Omphaloskepsis

Paella is not the same as Polenta.

Thanksgiving is over, the in-laws and the parents are all home and I have replaced buckets of turkey in the refrigerator with buckets of turkey broth in the freezer (buckets = Tupperware).

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I have a few very minor dyslexic tendencies. I am not saying I have a learning disability, or anything close, but I'm beginning to realize how careful I need to be about certain things. I do not have dyslexia, but when you look-up these "symptoms," they fall into the dyslexic spectrum.

1. I confused names that are the same length/start with the same letter. For instance, I interchange "the Ritz" and "the Roxy" in one chapter of my dissertation. Ahhhh. I called George Martin (Beatles producer) George Michael in front of my class last year. I struggle to read books where more than 2 characters have names that start with the same letter and are about the same length.

2. When I get tired, I start losing my nouns. Bowl becomes thingy, car becomes thingy in the driveway, glasses become, and I quote, "the see-through things I use to read." One memory:  asked MT if something was "in the place above the thingy out back." (In the storage unit above the car in the garage.)

My mom is like this too, although to a lesser extent. I think I inherited this from her and its exaggerated by my "dad's" tendency to skim/go quickly through things that should be taken more slowly. It is VERY frustrating to not know what something is called, and know what it is called at the same time. I do occasionally combine #1 and #2... for instance I always call polenta paella. Both are tasty, but one is made by combining cornmeal and water, the other is a more complicated mix of rice and seafood. MT knows what I mean when I say "maybe I could make paella for dinner."

Also, it's a boy!

Child Care!

I spent almost all of yesterday in a funk about a job I was hoping to get an interview for... at least. Then, this morning, I read several posts about child care, even child care in the academy. Now I'm having an entirely different panic attack. The "oh my god, I can't do this another year, please I need a job or my Ph.D. is expired" funk has now been replaced by "oh my god, I can't work as an adjunct or TT and have an infant at the same time" fear.

On top of this, I'm trying to work on my conference paper, power point presentation, and handout. Since I'm not doing that interview at the conference, I'm a little less worried about some aspects of the presentation... particularly speaking to those not familiar with my subfield. I love doing this work. I want to be paid to do it. I'm good at it! I just should have done it in a freakin' different discipline. In fact, I took a break from writing it because I wanted to tell someone how much I love doing it!

My mother and father did a great job raising us, by any objective measure. Nonetheless, my mom was unhappy with her work/career/non-family life until the last ten years--after my sister and and I were both in college. *I don't want to be like that.* I've seen it first hand, and it's not something I aim for. What I didn't know until I was an adult was that despite the fact that I had "female lawyer" for a mother, she actually did not have a lot of work when I was little (not by choice).

What was my childcare like as a child? It's funny how little I remember. We went to a great day care that was literally across the road and through the cemetery from our house. It was a co-op and I have great memories of finger painting and dancing. Then we went to a different place, which I only recently found out was a Montessori-style Pre-K! My sister went there for 2 years, I think I went for one (I'm the oldest).

At this point, my mother was still at her small law practice. I know she was also very involved in town, serving on the planning commission for two terms. For at least a couple years we had a woman who took care of us after school for 2 or 3 days a week. Obviously, we were settling into the upper-middle class even though I remained unaware of this class status until I reached college. My parents were/are dedicated to saving and living as cheaply as possible, and an 8 year old doesn't realize that not having a Cabbage Patch Doll ("they're too expensive") is exactly because of the extravagance of a babysitter. A 16 year old doesn't think about it too much, either. (Also, my father was transferred when I was 10, and after the move I do remember the end-of-the-month pancakes for dinners that lasted for several years. Even a 12 year old begins to realize when Mom and Dad run out of money at the end of the month.)

So how did my parents do it? My mom gradually pulled out of a career she didn't like, and slowly settled into one she now loves, giving her a good amount of time to look after us. My dad worked 12 hour days my entire life, in large part to pay for childcare and college. Now they are solidly and comfortably upper middle class, even after having to sell low and buy high for every single house they've owned.

Now their eldest daughter is pregnant, unemployed, and a 7 hour drive away from free baby-sitting! Needless to say, all this navel gazing directed at my childhood hasn't made me feel more confident in my ability to be a super-mom.

Navel Gazing

I spent a lot of time at the hospital this week. This isn't nearly as bad as it sounds, in fact you might say that it isn't bad at all. On Tuesday morning, my husband got a follow-up procedure related to his scary ER visit in August. Everything inside him looks great, but it took him all day to even begin to recover from the sedatives they gave him. They think it is very unlikely that he has any sort of chronic condition that we need to worry about.

Inside me, everything looks even better! On Wednesday, we had a first-trimester ultrasound and the fluid in me (placenta) and in the baby (spinal cord?) is all looking great. I really didn't think I would be able to see a little person, but I totally could, and it was awesome. It's weird to watch the little parasite kick me repeatedly and not feel it at all.

Of course, the fact is that my morning sickness and migraines have not gone away, so in my mind "going to the hospital" is code for "hey! you people! I've felt horrible for almost 2 months! I want me back!" Today I got to go to an amazing 2-hour lecture on my Research Topic, but I almost missed it because I had a really bad wave of nausea while trying to work on a job letter in the morning.

Oh, and I found out that I didn't get an interview for either of the jobs I was most optimistic about. Strangely, this made me less nauseated.