Sweating with the Youngies

It was several months before I joined a gym after accepting my faculty position.  I adored the gym at my graduate institution - the facilities were new, less than 2 blocks from my building, and air-conditioned.  The only downside was alllllll the students.  I went to graduate school in a sunny and warm climate, and as a result most of the girls wore mini-skirts, Ugg boots, and tiny tank tops for nine months out of the year.  A male colleague once described it as, "being sandblasted with Barbies".  Needless to say, I went to the gym during non-meat market hours.

Luckily Midwestern climates tend to select for "hardier" breeds.  Here the gym is less threatening on the scantily-clad women front.  But I still find it awkward at times because of the large numbers of students I teach each semester.  I am a sweater, and not of the knit variety.  I don't glow or glisten.  I sweat.  I sweat because I work hard and I love it.  And I look like hell.  Most days it doesn't phase me.  On others, well, I just don't want to be noticed by my estranged students.

The past few weeks I have really enjoyed sweating with the youngies.  I'm in my mid-30s, have a two-year old, and a husband older than me.  My gut jiggles, lines are setting into my face, and my thighs are way past their prime.  But I. Am. FIT.  I jog on the track and hold my own against young men and women 10 years my junior.  And while running countless laps (1500 m/lap) to sate my lust for miles, I take stock of the regulars. The most inspirational is a a woman in her late 50s early 60s.  I watch her on the gym floor below, a faculty member (I assume) who plays pick-up games of basketball during rush hour at the gym.  She is just shy of six feet tall, and judging by the quality of her shoes, has played seriously for a long time.  Her team mates and opponents alike underestimate her agility, but she is really inspirational to watch.  Powerful.  Graceful. Unapologetic. I achieve my best times when she is playing - my legs take on a life of their own.  Suddenly my tummy isn't jiggling, my thighs aren't flapping, and my hair is not pasted to my forehead.  As I pass fellow runners (and truly, in real life, I always do) I am solid, and strong, and proud.  Phenomenal faculty woman, that's me.

Desperately Seeking Other Humans

While putting together my third-year dossier the past several months, I found myself increasingly searching the blogosphere for others' stories along the tenure-track.  I guess I was searching for a healthy dose of humanness to help ground, or perhaps alleviate, some of the anxiety, insecurity, and resentment that built with each day I spent writing and revising my materials.  But what I found was really a whole lot more of the same -- academics scared to write about anything personal.  Adopting pseudonyms and writing in guarded, veiled narratives to avoid being identifiable by anyone -- for fear of retribution, how blogging might impact chances for promotion and tenure, or how their personal blog personality might impact future job chances. Or on the other extreme, outwardly hostile and critical of all aspects of academic life (I guess if that were me I'd be thinking about how to get another job).  But I did find a few, refreshing humans out there who just happen to be in academia.  And so to save you some time looking, I've included them here:

Red Lips and Academics sounds like a person I could have coffee with.  Down to Earth, and ready to tell it how it is.  I particularly like her Geek Love post which made the front page of Wordpress .

Scientopia is actually a host of different bloggers, each of which is in love with science.  So it's not all about academia, which I like, but when a post crops up it's usually pretty good.  I particularly like Dr Becca, and a post that resonates with me a lot right now as I finally feel I am getting my own research and up and going!

No Pictures Please!

And so, there will be none.  For I just returned from a Gordon Research Conference, where there are no published abstracts, conference proceedings, or papers.  Just the sharing of research at the frontier of the field.  Pretty exciting, yes?  Well, I certainly thought so. Particularly since I met leaders in my field whose work is shaping how I frame my own.  More than that, I interacted with scientists from all stages in their academic careers and from multiple continents.  With that much diversity in thought, it was difficult not to fall in love (again) with science. 

This conference was a series of contrasts for me.  I walked away both ravenous and sated, vindicated and vulnerable, academic and motherly.  After five days away, I still attempt to maintain the balance between  these polar opposites. Science completely fascinates me, the pursuit of which has always seemed to be a single player sport. Yet my family (husband and son) continue to captivate me with their unending curiosity.  I realized at this conference that these two are not at odds, my scientific community and family. Rather, they are complementary.  Together, we are curious about the world.  Not to find THE answer, but because the world is an exciting series of mysteries to be unlocked.  And what better way to be a scientist and/or parent than to journey with others on grand investigations?

