The 168-Hour Work Week

A good friend of mine posed this (well-intentioned) question to me as we stopped for coffee en route to the dog beach Monday morning: "Why can't you do X, Y and Z with all your spare time? I mean, what do you do all day anyway, besides play with your kid?"

About a million responses came to mind...some involving bodily harm, I'll admit. But almost immediately, my immense sleep deprivation seized hold of me and calmed the sea of rage, returning me to my standard state of complete lassitude, which is Life With No Sleep.

Hmmm. Fair enough. I can see why being a stay-at-home mom is often viewed this way.

So I determined to keep a log of One Day in the Life. But then I got acute food poisoning early the next morning and spent all day Tuesday in the hospital. And then I spent all day Wednesday jumping back into my usual routine, and was so busy running from Eggleston Park with the LDS playgroup to a court hearing during Ayize's naptime to a long, large playdate involving Noah's Playground for Everyone, Lighthouse Beach, sand-shoveling, kite-flying, and picnicking that I had organized, so I forgot to keep track of my day.

So Thursday it is.

Let me preface this One Day in the Life with a small disclaimer. In the so-called Mommy Wars (which I suspect are mostly a myth invented by men), I take no sides. Yes, I stay at home now, but I didn't before, and I won't be able to forever. I am human, flexible, fluid. Circumstances fluctuate with time, and therefore I, like many other mothers I know, work when we work and "don't work" when we're "not working" and understand the benefits and difficulties of both options.

I've been fortunate enough to view this debate from both sides of the glass -- or all three, as the case may be -- and I empathize with all parties.

There was life as a working mom. Leaving Ayize behind was difficult, and I missed being with him, particularly because he was so young then and I felt an urgency about the speed with which I knew he would grow. I hated missing a single minute. At the same time, hard as my job could get, it offered some small respite, some downtime from the nonstop needs of a newborn, which I solely shouldered as a single mama. But after fifteen minutes without him, I wanted nothing more than to have him back in my arms.

There was life as a stay-at-home mom, which is a misnomer as far as I'm concerned, because the last thing we ever do is stay at home. My parents' house is pretty pristine and I'm sure they would like to keep it that way, but Ayize is not usually down with this game plan, so...rain, shine or snow, from dawn until dusk (with the exceptions of naptime and bedtime), we are tooling around town.

And then there was "the third side", or life as a working mom WITH my son along for the ride. That was truly hectic, and in some ways, the worst of both worlds. I was lucky to have him at work with me, true, but trying to answer phones, schedule appointments, get prescription refills authorized and filled, clean exam rooms, take phone messages, weigh patients, retrieve pets for sending home from the kennels, and get people in exam rooms, all while wearing, carrying, or rocking my infant son, was even more exhausting than doing all those things without the stress and pressure of a frequently-inconsolable young baby. I managed somehow, mostly by pushing the stroller back and forth with my foot to quiet him when he was fussy, and with the help of a fantastic boss who would let me use available exam rooms as needed for breastfeeding, diaper changes, etc. throughout my shifts, but it was excruciating to say the least. Though it solved my problem of missing him while I was at work! But it hardly seemed like the ideal situation.

So...life as a stay-at-home mom is where I'm at now, and can hopefully stay, at least til the money runs out. I would love to say that I spend all day playing with Ayize, and to the best of my abilities, I try to make that fantasy reality. However, the minute I'm done eating my bon bons and having my toenails painted (i.e., the minute my human alarm clock wakes me by poking my eyeballs with some bizarre brand of scientific curiosity, and my DREAMS of eating chocolate and engaging in self-indulgence abruptly end), my day begins. 12 hours on (minimum), with potential for a small break in the middle of the day if I play my cards right.....

But I know how lucky I have it. I have the option to stay at home at all -- something many married moms, and almost no single moms not receiving child support, do. (Of course, doing so means saying goodbye to all those years of working my behind off for that dream round-the-world trip, but if Ayize is the trade-off, shoot, I'll take it!). I only have one child, so I still enjoy relative peace and quiet while my singleton snoozes. And speaking of sleep, I have been blessed with a baby who loves to be abed, a solid two-hour nap every afternoon, plus eleven relatively-unbroken hours (the exceptions being teething and illness) overnight. I know things could be way crazier, and I'm thankful every single day for his easygoing nature.

