Pregnancy in the Workplace

A coworker of mine is pregnant. Unlike many people, she pretty much told everyone in the office as soon as she knew. She is also walking around trying to look more pregnant. She wears tight shirts and then slouches so her belly sticks out and her boobs sag. Is that weird?

The weirdest thing, at least to me, is how pregnancy changes a workplace. I work in a small office and we talk about our personal lives, I suppose, but it's very limited in what you say. "How was your weekend?" or "Any big vacation plans?" are usually the order of the day. Now she talks about having to go to the doctor and how they did an exam "all over" to "make sure the pregnancy is ok" and stuck her with big needles to run all sorts of tests.

Um, too much information, maybe??? The guys in the office usually suddenly find somewhere else to be, but the women are all into talking about the ins-and-outs of pregnancy. The interesting thing is that, only about half the women in the office have even had a baby. I guess the others are just fascinated with the process?

Here's the thing, though: It just seems too personal for the workplace. There are a lot of things that happen in our private lives that are properly screened from the workplace. Illnesses, fights with family, breakups and makeups and sex all over the house or whatever. Those things do not belong in the workplace. A professional environment is necessarily not about the private personal. If someone had explosive diarrhea because they accidentally ate shrimp, I don't want to know about it. So, how is it that pregnancy suddenly makes it ok to talk about pelvic exams around the water cooler???

I suddenly have sympathy for the Victorian view that pregnant women were too delicate to leave the house and went into seclusion...

Whither thou goest...

Ruth 1:16. Ruth was always my favorite book of the Bible. It's a story of love and loyalty. Sticking together in tough times. And the most interesting thing, I always thought, was that it was a story of love and loyalty between two women: a mother and her daughter-in-law.

I'm sure you know the story, but in case you don't, a mother, Naomi, has moved far from her homeland to live with her husband, her two sons and the wives of the two sons. But tragedy strikes and all the men die. Naomi tells her two daughters-in-law that she is going to go home to try to find someone to take care of her in her old age and that the daughters should do the same. It's logical thinking. The two daughters-in-law are presumably young and can find a new husband. It will be more difficult for them to find a husband if they are burdened with an old woman to feed.

One leaves. One doesn't. Ruth draws herself up and begs her mother-in-law to let her stay. Thus is born one of the greatest love stories of all time.

So, what does "wither thou goest, wilt I go" mean? The other night I had a happy hour at work. I went for an hour and then left to go to physical therapy. I got home around 9pm. My husband was nowhere to be found. Then I received an email from my boss's husband: "Meet for dinner at Olive Garden." Heh? I emailed him back asking "When? Now? By the way, is my husband with you? He's missing."

The next morning my boss stopped by my office to tell me that her husband was very upset to receive this email. He felt that he had somehow interfered in our marriage, or waylaid my husband without my knowledge. My boss was telling me that she had tried to explain to her husband how our relationships were different. She had married young and she and her husband always knew where the other was. I got married much older and my husband and I had spent years living on our own without having to account to anyone for our whereabouts.

And that made me stop and think. My husband and I do have a very independent relationship. We have a joint account, but we also keep our own separate, private accounts. I suppose he could be out purchasing the services of hired companions and I wouldn't know about it (at least, not from the credit card statement). Generally, speaking, I don't tend to start wondering where he is until about 10pm on a work night. My job requires a lot of hours and there are also frequently networking events that I attend. I don't want to have to keep my husband abreast of every appointment I have and so we essentially have an understanding that I'll come home as early as I can. If I'm going to be at the office really late, I'll call and let him know.

My boss and her husband go everywhere together. They work blocks away from each other and carpool to work. They accompany each other on business trips (I can't think of a single example of her mentioning that her husband is out of town without her, or vice versa). They frequently meet for lunch. I think she's right about the different life circumstances. When you're a kid, your parents generally want to know where you are. It would make sense that young married adults would treat each other similarly. I think I would scream if I had to account to my husband all the time for my whereabouts. Actually, I don't think I could manage it. It just wouldn't occur to me to call him up and tell him that I'm heading to a meeting after work.