Man Repellant

I've never been what one might call "striking".  Yes, I had my Gremlin stage like most adolescents.  But now I would rate myself as a strong 7.  Not really a looker, but not a troll either.  So imagine my surprise this weekend while away at a conference when not one but two completely unknown men tried to chat me up.  I am happy to report that in unwanted situations such as these, merely uttering the statement "I am a (female) biochemistry professor" is sufficient to repel such vermin.

Ms. Mentor Eats Humble Pie

There are far too many parallels between good parenting and good mentoring.  Just like your children don't come with instruction manuals, neither do your students.  And those little half-day workshops on mentoring are about as effective as those parenting seminars at the hospital.  Sure, there are little kernels you tuck away for later use, but you never know what does (or in most cases does NOT) work until you have one of your own.  

So it seems a bit more than coincidental that I would get my first born and my first graduate students at about the same time.  All the faster to grey my hair, I guess.  Or to assume a more positive outlook, double the lessons I learn each day.  Most recently, I invited a prospective graduate student to visit campus.  Driven, intelligent, and personable, she would have been the golden child in my lab.  So imagine my excitement when, as I put her on the plane, she talked about the next steps in submitting her application to my program.  For the following week, my head was in the clouds, designing the next set of experiments that would catapult my research from ho-hum to "check out that lab in the MidWest!"  Yes, I know, a little far-fetched, but that's how a good student will make you feel when you are pre-tenure!!

Exactly one week later I received an email.  She expressed her interest in my research, but regrettably had decided not to apply because she couldn't see how she "fit in", not just as a person but the region (flat, cold, and little diversity) was nowhere she could commit to for 5 years.  I sent a warm reply, congratulating her on her maturity in making a tough decision and extending an offer of assistance should she ever need it.  But as I wrote that email, I mentally tore up all those experiments I had planned.  I began planning my alternate career path now that I was destined never to achieve tenure for lack of recruiting students to my lab.  And I stewed.  How could she be coming one day, and so quickly change her mind the next.  I blamed my institution for not being prestigious enough, the region for being so cold 9 months out of the year, and anybody/thing else I could think of.

But then I ran into GossipGuy, a very gifted undergraduate student  whom I have informally mentored since he took my course.  He's been going through the arduous and often humbling experience of applying and interviewing for graduate school.  He was glowing, if that's really possible to do outside in 10 degree weather. Just returning from UW-Madison, he was over-joyed at being accepted into a great program. Yet, as words spilled out of his mouth, I realized that it wasn't just the program, but the people and region in which he would be living.  He told me that he really felt like he fit in somewhere.

As he shared with me all the great things about Madison, I mentally ate a piece of humble pie. I chose to work at my institution not just because I could do great research, but because I viewed it as a great place to live and raise a family.  I felt like I "fit" here.  How could I expect it to be any different for my students?

Much like my little boy teaches me at least one lesson each day, here my student had taught me something -- to think more broadly about what my students need to be successful.  That some things are out of my control - and that's OK (even if disappointing). Most importantly, that becoming a good mentor is a long process but that I'm not learning on my own - my students will help me along the way.

After Those Sweet Moments

I don't remember much from those few moments after my son was born.  Mostly just a mix of emotions - relief, contentment, apprehension - and the exhaustion that set in shortly after.  And later the tiny voice that echoed, "What did I get myself into?!"

That's not to say I wasn't overjoyed, I was, but I was also a bit overwhelmed.  Even with having the most amazing colleague taking over my class and no immediate pressure at work, the tenure clock never stopped ticking - loudly - in my ear.

Today, on the anniversary of my son's birth, I've learned a very valuable lesson -- how to ignore the ticking.  Or like any working parent, how to balance work and family.  For me that means focusing on using my work time most efficiently by prioritizing better, minimizing distraction (door closed more often), and saying no (not just to extra work assignments, but to leisurely trips to get coffee and extended lunches with colleagues).  I try not to think about work when I'm home and vice versa.  And most days, I'm satisfied.  So, much like TucsonMama, I ask you this -- what advice would you have for new parents striving to reach a balance?

