Drained

I still have no work.  I spent the better part of yesterday morning trying to psych myself up to go ask for more (read: any) work.  I told myself that it would be fine.  That I could handle whatever it was that was thrown at me.  I summoned the courage to walk into head partner's office and announce (insist!) that I be given billable work.  I was ready.  And then the phone rang.

 

It was our home line.  I answered the phone prepared for the usual mid-day update: the LM had had a nap, eatten a bit and they were going for a walk (or something similar).  What I heard instead was J on the verge of his sanity and the baby wailing.  J told me through a tear strained voice that the LM had refused to nap in the morning.  The LM had been crying for an hour straight, J couldn't get him to stop and did not know what to do.  I listened to my husband struggle with a screaming baby and I listened to my baby crying so hard that he had trouble catching his breath. 

I calmly asked J to tell me what had happened and what he had tried.  I calmly gave a few suggestions: try getting him outside, even into our small backyard, go for a walk, and the horror, try putting him in front of the tv.  I listened to my baby try and catch his breath through his screams.  I calmly asked if the LM had a temperature.  J said no.  I calmly told J that he was doing great, this wasn't a reflection of him, and I listened to my baby scream in the background.  I told J that he and the LM would be fine, and that I would check back in fifteen minutes.  I calmly hung up the phone, got up and closed my office door.

 

And then, for the first time since returning from my maternity leave, I closed the door, fell into a heap and cried.  Over the past four weeks, I have cried because I missed the LM, because I really wanted to be home with him, but this was different.  I cried because my baby was screaming and I could do nothing to make it better.  As much as I wanted to, I refrained from asking J if he had held the LM in just the right while singing to him.  Had he tried the mobile?  Had he called over the Monster to give the LM a kiss (a never fail to make the LM happy)?  I didn't run through my list.  I tried not to judge.  There was nothing I could do but sit down on my office floor and cry.  And that's what I did.  When I stood back up, I used the visine I keep at my desk to dry my eyes, and then I tried to remember what I had been doing before the call.  Oh right, I was trying to summon the courage to go ask for more work. 

 

I was not ready.  I was not ready to ask for work.  I was not ready to hear my baby screaming on the other end of the phone and not be able to do a thing to make it better.  I had used all of my energy remaining calm for J, and now I was done.  Work could wait for tomorrow.

The Fear

The Fear is real as a big-law associate.  It is a fear that constantly lurks at you from your calendar, lurks from the quiet phone at your desk, and most of all, lurks at you from the email in your iPhone.  The Fear is smallest on a Monday morning and grows with each day of the week, becoming its largest the day before you leave for a vacation planned months ago.  And now, as a new parent, it lurks everyday behind the pictures of the little man, ever threatening my few hours with him in the evening and on the weekends. 

 

The Fear is not that something will happen to the little man (but, oh do I have that fear too, but that is the subject for another time).  It is the Fear of being assigned to THAT CASE or THAT PARTNER.  I have had the Fear come to life several times in my big-law career.  It happened one evening in May:  I was at a social gathering at the Firm having a glass of wine on a Friday evening, when the bb buzzed.  I returned to my desk and awaited the call: "So I'm going to need some help this weekend."  And in a flash, my weekend was gone.  Instead of spending time with J, I spent my weekend searching down every possible nuance to some archane legal question because the big-mean, higher-up partner was displeased with a prior associate's "merely adequate" research.  Come Monday morning, I had a chart (there is always a chart), a four-inch indexed binder and summary of my research.  But that materialization of the Fear wasn't too bad.  It lasted only a weekend. 

 

One day in April, I received the call.  Senior Associate needed help with a bit of doc review.  We met in the firm library with the associate who was getting ready to leave the Firm.  Senior Associate told me, "This is just a bit of doc review.  Not a twelve hour a day, gig.  Oh, and maybe some help with stuff down the line."  Five months later, I had met my billables for the year, I hadn't had dinner at home with J in months and I had learned to sleep in my office (at another Senior Associate's suggestion).  The real low-point was when I growled (yes, actually growled) at a paralegal in the hallway and then chewed out the food delivery guy for bringing the wrong pasta.  It was not a nice, "hey, I ordered eggplant parm and you brought chicken parm."  It was a full forced blast of the poor delivery guy, and the manager.  Sigh.  Not a high point.  In five months, we went from discovery to trial.  After the trial, I took a week off.  It was the only time (other than maternity leave) that I have taken a whole week off from biglaw, and it was at the blessing and encouragement of the powers that be.

