Mona, my Firstborn Sister, is proud to be the oldest. She’s organized, driven, put-together, and responsible. She’s always trying to convince me that I am really a firstborn prototype, despite my birth order, because according to her research the gap between Janie and me caused the family birth order to repeat itself and turn me into her firstborn twin. I listen attentively but know deep down that I will never be that organized or responsible. Just ask Self-Employed Stefanie or Sassy Shelly about my study habits.
Janie, my other right-brained sister, is also known as my Blonde Sister (Mona went blonde after she turned forty, so that doesn’t count). My girls have fondly nicknamed one of their Barbie dolls “Aunt Janie” and I often hear them say that Aunt Janie is in the bathtub, or Aunt Janie doesn’t have any clothes on again. Don’t let the blonde jokes and Barbie image fool you—Blonde Sister is one of the most sensible, put-together women you’ll ever meet in your life. She and Firstborn Sister keep their homes as if they just came off the cover of a magazine, and they’re always showered on the weekends (unlike me) and have perfect hair and makeup, increasing the hygiene standards for the rest of us.
Not surprisingly, my right-brained sisters told me to follow the advice of my doctor and take as many drugs as I needed for childbirth. I can still hear Firstborn Sister saying, “Natural childbirth is for the birds. Don’t be a martyr.” Blonde Sister fully agreed, “You’re crazy if you don’t take the drugs.”
My left-brained sisters, Marybeth and Amy, rave about natural childbirth. Marybeth, my Artist Sister, has a heart that is bigger than Texas and a sense of empathy that is unmatched. She’s the closest thing to a flower child in our conservative family, and she and Encouraging Amy nursed their children longer than my father will ever know (at least longer than I’m allowed to write about). Encouraging Amy is always the first one I call when I’m in a crisis. Most importantly, she’s a woman of prayer, which is why I’ve got her on speed dial, even though I know I’m going to hear all about her latest nutrition kick or home remedy. She and Artist Sister tried hard to persuade me to have a natural delivery with no drugs—“You don’t want all those drugs to affect the baby, after all.”
Of course I was torn. Before going to that last checkup, I hadn’t decided yet if I would follow the advice of the right-brained or left-brained sisters. It was a toss-up, and I figured I’d just play it by ear. Besides, I had a couple of weeks before delivery. Right now, I was more worried about stopping in my office first to get ready for a deposition later that day. I can still picture that ugly gray suit I was wearing. By my third pregnancy, the pants would rip and the front would be stained from breast milk. When you are in your last weeks of pregnancy and you feel like you’re the size of a house, anything that fits will do. Who wants to spend more money on maternity clothes when you’re ready to pop?
I decided to walk, a fifteen-minute stroll from my office, to what I thought would be an uneventful checkup. If I was lucky, maybe I would be dilated. All of my sisters agreed I shouldn’t get too anxious with my first delivery, so I was playing it cool. To my surprise, after a quick exam, the doctor immediately recommended that I proceed with a C-section. Nick’s position had shifted, and labor could be high risk. I went back to the office and started crying. I wasn’t ready to deliver a baby. I hadn’t even cleaned off my desk. So I proceeded to do what most expectant mothers do twenty-four hours before delivering their firstborn: I put on my best poker face and went to take a deposition.
I was in the midst of contentious litigation. Opposing counsel, a Jerk Lawyer, looked at me straight in the eye prior to the deposition and said, “When’s the baby coming?”
I lied, “In a couple of weeks.” I couldn’t let him see that I was weak and vulnerable. I could cry later. Now, it was time for Lady Lawyer to take care of business. For Lady Lawyer, there are certain advantages to being pregnant. I find that most witnesses are eager to spill their guts and make damaging admissions to a pregnant woman. I appear sweet, innocent, and harmless. All I want is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. A pregnant lawyer is a sheep among wolves. My motto? “Be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves.”1
By the time I finished the deposition, I had regained my composure and hadn’t let my guard down. I couldn’t give Jerk Lawyer that satisfaction. But I was still unprepared. And scared. Even though I had the advice of my older sisters, I wished I hadn’t skipped all those birthing classes. I had gotten comfortable wearing my lawyer cape. Would a mommy cape even fit?
