Back to real life

This morning I went on my first run in almost a year. It felt good, and also horrible. My lungs were on fire for the first 5 minutes or so, and then after that I was distracted by an entirely different pain. Apparently Mama needs a new sports bra. Surprisingly, the one I got at Target for 10 bucks before I got pregnant isn't cutting it, and my poor sore nursing boobs were not happy with the bouncing. I had to run clutching my chest the entire time. Luckily there aren't too many people out and about at 5:15 a.m. so I wasn't too embarrassed.

I only ran about 2 miles, but I broke the first-run-after-a-hiatus barrier, and I think that's important in and of itself. I'm going to get myself a new sports bra ASAP, and in the meantime I'll just have to suck it up. I gotta build some momentum while I can.

Delusional parenting 101

A couple of friends who have babies the same age as Bean were getting together to take the kiddos to a Tiny Tots Symphony Performance of the Dissertation City Opera. I was really excited to bring Bean because she LOVES music, and the event was billed as an interactive performance geared towards very small children.

The morning started off great. Bean was very excited to go "see music", and dutifully put on her dress and allowed me to put clips in her hair. She sang ABC's all the way to the symphony hall.

And the first couple of minutes of the performance went exactly as I had imagined. She sat in my lap, we sang with the talented musicians and singers, there were action songs. But after the novelty wore off, Bean was all wiggles and writhed her slippery way right out of my lap.

Before I knew it I was following her up and down the aisle, past all the children sitting perfectly in their parents laps, and back to the stairs. Up and down the stairs Bean went, back and forth, back and forth. Dancing to the music sometimes, but not looking on stage even once. I tried pathetically to get her interested in the music again while nearby parents gave me knowing looks. Good luck, sister the other mothers seemed to say. But at least she wasn't screaming.

Until she decided that she wanted to slide face first down the stairs on her stomach. At this point I tried to pick her up, but that little Bean was more slippery than a greased pig. As she tried to wrest herself from my grasp, Bean somehow smacked her chin on the ground, biting her tongue in two places.

I picked up my poor wailing Bean and hauled her out of the concert hall. Once her bloody tongue had been inspected and deemed to be still intact, I let her burn off a little steam by chasing her around the lobby. When Bean said she was ready to go listen to the music again, I took her back in, just in time for the last song.

She clapped wildly as the musicians took their bow.

Getting back in the saddle

After my house flooded and we spent 3 weeks couch surfing, and then countless more weeks trying to put our life back together, I kind of fell out of my normal routine. One of the casualties of that loss of routine was my daily run.

I am not one of those people who is just naturally a size 6. In fact, sometimes I think those people have made a pact with the devil (a pact I would totally make if the devil would only offer). As it is, if I don't exercise on a regular basis, my jeans don't fit. And I get grumpy. I am a much happier person all around if I A) get regular exercise, and B) don't have back fat.

As life has finally (at least temporarily) settled back down, re-instituting my daily run has been a top priority. In order to find a way to fit that into my day, while still allowing Husband to work late in the lab, we've stopped carpooling.

For the past several weeks my new routine has been to leave the house at 6:00 a.m., drive to the park and ride, take the bus into work, work for a few hours, and then when my lab work offers a break (and when the sun has actually risen) I go for a run. This schedule allows me to work a full day, get in a run, and still pick up the Bean on time. This schedule has pros and cons.

Pro:
I get my daily exercise, which will stop the current expansion of my giant butt.

Con:
I leave the house before Bean is even awake, so I don't get to see her before work.

Pro:
I get an hour or two of alone time in the lab, which is a great way to be productive.

Con:
Bean and I have had to give up nursing in the morning, which has been a little hard on both of us.

Pro:
I get to run when it's light out, which is safer and slightly warmer.

Con:
I spend the first couple of hours each morning dressed in my running clothes, unshowered. Not too great for everyone else.

Pro:
I'm not tempted to skip a run, so I'm running consistently.

Con:
Sometimes when packing my clean clothes to bring to work, I make mistakes. Like forgetting socks. Or in todays case, packing a black lace bra to wear under a white shirt, forcing me to wear my coat all day.

Pro:
I love running! Eleventy!!(11!!)!!

Con:
Other times, like today, the fire alarm goes off while you are using the shower at work, forcing you to dress quickly and stand outside with wet hair. In the cold. In your white T-shirt and black bra.

Science: 268 ScienceMama: 0

I'm a complete idiot.

I'm known in various circles for my propensity to break glassware (usually with important samples or toxic chemicals inside... the Bottle of Formaldehyde Incident of '03 was hard to live down). I've got a weird brown spot on my middle finger from a time when I was handling formadehyde without gloves. I once accidentally splattered DMSO in my mouth (a tiny flick off the inside of an eppie tube lid, but still... it made my tongue feel weird). I mean I've always been an idiot, prone to accidents, but seriously guys, this one takes the cake.

Yesterday I VERY CAREFULLY cut out bands on the UV box wearing eye protection... instead of a face mask.

Today, I look like I fell asleep in a tanning bed. Or went snorkling on the sun.

Trailing spouse gets the shaft

Husband is still deeply entrenched in the writing of his paper (and still doing some "final" experiments for it). He's been working crazy hours trying to get his experiments done, the paper written, and because of this his time with the Bean is way too scarce.

A few nights ago, as we were settling into bed, Husband says casually Maybe I don't want to do this tenure track thing after all. I don't want this to be my schedule for the next ten years.