How Can You Hate Saturday?

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.

And then, all of a sudden, it happened...

My newborn grew up.

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!

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."

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.

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.

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!"

Surely You Understand...

I had stopped by T’s office unexpectedly, most likely to get a signature on graduate school paperwork or some other tedious hoop-jumping event. Before leaving, T told me about a recent department head’s retreat he had attended. He had found one session particularly thought-provoking, a session presented by an associate professor in the psychology department on the science of unconscious bias. She had shared the results of a variety of published studies providing evidence of the subtle gender biases that, even amongst the most progressive individuals, still play out in all facets of academia from mentoring, to hiring, to evaluation for promotion and tenure. He remarked on the results of one study regarding the evaluation of teaching by students. Apparently, one study had shown that students, independent of gender, tend to evaluate female instructors more harshly than their male counterparts. Although the study had not gone on to identify the cause of this difference, the authors provided multiple hypotheses to explain the phenomenon. For instance, women are more often associated with mothering or nurturing roles. Therefore, students are more likely to evaluate female instructors who “tow-the-line” with regard to grading policies more harshly because they are not fulfilling the expected role of nurturer. Whereas a male instructor with similar grading policies is more likely to be viewed as just “maintaining high standards” of his students.

I remember wondering if, as a student, similar unconscious biases had influenced my own evaluations of instructors. I also remember making a mental note to look the study up, to examine the research methodology, and possibly replicate the study in the sciences. But I quickly turned my attention back to my own research, and the arduous task of dissertation writing. It wasn’t until this semester, over 2 years later, that I really found myself thinking about this research again.

At the beginning of the semester, my body had not yet started to display to the world that I was pregnant. By the end of the semester, however, I was approaching my 32nd week and was clearly showing. My “baby bump” had become an explicit advertisement of motherhood. And coincidentally, I began receiving requests from my students that were… well, just different than what I had encountered the previous year teaching the same course. I first received an email from a graduate student enrolled in my course. He wrote to me, rather boldly, with a “proposal” as he called it. He explained to me that he had not been able to attend my class regularly because of his pregnant wife’s OB appointments. As there was a participation component to my course, he proposed that he be evaluated using a different grading scale that omitted participation. He felt this was a fair proposition, and noted that surely I would understand since I was also pregnant.

Another student emailed me after the final exam asking me to please consider the fact that she was a single mother when assigning her final grade. She was performing poorly prior to the exam, and was certain she had bombed the exam and as a result be on the border between a C and a D in the course. If she did not achieve a C she would be forced to retake the course, setting her back in her program an entire year. Surely I would understand how difficult it must be as a single mother? Couldn’t I make an exception?

It wasn’t that I had never been asked to “cut some slack” for one student or another. But these requests were more direct and tailored toward me as a mother-to-be. At first I was angry and unsure how to respond. I thought of all kinds of snide replies. Like replying to the graduate student by saying, “Actually, no, I do not understand. As you duly noted, I am pregnant. But I didn’t miss any classes due to my OB appointments.” Or to the single mother, “No, I couldn’t imagine how difficult it is to be a single mother. I only know what my own mother shared with me of her own experiences as a single mother, as she worked her way off of government assistance while supporting two small children.” Then I questioned whether or not I was being insensitive, after all, what if I had been in their shoes as a student? Anyone can have a bad semester. Should this one semester, this one course, really have that much impact on any one student’s future?

In the end, I denied their requests for special accommodations – I towed the line. Right or wrong, I applied the same evaluation criteria to these two students as I did to the other 248. But I haven’t stopped thinking about their requests, or rather, the rationale behind their requests. How, if at all, would their actions have been different if one of my male counterparts had been teaching instead? More importantly, does it even matter?

