duct tape

A year and a half ago, I invited some friends to guest blog about a day in their lives. I’m always curious about the nitty-gritty of how people make things work. My mantra lately has been Everyone’s life is secretly held together with duct tape. Since today was my first official day as a full-time working mom,* I am currently interested in how I’m going to make things work. Specifically, when will I write? My options seem to be 5:30 am, lunchtime or 8:30 pm. None of these slots is ideal, but today I’m trying out the latter. And I’m easing into it with a Blog As You Are post of my own because that’s all. I. Can. Manage.

6:05 am: Wake up with pan dulce hangover from yesterday’s mini shindig in our backyard. Vow that this time I really, really will take care of my body. Wonder not for the first time if there is a 12-step group for people who eat well seven days out of eight but then really, really fuck shit up on the eighth day.

Feed cats.

Feed baby.

Feed self.

8:10 am: Congratulate self for running a little bit early. Discover poopy diaper and cease to run early.

Change Dash. Drop him off at Mary’s house.

8:55 am: Stop at 7-Eleven for coffee.

Their French Vanilla flavor is neither French nor particularly vanilla-y.

9:10 am: Walk from car to Homeboy, along the old cobblestones lining Bruno Street. Feel incredibly grateful for all this—the job I don’t mind returning to, the baby I can’t wait to return to, the esposa, the city.

10 am: Work on proposal to Boeing Foundation. When things flow, grant-writing can be fun.

Banh mi and jeggings.

12:30 pm: Comb the indoor swap meet nestled between Spring and Broadway in Chinatown in search of leggings. Find only jeggings and a lot of fabric that seems highly flammable.

Eat salad (salad!) on bench in Chungking Plaza. Start reading Dr. Mutter’s Marvels. It’s both a guilty pleasure and a well researched nonfiction book. Think about the library book I’ve been reading forever without returning. Wonder when library will send me to collections.

My mid-day fix.

1:15 pm: Stop in Homegirl Café for coffee.

2 pm: Take stock of work to-do list. It’s not that bad. I can totally do this!

It’s pretty daunting. I can’t do this!

Drink coffee. I can do this.

2:30 pm: Work on report to the Sawchuk Family Foundation.

Work on proposal to the Sawchuk Family Foundation.

Feel inspired to maximize productivity at work because otherwise I’m away from Dash for no reason at all.

4 pm: Witness minor controversy involving which trainees get to see Galaxy play. Vaguely recall that Galaxy is soccer.

5 pm: Leave work feeling a little self-conscious about not staying later.

5:40 pm: Greet Mary and Dashaboo outside her house. He adores her. He laughs and laughs. Feel so, so grateful and just a teensy bit jealous.

Dash's mommy is no Idina Menzel.

6 pm: Dash and Mommy Time. I read somewhere that four-month-olds are trying out their voices and it’s good to hear their parents sing, even if their parents happen to be horrible singers. Pull up Wicked on iTunes. Sing along with “Popular” and “For Good.” Dash seems to prefer being lifted in the air while I sing “Dashman” to the tune of the Batman theme song.

7 pm: Talk to sister on the phone while putting jammies on Dash. She’s worried about her cat. Dash starts to cry. Tell her I’ll call her back.

7:10 pm: Try a bunch of different positions for possible rocking/swaying. Dash is grouchy. Eventually nestle him between legs on floor, petting his head while he watches his mechanical, musical ocean mobile, a.k.a. Baby TV. Wonder if this is okay parenting because aren’t you supposed to be developing a short but consistent bedtime routine? The mobile hasn’t been part of my routine until this minute.

7:30 pm: Put sleepy Dash in swing. Think about article that said never let a baby sleep in a swing. Or a bouncer. Or a car seat. According to this article, naps are not for resting yourself or getting things done. Naps are for watching your baby carefully to make sure he’s not getting strangled by a strap designed to keep him safe.

7:35 pm: Call back sister. Say insufficiently comforting things. The intricacies of family anxiety dynamics are…intricate.

Fold baby laundry.

8 pm: Make smoothie in living room so as not to wake up Dash. Apologize to cats, because it’s not like they like the blender either. Put smoothie in fridge for tomorrow. Consider this “cooking.”

8:30 pm: Microwave leftover beans and eat with salsa.

8:40 pm: Read thread on Longest Shortest Time Mamas FB group about how to unwind without wine. Feel suspicious of moms who say they do yoga and meditate at the end of a long day.

9:10 pm: Finally start this post.

*That word still sounds so loaded to me. Like, who am I to crown myself? Or it sounds like the beginning of some obnoxious identity-politics statement: “As a mom, I [care about the Earth/want to outlaw soda/think queers shouldn’t get married, etc.].” But I’ll keep trying it on.