Sleep. Again.

Edith and I continue to negotiate vigorously about our sleeping arrangements. I think when last I shared about this, she had finagled her way into my bed on a pretty much permanent basis; however, since then she got herself uninvited due to excessive nighttime dancing. We had reached a fairly acceptable detente where she slept in her own bed most times, but occasionally joined me at 5:00a.m. if she was having a rough night.

However, right as I reentered the work force, she decided she wanted to go back to sleeping exclusively in my armpit, and so she started waking up and crying repeatedly no matter how many times I put her down. After two nearly entirely sleepless nights, I reviewed all the sleep training methods for the thousandth time and reconsidered.

My issue with sleep training is mostly that it just seems too complicated, and there are way too many contradictory opinions about what will and won’t work, especially when it comes to sleep training before your baby is on solids. But what I’m trying for the moment is putting her in her basinet and refusing to pick her back up no matter how much she fusses, but sitting there and rubbing her back and stroking her head as she flips around and screams and thrashes her way to sleep. This seemed to work ok last night, although it’s rather like attempting to soothe an electron into stasis.

Further updates as events warrant.


I have a little treadmill that goes under my standing desk, so I can walk and work at the same time. I’ve had one for years, and I use it very sporadically. Sometimes I use it every day and other times I don’t use it for months on end. But since coming back to work, I am using it a lot (well, it’s only been two days) because unlike other times in my life, I genuinely have no time at all for exercise. I have at most three hours per working day to spend with Edith when she’s awake (well, not counting the hours and hours in the middle of the night when she is suddenly very much awake and when I would greatly prefer not to be spending time with her), so I’m not going to spend an hour of that exercising. So I’m really grateful that I have the ability to multitask in this way.

I know that people sometimes work on treadmills in actual offices, but I don’t see how. When I walk and work at the same time, I am quickly drenched in sweat, and I don’t even walk very fast. I wear workout clothes to do it and it would be completely impossible to do in an office at all, and especially in street clothes. But then, I find that people are very different in terms of how much they sweat. For example, some people jog on their lunch hours and don’t shower and go back to work in their office? Or bike to work? This is simply not possible with my body chemistry, but I guess I’m happy for them that it works for them. I’ve always been very irritated by breezy “just do it on your way to other things or during breaks!” exercise advice from the sweatless, though.

Pregnancy changed a few things about the way my body works (the texture of my hair, for example, and of course, my waistline), but it does not seem to have made any difference at all when it comes to how much I sweat. Also, all the changes have been detrimental, which just further goes to illustrate how much nature despises women. I mean, why the hell doesn’t pregnancy make you stronger, healthier, and happier so you have more babies? That would be more adaptive, no? Instead, it makes you fatter, slower, more anxious and more depressed, and it actually makes you stupider for a year or more. What purpose does any of this serve?

Anyway, I like my treadmill.

Back To Work

Today was my first day back at work in six months.

It felt very weird to be back, but I was happy to chat with all my colleagues again. The best part of my company and job is that I truly enjoy spending time with my coworkers. I like them all so much, and they’re so much fun. To me, this is the most important thing to a happy work life.

Being apart from Edith was less difficult than I’d feared. I was so busy and absorbed in what I was doing that I really didn’t have much time to think about it. The day went very fast.

All in all, it was a smoother transition than I’d anticipated.

Market, Splash Pad

Today, the baby and I went to a market in the park down the street. There were a bunch of booths with the sort of stuff that is always at markets and that no one ever buys — beaded jewelry, leather wallets, a knife sharpening station, jams, a depressed-looking 20-year-old white guy in an empty booth with an insurance company logo on it for some reason. Also, a roster of musicians played on a stage at the end of a big plaza. When we got there, someone was playing the accordion, and when we left, it was a cover of “Friends In Low Places.”

“This is the first of probably one hundred thousand times you will hear this song,” I told Edith. “And I am really sorry.”

Everyone waved at Edith and said what a cute little boy she was and how they wished someone would carry them around in a baby carrier like hers.

After that, we came home and then in the afternoon, we tried out a little splash pad thinger I had bought for Edith. I set it up under the trees in the back yard, and then I got into the middle of it with her. But for some reason, I hadn’t really thought that it would be, like, really wet. I don’t know why or what I was thinking. I was operating on like four hours of sleep. So I was in my baggy cotton jumpsuit, and obviously within one second, I was in a sopping wet baggy cotton jumpsuit and freezing. Meanwhile, Edith was mostly confused by the whole thing. She didn’t understand what we were doing or why we were doing it. She looked at me kind of morosely as the water beaded all over her.

So we got out and after a flurry of soaking, dripping jumpsuit/cold house/screaming baby shenanigans, we lounged around on the back porch admiring the splash pad as if it were a water feature, which was much more interesting to Edith and more relaxing for me. We’ll try it again another day and I’ll wear a bathing suit like a rational person.

So that was my last day of parental leave. Tomorrow morning, I go back to work. I mean, I’m not actually going anywhere, technically, but mentally I’ll be off.


This morning, Edith and I went out in search of brunch. We visited the nearest of approximately one thousand Mexican restaurants and sat on the porch and I had some substandard migas and Edith looked around. She is just the happiest, best natured baby. When I take her places, she is chill as a bean. Every time I looked at her, she gave me a big, sunny grin, and otherwise, she was content to take in the scenery.

