gets home.  Or, if Peach doesn't take a nap, send a text message to Matthew to bring something home. Think about "You Are What You Eat" and insist on salads. 

6:00 pm:  Matthew is home.  Peach is delighted to see him.  I run downstairs and grab my dinner. 

6:10 pm: I've gulped dinner and am out the door -- to get my mail, to go to the law library, to go to the store.  Will probably sneak in a trip to Starbucks for a triple non-fat mocha, no whipped cream. 

7:30 pm: Home. Coffee hasn't even touched the exhaustion, but there is work to do.  Matthew is taking care of Peach and playing a computer game.

8:30 pm: Matthew is winding down, and care of the Peach is returned to me.  By this point, she is as tired as I am, but (unlike me) has no desire to sleep.  I try to put her to bed, but it doesn't take.  I try not to think about my to-do list and the one or two checked items on it (out of, say, ten?).  We play. 

9:00 pm: Peach finally decides to go to sleep.  I get back to work, but am so tired I can barely concentrate.  I realize I have used the last of the clean bottles, and run downstairs to start the dishwasher. 

10:30 pm: Peach usually wakes up when I am transferring her into her (or my, depending on how things are going) bed. I change her, feed her, and then put her back to sleep.

10:50 pm: I try to work, but by this time I'm falling asleep while typing.  I will probably fight going to sleep myself until midnight.

12:00 am: Having given up the thought of getting anything else done, I go to bed. 

***
But on the weekends?  Matthew is primary.  I still do quite a bit with Peach, but I can leave the house guilt-free.  Watch TV guilt-free. And even work guilt free.   (But not yesterday - yesterday had all three of us staying in our PJs all day.) 

Present and accounted for

I'm fine.  Tired, overwhelmed, and feeling a little beaten, but I'm fine.  (Did I mention tired?)  The infection turned out to be no big deal (no MRSA here!) and is almost completely gone now.  I just wish I averaged more than 3-4 hours of sleep a night!  (Not the Peach's fault -- she's slept through the night on her own since September 1 -- but my trying to "balance" work, home, and baby.  And laundry, because she's projectile vomiting on an average of once a day - usually all over me.)

The Peach is teething and is about 200% crankier now than she used to be.  (Heck, I would be, too.)  She's still a great baby, just a lot needier - at a time when I've had some tight deadlines.  Yesterday was insane -- she was on her blanket, I was working on a big project that I'd (uncharacteristically) waited until the last minute to do, and every few minutes she needed to be held.   Great face time with my daughter, but I can't believe how many times I started and stopped what I was doing.  Somehow I managed to get everything done by 1 AM, and my neighbor graciously offered to drop my documents off on his way to work (a huge boon for me, considering I was not looking forward to dealing with traffic in the wind and rain, then finding parking near the courthouse, then schlepping Peach with me to drop this stuff off -- oh, what a nightmare.)

Now I just have to get a pile of other documents done by 1:30 this afternoon - and maybe I'll finally get some time to play with my Christmas present - a Palm Treo 700 wx.  I am really looking forward to getting organized with this - ah, to only have one calendar! It sounds so easy!

And she's awake again...

Not another specialist!

It wasn't all that reassuring when, having made an appointment regarding an infection on my leg, I was given the phone number of the clinic. Because I was going to need to call them when I got close, so that they could let me in the back door.  (Suspicion of MRSA -- and good reason, as the current estimates in my county are that 30% of wild staph are MRSA.)  I sense cultures and infection control doctors in my future -- and right after I'd sworn off three specialists for good (perinatalogist, hematologist, nephrologist).

But....I'm still sure it's plain vanilla staph.  I don't have time for anything else. 

All right!

Eden and I may be sick, but the little Peach figured out two things today: first, that the food being spooned into her mouth is, well, food.  (The pediatrician told us that given her distaste for rice cereal, we could move on to fruits and veggies. After a few days of bewilderment at bananas and peaches, she decided today she liked peaches!  I love that sort of symmetry.)

Number two?  She discovered binkies are not a complete waste of silicon.  (Oh, the look she would give me when she would spit the binkies out!)  I don't know why I thought today was a different day -- maybe emboldened by the acceptance of "solids" -- but I tried a binki.  And I held it up long enough for her to experiment with it, and lo!  She smiled at me and sucked away. 

I am really, really pleased.  And I am way too tired to still be up -- g'night.

Who are you calling "little boy?"

Personally, it doesn't bother me when people come up to the Peach and compliment my darling little boy -- unless you look, it's awfully hard to tell boys from girls.  (But this did happen twice on Friday, even, when she was wearing a dress, tights, and mary janes.)   But what self-respecting little boy wears overalls with big purple flowers embroidered on the legs, along with a pale pink bodysuit? 

