Just another way my life has changed since procreating. I occasionally hate Saturdays. Ordinarily, I wouldn't have minded a day like today - heading to campus around noon and helping the rest of the department greet twenty-some prospective graduate students during our annual Visitation Day. Like many in my line of work, I find it difficult to be idle. Unfortunately, this means that for far too many of us, 40 hour work weeks get stretched beyond control to 80+ hours/week. But today, I was down right resentful.
You see, I am no longer just Professor. I now have an 8-month-old who generally goes to bed between 6-7 p.m. each night, which means on a good day I might spend 1-2 hours interacting with him. Often, it's less than an hour. And this amazing little creature is growing and learning at such a pace that even if I were a stay at home mother, I would find it difficult to keep up. But I'm not stay-at-home. I'm a working mom. Not only that, but I am a working mom who researches how people learn. So I am enthralled as I watch my son make sense of the world around him, not just as his mother but as a scientist. Frankly, I'm getting rather tired of missing out.
Today, after a week of 10+ hour work days, I was expected to participate fully in departmental events. Again, normally this wouldn't really bother me too much. I enjoy the students. But at lunch, I realized something. Only half of the faculty have children, and of those, only 4 have children under the age of 8. One of those faculty members didn't show up to participate. I wish I had so much courage. But I'm pre-tenure, and I've learned that I will be evaluated based not only on my actual talents as a scientist, teacher, and colleague but on my perceived talents as well. So I grit my teeth, and participate. And I fight back tears when my husband brings my baby to the poster session just 45 minutes before his bed time so that, on one of only two days of the week reserved for family, I can spend longer than an hour with my son.
Yes, today I hated Saturday.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
And then, all of a sudden, it happened...
I don't know when it happened. Nor was I ready for it. But last weekend, on his four-week birthday, I looked down and suddenly noticed how big his head was. The neck that was once so thin and fragile has thickened and now supports his head unassisted more often than not. And his feet reach the very end of the pajamas that, just weeks before, swallowed his tiny body whole.
I knew, of course, that this would happen. That I would continually marvel at the passing of time as my child grows and develops through the years. But the first few weeks with Psite kept him in some sort of unnatural state of suspended animation. While we struggled to nourish him, his body changed little. And I became accustomed to his miniature features and clumsy movements. All that has changed. Each day he grows more and more into a little person.
And so begins my struggle as a "working mom". I have not yet completely returned to work, but have been back part time each day and continue to work a bit from home. Since last weekend, I've noticed that preparing to leave the house is now often accomanied by little twinges of sadness and guilt. I think to myself, "He changes so much each day, surely I will miss something important." But then the rational person in me offers a gentle reminder that over 80% of Psite's time is spent sleeping, and that can be like watching paint dry. It's enough to get me out the door and on my way to campus, but not enough to keep me from wondering like I never have before. This is just the beginning of learning how to juggle the responsibilities of motherhood in addition to being "the bread winner", a wife, and heaven forbid, my own person. Am I really cut out for this?
Each fall I barely make it through the gauntlet of teaching a large-lecture course without berating myself for lack of balance. I treat fall semester like a marathon, a long tiring race that requires all of my focus, strong will, and self-sacrifice. Certainly I will have to lower my standards in certain aspects of my life (how often does one really need to clean a bathroom anyway?), but there are some things that are -- or at least seem to be -- completely inflexible. I already find myself resenting aspects of my job that used to just be minor nuisances (impromptu faculty meetings late in the afternoon, committee work, demanding students, unfair evaluation procedures) because they threaten the most precious commodity we have -- time.
With all of that said, I have to admit that once I get to campus and turn on my computer, I remember all the things I love about my work. I adore research, enjoy sparring with colleagues as we collaborate on projects, and feel proud as my students grow as scholars. I would never make it as a full-time, stay-at-home mom -- I would certainly grow to resent my child and husband. And I will certainly grow to hate my job if I let it consume every aspect of my life as well.
So let this post be a reminder to my future self. Don't just strive for balance, advocate for it, demand it, fight for it. You (and your family, friends, colleagues, and students) will thank you for it!
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Psite's Story
I initially vetoed the idea of sharing the birth story of Psite. After all, the original intent of this blog was to share stories as they relate to academic life. Somehow the story of my first child's birth didn't seem to fit. But now, three weeks later, I've changed my mind. After all, we hear a fair bit about the many women in academia who struggle with the decision whether or not to have children and, if so, when. And we hear about difficulties in juggling motherhood and professional life. But I personally have not heard much about the transition between childless professional to academic mother.
