Chasing Superwoman (4 page)

Now it was back to the drawing board. I never prayed so hard in my life. Come to think of it, I prayed pretty hard before I hired Sleepy Sally, but something obviously went terribly wrong. Wasn't God listening? Why didn't He try to stop me? I dusted off the names of the candidates I had screened and previously rejected. I came across my notes on Big-Hearted Betty: “Old, experienced with babies, talks too much, a little crazy.” I decided to call her back. Big-Hearted Betty has a gift with babies. The first time she held Nick I knew she would care for him like her own grandson. I didn't hire her right away because I thought she was too old, and I was concerned about her crooked knee. So I made her show me she could walk up and down our stairs while carrying Nick. Nick didn't seem to mind about the crooked knee. He just wanted love and attention. It's just like God to answer my prayers with the unexpected. I just didn't think He would answer them with an elderly woman with a big heart (not to mention a big mouth) and a crooked knee.

Round Two

About a year and a half later I became pregnant with Anna. Had I been thinking with my head, I would have waited another year. After all, I would soon be up for partner, and having another child would likely delay my admission. Instead, I followed my heart. Making partner could wait. My biological clock was ticking.

Everything is easier the second time around, or so I thought. I had forgotten how sick I felt being pregnant. Plus I had Nick to take care of, and my law practice had become even busier and more demanding. Lady Lawyer was on the cusp of making partner, and the treadmill just kept getting faster and faster. I couldn't stop now.

Anna arrived in the middle of the summer, two weeks late. I was miserable and hot, but it gave me much-needed time to finish my work and actually be prepared the second time around. No more scheduled C-sections for me. My left-brained sisters didn't even have to twist my arm. I was going to have Anna the old-fashioned way. No one was going to cut me open again if I had a choice.

In the end, I took the epidural but avoided the knife. It was well worth the wait. When the doctor proclaimed, “It's a girl,” I burst out crying and called my parents. Anna was their thirteenth grandchild. After a string of seven boys, they were more than ready for a little girl again. My father has never been the same. This is the same man who ruled with an iron fist, chased our boyfriends away, and gave his daughters the claw around our necks with his huge hands when we got out of line. His grandsons can't even raise their voices or he scolds them for being wild and unruly. He is nothing but tender with my girls. Never mind that they chase the boys, jump on the furniture, scream in high-pitched voices, and have broken my mother's favorite lamp five times. To my father, they are like gentle flowers that can do no wrong.

Anna was indeed my flower child. My living room looked like a funeral parlor after she was born, with all the bouquets from clients. Things at work seemed to be going quite swimmingly. I would check my email on a regular basis and enjoy Anna in between her naps. Clients called me at home on an as-needed basis. It would be difficult to return to work, but at least I had Big-Hearted Betty. I could forgo the dreaded day-care search and just focus on enjoying Nick and Anna. Anna was a great sleeper, and our household was soon in a smooth routine. We moved out of the city and into the suburbs. What could go wrong?

Big-Hearted Betty's crooked knee had gotten worse, and surgery became inevitable. She decided to schedule surgery right after Anna's birth so that she could have a full three months to recover and be ready to care for Anna and Nick by the time I headed back to work. It seemed like a perfect plan.

Just a few weeks after having Anna, I got a call from Big-Hearted Betty. She had been injured in a serious car accident and would take time to heal. She would be in no position to take care of a two-year-old and a newborn any time soon. The knee surgery would be rescheduled around other medical complications. We both cried. Big-Hearted Betty wanted nothing more than to take care of Anna and Nick; I wanted nothing more than to have my children cared for by a trustworthy, kind woman who would love them as her own. But we both knew I would have to move on. Back to the drawing board.

Most working mothers have been stuck without child care on short notice. It's like having an uneasy feeling that aches every time you breathe. Some of my friends are lucky enough to have family nearby to cover the unexpected, but for those of us with no family in town, a backup plan is hard to come by.

Again, I screened close to fifty candidates and interviewed a dozen or so before finding Jill. Jill came to us with top-notch references and experience with several local families. She was organized and professional. She was also expensive. Doug and I didn't know if we could afford her when we first met her, but we bit the bullet and hired her.

It was one of our better decisions. Jill took care of the kids until she and her husband adopted a child of their own, and she has been like family ever since. God knew I just couldn't handle any more day-care drama.

The Third Time's a Charm

The year after Anna was born, I made partner. It was as if a huge weight was lifted off our shoulders. Doug and I could breathe again. I don't know why it meant so much to me, but it did. I knew that everyone had made a sacrifice for my career, especially Doug, and I was just glad to have the hurdle over.

Everyone, including Doug, was surprised when I became pregnant again. I had a healthy boy and girl, and a busy legal practice. Why complicate matters? It would be one thing if I stayed at home, but why would I want to continue working full time to barely keep my head above water caring for three children? I must be crazy.

I am crazy indeed. Crazy about my children. I'd have three more if I could, but in my heart I knew Abby would be my last. As soon as I got home from the hospital after Abby's birth, Doug packed up my maternity clothes and sent them to the Salvation Army. Never mind that I had nothing that fit me for the next few months. I could take a hint. At least he waited until she turned two to pack up her baby clothes and send them away. I cried my eyes out. I still haven't forgiven him.

Nick had been early, and Anna had been late. Abby was just about right on time—a couple days early to be exact. The week prior to her birth I had client negotiations an hour away. I desperately wanted to complete the project before going on leave. Doug and I had an argument as to whether I would drive out of town so close to Abby's birth, and we finally agreed that my law partner, Harvard Bill, would accompany me. I hadn't told anyone that the doctor had told me at an appointment earlier that day that he would not give me forty-eight hours before I would go into labor. Sometimes, too much information is a bad thing. Especially when Lady Lawyer has work to do.