 

With the PARTNER, the case itself may not be that bad or demanding, but the PARTNER is.  She gives vague instructions, tells you to pester someone else with the "minutae" and then blasts you for not having read her mind.  She makes the criticism personal:  YOU are not doing well.  YOU are inadequate.  Sometimes, she tears you down "just to see how you handle it."  When you are assigned to the PARTNER, other associates "check-in" with you to make sure you are o.k.  Some partners insist that you produce 2 + 2 to make 4, in four hours when you need six.  Those partners are tough.  This partner insists that you make 2 + 3 equal apple.  And there is no way to convince her that it just can't be done.  While you may make it home for dinner, you are a puddle of self-doubt.  You emerge a bit stronger, and with a stronger resolve to quit.  Soon.

 

The outcome, or materialization of, the Fear is that in a moment's notice, your next weekend, month or year is no longer your own.  You are at the mercy of the CASE or the PARTNER.  "No" is not an acceptable response when you are on the CASE.  It must be done.  Now.  The letter cannot wait until tomorrow morning.  It must be drafted tonight, at 9 p.m., to await Partner's review when she strolls in tomorrow morning.  The CASE does not care that you also have a motion due in two weeks.  Figure it out.  Get it done.  There are twenty-four usable hours in every day.  The CASE does not care that you haven't seen your husband or child in a week.  Your personal problems are not the PARTNER's problems.  When a friend turned down an assignment, a partner actually asked her to account for every hour in her day.  And then told her she had more time.  Two weeks before her wedding.  When the Fear materializes and you are assigned to the CASE, you become someone you used to loathe.  You become a raging jerk, to everyone: the paralegals, your secretary, your spouse, the innocent guy at Sbucks (who doesn't understand that you need your coffee but the PARTNER has just asked you where you are).  You become someone that under other circumstances you would disapprove of, and then pity.  The taste left in your mouth and head from the CASE lingers for months and years.  You look back with horror at how you treated others and how you treated yourself.  Yes, you may have valuable experience and war stories under your belt, but your soul will never be the same.

 

The Fear keeps me cowering at my desk.  Although I have no work as of yet, the Fear keeps me from requesting an assignment.  For if you press to hard, you may be assigned to THAT CASE or THAT PARTNER.  Now that the little man waits at home, unable to understand that saying "no" is not always an option, the Fear is nearly crippling.  Toward the end of the five months, J looked at me late one night, and said "I want my wife back."  I refuse to put the little man through the horror of the CASE or the PARTNER.  I do not want to become who I was.  I try to create an alternate me for work.  Someone who is strong, can manage it all and is ready to take it on.  But in reality?  I'm terrified.  Terrified of days passing without seeing my son.  Terrified of when the call or email will come.

5:30 a.m.

5:30 a.m. is not awake time.  5:30 to 6:30 is my final, blissful hour of sleep where I begin to wake up, peer down at my adorable cherub, cuddle him a bit and doze off (frequently while prodding J that it is time for him to get out of bed while praying that the dog does not bark to wake us all up).  But this morning, the little man thought that 5:30 was time to get up.  He was intent on letting us know that it was time to play, time to explore our faces with his new and developing pincer grasp, and time to talk to his best friend, Mr. Skylight.  So, I let him babble, grab, turn and play between J and me.  And then at 6:30, he decided it was time to go back to sleep.  So I held him on my chest and he and I both drifted back to sleep.  During my maternity leave, this was how we began many of our mornings.  The Little Man ("LM") would wake up, we would play in bed for an hour or so, and then he and I would take a morning nap. 

When J reentered the bedroom at 7:00 to take LM, so that I could shower, I decided to let the LM sleep for a few more minutes.  Actually, I wanted to hold him for just a few more minutes, a few more minutes before I began my eratic and harried routine and day.  A few more minutes where I could pretend that this was what my day would be, where my only concern would be how LM was sleeping, eating and playing.  Where I did not have to worry about not having work, or being staffed on THAT CASE.  So I laid in bed for an extra ten minutes, knowing that I would be more harried than usual.  When I finally sat up to hand off LM, he blinked at me, not understanding why we couldn't nap a bit longer, why I was taking the warmth away.  I warned J that he was about to let out a cry, and cry he did. 