Still, there's no getting around the fact that he is an extremely active little man! He can run circles around me, even though I have always been the most hyper, energized human being I know. Life as a single, stay-at-home mom to Ayize is somewhat similar to working a 168-hour workweek where 84 of the hours are hands-on, non-stop, go go go, and the remaining 84 are "on call". There is no leave, paid or unpaid, and sick days are forbidden. And as a single mama, there are no co-workers to split the burden with. But it's good, clean, honest, hard work that pays in dividends, even if it doesn't pay the bills.

So...Thursday, May 21, 2009.

One Day in the Life, or, "What Do You Do All Day Besides Play With Your Baby?"

12:50 a.m.

Climb into bed utterly exhausted. Insomnia strikes. Arrrrrh! Insomnia, and that weird restless-leg feeling. NPR is playing in the background and despite the volume being almost zero, it seems really freaking loud. Which is annoying me. MUST...SLEEP...... Some pounding in my temples too, that won't subside, no matter how I turn my head on the pillow. Residual dehydration from the whole food poisoning thang?? Sigh.

2:14 a.m.

Last clock check, must have fallen asleep shortly after. Finally! Aaaah...

4:30 a.m.

Ayize wakes me up by crying in his sleep, which suddenly changes to weird choking sounds, and then sleep-laughing. (These last four incisors are proving to be real bitches!) So now he's totally back to sleep, and I'm totally awake again. I remember how much water he drank before bed...a ton! Diaper check, ten pounds of pee seem to have gathered in there. Diaper change. He continues snoozing. I work on falling back asleep.

6:50 a.m.

Wakey wakies! He uses the "head-butt Mama and giggle" method to get me crackin. I feel kind of like crying -- yeah, I am THAT tired -- and now my head hurts too, right over my left eye, where he wonked me one.

7 - 9 a.m.

Breakfast for Ayize: yoBaby! yogurt with iron, mixed with Earth's Best maple brown sugar oatmeal. Breakfast for Weeman: half a can of Merrick's Turducken. Breakfast for me: ha! You are joking, right??

Bath for Ayize, and while I run the water, he hops on his Mickey airplane WHILE holding his Barney bus (both were gifts -- ack, commercialization of kids at its finest!), pushes himself to the opened front door, does the splits with one ankle resting on each airplane wing, and kicks back to nosily watch the neighborhood go about its morning.

A quick bath for him and then I get ambitious (always a bad idea) and take a stab at washing my own hair while Ayize races around the bathroom, trying to play in the toilet ("No, honey, I just gave you a bath!"), trying to grab the toilet brush because he seems to think it's a jolly broom just waiting to sweep, trying to flush the toilet repeatedly, and almost flooding it (do you notice a theme here?). Also, trying to mess with me while I wash my hair. I think I can stave him off. I think wrong...because...

9:10 a.m.

I am kneeling beside the bathtub in just my underwear, head upside-down, washing my hair as fast as is humanly possible due to the plethora of toilet antics raging all around me. Ayize starts to giggle mischievously. Oh God, no, what now? Before I can react to check on him, he climbs up so that his feet are standing on the backs of my ankles (remember, I'm kneeling), and starts slapping my shoulders and back. Hard. I try to shift my weight slightly to move him, and he topples, but rights himself by grabbing the strings of my thong underwear, thereby giving me the World's Worst Wedgie Ever. Yeowch! Can it really be just 9 o'clock?? I give myself a quick pep talk: two hours down, a mere twelve more to go...

9:30 a.m.

Roll out the bike. Ayize is very cheerful to see it come out and starts chattering madly and trying to put his hands in the spokes of the tires (he fancies himself to be quite the fix-it man ever since he watched the guys at the Pony Shop do their thang on our bike).

