Not Ready for Mom Jeans (28 page)

I glanced at my watch. Ten more minutes until I had to be back at the office. No leisurely lunch, no shopping, no reading, no time with Sara, no anything. In fact, if I calculated it, I’d probably see Mule Face more than Sara today.

Yet I still love my job, my clients, my work. It gives me a satisfaction and sense of accomplishment that I can’t find anywhere else.

I wish I could call my mom and talk to her about this, but she’s still feeling really crappy. Besides, every time I talk to her about this, if I question my decision at all, she seems to get defensive and we enter into a whole “What My Generation Did for Your Generation” lecture.

Growing up, I was proud to tell my class on Career Day that my mom was a Vice President. But there are the opposite memories, the ones that exist in the black spaces, of not understanding when she said she couldn’t be a chaperone on class trips or make me a snack after school each day. I wanted to understand, I tried to understand, but it didn’t register in my young mind why my mom wouldn’t rather be home making me cookies than flying around the country.

And as much as I hate to acknowledge those memories, I have to. If I choose to keep working, I will inevitably pass those down to Sara in some form. It’s not fair to her to pretend those emotions don’t exist.

It’s like there’s no way to win. Some days, I’ll wish I could stay home with her. Then the wind changes and I’m so happy to go work, I look forward to dropping her off at day care. And I can’t even feel either one of those things without feeling shame.

And pretty much every mom I’ve ever met has said the same thing. No matter what the choice, there’s always something nagging and whispering, making choices malleable and questionable.

If this is what’s considered “having it all,” I’m jumping ship. Because I feel like it’s impossible to do everything 50 percent, let alone a figure any higher.

And? Right now? The only thing I’m truly good at is beating myself up.

Friday, August 29

At least I can always count on Julie to lighten things up.

I called her last night in the wake of my Irrational Working Mother Guilt and Anger Carnival, and she managed to say all the right things: I’m a good mom, I’m great at my job, Jake is awesome, et cetera.

But then I stumped her: “Yeah, but Jules, sometimes I feel like I’ve chosen the path of most resistance, you know?”

Silence.

“Like I’ve made all these choices, and they were good ones, and ones I don’t regret, but I put myself in this position. I’m the one who stretched myself so thin.”

Silence again.

“Everything seems so … hard all the time.”

“That’s because it is,” Julie said shortly.

“I know, but with working and not sleeping and finding time for Sara and Jake.”

“But who doesn’t live like that? Who has an easy life? Nobody I know. So stop feeling so goddamned sorry for yourself and just live your life.” Julie’s voice came out evenly, despite her words.

“I know, it’s just like sometimes I wonder what it would be like if— Never mind. Just tell me something funny and change the subject,” I said.

So, she told me about her latest Internet date. Apparently, she was supposed to go to a blues festival with a new guy, Johnny. I interrupted her to ask her who goes by “Johnny” when they’re thirty, but she threw out a profanity, so I shut up.

Julie and Johnny needed to stop at a bank to take out money for the festival. The ATM is broken, so Johnny pulls up to a bank teller portal. He puts his ATM card into the pneumatic tube and leans out the window to send it back to the bank but misjudges the distance and drops it.

Julie rolls her eyes and laughs but is starting to think Johnny is sort of cute. Johnny gets out of the car and tries to reach the tube, which has now rolled under his car. Except it has rolled just out of his reach. So, with cars beginning to honk behind them, he goes around to the other side of the car.

Still couldn’t reach it.

By now Julie’s beginning to wonder what the hell was going on.

He ran around to the other side, still no dice. Just out of reach.

Then, the bank teller came over the loudspeaker and said, “Sir, this isn’t an amusement park. What are you doing?”

Well, apparently, “amusement” and “park” were the secret buzzwords that turned Johnny from a normal human being into Crazy Internet Blind Date Man.

Johnny jumped up and down, shook his fist at the bank teller, screamed at all of the cars honking behind them, and ordered Julie to “army crawl” under the car to get the tube.

She calmly told him to go fuck himself, gave him the finger, and hailed a cab.

She may think my life is difficult, but at least my chaos exists internally rather than including all of the customers at my local bank’s branch.

Saturday, August 30

Jake saved me from my shroud of Working Motherhood Depression when he told me this morning that our friend Joel called him and invited us to go to the Cubs game today with him and his wife, Megan. We haven’t seen them in forever, probably thanks to the fact that they’re childless. Jake did force me to attend a Fourth of July barbeque at their house last year while pregnant. I went to bed sometime after Joel and Jake decided to sing karaoke to the Blues Brothers’ greatest hits.

But, thankfully, I’m not pregnant anymore, so I think an afternoon of hot dogs, beer, blazin’ hot sunshine, and about forty thousand screaming, jovial baseball fans sounds like the perfect distraction from Clare versus Superwoman Myth.

The only problem is it was too late to find a sitter for Sara, so she’s going to be tagging along. The good news is she’s gotten too heavy for me to carry in the Baby Bjorn anymore, so Jake gets to wear it. Score.

