Wednesday, June 20, 2012

On my last day

I can't really say that, until this job, I've had a job in my adult life that I liked.

I mean, I've had some jobs that were good in some ways, but never where I felt like I fit in, or was appreciated, or didn't have butterflies in my stomach half the time.  Much of that was my own fault; I was too  preoccupied with the non-work parts of my life to focus well on my job, or I was too immature to play the game properly.

But at LMH, that all fell away.  Even though the job was certainly not taking advantage of my education or my special skill set, I felt happy.  I didn't dread going to work.  I adored my co workers and appreciated my bosses.  I grew in my role and when it got dull I took on new projects and was able spread my wings a little. I enjoyed learning about healthcare, a field about which I knew absolutely zero when I began there, as a temp, in 2008.  I liked talking construction and having a staff of mostly men.  They're easy to work with and generally agreeable and straight in their talk.

And so, today, I go to my favorite job I've ever had for the very last time, and I carry the last of my belongings out to my car with me when I leave.  It's time for me to move on, use my degrees, skills, and special talents.  It's time for me to set my career back on track and take on a more challenging and advanced role.  But it's not without sadness that I do so.  How lucky I have been to know the people that care for the sick in our community.  How enriching it has been to learn the seriousness with which they handle their tasts, and the love they have for each patient.  How fun it has been to laugh daily with all the people in my "basement family."

I have grown as an employee and a person.  I'm ready.  And I'm grateful for the last four years and the confidence they've given me.  No way would I be ready for this new job if it weren't for this little "career interlude" I've enjoyed.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

#crazytalk with Megan Stuke

I'm now painfully aware that my days as a mom of just one child are numbered.  I mean, I can count them.

It's a weird feeling, because for so long we thought we'd only have the one.  I spent a lot of time focusing on the fact that I'd only get to have a first birthday party once, I'd only have a two year old who likes to hold my hand once, I'd only get to watch someone learn to talk once.  I was trying so hard to soak up every minute with Johnny, because his life, for me, was a bunch of firsts and lasts at the same time.

So now, here we are, getting ready to do it all again.  And you would think that would alleviate some of my "this is the only time" anxiety, right?  Because all that stuff? I get to do it again.  And I am delighted that I get to do it again, and thrilled to see how it is the same or different with kid #2 from kid #1.

But at the same time, it's brought another whole level of anxiety to the playing field.  And it's not the kind of anxiety you might think; it's not the OMFG HOW WILL I COPE WITH TWO AND WORK AS MUCH AS I DO logistical kind of anxiety, though trust me, there's some of that going on.  No, it's more of a "Will I get to cuddle with Johnny as much," "What if I can't hold Johnny's hand anymore," "Will Johnny never get to sleep with me again," kind of thing.

I'm not so concerned that Johnny will hate the new baby.  If he does, he does.  That is part of being a sibling.  And I'm not worried that he'll feel less loved or he won't get as much attention from us - I know he will get plenty.  No, it's ME I'm worried about.  I'm worried that Johnny's daddy will get to sort of take over with Johnny while I nurse and parent an infant in the way that moms tend to be best at in those very early months. And I'm worried I'll be jealous.

It's so irrational, I can't even believe I'm admitting it.

So for now, I'm staring at my toddler.  I'm soaking him in, begging him to sit by me in the chair, stealing extra hugs and kisses, letting him have an extra piece of cake, and caving when he wants extra books or songs at night.  Basically, I'm spoiling my kid so he will be EXTRA NIGHTMARISH when the baby comes.  Mom of the year.

So typical. I want him to LOVE ME and NEED ME so he doesn't forget me when the new baby arrives.  I mean, who is the grown up here??

But there.  I admitted it.  What were your "second child" irrationalities?  I'm curious.  Tell me I'm not alone.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

8 weeks

  • I'm 8 weeks pregnant and the baby is the size of a kidney bean.  

  • I'm not nauseous, though I was a tiny bit last week.  I feel healthy and invigorated, until about 8:15 every evening, when the switch flips and it's pretty much game over.  I need to change it because I'm waking up at 5:00 every morning with Todd, and that's just not okay.

  • I happily bought some low fat fro-yo the other day and am enjoying a few treats that I haven't afforded myself in recent months.  I'm trying to force myself to add a little dairy to my diet and eat a few more calories than I was before, but in general, I'm carrying on my normal (well, "new normal") eating routine, which now seems so regular I don't know how to do it any other way.  And THAT, my friends, is what Weight Watchers is all about.  A healthy LIFESTYLE CHANGE.  Boy, I'm the stinking poster child, aren't I?