I rescue his fingers from being chopped off in the nick of time, get him strapped into his seat (though he always insists on securing the lap bar himself, with much pride), helmet fastened snugly on, and off we go to Independence Park, the prince waving benevolently at all the passing commoners (i.e squirrels and robins). We arrive in six minutes flat; I hustled because we were late. I am sorry to see that I have been waaay underestimating my current fitness level. Pant, pant, pant. Perhaps it's a little soon after my tachycardia episode Tuesday to be biking this crazy?? Hmm...points to ponder!

9:36 - 9:45 a.m.

We walk around the corner and meet up with Talya, Kai and Kayla. Next we hit up Starbucks for some fortification. We're placing our order with the barista when Talya and I hear the sound of porcelain on porcelain and turn just in time to see Ayize cracking some coffee mugs together. Next he sends sandwiches in the open-faced cold case nose-diving towards the ground, and as I run behind, picking them up, he is already off to lay siege upon the Ethos water bottles, all lined up like little soldiers just waiting to be toppled. It's a relief to grab my medium salted caramel hot chocolate, no salt (apparently, there's a nationwide shortage), extra caramel, extra whip, and beat a fast retreat (I can't be certain, but I think I might have heard the sound of applause as the door closed behind us).

9:45 a.m. - 12:15 p.m.

Playtime at Independence Park! Ayize does a little Gay Paris number for the enjoyment of his audience; climbs rolling X's and O's (harder than it looks, trust me!); sits down for a Head-of-State meeting with Queen Kayla, and finally, charges off roaring towards a construction truck, wielding a very large stick as he does so for added emphasis. In between, he manages to eat a lot more food. Several big bites from my Starbucks sammy -- mozzarella, roasted tomato and pesto on a ciabatta bun -- yum! Plus, his entire banana (bites taken between bouts of play). Not to mention the little Snack Trap exchange he and Kayla engage in, whereby she snarfed down his cheddar puffs while he made short work of her frosted Cheerios. I suppose one craved salty and the other sweet and it took a trade to set things right.

Some friends leave the park, and Ayize pauses in his play with an absconded recycling truck (damn the moms who bring this cool-ass stuff to the park that give my son major Toy Envy and are leading him to a life of crime!) to send them off with his best Princess Diana wave.

12:20 p.m.

Bike back home. Fast and frantic. But despite my best efforts, Ayize falls asleep a few blocks from home. I do everything humanly possible to move him from the Co-Pilot to his bed without disturbance, but the minute his body touches the sheets, he wakes up crying. I attempt to soothe him for a few minutes, but give up, exhausted and frustrated.

12:30 - 12:50 p.m.

I try to check email but am too absorbed listening to the baby monitor, agonized. Every time the wailing dwindles to sniffles, dwindles to silence, I feel a weight lift off my chest, but then it starts up again. And again. And again. I normally never let him cry, but then again, he normally never cries. And I am just so, so, so busted.

12:55 p.m.

Five full minutes have passed and I hear nothing but even breathing. Finally! I am soooo hungry...but soooo tired. Food? Or sleep? The choice seems obvious; I head upstairs and creep under the covers of the bed in the guest room, across the hall from Ayize. Another missed meal. Darn!

1:20 p.m.

Still awake. Insomnia rears its ugly head again. I try to focus on my own breathing, and the sounds of the birds outside the window, and the breeze against the...z-z-z........

2:40 p.m.

I wake with a start. Ayize is sobbing again and persistent, staccato cries punctuate the space between our rooms. This is so weird! My boy never cries!! I cannot wait for these damn teeth to finish tormenting him. I mean, c'mon, already! I throw off the covers and dash to his door, throwing it open. He is standing unsteadily on top of the mattress with his index fingers in his mouth, pushing down on the spaces where the nubs are primed to emerge through the gumline. When he sees me, his tear-streaked face lights up, and he lifts his arms and begins to do the most half-assed clap-clap-clap. This boy makes and breaks my heart anew every minute. It is so endearing and so pathetic all at the same time. I tell him, "Clap for Ayize; clap for my brave boy!" and he claps a few more times, then stops clapping and stretches out his arms as I approach. I scoop him into me and hug hug hug him. I love this little man!