Perhaps their way is better? Maybe my husband and I should keep each other on shorter leashes? They have been married for a long, long time. I've only been married for a little over a year. What do I know? Perhaps I will change my ways if and when we have children. I can imagine being peeved at being left home alone to care for a kid not knowing where my husband was. If he's out gallavanting, I'd probably want to be gallavanting too. So maybe this is all a moot point. Or maybe we're heading toward a divorce. I guess time will tell.

Does Absence Create a Fonder Heart?

I am tired. Beat. Had enough. I'm having trouble dealing with the normal ups and downs of my daily life and I need a break. Here's the thing: I want to vacation by myself. Ah, but now I have a doting husband to consider. So, here's the question: should married couples take separate vacations?

I did a google search on this question and came up with a mixed bag of answers. The most common response was that "girls' weekends" or "guys' fishing trips" are completely ok, provided that each spouse is on board with the idea and feels comfortable with it. There was a lot of discussion about how separate vacations should not include solo travel by one marital partner due to the created opportunity for extra-marital liaisons.

When my now-husband and I went to pre-marital counseling, the counselor told us that separate vacations were a no-no. He said that we should plan our vacations together, taking into account the other's desires, and plan a vacation that will meet at least some of each of our criteria.

I'm not saying that I have a problem with that, it's just that I am so tired right now that I don't want to talk to anyone. My husband included. And I especially don't want the stress of traveling with him (despite his pronouncements to the contrary, he is a terrible traveler).

There are these cabins I used to camp at in the Catskill mountains before I was married. They don't have running water or electricity, but they do have a gas-powered stove and refrigerator, and some gas lamps for night. There's also a woodburning stove for heat and a fireplace to relax in front of. They are located in part of the Catskill mountain nature preserve and sit right on 1500 acres of excellent hiking land. I LOVE those cabins. My husband does not. He is scared of bears (??). He is offended by the outhouse. He hates carrying buckets of water.

I am wishing desperately to go stay in one of the cabins. Just me and mi'dog. We'd hike. I'd read. And embroider. And cook. I'd wake up when I want and nap when I want and haul my own water and chop my own wood. I'd build my own fire without my husband telling me I'm doing it wrong (Is the wood burning? Yes? Well, that's all that counts...). And the best part: I wouldn't talk to ANYONE. Except maybe the dog. And he won't talk back. He'll just thump his tail on the floor. Oh yeahhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I don't see that infidelity is an issue in this circumstance (um, there's no one really nearby?). And I don't particularly see how to compromise this one out. Unless maybe my husband stays in the next cabin over, a mile or so away. And doesn't visit. That might be ok. But I don't really think it counts as taking a vacation "together," lol. And he'd probably land up in my cabin in any event yelling about bears.

We have idly discussed taking a vacation to a warmer location where he can fish and I can sit by the pool and embroider. I suppose that's an option. But I'll still end up talking in the evenings at dinner and at breakfast. Ok, I guess if he gets up at 5am, or whatever ridiculous hours fisherman get up in the morning, I won't see him. Talking at dinner then. And to whatever random people I need to talk to throughout the day. Sigh. I need to get out of here. Alone.

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not...

I enjoyed reading about other people's dating disasters on iVillage here. They were so amusing I decided that I wanted to add my own:

Before I got married I went on a number of internet "blind" dates. I put that in quotes because, of course, we had corresponded through the dating sites to before deciding to meet. I had a lot of terrible dates.

One such date was with a guy who worked for the FDA inspecting meat processing plants. Ok, pretty interesting. He seemed pretty cool so we agreed to meet for dinner at a cool tapas place.

I show up for the reservation and we sit down for dinner and he immediately says, "Listen, I don't mean to rush you, but a lot of my family members are having a get together nearby and we need to leave to meet them in half an hour."

What? Family? Meet? Half an hour? How are we supposed to get through dinner and pay the check in only half an hour?? And who said anything about meeting his family?

So, ok, I'm not really sure what else to do but continue with the date. We order and he tells the waiter we need our starters and appetizers all at the same time, we're in a hurry. Then he starts telling me about his family. It turns out he's one of 15 children or something. He's the youngest and several of his older brothers and sisters had children around the same time he was born. So he has nieces and nephews who are the same age he is. Numerous nieces and nephews. And cousins. His parents are the same age as my grandparents.