As a scientist, I found much of my pregnancy to be frustrating from the standpoint of gathering reliable information about "what to expect." I wanted data, not anecdotal stories or gushy stories about the "wonders of motherhood." In the end, I relied on one book that did a fair job of drawing on research to present what seemed to be a realistic depiction of pregnancy, labor, and delivery. Most importantly, it refrained from using words such as "normal" to talk about the average woman's experience. Rather, it focused on what they reffered to as "uncomplicated" labor and delivery, but then described a range of different ways that it all can play out. Above all, it stressed that every case is unique.
So in the end, there I was, nearing my due date and hoping for an "uncomplicated" labor and delivery. In my mind, this meant little to no medical interventions, deep breathing and relaxation techniques in lieu of pain medication, and a vaginal birth. And with that image in my mind, I prepared for my first child. As if I were preparing for my dissertation defense, I planned (as best I could) for every curve ball that could be thrown at me. I packed my suitcase with racquet balls, relaxing music, massage oils, extra socks, an exercise ball, print-offs listing various birthing positions and the advantages/disadvantages of each, and on and on. I threw in food for my husband, swim trunks so he could be in the birthing tub with me, and spare clothes. I practiced breathing, squatting for inoridinate amounts of time, Kegel exercises, and stretching. I was ready.
Did all of this fussing pay off? Now, with more regular hormone levels and a few hours of sleep under my belt, I would say yes. I did, I had an "uncomplicated" labor and delivery. In the heat of the moment, though, I would have disagreed. I had such a narrow definition of what "uncomplicated" meant that the small variations in my labor and delivery left me feeling like a failure, that I had somehow compromised my own beliefs and wishes. As a scientist, I should have had a more liberal idea about what "normal" or "uncomplicated" meant -- that what is included in a standard deviation is quite a large range of experiences.
So I have decided to give a snapshot of Psite's birth story. Mostly because I think that many women in academia live by the same mantra by which I was raised, and continue to live -- if you work hard enough anything is possible. As academics, this often gets taken to the extreme as we deprive ourselves of sleep to finish cranking that last bit of data, writing a lecture, or editing a manuscript. And yet, as mothers, we have to let up a bit on this idea. Our children and our bodies are much less predictable, and there is a lot that is out of our control. And in the case of labor and delivery, most of these variations can be included under the blanket descriptor of "uncomplicated". Now, with over 3 weeks perspective, I can happily report "yes, we had a long but perfectly uncomplicated delivery and both mom and baby are doing fine."
30 minutes of napping later, I have much better perspective. Despite my fears, the epidural does not leave me completely numb to the birthing experience. Although it numbs most of my left side and some of my right, I can still feel the contractions increase in strength to the point where I find myself needing to focus my breathing to make it through. I am relieved, actually, to still be able to feel the contractions and to move my legs. I wanted to be an active part of delivery and to be able to push with my contractions.
The nurse checks me again shortly after noon. I am certain that given all the pain, I will be finally be dialated enough to push. But no. And our 24-hour window is closing, with the message that the on-call OB will push for a C-section if things don't change. My delivery nurse, thank goodness, will have none of that. She says that after all I have been through and how hard I have worked, she wants a vaginal birth as much as I do. And so, another intervention of sorts. During one of my contractions, she flipps the edge of my cervix up and over the baby's head and tells me to push -- hard. It worked. The head moved through enough so that we can finally start pushing with the contractions. And boy do we push. We make such progress that the OB, who had just left the building thinking she had several more hours, is called back to catch our little Psite. At 4 p.m., after more than 24 hours of labor, our lives are permanently changed. We become PARENTS.
As a scientist, I found much of my pregnancy to be frustrating from the standpoint of gathering reliable information about "what to expect." I wanted data, not anecdotal stories or gushy stories about the "wonders of motherhood." In the end, I relied on one book that did a fair job of drawing on research to present what seemed to be a realistic depiction of pregnancy, labor, and delivery. Most importantly, it refrained from using words such as "normal" to talk about the average woman's experience. Rather, it focused on what they reffered to as "uncomplicated" labor and delivery, but then described a range of different ways that it all can play out. Above all, it stressed that every case is unique.