3:00 p.m.

I fry up some potatoes and add chopped, fresh tomatoes for his lunch while he gulps down a bottle of water greedily (it's hot out). Then I change his Bum Genius and pack the diaper bag, adding a few plum toys in hopes of keeping him sufficiently entertained during our coffee date.

3:15 p.m.

Time to head out the door. My mom is ready, I'm ready, and Ayize just needs his shoes. He has taken to making "trades" lately, which means he has taken his sandals from the bin where I keep all his shoes and carried them somewhere in the house, seen something else he felt like playing with, and made a "trade" by depositing the shoes there and picking up the new item, which will then end up in a new location, i.e. the spot where the next toy in line lies waiting to be discovered. I follow the logical trail. He has his Little People truck in hand, which I was storing in his "garage" of toy cars in a Pampers box in the living room, which means the sandals should be in said box. Et...voila! I find them and return to the kitchen triumphantly (unconvering a trail of "trades" is easiest when the trades have just begun, so I am lucky today. It can take waaay longer when he is into the fourth or fifth trade) to find Ayize is...soaked! He has upended the sippy cup to the one single angle that allows water to flow freely out and is basking in the mini-waterfall he has created. His shirt is not only soaked but spotted with globs of dried green pesto and red tomato pieces from the Starbucks sandwich he ate earlier, not to mention hundreds of tiny yellow and white crumbs from the cheddar puffs and Cheerios. And then I think of all the sand in his socks and pants from the sandbox at the park. I briefly ponder the possibility of racing upstairs for a change of clothes, but then think better of it. Why fight the futility of it all? In a few minutes, he'll be sitting at the cafe, feeding himself a bowl of potatoes and tomatoes, adding fresh colors to the palette of paints already adorning him. I sigh, pat him dry with a paper towel, and off we go.

3:30 - 5 p.m.

Mom and I arrive at the Brothers K cafe on Hinman and Main to meet my girlfriend M, her new baby girl, and her mother-in-law, visiting from Austria. We have a wonderful time! Ayize is amazingly self-contained. He comes inside with me and examines all the glass cases and notices pinned on the bulletin board while I order my drink. He also cruises around a few of the nearby tables, chatting with the patrons in a fast-paced tongue twister of, "Obba-dah-bobba-dah-obbadob". We head out to our table on the terrace and he sits in my lap and neatly feeds himself, one forkful after another, until his hash is 95% done. This takes a good half-hour, which frees me up to sip my hot cocoa, ogle the baby, and catch up with M while our mothers chat in German. Once Ayize is finished, he spends about ten minutes pointing to the gynormous American Bulldog tied not far from us, and chattering to it from the safe haven of my lap. Then he climbs down and quietly amuses himself with his Japanese train book (complete with sound effects from many of the big subway stations of Tokyo -- too cool!) and his fake Razr for about forty minutes more. He also works periodically on pieces of the cookie my mom got him. Every once in a while, a car drives by blasting WGCI, and he pauses in his eating or pointing or playing, to do a boody dance in time to the music. And each time, he appears completely perplexed as to why we're all laughing so hard. Woo hoo! I am in heaven, and very proud of him for his awesome behavor all afternoon. Finally, he regains his usual vim and decides to make a dash for the busy street (that's more like the boy I know!), but his timing coincides perfectly with Baby Girl, who is also awake and ready to head home. We get ourselves together, bus our table, and take off down the street chatting, until we reach my car and go our separate ways.

5 p.m.

Drive home, and Ayize behaves beautifully all the way. He plays with his "laptop" -- an electronic musical toy that was once strapped to his outgrown Exersaucer, which he has recently rediscovered and likes to carry around the house. Usually he whips it out when I'm busy on my MacBook, at which point he will begin to stab at the buttons, and as each song blares out and the colored lights flash, he will scowl at me from below furrowed brow, as if to say, "Fine if you're gonna ignore me. I have my own computer work to do." But today, despite the hot car and slow-paced traffic, he is all toothy smiles.

