Today’s starting out a little rough. The rocking chair has developed a squeak!
If I were smart, I’d be WD-40’ing it right now, but I think I’ll philosophize about it instead. I wasn’t an English major for nothing!
So the baby’s fussy, the rocking chair squeaks, and I’ve reheated my coffee about five times already this morning.
Used to be that the day started out a little rough if I had a hundred emails waiting to be answered, phone calls to return, events to organize, professors to mollycoddle (though if any of the former Civic Engagement committee is reading this, I truly loved you guys), and a bunch of meetings to attend. Ech, meetings.
It’s a strange transition that my biggest challenges now are figuring out what Matthew needs––is he hungry? Is he tired? Is he trying to spit up but can’t quite get it out? Have I been playing with him too much, and he’s just done? (That last one I think is pretty common. Replace Michael Scott with Matthew: “I would like your undivided attention please.” Replace Dwight Shrute with me: “You couldn’t handle my undivided attention.”)
Sometimes it’s a comfort to think about how I envisioned my life. I always thought I’d be making a bunch of money (though I’m not really motivated by money) in a high-powered job in a city. I’m not saying this is what I necessarily wanted, it’s just how I saw my career path going. I prayed for a high-stress job, thinking it’s what I needed; I was so tired of being bored at school. I worked really hard at every job I’ve had. One time at a job fair in grad school, I was handing out resumes to just anyone, and a CIA representative pretty much offered me a job on the spot. Somewhere I still have his letter of regret that I had decided to turn the job down (you know, because I didn’t want to leave Jeff, though we hadn’t been dating that long). A graduate assistantship that I held went from ten hours to full time, and after I left it was turned into a full-time staff position. Because, you know, I worked really hard and they didn’t think they could get by without me anymore. I consider that a success. Mental challenges I can handle.
I’ve had jobs that were physically exhausting––cleaning hotel rooms, hiking for days, loading and unloading boxes, washing dishes. I liked all of these, did my best, got the minor promotions that go with minimum-wage jobs. Physical challenges I can handle.
But now my days are filled with playing, walking, trying to explain things to a person who has a minimal grasp of language and thinks everything is totally new and exciting. It’s a strange combination of elation and tedium and the occasional mind-numbing hours of fussing and rocking and wondering when the baby will quit flailing his arms and just go to sleep already. And then it’s a race to get the diapers in the laundry, wash the dishes, declutter some things, do some editing, eat some lunch, write some letters, all before it’s playtime again. Because I do not want to miss those moments. Most of the time it’s easy; sometimes it is utterly exhausting. Emotional challenges––those are the ones I have to learn.
I really did used to pray for a high-stress job. That prayer has certainly been answered. (Strangely, though, it kind of annoys me when people talk about raising kids=a career. Because it’s not really, it’s just your life. It’s work, but it’s not a job. This is an analogy, not a declaration.) And I’m glad to have the opportunity to grow in patience and kindness and gentleness and love and all those other things God says to be.
I think, finally, I’m using my talents for something lasting and worthwhile, though on days like today it’s still comforting to think that I could be doing an amazing job at some “real” career instead of floundering around with a squeaky baby and a squeaky rocking chair.
If I were smart, I’d be WD-40’ing it right now, but I think I’ll philosophize about it instead. I wasn’t an English major for nothing!
So the baby’s fussy, the rocking chair squeaks, and I’ve reheated my coffee about five times already this morning.
Used to be that the day started out a little rough if I had a hundred emails waiting to be answered, phone calls to return, events to organize, professors to mollycoddle (though if any of the former Civic Engagement committee is reading this, I truly loved you guys), and a bunch of meetings to attend. Ech, meetings.
It’s a strange transition that my biggest challenges now are figuring out what Matthew needs––is he hungry? Is he tired? Is he trying to spit up but can’t quite get it out? Have I been playing with him too much, and he’s just done? (That last one I think is pretty common. Replace Michael Scott with Matthew: “I would like your undivided attention please.” Replace Dwight Shrute with me: “You couldn’t handle my undivided attention.”)
Sometimes it’s a comfort to think about how I envisioned my life. I always thought I’d be making a bunch of money (though I’m not really motivated by money) in a high-powered job in a city. I’m not saying this is what I necessarily wanted, it’s just how I saw my career path going. I prayed for a high-stress job, thinking it’s what I needed; I was so tired of being bored at school. I worked really hard at every job I’ve had. One time at a job fair in grad school, I was handing out resumes to just anyone, and a CIA representative pretty much offered me a job on the spot. Somewhere I still have his letter of regret that I had decided to turn the job down (you know, because I didn’t want to leave Jeff, though we hadn’t been dating that long). A graduate assistantship that I held went from ten hours to full time, and after I left it was turned into a full-time staff position. Because, you know, I worked really hard and they didn’t think they could get by without me anymore. I consider that a success. Mental challenges I can handle.
I’ve had jobs that were physically exhausting––cleaning hotel rooms, hiking for days, loading and unloading boxes, washing dishes. I liked all of these, did my best, got the minor promotions that go with minimum-wage jobs. Physical challenges I can handle.
But now my days are filled with playing, walking, trying to explain things to a person who has a minimal grasp of language and thinks everything is totally new and exciting. It’s a strange combination of elation and tedium and the occasional mind-numbing hours of fussing and rocking and wondering when the baby will quit flailing his arms and just go to sleep already. And then it’s a race to get the diapers in the laundry, wash the dishes, declutter some things, do some editing, eat some lunch, write some letters, all before it’s playtime again. Because I do not want to miss those moments. Most of the time it’s easy; sometimes it is utterly exhausting. Emotional challenges––those are the ones I have to learn.
I really did used to pray for a high-stress job. That prayer has certainly been answered. (Strangely, though, it kind of annoys me when people talk about raising kids=a career. Because it’s not really, it’s just your life. It’s work, but it’s not a job. This is an analogy, not a declaration.) And I’m glad to have the opportunity to grow in patience and kindness and gentleness and love and all those other things God says to be.
I think, finally, I’m using my talents for something lasting and worthwhile, though on days like today it’s still comforting to think that I could be doing an amazing job at some “real” career instead of floundering around with a squeaky baby and a squeaky rocking chair.
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