Our food arrives and he wolfs it down. I'm still working on my appetizer (why did we even order appetizers if we're in such a hurry??) when he starts asking me if I'm done. The waiter comes by and this guy asks for the check. ("Check please!"). He pays the bill and I give up on finishing my food.

I start to thank him for dinner and he says "No no no! You have to come with me! I told them you're coming, they're expecting you!" Umm, ok... I give in, thinking I'll meet everyone and then escape. As we're walking to the "meeting" place he tells me "Oh, and it's REALLY IMPORTANT that you don't tell them that we met on the internet. They'll mock me forever."

Ok, so how did we meet? I start to open my mouth to ask this question but we've arrived, the door has opened and introductions are being made. It's a small apartment of one of the many relatives I guess, and there are about 25 people in the room.

We've been there maybe 5 minutes when someone asks "So, where did you meet?" I turn to my date. He turns BRIGHT RED. "Ohhhhh, um, we - uh - we met in.... college! Yeah, college."

"Oh, really!" They turn to me. "So, you went to Ohio Wesleyan." WTF? Ohio? I've never even been to Ohio. I turn to look at my date and he has this pleading look on his face. "Yep," I confirm.

"Really!" they say. They clearly know this is a ruse, probably by his behavior. "What made you want to go to Ohio Wesleyan?"

"Oh, it just seemed like a good place to go," I say, shooting daggers at my date with my eyes.

"So, which dorm did you live in?" another one asks. My date gives the name of a dorm. "No kidding! I lived there too! And I was a RA. What year did you graduate? I don't remember seeing you there."

HUH? My date made me lie and he came up with a lie that can be shot down by the people in the room?!?!

"Oh, I wasn't there much," I say. "Too busy off campus." They are clearly enjoying this and continue to grill me. Now I'm having to make stuff up about a state I've never seen and a college I know nothing about. So I give up and start to just make stuff up with whatever pops into my head.

"Yeah, I used to take trapeze lessons in that gym they installed above that old movie theater. You remember, the one on main street that shut down? There was a circus training center there. I managed to get college credit for the circus work I was doing there." They were absolutely enjoying watching him suffer through the entire conversation knowing, I'm sure, that there is no circus training center or shut down movie theater or probably even a Main Street.

In any event, I finally extricated myself from them despite his pleas to the contrary and then didn't answer his calls, despite his attempts to contact me for the next two months. I mean, seriously, WTF????

Now the thing about having a baby (and I can't be the first person to have noticed this) is that thereafter you have it. ~Jean Kerr

My husband wants a baby. He points out babies that are cute. He goo-goos when he sees babies in the grocery store and will actually play peek-a-boo with small children who are sitting at a table near us in restaurants. He even sighs over little bitty clothes. No kidding.

Of course (you've guessed it) I'm less excited by the prospect. The real problem? My sister was born when I was a teenager (whoops!) and my father had a job that required a lot of travel. My mother, meanwhile, has a problem with degenerative discs in her spine, which means that she cannot carry heavy things and she is often in bed, in pain.

So guess who did a large share of childcare when she was growing up. Yup. Me. About four weeks after my sister was born my father was out of town and my mom was in bed. When my sister would start crying to be fed in the middle of the night, my mom would get me out of bed. How did she do this when she couldn't sit up? The telephone. She would call me.

I talked on the phone so much when I was a teen that my parents put a second line into the house, which ran straight into my bedroom (kids didn't have cell phones back then). I thought this was super cool. Until my sister was born. So it would run like this:

Me: [snoring]
RRRINGGGG!!!
Me: Unghngh, hellow?
Mother: Mallllllllll - eeeeee - naaaaaaaaaa. I need you to do me a favor. Could you get up and make a bottle? And feed your sister?
Me: What time is it?
Mother: Feeding time.

So I would drag myself out of bed, make the bottle and go sit in my mom's bedroom so she could oversee the feeding. ("Hold her head a little higher - that's right. Now you have to burp her.") It was an intensive on the job mothering training program.

I also had the dubious honor of toting my sister around, since my mother couldn't lift her (or a lot of items at the grocery store). I wore her in a sling, in a pouch that left her arms and legs free, and, eventually on my back in a backpack. (People used to come up to me and tell me I was a little wh*re and personally responsible for the downfall of America's morals, but that's another story for another day.)

