Thinking Out Loud, Part II

A Continuation of This ...

The problem was ... it is all I did. Ever. I worked. I thought about work. I hung out with people from work. I loved what I did, I didn't have any kids, my house would be messy whether or not I was actaully home to clean it, I didn't exactly have any hobbies and Himself's schedule was never predictable.

It wasn't so much that work was an idyllic life - far from it. It was more that work was where I felt the most comfortable - in my element. I was good at what I did. Adulthood did nothing to diminish my love of learning - whether it was about motorcycles, construction or new technologies. Going to work was like going to school - a place to learn, be challenged, meet friends and think.

Then came the pregnancy, numerous upheavals in our already topsy-turvy life and an almost spur-of-the-moment move to The Frontier. No worries. I had a plethora of interviews with good, solid, name-brand firms. None of the jobs would be in real estate, but the writing was on the wall - the economy wasn't going to sustain a huge real estate employment base for much longer, and I was up for a new adventure.

After a weekend of nerves and prayer and reflection, I took a job with "The Factory" a small tech start up, which weeks later rolled into another start-up - the kind of things that The Frontier is known for. I broke my previously iron-clad rule of working for only medium-sized and larger companies. Himself found a stellar job with even better benefits (no matter that he was bored stiff). I didn't actually like my job, but it didn't worry me. It typically took me six months to acclimate to a new situation and I was seven months pregnant.

Woodstock came during my favorite month, at the beginning of my previously favorite season (it's hard to love fall in The Frontier when you know winter is coming right behind it). The first few days of her life were perfect - light and sunny, I was surrounded by family. And then everyone left me. Himself went to work. The Family went home. I remember the sunlight streaming through the Hobbit Hole's windows ... longing for Woodstock to get big enough I could take her outside. At the ripe old age of 2.5 weeks she made her first trek to the grocery store. At 3 weeks, she made her first road trip. Never one able to just sit at home, I took advantage of Woodstock's perenially sunny, even-tempered nature and made it a goal to set out on an adventure each day, even if it was just around the block in my pajamas with her in the Snugli.

Between outings, feedings, diaper changes and middle-of-the-night 'naps,' I worked. Part-time, it was supposed to be. Part-time, the pay was. Part-time work, it wasn't. I was expected to be available at the drop of a hat, take calls, answer e-mails - feel guilty if I wasn't accessible. Heaven forbid I take a nap. Sleep depravation and desparation to keep a job I'd only held for weeks drove me to the brink of insanity.

I sobbed the day I dropped Woodstock off at Miss Jan's for the first time. The leaves crunched under my feet, the air blowing down the canyon nipped at my nose, my heart felt heavy and my eyelids felt like they'd never open if I let them droop closed in slumber.

I cried when I sat in my car and listened to Radio West (in the mornings) and Fresh Air (in the afternoons) while I pumped. I'm not quite sure if it was for leaving Woodstock at 7 weeks old or the hormones or because I was so utterly miserable every day. Maybe it was because The Wicked Witch chose those times to try and track me down, leaving messages that told me I needed to be "more accessible," as if I was out joyriding in the company car.

And the snow began to fall...
To Be Continued ...