Lessons from Mary
When I look at the birth of Christ I am comforted by Mary’s lack of planning. It doesn’t appear she attended birthing classes or decorated a nursery. She didn’t have a birthing coach, and she was far away from family and friends, traveling to Bethlehem. The amazing thing is that God had prepared her.
I had read the story of Mary and Elizabeth since I was a child but only recently was struck by God’s complete brilliance in using the birth of John the Baptist to prepare Mary for her own labor and delivery. When the angel Gabriel visited Mary and foretold the birth of Christ, Elizabeth—John the Baptist’s mother-to-be—was already six months pregnant. Mary went to visit Elizabeth and stayed with her three months.2 Six plus three is nine, so Mary must have stayed for John’s birth. Assuming she did, she would have watched and learned about labor and delivery firsthand from her older cousin Elizabeth. Like me, Mary had a relative to teach her the ropes. I’m not sure if Elizabeth was a left-brained or right-brained “sister,” but I know she had Mary’s best interest at heart. So Mary didn’t have to attend birthing classes or rent a video. How else would a young virgin in the middle of Bethlehem know how to give birth with an inexperienced husband in a stable?
I had grand visions of going through labor and delivery without fear. I would welcome the pain and have a quick and easy delivery where I would be in control, not the doctors. Okay, maybe deep down I knew I would take the drugs, but a scheduled C-section is not what I had in mind. Have I mentioned that I hate hospitals? I’ve represented too many doctors in litigation, usually when they got in trouble, and it’s not pretty. The Lawyer-Hater Client who almost assaulted me? You guessed it, a doctor. Now I was completely at a doctor’s mercy, going under the knife. Doug couldn’t watch.
Then Nick entered the world. Becoming a mother was the most exhilarating experience of my life. Nothing else even comes close. My mommy cape not only fit—it was warm and cozy, and quickly became my favorite. I had entered the special yet mysterious club of motherhood. Mary and I had a new bond.
Every Christmas, when I get out the familiar nativity scene, I stop for a moment and hold Mary in my hand. I wonder if childbirth was exhilarating for her, or whether she was too scared and unprepared to enjoy the moment. Was Joseph freaked out like Doug? I can’t wait to ask her someday what it was like to birth Jesus in a stable. Where did she get the swaddling clothes? Did she bring them on the journey, or did she borrow them from the inn? Did Jesus cry like most babies, or are the words to “Away In a Manger” really true? Crying or not, like most mothers, I’m sure she treasured every moment. Too bad she was so far from home. She couldn’t call her mother and say, “It’s a boy,” even though Gabriel had already spilled the beans. And the next few months had to be equally difficult, caring for a newborn while traveling around on a donkey.
Day-Care Drama
I love newborns. The best part about them? They don’t talk back. Those first few months, Nick screamed most of the time he wasn’t sleeping, but I didn’t mind. A screaming baby was a welcomed break in Lady Lawyer’s routine. Besides, he was my screaming baby, and I knew our uninterrupted time together would be short. I got an occasional call or two from the office, but for the most part I left my work behind for nearly sixteen weeks and focused completely on Nick. We were inseparable.
Leaving Nick to go back to work was like ripping my heart out. Everyone told me it would be hard. I can’t say I was surprised. It
just hurt more than anything I could remember. What were my options, anyway? I was five years into a successful legal career, had a baby, and found myself leaving him in the arms of a stranger. I cried a lot those first days. So much that sometimes I forgot to pray.
As an associate at the firm, I had little flexibility. Fortunately, Doug did. We decided that he would work at home in the afternoons while Nick napped, and we would hire someone to watch Nick in the mornings. It seemed like a good plan. How hard could it be to find someone to love and care for my precious newborn? After screening about fifty candidates over the phone and meeting about fifteen women in person, I selected a young but experienced nursing student, Sleepy Sally. (I didn’t realize she was sleepy until after I hired her.) When I first met her, she seemed smart, energetic, and had good references. She’d be with him for only about four or five hours a day. What could go wrong?