I went out last night and bought her the cutest little Cubs T-shirt and hat, which I’m sure will last on her head for like forty-five seconds before she rips it off and uses it as a pacifier or Frisbee.

Whatever. Jake and I are going to be the coolest parents at the game.

Sunday, August 31

Jake and I met Joel and Megan outside Wrigley Field at the Harry Caray statue. Which, by the way, is probably the dumbest place to meet anyone before a game. Seeing as how it’s like the only discernible landmark by the field,
everyone in the free world
decides to meet people there. So, it was pretty much like trying to find our friends inside the ballpark, only the equivalent amount of people were stuffed like sausages into a one-square-mile radius.

I spotted them first.

“There they are!” I smacked Jake on the arm.

“Jesus, did you have to do that?” he asked, and dredged his arm across his profusely sweating face.

“Are you hot?” I asked brilliantly.

“Clare, I have close to twenty extra baby pounds strapped to my chest. It’s ninety-five degrees out with no wind. Yes, I’m a little warm.” He wiped his forehead again.

“Oh. Sorry,” I said as I pranced over to Megan.

“Hi!” I said, and hugged her.

“Oh, she’s getting so big!” Megan said as she leaned toward Sara.

Sara grabbed the blue beaded necklace Megan wore around her neck and held it tight.

“Sorry, hold on,” I said as I tried to pry the beads out of Sara’s viselike grip.

“There!” I said. Megan leaned back and her necklace broke into a million pieces and nearly caused several broken necks as people around us slipped on the scattering beads.

“Don’t worry about it!” Megan said as I tried to bend down and collect all of the pieces.

“Nice shirt,” Joel said to Jake, gesturing toward Sara strapped to his chest.

We walked in and followed Joel to our seats. My eyes rounded as we traipsed down closer and closer to the field. Jake turned around and looked at me, wide-eyed. Finally, we stopped three rows behind home plate.

“Seriously?” I said to Megan.

She just grinned at me.

I sat down in the seat, soaking in the wide views of Wrigley Field.

“Beer! Cold beer here!” a vendor called from the aisle.

“Four please!” Megan yelled. After the beers were passed down through the row, she handed me two.

“Two? I only need one,” I said, and tried to hand one back to her.

She shook her head. “This is your first post-baby Cubs game. We’re right behind home plate. Double-fisting is in order.”

She had a point.

I, being the very cool and not at all dorky person that I am, whipped out my cell phone and proceeded to call everyone I’d ever met, tell them to turn on the Cubs game and to watch me wave to them. After fifteen minutes, my phone rang. Mark.

I snapped it open and before I could say hello, he yelled, “STOP WAVING. YOU LOOK LIKE A DOUCHE BAG.”

“Hi to you, too. Jealous?”

“Yes, but stop embarrassing yourself. You’re one of those people I hate. One of those people who get great seats and then spend the entire game calling people to tell them what great seats they have instead of watching the game.”

“I’m watching the game, I just had to call people to brag.”

“OK, what’s the score?” he said.

“Um …” I squinted and tried to read the scoreboard, but the sun was out and there was a huge glare across the board. “Um …”

“Busted. Stop waving. Don’t embarrass the family name,” he said before he hung up.

I officially stopped paying attention to the game around the fifth inning, after I nearly got taken out by some fat girl trying to catch a foul ball.

Seriously.

She leapt straight up in the air like seven feet, before arching and shooting over about five feet, just enough to land within inches of my feet. And my child.

All I saw was a mass of flesh hurling toward me. My first instinct was to turn my body to protect my child. And then to grab my beer.

Of course, the ball was nowhere near us, so Fatty’s spill was all for naught.

I felt kind of bad for her, since all of section 17 started laughing, including my husband, who nearly turned purple and high-fived me for remembering to grab my drink.

Clare: The Woman Who Can Have Fun Even When Fat People Are Flying at Her.

Sometime during the seventh inning, Jake unbuckled the Baby Bjorn and handed Sara to me. I was engrossed in a conversation with Joel when Megan silently pointed to my lap.

“What? Oh, whoops!” I’d rested my beer in front of me and Sara was leaning forward, straining to suck on the rim of the cup. Wanting to drink beer at a Cubs game. She’s so my daughter.

After the game was over, we spilled out onto Addison Street.

“Cubby Bear?” Joel asked drunkenly.

“Hell yeah,” I said, and started toward the bar.

I felt a poke in my ribs.

“What?” I said. Jake pointed to Sara, once again strapped to his chest, napping peacefully. “Oh, right. No bars for us.”

We managed to convince Joel and Megan to take the train out to the suburbs with us and spend the night at our house. On the train, Jake and Joel decided the four of us should go to Barbados together. Joel suggested we all go next month and Jake thought that was a great idea until I pointed to our daughter.

It’s really hard to hang out with childless couples who have very few responsibilities and lots of disposable income.