My holiday winter babies have come and gone and there's a lull until families start contacting me for summer due dates. The lull sucks. It's "woe is me" and "I never want to be on call ever again" all rolled into one confused but adorable me.
It's the quitting season.
It's the point of the year where I mull over each e-mail I get and wonder if now is a good time to hang up the rebozo and live the carefree life of someone who isn't constantly stressed about childcare and if the Doula Wagon will self-combust on my way to the hospital. I daydream about last-minute vacations not sandwiched recklessly between births and on-call periods. I fantasize about not having to navigate dark inner-city parking lots and the twisty-turny catacombs from the after-hours Emergency Room entrance to Labor & Delivery. I smile at the idea of sleeping in my own bed all night instead of contorted into a Cirque du Soleil performer in a rickety vinyl chair for broken seconds of sleep before I'm needed again. I dream about knowing I'll likely never be put in a position where I'm so tired I want to puke and/or cry.
And then I sigh and press the "reply" button to set up that interview.
Deep down, I don't know how to quit this. Not entirely. Because when I walk into that coffee shop and sit across from a mother who is full to the brim of hopes and possibilities, I know this is such an amazing thing to be part of. It's insanely difficult, yes, but nothing short of miraculous. And then I'm pulled back in to repeat the cycle.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Vortex Shmortex
2014. The winter of the Polar Vortex.
Polar Vortex. Sounds like an amusement park ride. I guess it kind of is like a rollercoaster, but with more frozen snot bubbles and less fun. Negative 15 degrees and close to -40 wind chills? Fuhgeddaboutit.
No, I mean, really. Forget about it. Because if you don't, you will flee Michigan as soon as you can get your car battery to hold a charge again.
When we look back at this winter we will be reminded of how close we came to joining a monastery and/or finding creative ways to off our family. That's what happens when you end up with roughly 24597 snow days after Christmas break. My kids' brains literally turned into cream of wheat in the space of three weeks. Three verrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry loooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnnngggggggg weeeeeeeeeeks. In case you wondered, it is not favorable to have kids with craniums full of porridge. They don't have porridge kids in the monastery. Or in jail.
Oh, please. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm sure you had fantasies about that whole "vow of silence" thing. And arsenic. But I didn't do it, and neither did you. I chalk that up as a win.
In an attempt to break this funk, the other day I tried to recreate Dittrich fur's bareback, fur-wearing gallop through the snowy countryside--except with a saddle and without the fur. Oh, and at a walk. In snow up to her knees, my horse felt more like a camel than anything else. We made it two times around the yard before I called it. Horses can have heart attacks, too. The way my day was going, I didn't want to push it.
Oh, and I miss running.
Really. I just said that. And I even meant it. It might be a sign of the end times--better check that.
I miss running outside. It's not the sub-zero temps that scare me, because I've been out running in -11 degree wind chills (and colder temps than that doing barn chores). It's not even the snow or ice on the road, thanks to my handy-dandy snow chains. No, I'm a tough cookie. That road is just not big enough for the both of us, a car and myself. And I can't trust my neighbor not to schuss straight into my kneecaps with his redneckified F-10. Plus, the treadmill's been unkind to my foot this week, so I've taken some time off to help it heal. I guess sitting in bed mainlining chocolate chip cookies is the next best thing.
There's no real point to this blog, other than this winter blows. Pass the cookies!
The End.
Polar Vortex. Sounds like an amusement park ride. I guess it kind of is like a rollercoaster, but with more frozen snot bubbles and less fun. Negative 15 degrees and close to -40 wind chills? Fuhgeddaboutit.
No, I mean, really. Forget about it. Because if you don't, you will flee Michigan as soon as you can get your car battery to hold a charge again.
When we look back at this winter we will be reminded of how close we came to joining a monastery and/or finding creative ways to off our family. That's what happens when you end up with roughly 24597 snow days after Christmas break. My kids' brains literally turned into cream of wheat in the space of three weeks. Three verrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry loooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnnngggggggg weeeeeeeeeeks. In case you wondered, it is not favorable to have kids with craniums full of porridge. They don't have porridge kids in the monastery. Or in jail.
Oh, please. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm sure you had fantasies about that whole "vow of silence" thing. And arsenic. But I didn't do it, and neither did you. I chalk that up as a win.
In an attempt to break this funk, the other day I tried to recreate Dittrich fur's bareback, fur-wearing gallop through the snowy countryside--except with a saddle and without the fur. Oh, and at a walk. In snow up to her knees, my horse felt more like a camel than anything else. We made it two times around the yard before I called it. Horses can have heart attacks, too. The way my day was going, I didn't want to push it.
Oh, and I miss running.
Really. I just said that. And I even meant it. It might be a sign of the end times--better check that.
I miss running outside. It's not the sub-zero temps that scare me, because I've been out running in -11 degree wind chills (and colder temps than that doing barn chores). It's not even the snow or ice on the road, thanks to my handy-dandy snow chains. No, I'm a tough cookie. That road is just not big enough for the both of us, a car and myself. And I can't trust my neighbor not to schuss straight into my kneecaps with his redneckified F-10. Plus, the treadmill's been unkind to my foot this week, so I've taken some time off to help it heal. I guess sitting in bed mainlining chocolate chip cookies is the next best thing.
There's no real point to this blog, other than this winter blows. Pass the cookies!
The End.
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