So in the end, there I was, nearing my due date and hoping for an "uncomplicated" labor and delivery. In my mind, this meant little to no medical interventions, deep breathing and relaxation techniques in lieu of pain medication, and a vaginal birth. And with that image in my mind, I prepared for my first child. As if I were preparing for my dissertation defense, I planned (as best I could) for every curve ball that could be thrown at me. I packed my suitcase with racquet balls, relaxing music, massage oils, extra socks, an exercise ball, print-offs listing various birthing positions and the advantages/disadvantages of each, and on and on. I threw in food for my husband, swim trunks so he could be in the birthing tub with me, and spare clothes. I practiced breathing, squatting for inoridinate amounts of time, Kegel exercises, and stretching. I was ready.
Did all of this fussing pay off? Now, with more regular hormone levels and a few hours of sleep under my belt, I would say yes. I did, I had an "uncomplicated" labor and delivery. In the heat of the moment, though, I would have disagreed. I had such a narrow definition of what "uncomplicated" meant that the small variations in my labor and delivery left me feeling like a failure, that I had somehow compromised my own beliefs and wishes. As a scientist, I should have had a more liberal idea about what "normal" or "uncomplicated" meant -- that what is included in a standard deviation is quite a large range of experiences.
So I have decided to give a snapshot of Psite's birth story. Mostly because I think that many women in academia live by the same mantra by which I was raised, and continue to live -- if you work hard enough anything is possible. As academics, this often gets taken to the extreme as we deprive ourselves of sleep to finish cranking that last bit of data, writing a lecture, or editing a manuscript. And yet, as mothers, we have to let up a bit on this idea. Our children and our bodies are much less predictable, and there is a lot that is out of our control. And in the case of labor and delivery, most of these variations can be included under the blanket descriptor of "uncomplicated". Now, with over 3 weeks perspective, I can happily report "yes, we had a long but perfectly uncomplicated delivery and both mom and baby are doing fine."
Psite's Birth Story
Wednesday: OB appointment. 11 days until D-Day. Menstrual-like cramps all through previous night. Pelvic exam reveals 3 cm dilated. I kick it into gear and finish grading papers and edit a manuscript.Thursday: Crappy night sleep, up every hour. Another long night of menstrual-like cramps. Get out of bed to 6:30 am alarm. Gush of fluid falls onto floor. Call birth center, told to come in. Spend 2 hours at birth center and get sent home. Leak fluid all day and crampy. Stay home from work. Submit manuscrpit, write letters of recommendation, get Grandma's room in order. Eat homemade risotto.
Friday/Saturday: Still crampy and leaky, didn't sleep well. Initial contractions are starting, only I don't know that is what they are. Stay home from work again. Clean house, pack Ginny's overnight bag, sew duvet cover, knit Sam's fish hat. Lay down for nap, awaken at 3 p.m. with pain and soaked lounge pants. Hesitant to feel like a fool and be sent home from the birth center for a second time, hang out at home for a few more hours wondering if water has broken and if what I am feeling are really contractions or not. Quick call to the hospital results in orders to come in -- soon. Contractions anywhere between 5 minutes and 20 minutes apart (my body had not yet fallen into any discernible pattern). Make Sam eat supper and feed Ginny. 5 pm head down the street to MeritCare. Admitted by 6 pm.
We are escorted to our birthing suite where we fill out paperwork and are "debriefed", so to speak, by the nurse. She tells us that the on-call OB will probably want to start me on pitocin since I am still only 3 cm. This seems like a great time to unveil our birth plan, which basically says we want as few interventions as possible. I don't want pitocin yet; I prefer to see what my body willdo on its own. But, long story short, I labor until 6 am and never make it past 6 cm. Worried that I will be too tired to push later on, I finally allow the pitocin drip.
Although my contractions certainly strengthen and increas in frequency, I am still making slow progress. Despite the initial optimism of our (third) nurse to deliver by noon, at 10 am I am completely exhausted and still only at 8 cm. At this point I am convinced that this is a sign of a delivery on its way to becoming "complicated". I worry I won't have enough energy to push and will end up with any number of interventions, the worst being a C-section. I long for a 15 minute break to clear my head and regain focus, but know it is impossible without medication, which I also don't want. In the end, the exhaustion gets the better of me and I reluctantly ask for anepidural. I feel as if have failed, or my body has failed, I'm not sure which. Disappointed in myself, I apologize to Sam and weep as I wait for the effects to kick in. I am sure things are only going to get worse, and that my labor will slow down further because of the epidural and I will have to get the C-section anyway. And I worry that Psite will be affected and will be slow to latch and nurse. At that moment, I think everything is going wrong.
