skip to main |
skip to sidebar
I’ve heard all about the nesting instinct that’s supposed to be kicking in at home. Yet somehow my house is a mess, I have boxes of baby clothes and gifts left unsorted, bills to be paid, and a grocery list that’s been growing for weeks. None of it feels excessively urgent.
But ever since my doctor gave me a date to induce me, I’ve become super-humanly productive at work. My work is very unpredictable, and typically my strength is in being able to react at a moment’s notice. On the flip side, my weakness is in planning ahead. Give me two weeks to do something and it may never get done. Give me two hours — or even two minutes — and you can expect perfection.
But all of a sudden, I’ve been filing like a fiend, putting things in order so that others may find them when I’m not here. I’ve written weeks worth of articles for publications that have not yet been planned. I’ve enthusiastically and efficiently scheduled meeting after meeting with colleagues to prepare them for the changes that will be associated with my leave.
I never expected that when I found my nest it would be at work. Please tell me that soon — very soon — that birdie will fly home. My fridge is empty, the laundry looms, and someone really needs to wash that kitchen floor.
Just found out NewGirl’s estimated fetal weight, and she’s slightly below average. It may be the last time I’m proud of her for being “below average,” but if you had to give birth to her, you would be too.
We also found out she’ll be induced a week and a half before her due date (due to some minor pregnancy health issues). I think NewDad’s blood pressure skyrocketed on hearing the news, as he realized that the calendar may overtake his quality-control standards as the prevailing concern as he tries to finish home renovations before NewGirl’s arrival.
I told my boss as well, and I think it may have made reality hit home for him too, and I’m feeling sort of guilty, to be honest. He’s been so supportive and excited for me and wants nothing more for me than to put work out of my mind so I can enjoy our new baby during my leave. But my leave is going to have a big impact on him. He’ll have to be much more involved in my department than normal, and he’s already leveraged to the max.
The members of my team will be impacted a lot as well, but they are excited and up to the challenge, rightfully seeing this as an opportunity to show what they’re capable of — a chance to position themselves for professional growth down the road. There’s no such reward in it for my boss. I suppose that’s why he makes the “big bucks” as they say, but I still feel bad.
I don’t think of myself as a control freak, and most certainly not as a micromanager. I’m not into turf battles, I love to delegate, and I want to be able to reward my team members with opportunities for growth.
Why, then, is it so difficult to prepare other people to do my job during my leave? We’re a fairly lean organization. There’s not a lot of redundancy among our corporate staff, so we all have expertise, functions, and responsibilities that we share with no one — no matter how large or small our teams may be. I’m not worried for half a second that anyone will feel like they don’t need me after all (at least I don’t think I am). And the work I do is more of an art than a science. There are few truly right and wrong ways to do any of it.
But as I prepare my team members, slowly offloading tasks with a watchful eye, I can’t help but cringe when they make a decision I wouldn’t have, even if it’s a fine one. And then again, I’m not entirely put at ease when they do it exactly as I would have either. Maybe they’ll discover that my job is not all that difficult after all.
Help! Will I ever be able to “cut the cord” at work before NewDad cuts it at the hospital?
Picture this: I’m in my office at my desk, with my boss watching the computer screen over my shoulder. I’m pulled away from the desk a bit so that together we can watch a video I’m working on for him and discuss the next round of edits we want to make. All of a sudden, I think we’ve switched channels, because the next installment of Alien seems to be showing in 3-D right on my belly. It’s undeniable, clearly visible to all in the audience — NewGirl is doing her fetal gymnastics and won’t stop until the credits roll. I know it’s distracting me, but what about my boss? Is he as engrossed in it as I am? He doesn’t say a word about it, but I can’t help wondering what’s going on his head. Is it possible he’s focused only on the video we came to see? That couldn’t be, could it?
I’ve just learned that I’m having a few minor complications with my pregnancy. Nothing overly worrisome — or overly feminine (if you catch my drift). It’s nothing that’s restricting my work or activity, though it is likely among the reasons that the first trimester fatigue never quite went away.
I can talk about it all day long to girlfriends, sisters, and female colleagues, but why do I find it so difficult to share the details with my male boss? I’ve just told him now that I do have “a few medical issues that will require more frequent doctors visits.” Just a heads up so he’ll know why I’m not always available as quickly as I usually am. But I find myself almost physically unable to explain any further detail. I’m not concerned about my own medical privacy. And I don’t think it’s because I think he won’t care or empathize. He’s the father of young children himself and has been more than compassionate and concerned despite the little detail I’ve shared.
I think the real crux of the issue is this — pregnant or not, where are the boundaries between personal and professional information, and why do they feel so different for men than for women?