5:15 - 5:30 p.m.

Lug the ancient double-Graco stroller upstairs from the basement. That thing must weigh 50 pounds! Liz found it on Craigslist for 5? 10?? dollars, ages ago, and though it appears to have been assembled circa 1884, it still rolls pretty fabulous! Though it's so filthy that it kicks up a cloud of dust comparable to Pigpen's on Peanuts. Ayize happily hops in the back, Weeman climbs up front, and I strap on the Rollerblades. Off we go, to Porter Park. I am exhausted but find a second (third? fourth??) wind somehow, and we make it there double-time.

5:30 - 6:45 p.m.

Playtime at Porter Park! Always fun to come here and hang out, as it was my childhood park, and though it has changed immensely over the years, it's still cool to be bringing my own kid here a couple decades later. Ayize gets a little routine going on the ship. Weeman hangs out on the sidelines, playing it cool. He lurks by the big bushes and when people occasionally walk by with their dogs, unsuspectingly enjoying the summery eve, he delights in crashing through the brush, barking madly and threatening total hostile intent, scaring the bejesus out of everyone. Otherwise, he acts mildly bored and laps from his cup of water lazily.

A lady I know in a really roundabout way arrives at the park with her husband and her son. She completely loses her gourd when a bumblebee flies by her. No joke. Of all the events of the day, this is perhaps the most exciting for Ayize! I really wish I have the video rolling at this point, because when she lets loose with THEE most piercing shriek mid-sentence, Ayize drops his broken shovel piece and scrambles to his feet with glee and anticipation. I guess he thinks she's emitting a happy shout, and he's excited to see what jolly event she is heralding. Next, she begins wildly waving her arms around and high-stepping about in tiny circles (my description does not do the sight justice); Ayize is mesmerized.

I'm sorry, this is coming off like mockery and I'm not trying to make it sound that way; she truly is terrified, and it's contagious, because both her hubby and son become visibly freaked out like dominoes falling in the immediate aftermath. I have to compose myself and explain that big, fat, furry bees that buzz around lazily like that are bumblebees and hardly ever sting. They seem shocked by this information.

At that moment, a car drives by and with a loud bang, a pipe drops from the center of the car and begins dragging across the pavement, sparks flying. The guy pulls over, a businessman-type, in suit and tie, and kneels to inspect his car. "I think it's your catalytic converter," I holler, and he nods a thank you, gives me a thumbs up, gets back in his junky old clunker, and drives off slowly.

The husband turns to me. "What are you, some kind of Mother Theresa?"

Huh? Not sure what that's supposed to mean. I feel more like a Mother No-Sleepa, but anyway.

"I know jack about cars, actually," I confess, "but I've had my share of trouble with catalytics and it usually looks like that."

"Wow," he says, "I don't know anything about cars, but..." and he pauses to give me a knowing look, "you should be careful because everyone is saying there are people cruising around our neighborhood, trying all the car doors, and when the doors are unlocked, they take all your parking change! That car was really trashy, this seems a bit shady."

Okay, the park experience is turning a little too bizarre for me, and I decide it's high time for us to leave ourselves. But just as I'm strapping on my rollerblades, a sweet old grandma visiting from Iowa comes to restore my faith in the human condition. She asks if her grandkids can pet Weeman, who is proudly perched in his place of honor, and while they lovey him up, she tells me she is in town to help her daughter (who is dealing with some sort of medical thing) by babysitting. We actually end up talking for fifteen minutes or so about all kinds of random mommy/grandmommy things. And I remember again why 99.9% of people are perfectly lovely.

Did I mention that Ayize stressed me out terribly during our park trip, though, by hanging from the bar at the mouth of the tube slide? Several times, he almost fell forward, which would have resulted in a combination face-plant/face-slide, and my heart beat in my mouth each time he attempted slide suicide. So perhaps I should say 99.9% of people are, OR ARE DESTINED TO GROW INTO, perfectly lovely people one far-off, grown-up day!

