work it girl, 12 weeks, 6 days

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about work. About work and babies and my career and babies and childcare and, also, babies. I’ve been looking back at my self-assured-but-actually-totally-naïve self who ranted on just months ago about Sheryl Sandberg and leaning in and leaning back and can’t I just sit up straight?

I’m currently doing work that I love, in a two-year fellowship that wraps up this summer. This summer, the summer that I am, finally, so much later than I expected to be, pregnant. The summer where I have to contemplate things like maternity-bathing-suit and no mojitos. The summer that I have spent, pregnant, hiding my SeaBands, and interviewing for new jobs.

Last week, I got two job offers. And in my decision-making, there was something new I contemplated – What will this job mean for an infant? How will my commute affect the additional costs of childcare? What kind of career do I want? *pulls out hair* WHAT KIND OF LIFE WILL I LEAD!

It all felt, quite frankly, really, terrifyingly, adult.

on the up and up

Things are looking up. Not only am I now caught up on both Girls and the Bachelor (yeah, I’m a sophisticated lawyer who watches the Bachelor, what of it?) is Congress making moves toward immigration reform and gun control, but check this out: the smart, witty, feminist ladies over at A Practical Wedding/Reclaiming Wife (because “reclaiming marriage” just sounds homophobic), have kindly posted one of my sassy musings ramblings on trying to conceive. 

And, notwithstanding the morbidity of my last posts (really, I’m okay guys, no need to remove the sharp objects), I’m ready for another go at all of this. I still need the green light from the reproductive endocrinologist next week, but here’s hoping that lucky-number-round-three of Clomid is right around the corner. Honestly, I have never been so physically and emotionally ready for hot flashes and, you know, being kind of a bitch (nostalgia is, apparently, a very distorting force).

Hope you’ll join me for the next installment of this wild ride[1].

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[1] Seriously though, how effing deep is Clueless? So deep, you guys. Cher’s use of metaphor? Boy, getting off the freeway makes you realize how important love is. Mind blowing.