Our workplace is fairly casual. You’ll almost never see anyone in a suit, and most folks are in jeans on Fridays. In fact, I’d say that — all in a good way — many probably tend to push the lower limits of “business casual” on a regular basis. Personally, I try to strike a balance between sufficiently professional and comfortable most of the time.
I will never be accused of being a fashionista — quite far from it. But despite all the flexibility we have in the style department, I still am having my own internal debate. Can I wear sneakers — even hip ones — on a day when I’m meeting with our executive team, a client, or vendor? I’ve had a relatively comfortable pregnancy, but I think all the abuse my body is taking has settled itself right in my feet. I can’t even fit into my least fashionable and most comfortable pre-pregnancy shoes without wincing anymore. I also can’t bring myself to spend hundreds of dollars on comfortable, more professional, yet super-ugly shoes.
What do you think? Do I break down and shell out the dough, or can I wear cute and comfortable sneaks?
I’ve read about baby brain — that women get forgetful, lose focus, and even become emotionally unpredictable during their pregnancies. I think I’ve bypassed all those trouble spots, but now I’m quite certain the baby brain has migrated into my fingers. All of a sudden, I can no longer type like a normal person — or at least my normal self. And this is quite a problem, as my work not only requires me to type almost all day long, but I’m also partly responsible for making sure all our communications, mine and others’, are error-free, meeting the high-quality standards we expect in our organization.
If it weren’t for the auto-correct feature in Word, you’d be seeing all my foibles in Technicolor. I even thought of deliberately leaving in my errors (kind of like that new book deliberately written entirely in text message language), but I can’t bear for you to see me exposed like that. So I’m proofreading, and proofreading, over and over again. Some people can’t wait to get their figure back once they have their baby. My figure was nothing to envy before I got pregnant. I just want my old nimble fingers, thank you very much.
Here it is, the hard and fast truth about the most exciting news of your life. Telling people you’re pregnant just ain’t what you thought it would be. I waited those 12 critical weeks in great anticipation of the parade I’d throw to finally announce to the world that I was pregnant. Everyone would be so excited. Well wishes would fall like confetti from the hallways and conference rooms that line the office. Hugs would crowd the cafeteria, and squeals of excitement would play over the PA system.
But what really happened was this. The day after I got the good news from that little blue stick, I got on a plane to London for a business trip with my close friend and colleague. I couldn’t hold back, and I told her right away. We laughed, we cried, we reigned in our excitement because, after all, even the doctor hadn’t confirmed it yet. And then as the weeks passed, I booked a meeting with my boss to tell him when the time was right. After all, he had a right to know before others. Then I would tell the people on my team.
It was all so calculated, making sure to do everything in the right order. And then when we finally got through all that, and passed the next round of critical tests, well, all the air had gone out of the announcement. It felt weird and awkward to just tell people. Announcing my news to the world suddenly seemed unnecessary and strange. My parade was over before it started, and the reality that the world just goes on pretty much as it always has is now kicking in.
Holy mackerel! I have never known exhaustion like I know now that I’m pregnant. It happens at home on the weekends — at 11:00 a.m. — maybe two or three hours after I just woke up from a full night’s sleep.
The other day I told NewDad that I was just going to take a brief rest on the hardwood floor in our new house where we have no furniture yet. No joke — four hours later I awoke with a furniture pad covering me for warmth. And now it’s happening at work. With almost no notice, I could rest my head on my keyboard and not awaken for another three hours. I’ll be in a meeting and the conference table will suddenly look like a heavenly place to rest for the afternoon. About half the days of the week, I am completely non-functional after 2:00 p.m.
Most people don’t even know I’m pregnant yet, and I imagine they must think I’ve totally lost my edge. But if you’ll excuse me now, I think if I can just curl up under my desk beside my hard drive for a power nap, maybe no one will see me.
It was just a few short months ago that I would see a glowing beautiful pregnant woman at work and wonder, “How does she think about anything but that perfect round belly and the baby inside all day long? She can’t possible get any work done, and who would blame her? Someone give her a crown just for showing up at the office, for goodness sake!”
Now that woman is me. You can give me the crown, if you’d like — I’ll take it. But truth be told, work has become my refuge from my own pregnancy. It’s the one place I don’t think about being pregnant every hour. It’s the one place I don’t indulge my every whim. The fact that there’s no queen-sized bed and fluffy pillows, no TLC, Game Show Network, or daily reruns of Sex in the City helps, of course. But the fact is, work gives me a purpose and reminds me in just a normal regular way that I have other responsibilities and that while a huge part of my life is about to change, there’s a lot that will still remain the same.
While I’m headed into uncharted territory as a first-time mom, the familiarity and affirmation of a job I know how to do, and do well, may just be the sanity saver I need.
|
RSS