  • I think I've decided against any genetic testing this time around.  It was just too stressful and painful last time.  Here goes nothing.

  • Compulsive much? I have a whole plan for what to do about kid rooms already.  Just waiting on the sex of the baby to finalize decor.  Yep, I have it all planned in my head for girl or boy, and all of it is cute and el-cheapo.  Yes.  Compulsive.

  • I feel like I have a lot of time on my hands these days.  I'm not sure if it's the long summer days or the lack of parties or what, but our house is slowly being cleaned and reorganized.  Yesterday I actually went to Hobby Lobby and bought stuff for a playroom craft and this past weekend I cleaned the playroom and hung new curtains.  Who is this girl and what have you done with Megan?

Monday, June 11, 2012

And we've ticked up the roller coaster, and are ready for the free fall.

I'm a planner.

I planned to go to college, get a degree in four years, and then go to graduate school.  I did that.  I planned to be teacher. I did that.  When I decided that Mr. Meat and Potatoes was the one, I married him, and then decided it was time for a baby and we did that too. What I can control, I like to control.  That means I can usually say with *some* certainty what any day, week, month, or year will look like.

Of course, that is barring things outside of my control, which I have completely surrendered to in life.  I stand waist deep in the "shit happens" camp.  I realize that there things - many things - some good, some not-so, that happen regardless of my plans.  And I'm good with that.  In fact, I like it.  How dull it would be, knowing all the time exactly what to expect and being the puppeteer of all of it.

So when last week happened, I said, "okay."  Last week, nothing was in the plan.  None. Of. It.

It started with my boss's mom.  You see, she died.  They didn't expect her to die.  And it just so happened that she died in the same week where the only other person in my office (there are only 3 of us) was on vacation.  That left little ole me at the helm, alone.  No biggie. I've done it before. I can do that.

And then I decided on Tuesday that I was tired of feeling crappy, and the doctors don't know squat, and I sent my husband out for a pregnancy test because I wanted to put that possibility aside before I made an appointment and went in to read everyone from my GP to my OB to the Urologist the riot act.  I mean, I couldn't be pregnant, because I'd had all kinds of sonograms two weeks ago and was assured by the sonographer and my doctor that nope, no babies in there.  My pain and problems had another source.

Since they'd never identified the source of my malaise to my satisfaction, I was gonna take that test and then go in guns blazing.

Except, the sonographer was wrong.  Hello, positive.  Hello REALLY REALLY STRONG POSITIVE.  Positive before the pee even hit the stick, if you know what I mean.  Apparently, I'm more than a little pregnant.

This, my friends, was not in the plan.  But, I'm cool right?  Okay, I'm pregnant.  I had had a hard time really coming to terms with the "one and done" thing anyway, much as I tried to talk myself into it.  This is a happy, happy thing.  I'M HAVING ANOTHER BABY!

So I'm getting used to that idea, wrapping my brain around the logistics of baby #2, mulling over names and decor in my head (shaddup, I can't help it).  I'm going to doctor appointment after appointment making sure that everything is okay in there - I had concerns because of all the pain I had and am still having.  Apparently it's fairly common in the first weeks of pregnancy. Implantation, apparently, can hurt.  Also my uterus is twice its normal size now.  That can hurt, too.

As I race around hither and yon to doctors and lab visits (three blood draws in two days! Yay!) and start telling people our news, whilst trying to hold down the fort at work singlehandedly and enduring a Mock Joint Commission survey of our facility, another bit of unexpected news arrived.

New job.  That's right, I got a job offer.  I'm going to be the new Director of Education at Ballard Community Center, and I start in two weeks.  No problem!  Wrap up everything at current job, be stupid first-trimester tired, adjust to whole new world view in terms of work and family, RIGHT NOW.  Got it.

Also, figure out what to do about the fact that new job won't extend benefits until after the 90 day mark and well, I'm pregnant.  So health insurance in the next 90 days? Would be nice.

These are all things not in the plan.  Last week was an exercise in "accept that which I cannot control."  And you know what? I'm fine.  So far.  So far, I'm happy and giddy and tired and excited and ready for an entirely new chapter in my life.  Leaving LMH is heartbreaking in many ways.  Upsetting my simple family of three dynamic is scary.  Adding the financial responsibility let alone the physical and mental strain of another child on top of our already busy lives (yes, I plan to keep freelancing as much or more than ever) is daunting, to say the least.

But it is all. good. stuff.

Some things will go out, new things will come in.  And that, my friends, is how we keep it interesting.  Boring, to me, is suicide.  Bring it on.