30 minutes of napping later, I have much better perspective. Despite my fears, the epidural does not leave me completely numb to the birthing experience. Although it numbs most of my left side and some of my right, I can still feel the contractions increase in strength to the point where I find myself needing to focus my breathing to make it through. I am relieved, actually, to still be able to feel the contractions and to move my legs. I wanted to be an active part of delivery and to be able to push with my contractions.
The nurse checks me again shortly after noon. I am certain that given all the pain, I will be finally be dialated enough to push. But no. And our 24-hour window is closing, with the message that the on-call OB will push for a C-section if things don't change. My delivery nurse, thank goodness, will have none of that. She says that after all I have been through and how hard I have worked, she wants a vaginal birth as much as I do. And so, another intervention of sorts. During one of my contractions, she flipps the edge of my cervix up and over the baby's head and tells me to push -- hard. It worked. The head moved through enough so that we can finally start pushing with the contractions. And boy do we push. We make such progress that the OB, who had just left the building thinking she had several more hours, is called back to catch our little Psite. At 4 p.m., after more than 24 hours of labor, our lives are permanently changed. We become PARENTS.Friday, January 22, 2010
Thank you for taking care of yourself!
When I first accepted my current position in Chemistry, people asked me if I felt like I minority. They were referring to the fact that I was to be the second woman in a predominantly male department. I replied that indeed I did feel a little out of place, but not because I am a woman. Rather, the faculty in our department come from a variety of ethnic backgrounds and, odd as it may sound, I was a little self-conscious about being white.
That's not to say that there aren't times I don't notice differences that might be associated to sex. A few months ago I found myself complaining more and more about the demands being made on my time that were taking me away from research. Somehow I had ended up on 4 committees, was the "go-to" gal for a number of student related issues, and overall found it difficult to ever be in my office with my door even slightly cracked without being disturbed. I grew increasingly cranky and critical of my colleagues. Why didn't they seem to be taking on more? Why was I getting stuck with all the "service" work? Why wouldn't people just let me do my research?!
I had been warned over and over again by my mentors that one of the hardest things to learn as a junior faculty member is saying no. Whatever our reasons, we tend to take on too much too soon. I wondered if I had failed to say "no" enough. Or if I hadn't set clear enough boundaries. Or if I was just being a pushover. Somehow, something needed to change. But what? How?
Now, months later, I think I've found the answer. It didn't come from any amount of introspection, or from chats with mentors, friends, or colleagues. It actually came during an OB appointment two weeks ago. Just as she finished listening to the fetal heart rate, my doctor paused as she looked down at me and said, "You've been having a great pregnancy. Thank you for taking care of yourself." It was a very strange thing to be thanked for, and from a physician no less. Especially since I didn't really think that I had been making a concious effort to take care of myself. I had been in survival mode for so long, just trying to make it through the fall semester without getting ill. In fact, I had been feeling a bit cheated out of the whole "pregancy experience" because I had spent so little time thinking about it, or the little creature growing inside.
It wasn't until later, on the walk back to the house, that my doctor's words hit me fully. "Thank you for taking care of yourself." Here I had been taking care of myself physically -- making time to exercise and eat right -- but hadn't been taking time for the other, very important things needed to take care of oneself spiritually or emotionally. Over the past few weeks, I've taken a step back to reevaluate my commitments as compared to my colleagues. And in doing so I've noticed that my male counterparts seem much more able to make the time needed to care for their mental well-being. They close the office door more often, tell students it is not a good time, or turn things in later than they'd like. It's not just a male thing; I see many women with the same ability. But in general, these are more senior female faculty. I wonder how long it took them to develop this skill? Or how long it will be until I do?!
In the mean time, I will try to take better care of myself. And I will remind all of the other women in my life (or other take-on-too-muchers!), whether they be in academia or not, to take care of themselves. Close the door, go to the gym, read a book, knit your hearts out -- whatever is needed. Don't make it a New Year's resolution. Make it a life's resolution.