I took some comfort in the fact that my office was only five minutes from home. My first day back to work, I waited until lunch to call and check on Nick. There was no answer. I left a couple messages, thinking that Sally had possibly taken him outside. To satisfy my curiosity, I decided to drop home myself. Sally’s car was still there, so I walked in, looked around, but still saw no sign of Sally. I put on my mommy cape and flew straight to Nick’s room, relieved to see him lying in bed, sleeping. But where was Sally?
After searching the house several times I finally found her, sleeping in our attic. Devoted Mommy wanted to smack her, but I pulled myself together, woke her up, and asked her to leave. I was so hysterical I couldn’t breathe. After she left, I couldn’t stop shaking. Why didn’t I have a hidden camera? How could I be so stupid? Of course she was sleepy, she was working two jobs while trying to go to nursing school. What was I thinking? I would have to quit working. I could never trust anyone again. Doug came home to calm me down. I was too upset to fire her. Lady Lawyer is a master at firing other people’s employees, not her own. Especially not when it involves her children. I could go ballistic. So I made Doug do it.
Now it was back to the drawing board. I never prayed so hard in my life. Come to think of it, I prayed pretty hard before I hired Sleepy Sally, but something obviously went terribly wrong. Wasn’t God listening? Why didn’t He try to stop me? I dusted off the names of the candidates I had screened and previously rejected. I came across my notes on Big-Hearted Betty: “Old, experienced with babies, talks too much, a little crazy.” I decided to call her back. Big-Hearted Betty has a gift with babies. The first time she held Nick I knew she would care for him like her own grandson. I didn’t hire her right away because I thought she was too old, and I was concerned about her crooked knee. So I made her show me she could walk up and down our stairs while carrying Nick. Nick didn’t seem to mind about the crooked knee. He just wanted love and attention. It’s just like God to answer my prayers with the unexpected. I just didn’t think He would answer them with an elderly woman with a big heart (not to mention a big mouth) and a crooked knee.
Round Two
About a year and a half later I became pregnant with Anna. Had I been thinking with my head, I would have waited another year. After all, I would soon be up for partner, and having another child would likely delay my admission. Instead, I followed my heart. Making partner could wait. My biological clock was ticking.
Everything is easier the second time around, or so I thought. I had forgotten how sick I felt being pregnant. Plus I had Nick to take care of, and my law practice had become even busier and more demanding. Lady Lawyer was on the cusp of making partner, and the treadmill just kept getting faster and faster. I couldn’t stop now.
Anna arrived in the middle of the summer, two weeks late. I was miserable and hot, but it gave me much-needed time to finish my work and actually be prepared the second time around. No more scheduled C-sections for me. My left-brained sisters didn’t even have to twist my arm. I was going to have Anna the old-fashioned way. No one was going to cut me open again if I had a choice.
In the end, I took the epidural but avoided the knife. It was well worth the wait. When the doctor proclaimed, “It’s a girl,” I burst out crying and called my parents. Anna was their thirteenth grandchild. After a string of seven boys, they were more than ready for a little girl again. My father has never been the same. This is the same man who ruled with an iron fist, chased our boyfriends away, and gave his daughters the claw around our necks with his huge hands when we got out of line. His grandsons can’t even raise their voices or he scolds them for being wild and unruly. He is nothing but tender with my girls. Never mind that they chase the boys, jump on the furniture, scream in high-pitched voices, and have broken my mother’s favorite lamp five times. To my father, they are like gentle flowers that can do no wrong.
Anna was indeed my flower child. My living room looked like a funeral parlor after she was born, with all the bouquets from clients. Things at work seemed to be going quite swimmingly. I would check my email on a regular basis and enjoy Anna in between her naps. Clients called me at home on an as-needed basis. It would be difficult to return to work, but at least I had Big-Hearted Betty. I could forgo the dreaded day-care search and just focus on enjoying Nick and Anna. Anna was a great sleeper, and our household was soon in a smooth routine. We moved out of the city and into the suburbs. What could go wrong?