Abby was cooperative. She waited for me to return from negotiations and came the following weekend.

Who said anything about maternity
leave?
The nurses rolled their eyes when I took my BlackBerry into labor and started answering emails from the hospital. When Abby was three weeks old, my managing partner called to see if I wanted to meet with a potential new client. Lady Lawyer could barely fit into her pants (breathing would have to be put on hold, especially since Doug had discarded all of my maternity clothes), but I welcomed a night out of the house and quickly squeezed back into my lawyer cape.

Several weeks later, Lady Lawyer next hopped on an airplane … again … for another potential business venture. My breast pump barely made it through airport security, and one of my partners ignorantly offered to carry it for me. “What's this, anyway?” he later asked. He gave me a blank stare when I told him he had been carrying a breast pump around the airport.

In less than twelve weeks, I was back in the office every day, sooner than I had planned. It was just easier to get things done from work instead of trying to do it all from home. I don't know how Sassy Shelly or Self-Employed Stefanie (or for that matter any working mother) can work from home. It's virtually impossible.

Don't get me wrong; it was just as hard to leave Abby to return to work—and in some ways it was harder, knowing she would be my last—but we soon got into a routine and I was thankful to have a loving caregiver for her in my absence. Besides, had I stayed home any longer, Jill would have fired me. God never intended for two women to run the same house.

I don't know any mother who hasn't struggled with leaving her newborn to return to work. I always second-guess myself. Sometimes I wonder,
Am I really providing what's best for my children? Wouldn't they be better off if I was with them all day?
I could feed them healthy food, limit TV intake, read them stories for hours, potty train them early, keep them on a strict schedule, nap them religiously, sign them up for “mommy and me” classes, keep them away from sick kids, and screen their playdates. (Ok, I'm probably exaggerating a bit, and I would certainly skip the “mommy and me” classes, but you get the point.) Most days I feel as if my best hours go to client meetings, conference calls, and court appearances. Devoted Mommy is exhausted by the end of the day, and Doug and the kids are stuck with my leftovers. What's wrong with this picture?

I don't have the answers. And I'm always leery when someone tells me she has it all figured out. I just know that it never gets easier. It's just not natural for a mother to give up control. As my kids get older, I think they need me
more,
not less. It's one thing to delegate nap schedules and diapers. But as they get older, it's going to get harder to delegate homework projects, the Internet, video games, peer pressure, and after-school activities. I'm going to need to install a hidden camera just to monitor my teenagers from the office. So as I pull out of the driveway each day, I try to remember that God is in control—not me—and I ask Him to keep the children in His care until we are safely united again. And I cherish the support of other mothers who encourage me every step of the way.

Lessons from Laura

My niece, Level-Headed Laura, is one of those mothers. She is always sending me encouraging notes about being a passionate mother while having a career. I recently got to watch Laura go through the struggle of returning to work after birthing her second child, Harrison. My heart goes out to her as I watch her juggle it all with grace and confidence. It's never easy. I always save her notes. This is one of my favorites:

I really appreciate the way that you were so real and straightforward with me at Grandma's about how it is HARD to leave your kids, even when you enjoy your job and know it is valuable too. It is so refreshing to hear someone just say it. Often, I feel like my working-mom friends want to hide that they cry when they leave in the morning. Anyway, I wanted you to know that you made me feel so much better knowing that I am not insane for enjoying my work and wanting to be home, too. And it also made me feel liberated to cry in the morning and then be okay in the afternoon.

Level-Headed Laura, ten years my junior, has always been more like my younger sister than my niece. Just after she and Cole got married (and started to think about having children and balancing her career as a teacher) she would ask me, “Aunt Susie, how do you do it?” I'd give her my standard response, but also explain it's not easy.

We were all elated to find out that Laura was expecting. I waited with eager anticipation to watch Firstborn Sister be the first to have a grandchild of her own.

After Laura's first ultrasound, we knew things were not going to unfold as planned. On a cold Thanksgiving Day we will never forget, we gathered around the table and cried and prayed as Laura and Cole explained to us that their daughter was going to have some special needs.

As Laura's ninth month approached, the doctors were amazed at the baby's incredible strength, despite her rare medical condition. Laura carried her for nine full months, and on Easter morning, Aubrey Rose was born into the arms of Jesus. Rose, a family name, taken from our grandma, Rose D'Ercole, symbolized the great determination and passion of the women in our family. Although Laura was physically and emotionally drained, she returned to work shortly after Aubrey's passing just to say good-bye to her students.

She could have ridden out her sick leave. Certainly she had every right to say, “Hey, I'm recovering from losing my firstborn, not to mention childbirth. I need some time alone, and I'll see you all next year.” Everyone would have understood. Instead she wanted closure. She could have pushed people away. Instead she chose community.

I've never returned from maternity leave without the joy of a child to come home to after a long day's work. What do you say to your colleagues when they ask you how you're doing? How do you go home to a quiet house, and how do you forget about losing your baby when your body is still recovering from childbirth?

I know Laura will never forget the pain. In many ways, she wouldn't want to. But I also love to see her with Harrison, knowing that he is a special gift from God and she treasures every moment. So I pray that Laura would be strong as she balances being a passionate mother with being an excellent teacher. Leaving my children to go to work is never easy, but nothing is more rewarding than coming home to your children and being reunited after a long day's work. Yes, my mommy cape is probably the hardest cape I wear, but I wouldn't trade it for anything.