That's not to say that there aren't times I don't notice differences that might be associated to sex. A few months ago I found myself complaining more and more about the demands being made on my time that were taking me away from research. Somehow I had ended up on 4 committees, was the "go-to" gal for a number of student related issues, and overall found it difficult to ever be in my office with my door even slightly cracked without being disturbed. I grew increasingly cranky and critical of my colleagues. Why didn't they seem to be taking on more? Why was I getting stuck with all the "service" work? Why wouldn't people just let me do my research?!
I had been warned over and over again by my mentors that one of the hardest things to learn as a junior faculty member is saying no. Whatever our reasons, we tend to take on too much too soon. I wondered if I had failed to say "no" enough. Or if I hadn't set clear enough boundaries. Or if I was just being a pushover. Somehow, something needed to change. But what? How?
Now, months later, I think I've found the answer. It didn't come from any amount of introspection, or from chats with mentors, friends, or colleagues. It actually came during an OB appointment two weeks ago. Just as she finished listening to the fetal heart rate, my doctor paused as she looked down at me and said, "You've been having a great pregnancy. Thank you for taking care of yourself." It was a very strange thing to be thanked for, and from a physician no less. Especially since I didn't really think that I had been making a concious effort to take care of myself. I had been in survival mode for so long, just trying to make it through the fall semester without getting ill. In fact, I had been feeling a bit cheated out of the whole "pregancy experience" because I had spent so little time thinking about it, or the little creature growing inside.
It wasn't until later, on the walk back to the house, that my doctor's words hit me fully. "Thank you for taking care of yourself." Here I had been taking care of myself physically -- making time to exercise and eat right -- but hadn't been taking time for the other, very important things needed to take care of oneself spiritually or emotionally. Over the past few weeks, I've taken a step back to reevaluate my commitments as compared to my colleagues. And in doing so I've noticed that my male counterparts seem much more able to make the time needed to care for their mental well-being. They close the office door more often, tell students it is not a good time, or turn things in later than they'd like. It's not just a male thing; I see many women with the same ability. But in general, these are more senior female faculty. I wonder how long it took them to develop this skill? Or how long it will be until I do?!
In the mean time, I will try to take better care of myself. And I will remind all of the other women in my life (or other take-on-too-muchers!), whether they be in academia or not, to take care of themselves. Close the door, go to the gym, read a book, knit your hearts out -- whatever is needed. Don't make it a New Year's resolution. Make it a life's resolution.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Art Makes Me Happy
Just a few random bits that have been making me smile lately...
Eric Johnson is a local artist that S and I have fallen for. Someday we'll get a print for ourselves. Here's just one that I keep revisiting: Abstract 99
And another who I didn't realize did soooo many cool things. I first saw her work on a line of greeting cards at Target of all places. After a little digging, I've found that she also makes fabric and apparel. Here's the greeting card we're thinking about using as a birth announcement.
But she has heaps of awesome greeting card images which she sells as prints too. Oh the irresistible temptation of decorating our home to avoid the winter blues! I would love to have a few of her seasonal images as a series in our family room. Perhaps January, February, May, August, and October? I mean, just for variety!
Ready to Rumble?
If there are stages of pregnancy like there are stages of recovery, I think I've gone through just about all of them (in no particular order). Disbelief, indifference, joy, self-doubt, excitement, panic, nesting, acceptance, and now... let's get this show on the road!
After the fall semester came to a close and we retreated home to MT for the holidays, I felt panic set in. With a double teaching load and close to 300 students, I had had no time for anything -- research, hobbies, sleep, let alone time to think about the Psite and what I needed to do to feel "prepared" for parenthood. Don't get me wrong, I don't believe there is anything one can do to truly prepare for one of life's most significant events. But anyone who knows me, knows that I am a planner. My ducks like to be in a row. And suddenly I found myself 7 months pregnant with no ducks in sight, let alone lined up neatly.
Where am I now with ~5 weeks until D-Day (delivery day)? I'd like to say "ready", more or less. I tried to inventory all the ducks, and quickly realized that there are far too many to keep track of. So, I'm settling on just a few -- we have diapers, the car seat arrived, I knit a hat for Psite (it will be FEBRUARY in FARGO for God's sake!), I'm packing my hospital bag, and my Mom booked her tickets. The rest, well, it will slowly get taken care of (or not). It's kind of like a game of hide-and-go-seek. I can dimly hear Psite counting in the background, but don't know exactly how fast or slow. But I think I'll be OK when s/he suddenly cries out, "Ready or not, here I come!"
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