Like so many threads

It's been a mellow week, despite having braved Washington Square on Friday for the Peach's first formal pictures. My mother is visiting, and has had some great baby time despite the teething and post-flu vaccine misery.  I have gotten next to nothing done, aside from making kick-ass whole wheat pumpkin biscotti, pot roast, and roast chicken.  OK, I did a little volunteering and a very little amount of work, but it was not the productive work-fest that I was hoping for.  My contract assignments have dried up and I have not been in the mood to listen to the CD of myself at oral arguments in April, in anticipation for responding for a petition for review.  A number of projects were "put on hold-able" over the last week, and that was what has happened, because of the visit. I am itching to work again.

The Friday pediatrician appointment brought updates: 16 pounds, 12 oz; 26 inches; and a massive noggin.  (It was in centimeters, but equates to 70th percentile.)  Basically, she's grown only a bit in the last couple of months (an inch and change) but has put on four plus pounds, rounding her out to 70th percentile all the way around.  She is a big kid.  By way of contrast, I pulled out my baby book and discovered that when I was one year old (not six months!) I weighed 18 pounds and was 30 inches tall.  OK, so maybe I was just a small kid.  But it does amaze me when I look at her and she looks more like my brothers did when they were a year.  I have to keep reminding myself that she's only 6 months, and I shouldn't be disappointed that she isn't crawling yet!

This isn't just competitive thinking  The pediatrician chastised us for the flatness of the Peach's head in the back (and this with frequent tummy time, lots of time sitting in my lap or Matthew's lap, and sleeping in our bed with its memory foam padding).  I'm hoping she figures out how to lift that tummy soon  and grows a bit more hair in the back, so the flat head isn't quite as obvious.

My mother swears she is trying to kiss back when I kiss her, so that it quite the consolation.  :) 

Late to the Book Group, Redux

Like I was trying to say before a late-night feeding derailed the post, at PT-LawMom's suggestion, a few of us read Nice Girls Don't Get the Corner Office. In a nutshell, the book points out the dozens of "girly" things women do, think, or say (or alternatively don't do, think, or say) in the workplace that can sink their careers.  [And for the record, this post has taken me three days to finish, what with the baby and a visiting parent.]

As a preliminary matter, I bought this as an e-book (PDF) from Powells, but would never try that again.  While this sort of book does lend itself to reading on a computer in fits and starts, it just was not convenient for me - I couldn't carry my laptop around the house as easily as I might a book.  Also, I was forbidden from printing, which made taking the self-assessment test (described below) a big pain in the ass.  So: glad I tried the ebook experiment, but I'm not likely to try it again.

The book starts off with a self-assessment test, to help readers pinpoint their strongest and weakest areas, and recommends that readers read their weakest areas first (which I did).  Each "mistake" is described in a few paragraphs, with some recommendations for behavior changes, and a place to check off if it's an "action item," or something that needs particular work. 

The areas I needed the most help were in "think" and "sound."  (I scored the best in "look" and "respond.")  In a nutshell, I have issues with believing in myself enough and with advocating for myself enough.  And while I'm very secure about what I do and how well I do it, somehow that doesn't translate into an ability to sell those skills or deal with people who undermine me in the work environment.  And geez, I can't believe how much mental fortitude it took for me to ask one of my favorite attorneys for whom I've done a lot of work for a professional reference -- and that was knowing he liked my work and would be a great advocate for me. 

All of this is relevant for me immediately, because I'm in the job market.  In the last two years, I've gotten a lot of incredible experience, both as a solo and as a contract attorney, and it's given me the flexibility I've needed for a high-risk pregnancy, delivery, and the Peach's infancy.  But it's time to move on.  While I am very good at describing my skill set and my abilities, as well as whatever I might bring to the company in question, I am less good at negotiating salary or benefits.  And downright abysmal at handling situations in my professional life where I feel I'm being taken advantage of.  Oh, how I wish I could be more specific!  But alas, this is also relevant right now. 

Needless to say, I'll be rereading the book, as well as checking out some of the other, recommended titles.  It's a good reference book to keep on the shelf (or virtual shelf), whenever I might need a pep talk in a particular area. 

I particularly like No. 11

Courtesy of Oregon Legal Research, some questions required for graduation from 8th grade in Oregon in 1930. 

Late to the Book Group

I am a (late) part of the spontaneous book group founded by PT-LawMom, and have finally finished reading the Lois Frankel book, Nice Girls Don't Get the Corner Office...

...and as much as I am looking forward to typing up my thoughts, the baby is awake and needs to be fed.  Drat!  Hopefully tomorrow, then.