6:50 - 7 p.m.

Said goodbye to Iowa Grandma and rollerblade home. As I approach my street, I see my neighbors on the corner outside their house, laughing and smiling at our approach. I stop to say hey and they invite us over to play. Woo hoo! They've rented one of those gynormous bouncey houses for their son's birthday and invited his whole Saint A's class over, so there's a lot happening, and Ayize is eager to get in on the action.

We ditch the stroller and the blades in my driveway and Weeman heads inside to beg snackies off Grandma while Ayize and I head out in pursuit of yet more fun.

7 - 8:30 p.m.

Ayize plays merrily for an hour and a half straight. I am faltering but he appears just as full of beans as he's been all day. He bounces around like crazy, then hops out to throw the tennis ball a bunch of times for Monty (another neighbor's lab), then clambers back up and into the bouncy house for another round. Next, he wanders into the backyard where the party is still going, and plays on their swing set, plays with the two foofy dogs hanging out there, attempts to play basketball with the big kids, almost gets run over, gets right back in the mix, gets hauled away by me, gets into a Coke Zero and even manages a sip before I can grapple it away, and finally, climbs onto their big wooden deck where a bunch of Hot Wheels are set up with a wicked, looping track, and begins to play with cars, complete with sound effects.

8:30 - 9 p.m.

I finally manage to drag him away from the birthday party and we walk home hand in hand.Grandma and Grandpa call out hellos from the backyard, so we go out to investigate and find them dining al fresco, in the gazebo, under the string of paper lanterns. Ayize cannot resist their invitation to join, and climbs up on a folding stool betwen them, where he happily sits and eats his pasta dinner, then munches on cucumbers, tomatoes, rice with umeboshi (Japanese pickled plums!), and a full Del Monte Natural fruit cup of pear chunks swimming in a pomegranate-blueberry-acai syrup. Holy frijoles, that boy can put it away!

9 - 9:30 p.m.

Bid Grandma and Grandpa good night, climb the stairs exhausted (me, not him!), and hunt down a pair of socks, a clean onesie, and a pair of pajamas. As he has taken to hiding clothes everywhere lately, this is not as easy as it sounds. Have I mentioned that I found six different socks sitting in the old, unused, Disposall that lives in the kitchen island?? I didn't even know such a thing existed until Ayize began using it as one of his many stash caches. At any rate, I get him undressed, wiped down (sticky berry and cucumber juices everywhere!), put into clean clothes, jammied up, and ready for bed. He's running on fumes by this point but still has enough gas in the tank to fight sleep off for almost twenty minutes. Each time I think he's completely down, I get up and start to sneak out of the room, and he pops up in bed like a little jack-in-the-box and giggles and starts crawling towards me in the dark. At one point, he shoves his smiling mug right in my face and giggles, then says, "Ma-ma" in the sweetest, softest little boy voice imaginable, reaches out one hand to touch my arm, and then slumps over asleep. This has been his bedtime MO during these awful teething troubles of late, but I must say, I never tire of seeing this scene played out night after night. It just totally touches my heart and makes me want to hug and squeeze and kissy kissy him til he erupts in mirth...but then I would wake him up. And frankly, I am so damn exhausted by our long day that if he stays up any longer, and if my dinner is delayed by even just one more minute, I might pass out. So I creep out of the room, cursing the damn squeak in the door that hollers each time I open it to that point where it's JUST wide enough for me to sque-e-e-eze through (as I always do), and I gently pull the door shut behind me and gently, ever so gently, ease the doorknob back til I hear it click into place. I listen one more moment at the door -- aaaaah, sweet sleeping silence. And then I shuffle downstairs, completely worn out, to eat my frozen dinner while I watch Rachel Maddox like some sort of dull zombie.

* * * * *

So I hope this has sufficiently answered my friend's question! Now hit me up in a day or two, when I've really conquered this food poisoning and subsequent hospitalization from a day ago. I'll be all rested up and ready to set sail full speed ahead. And then I'll be able to talk to him about a NORMAL Day in the Life. None of this low-key business, like today was...!