Save Tonight

My dearest baby,

You are not quite six months old, and yet you have captured my and your dad's hearts.  We are both utterly and completely wrapped around your tiny fingers.  I wanted to take a few minutes to capture what you are like right now and to tell you how much I have loved being by your side every minute of the past six months.  You see, my maternity leave comes to an end on Monday, and I am heartbroken that I will not be able to spend every minute with you from now on.  I will only be in the office three days per week, but that will be such a huge change for me, and I fear for you too.

Over the past two months you have gone from being a stationary baby to a little man with a big personality.  You are generous with your smiles, smiling at anyone and everyone who makes eye contact with you and prompting many strangers to proclaim that you are the happiest baby they have seen in a long time.  From the day you were born you have been a happy baby.  Your cries have always been quiet, and you have always been patient with me, giving me time to respond to your initial soft cries.  If you are ignored (which rarely happens), however, you will escalate your cries as you do not understand why we have not come rushing to your side.  Perhaps that is because you are rarely more than arm's distance away from your dad or me.  You are happiest when you are in a baby carrier on your dad or me.  Your dad prefers the baby bjorn, with you facing outward and participating in whatever he is doing.  I prefer the moby wrap.  When I place you in the wrap, you are generally asleep within a few minutes.  You will happily snooze away, whatever I may be doing.  I love having you so close, and you have spent many many hours right next to me in the wrap.  Having you so close has helped both of us get to know each other.  When you wake up, it is frequently with a cry, but you calm down very quickly.  You will look up at me as if to say, "oh, right, you're here.  Everything is ok."  Then you turn on your smile.

Any day now, you will begin to crawl.  You have mastered rolling over from both tummy to back and back to tummy.  We can no longer leave you on the changing table and changing you has become a challenge because you believe that there are interesting things to see everywhere else.  You can wiggle your way around a small area, and if you have something to push off of, you can inch your way across a space.  You can do a full push up and also pull your feet up underneath you.  Your dad and I are eagerly awaiting the day you manage to do both together and take your first crawl.  We have noticed in the past few days that you are becoming increasingly frustrated at your inability to get to things out of your grasp, whether it is a toy, the Monster (our dog) or one of the two of us.  Speaking of the Monster, you love your puppy.  He gets a huge smile every time you see him.  And he is equally enthralled with you.  Whenever the four of us go out for a walk, the Monster is constantly aware of where you are.  And, the day that your dad had to run back to the house with you, the Monster dragged me after you two.  When we let the Monster out of his crate, he does a full check of the house for you.  The Monster is growing increasingly fond of your dinner time.  You had your first taste of solid food on July 12, a bit of rice cereal.  You seem to be fond of sweet potatoes and tonight you tried sweet peas, which were also a hit.  The Monster is always close to clean you up, should your dad or I not stop him in time.  Your dad and I have tried to capture as many moments on film (or iPhone) as possible.  You have become used to having an iPhone in your face.  Actually, you seem to get that they are a touch screen, which freaks your dad and I out.  

One thing that has not changed since you were born is that you still sleep close to me.  Before you were born, your dad and I thought that you would quickly be in your crib at night.  That was before.  When you were born, I discovered that I loved having you close and that we both slept better if you slept next to me at night.  That continues to this day.  Soon enough, you will be on your own, but while you are still so tiny, it is ok to have you close.  During the day, you nap in your car seat.  For a while, you slept in a swing.  When we returned from Maine, the swing turned on you.  And you would have none of it.  Ah well.  

Come Monday, your dad will be staying home with you until his grad school begins again this fall.  He is excited and a bit nervous about it, but I know that you two are going to have a great time.  The plan is that in the mornings, the two of you will go down to the sailing center for a few hours in the morning, and then you will come home.  After your dad heads to grad school, we will have a nanny come and take care of you while I am at work.  I truly wish I could stay home with you.  But, for now, I must work.  These past six months have been some of the most wonderful, toughest and happiest I have ever had.  You are truly everything I never knew that I wanted.  I am so happy that I am your mommy, and I love you so very very much.

All my love,

Your momma