The Secret Handshake

One day, very early in my pregnancy, I received a small package in the mail. Delighted to see something other than a bill or one of my husband's sailing magazines, I quickly tore it open. A flat bundle of tissue paper emerged, and in it was a delicately painted bit of metal in the shape of an expectant woman. "To the world you may be just one person. But to one person you may be the world," decorated the woman's flowing skirt. I reached into the envelope again, and this time withdrew a card. In it, my friend explained that she had received this same gift during her first pregnancy. She had decided to pass it along to me, to welcome me to the "motherhood" as she called it. It was as if she had taught me a secret handshake, and in doing so invited me into an inner circle that would continue to be a source of strength and inspiration throughout the following months.

What may seem like a small gesture to some has become a reminder to me of the graciousness, generosity, and compassion of my friends. The friend that sent this to me had been trying to get pregnant for several months, something I was completely unaware of when I first shared my news with her. Despite her own struggles, her response to my pregnancy was selfless; she rejoiced for and with me. And since then, she has continued to be my advocate . She is just one example of the numerous women in my life whose qualities I try to emulate (often with only moderate success!)

I don't think my fellow members of the motherhood realize all that they've done for me or what I anticipate they will do for me after my life officially changes forever with the birth of my first child. Or maybe they do, and that is why it is such a powerful yet unspoken alliance amongst women. On days such as today, when I find myself in the quiet of the early morning, or late in the sleepless nights, when I face all my fears about being a mother, a wife, a professional, and a friend, I ultimately find solice as I reflect on all that the women in my life have accomplished in these very same roles. To my mother, my sister, my dearest Tucson friends (with and without children)... to ALL of you, thank you.

Any questions? Anyone?

As a graduate student in science, questioning was a key component of enculturation. In the early years when our knowledge was incomplete, questioning was a way to demonstrate not only one's motivation to learn but also one's progress in achieving mastery. Later, questioning became a way to solidify expert knowledge, to test and extend ideas, and to advance in the field as a respected peer. As a faculty member, questioning has taken on new significance. Not only is it a way for me to continually exercise and expand my understanding, but it is a way to push my students' thinking forward.

Maybe that is why, for the past two nights, I have been unable to sleep. Our first OB appointment approaching, I was paralyzed with anxiety. I was questionless. Every book, website, and mother I consulted emphasized the importance of having a thoughtful list of questions to drill the OB with. And here I was, a person who questions the world for a living, and I couldn't think of a single question to ask. I hardly believed that I know everything there is to know about pregnancy, far from it. But I couldn't help but feel like, well, women have been doing this for centuries without books or modern medicine. What could I possibly ask that would unveil some new knowledge that these women had not already uncovered?

So there I was, lying quietly yet wide awake, when my husband gently probed my quiet unrest in the dark. I asked him what we should ask of our doctor. What questions did he have? What were we missing? The urgency with which I posed those questions of him was overwhelming to me. Normally, his calmness in responding would have only fueled my anxiety. But he quietly pointed out that maybe it was too early for questions. They would come. And I realized he was right. Just like my first-year graduate student, questions may not come quickly, nor will they necessarily be the most meaningful. But eventually I would learn what questions to ask.

Our appointment went fine. When my doctor asked if I had any questions, I sighed. "No." I replied, "I know I should, but I don't have any." She simply smiled and assured me that there was nothing to know at this point that I hadn't probably already read. Despite her words of encouragement, I had to silently calm the academic inside me. I'm not questionless often -- but they will come.

Wackademia: What it is, and what it is NOT

I'm starting a new blog, partly because I wanted a more user-friendly venue. But also because I felt the increasing need to share my thoughts during a very transitional time in my life. Or maybe it's not really transitional, perhaps I am finally living my life and I am so completely astounded by the realness of it all that I need some place to dump it all. Either way, I intend to share my musings about marriage, motherhood, family, and the everyday as I wade my way through the next six (or so!) years of what I've started calling "wackademia", the crazy, challenging, rewarding, and perplexing professional path I've chosen to follow (for now).

So what to expect? Frank stories about life on the tenure-track from one of two (soon to be three) women in an all male science department. What not to expect? Ranting feminist soliloquies about the inherent cultural inequities in 'the ivory tower' or cutesy stories about being a working 'mommy'. The blogger market is already full of jaded women and self-righteous charity cases. I was once told that the only way to change a culture is to live by example. So, here I go, my opportunity to make a difference in wackademia.