Big-Hearted Betty’s crooked knee had gotten worse, and surgery became inevitable. She decided to schedule surgery right after Anna’s birth so that she could have a full three months to recover and be ready to care for Anna and Nick by the time I headed back to work. It seemed like a perfect plan.
Just a few weeks after having Anna, I got a call from Big-Hearted Betty. She had been injured in a serious car accident and would take time to heal. She would be in no position to take care of a two-year-old and a newborn any time soon. The knee surgery would be rescheduled around other medical complications. We both cried. Big-Hearted Betty wanted nothing more than to take care of Anna and Nick; I wanted nothing more than to have my children cared for by a trustworthy, kind woman who would love them as her own. But we both knew I would have to move on. Back to the drawing board.
Most working mothers have been stuck without child care on short notice. It’s like having an uneasy feeling that aches every time you breathe. Some of my friends are lucky enough to have family nearby to cover the unexpected, but for those of us with no family in town, a backup plan is hard to come by.
Again, I screened close to fifty candidates and interviewed a dozen or so before finding Jill. Jill came to us with top-notch references and experience with several local families. She was organized and professional. She was also expensive. Doug and I didn’t know if we could afford her when we first met her, but we bit the bullet and hired her.
It was one of our better decisions. Jill took care of the kids until she and her husband adopted a child of their own, and she has been like family ever since. God knew I just couldn’t handle any more day-care drama.
The Third Time’s a Charm
The year after Anna was born, I made partner. It was as if a huge weight was lifted off our shoulders. Doug and I could breathe again. I don’t know why it meant so much to me, but it did. I knew that everyone had made a sacrifice for my career, especially Doug, and I was just glad to have the hurdle over.
Everyone, including Doug, was surprised when I became pregnant again. I had a healthy boy and girl, and a busy legal practice. Why complicate matters? It would be one thing if I stayed at home, but why would I want to continue working full time to barely keep my head above water caring for three children? I must be crazy.
I am crazy indeed. Crazy about my children. I’d have three more if I could, but in my heart I knew Abby would be my last. As soon as I got home from the hospital after Abby’s birth, Doug packed up my maternity clothes and sent them to the Salvation Army. Never mind that I had nothing that fit me for the next few months. I could take a hint. At leas
t he waited until she turned two to pack up her baby clothes and send them away. I cried my eyes out. I still haven’t forgiven him.
Nick had been early, and Anna had been late. Abby was just about right on time—a couple days early to be exact. The week prior to her birth I had client negotiations an hour away. I desperately wanted to complete the project before going on leave. Doug and I had an argument as to whether I would drive out of town so close to Abby’s birth, and we finally agreed that my law partner, Harvard Bill, would accompany me. I hadn’t told anyone that the doctor had told me at an appointment earlier that day that he would not give me forty-eight hours before I would go into labor. Sometimes, too much information is a bad thing. Especially when Lady Lawyer has work to do.
Abby was cooperative. She waited for me to return from negotiations and came the following weekend.
Who said anything about maternity leave? The nurses rolled their eyes when I took my BlackBerry into labor and started answering emails from the hospital. When Abby was three weeks old, my managing partner called to see if I wanted to meet with a potential new client. Lady Lawyer could barely fit into her pants (breathing would have to be put on hold, especially since Doug had discarded all of my maternity clothes), but I welcomed a night out of the house and quickly squeezed back into my lawyer cape.
Several weeks later, Lady Lawyer next hopped on an airplane … again … for another potential business venture. My breast pump barely made it through airport security, and one of my partners ignorantly offered to carry it for me. “What’s this, anyway?” he later asked. He gave me a blank stare when I told him he had been carrying a breast pump around the airport.
In less than twelve weeks, I was back in the office every day, sooner than I had planned. It was just easier to get things done from work instead of trying to do it all from home. I don’t know how Sassy Shelly or Self-Employed Stefanie (or for that matter any working mother) can work from home. It’s virtually impossible.
Chasing Superwoman Page 4