Of course everyone goes through this kind of thing at every possible decision point in their career. And most postdocs are constantly asking the "is tenure track right for me?" question. Or, if you've already answered that question with a resounding HELL NO, you're wrestling with the even more amorphous question of "what the hell do I do with myself now?"

So I cooed reassuring things in Husband's general direction until we had satisfied ourselves that it wasn't a decision to be made in bed on a weeknight.

But, um, I'm a planner. I cannot handle open-ended, no-light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel plans. It makes me feel unsettled to not have a plan.

I will support Husband in whatever career path he chooses, but it is driving me f*cking crazy to not have a plan. When will he get his paper out? Who knows! Is he applying for tenure track positions? Who knows! Will we be moving next summer? Who knows! What kind of job can I find if/when we move? Who knows! Can we afford to have a second child? Who knows! Are we facing a future as assistant managers of the local video strore? Who knows!

The life of a trailing spouse. I know, I volunteered for the job. But that doesn't mean it's not really annoying. I can't plan my career until I know what Husband's plans are. And until he knows... I'm up a creek.

Proud

This is why postsecret always makes me cry...

Lab before bedtime

It never fails.

Last night after putting Bean to bed, making a (delicious) dinner for Husband and I, packing Bean's lunch for school, and folding a load of laundry, I treated myself to an hour of deliciously trashy TV. (The Cleaner. Have you seen it? It's garbage TV but Benjamin Bratt is gorgeous and I'm kinda diggin' it.)

9:00 rolls around and I decide to enforce bedtime for Husband and I. So we're there standing at the mirror brushing our respective teeth and I'm of course thinking about my experiments for the next day. And that's when I see it: there are my restriction digests, still sitting at 37 degrees. The last thing I was supposed to do before I left work was add ethanol to those babies and stick 'em in the freezer. But I didn't. And the sample is precious. And star activity will ruin the experiment.

The age old question: is it worth it to run back to lab in the middle of the night (yes, 9:00 is the middle of the night for me these days) to save your experiment? In this case, because the sample took 5 days of prep, the answer was decidedly yes.

Age old sub-question: is it worth it to put on pants for said trip back to lab? In this case, because I am lazy, the answer was decidedly no.

So I hop in the car and head back to work. As I roll up to my building (a parking space even!), my stomach drops. The department has been hosting an evening seminar series on Wednesday nights which, if my calculations were correct, would currently be in the coffee and cookies phase in the lobby directly outside my lab. What better way to say I don't give a sh*t about this department then to walk through the seminar crowd in my pajamas? Awesome.

So I take the back stairs into the building and sneak into lab via 6 other labs. I remove my (possibly overdigested) samples from the incubator and sneak back out the way I came.

Now this tragedy of missed sleep and embarrassing pajamas could have all been avoided if I could just remember to finish my freakin' experiments. But it never fails. Whenever I have a long incubation and think I'll just take that out last thing before I leave, I always always forget.

I need some sort of, I don't know, timer or something. Oh wait, I have one of those. Clearly I need something else. Like a functional brain, or adequate amounts of sleep, but I'm not sure that working mothers can legally acquire either of those things.

Fine. I'll settle for an appropriately used post-it notepad and a total lack of faith in my ability to remember anything at all.

Officially a...

I used to read this now defunct blog called Officially A Mom. It's too bad that it's gone because it was pretty d*mn funny, but it has been dead for awhile.

Recently the phrase "officially a mom" popped into my head... Why? Because with Husband out of town, I was forced to drop a deuce with the Bean in my lap. I am officially a mom, I thought. But then, I've thought that before.

-Realized I hadn't plucked my eyebrows in 6 weeks: Officially a mom
-Breastfed in a gas station parking lot: Officially a mom
-Saw spit up on my shirt as I was leaving the house but said eh, f*ck it: Officially a mom
-Baby spit up in my mouth (it's a long story): Officially a mom
-Had to stop in the middle of doin' it because the baby was crying: Officially a mom
-Realized I was the lady in the grocery store with the crying kid: Officially a mom
-Frequently use the phrase "BM": Officially a mom

When did you know you were Officially A (insert stereotype here)?

TTFN*

Off to Academic Conference, so probably won't be posting all week.

I'm really sad about leaving Bean for 6 days. Tonight I got all sentimental when I went to pick up her shoes. It was totally a Made For TV Movie moment where I sat there pondering the size of her shoes and how quickly she's growing. Then I snuck into her room to watch her sleep. I am so corny. I would totally make fun of myself if I weren't so bummed.

*Ta-ta for now

New favorite game

The Bean's new favorite game is called "Put X in Mama's mouth", where X is any item that she can pick up. This game is good for a LOT of giggles.

Sleep, at last

Bean has finally gone back to a more normal sleep routine (knock on wood). Thank god, yo. I was so tired, it was getting ridiculous. But last night I had what might have been considered pre-baby sleep. 7.5 uninterupted hours. The only difference was that it started at 9:00 and ended at 4:30. But hey, I slept. And it was gooood.

Actually I slept so hard that Bean was crying out by the time I woke and heard her. Normally I sleep lightly enough that I can hear her starting to make little sad calls for me long before she cries. But I was deep in a dream (about swimming) and woke to the sounds of a sad/mad Bean. I rushed to her crib and picked her up immediately. It was only when I got there that I was awake enough to realize "Oh crap, I gotta pee."

Dilema: Put her back down in the crib and let her cry (waking Husband, who is sick) long enough for me to go to the bathroom, OR hang onto her and go to the bathroom with my hungry baby sucking on my shirt...

I chose the latter.