Did you know that there are places in this country where one can still smoke in the outdoor sections of restaurants? I did not, but I am apparently living in one. It was like revisiting the most disgusting aspect of 2003. However, it wasn’t very crowded and I only got a single whiff of cigarette smoke before whoever it was put it out, and then later when I asked for the check, the server told me that someone had already paid it, so there are also advantages to rural living. I would like to tell myself this is evidence that I am still attractive, but more likely a good ole boy saw a single woman with a baby and assumed we could use the help. Either way, I’ll take it!

When we got back on the road, a little green lizard scampered across my windshield and hung ten on the hood, face into the breeze. I was worried she (I say she because I think it was a green anole and the males have a pink dewlap which this one didn’t) would fly off, so I stopped in a park and tried to nudge her into the grass, but she kept running into my hood, so we just took her home with us. She made it safe and sound and hopefully doesn’t leave any family behind in the restaurant parking lot. I don’t think she’s the one who paid my tab, but I suppose it’s possible.


Each morning before it gets too hot, Edith’s nanny takes her on a walk around the neighborhood. While they are out, I pace from room to room, wringing my hands and thinking about all the ways that Edith might be killed on her walk.

I pretend that I am not doing this, because it is insane. Next week and going forward, I will have to work while they are on their walk, and that might help a little bit.

But I’m starting to get a sneaking suspicion that this (endless, heightened, ludicrous anxiety about my child coming to harm in some way) is just how life is going to be from now on. Which…sucks? But also, I’m not sure that I wasn’t warned.

Garage Door

Yesterday, everything was finally finished at my old house and it was ready to be photographed and listed, and then my mother tried to open the garage door and it slammed itself open and closed repeatedly for a minute and then fell apart.

I was apprised of the situation through a series of cryptic texts:

“Did you happen to lock your garage door when you were up here earlier? Unrelated, do you know of anything one can do to a garage door that might, say, cause it to spontaneously explode? Theoretically? Not asking for any particular reason! Just something I’ve been musing about re: garage doors in general and certainly not related to any garage doors you might personally know of, and that might or might not be partially to totally fucked at the moment!”

Upon hearing the news, I sank into a state of resigned catatonia because I quite literally could not even. I sat around not evening for about an hour, while my mother got a garage door company with the right door in stock to agree to do a rush job and replace it this morning.

So everything was fine!

My particular brand of anxiety is such that the more things that go right for me (or even just fail to go terribly wrong), the more I feel like I am racking up some cosmic debt whereby I will have very bad luck later to balance out the good luck I am currently enjoying. This is a really fun way my brain destroys any bit of enjoyment I might get out of life, because if bad things happen, I am obviously unhappy about the bad things, and if good things happen, I cannot enjoy them because I feel I am “using up” my good things quota and will surely experience a run of terrible luck later. I have been very fortunate in my life thus far, and so I am always terrified that something truly godawful is looming over the next horizon to even out the score. Intellectually, I realize this is nonsense, but I hate myself, so I can’t stop feeling like this in my viscera. And of course, being a parent now, that grim sense of foreboding is a thousand times worse.

However, the garage door is fixed, so my karmic reckoning is delayed for one more day.

Parental Leave

I wrote a bit yesterday about the end of my parental leave, and this morning, I read this piece on the topic at Popular Information:

Absent federal legislation, most private employers are not offering paid family leave to their employees. At present, just 19% of Americans — mostly high-wage workers — have access to paid family leave through their employer. A 2012 survey found that nearly one-in-four mothers return to work within two weeks of giving birth. (The Family and Medical Leave Act, which became law in 1993, only provides unpaid leave in certain circumstances.)  A comprehensive paid family leave benefit is outrageously popular across party lines. A 2018 survey found that 84% of Americans support a paid family leave policy “that would cover all working people who need leave to care for a newborn or newly adopted child; their own serious illness or injury; a seriously ill, injured, elderly, or disabled family member; or to deal with the effects of a deployment or injury of a military service member.”

I really don’t see why we can’t get this done; everyone else has.

Last Week

I go back to work on Monday.

I am incredibly lucky to have a job that provides six months of paid parental leave. I am incredibly lucky to work from home. I am incredibly lucky to be able to afford an in-home nanny when I go back to work so that Edith can be here with me, and I can see her throughout the day.

I know all this. I’m unbelievably lucky, and I have no right to complain. Our country is cruel to mothers and babies (and to fathers and other primary caretakers as well). The lack of parental leave is appalling. No one should have to put their newborn into daycare and return to work while they’re still bleeding, and no one should have to choose between putting food on the table and having excellent, reliable, safe, attentive care for their children. Everyone agrees about this, and yet nothing changes. I don’t understand why. I guess it’s because our politicians are useless, and/or because some people think private corporations should pay for these things rather than taxpayers and that all the people who don’t have a job with a private corporation should go fuck themselves.

Regardless, as lucky as I am to have all this, and as privileged as my situation is, the idea of not being with Edith all day anymore is still so painful I can’t think about it. And on the other hand, I feel like if I have to go one more day without talking to other adults and using my brain, I’m going to implode.

I don’t know what the ideal situation would be. I guess as always it would be to be independently wealthy and not have to make any decisions based on income. But short of that, this is about as ideal as it gets.

Michael K. Williams

I’m the sort of basic white bitch who still thinks The Wire is the best television show ever made. It’s not perfect, but it’s literary. I think it’s a contender for the great American novel. And Omar Little is indisputably the best character of a roster of amazing characters (runner up Stringer Bell, third place Bubbles).

Williams did a bunch of other good stuff, too (I especially enjoyed his Community appearance), but Omar was a career defining role. It’s sad that he has died so young.