I have the dubious honor of having been thrown up on repeatedly, peed on, and there was even an episode involving explosive diarrhea that I won't get into. She has also thrown up in my shoes twice and in my purse once. I see lots of blogs out there with moms complaining about the above. Imagine having to deal with it when you're a teenager. And you didn't even get any sex out of the deal. Yeah.

I don't really resent my parents for putting me through all this. They were doing the best they could with what they had. And now I know what it takes to raise a child. Intimately. So, the thing is, I feel like I've been there, got the vomited/pee/etc-stained-t-shirt and don't necessarily need to go there again. I recently met an older lady bemoaning the fact that her recently divorced 27 year old daughter had just moved back home. With three grandchildren. All under the age of 6. She shook her head and said, "I love them, but I already raised my share of children. I don't really want to do it again." Boy, could I ever relate.

But my husband is seriously obsessed with babies. He keeps asking me if my biological clock is ticking yet (his mother confirms he was definitely born male). All this talk about children made me wonder what was up with him. Why do people decide to have children anyway? Maybe I'm missing something. I had to laugh at the comments to this blog post. There are a lot of people out there who vehemently maintain that having children is SO TOTALLY WORTH IT. I don't disagree, I love my sister very much, I have lots of war (and embarrassing!) stories to tell, and she is a wonderful person.

But I kind of feel like it's a zero-sum game. That is to say, kids bring a lot of pain and suffering and difficulty and expense to your life. And they also bring a lot of joy and happiness and pride and pleasure. So you're sort of back where you started before the pain and suffering.

Judging by the comments to that blog post, though, a lot of wanting to have children (if you're not a huge kid person) is due to some sort of biological drive. Which is good! It means that, at some point, my horomones will kick in and make me desperately feel like I need to reproduce. I certainly hope so. Because right now I literally wake up just about every morning and think "WOOHOO! NO BABY!!!"

Why oh Why Did I Get Married?

Ok, so I've been working on this for a year now and here's what I've learned: I really hate being married. I don't think it's as much my husband as it is the institution. Well, maybe it's my husband too, to the extent that he's focused on the institution. I just hate all the emotional baggage and hidden expectations that go along with marriage, and by that I mean the expectations that each person has about what it means to be married.

Third parties also have expectations, interestingly. For example, we are apparently supposed to know where the other is at all times. If someone asks me where he is and I respond that I don't know, they look at me like I've suddenly sprouted a second head from my neck that is singing in Swahili. So, I've started making up answers (Oh, he's at a meeting, a golf tournament, home washing his hair...). I suppose he could be off shagging some other girl, but for some reason I'm not particularly worried about that. It's not for me to play his mommy and keep tabs on him, so long as he comes home at night.

The tougher expectations have been the intra-marriage ones - the things we expect from each other. I expect my husband to look around the house and, if something needs doing, to do it. That expectation hasn't really changed from when we were living together. If the trash needs to be taken out, take it out. If something needs to be put away, put it away! If we both do this, the house will be tidy. I can't do it all myself. Also, although I don't keep tabs on him, I do start to worry if he's not home by 10-11pm, so I'd like a courtesy call around that time to tell me where he is. That's about it.

His expectations have been less well defined. I'm not sure I even know what they all are, but I do know that his help with the laundry and the dishes have fallen off to the lowest levels in our four years of living together. I don't know if that's an expectation or not, but it definitely seems to be related to our getting married. He also has apparently designated himself CFO of our household. I have some investments that were given to me by my grandparents when I was young (and they were still alive) and I decided I wanted to sell them. He told me no.

Seriously, just "No." Um, sorry, but they're mine? You don't get to tell me "no" about anything, much less things that are my personal property. Then he started talking about capital gains and cost purchase basis and taxes and planning offsets and who knows. My position: my grandparents gave it to me and I should be able to sell it if I want. End of story. He would never think about it twice if we weren't married.

The other thing I dislike about being married are the titles. He really makes a point out of presenting me to everyone as his "Wife." Sometimes he forgets to tell them my name. Once, after a long silence, someone responded, "Well, nice to meet you, Wife." I hate feeling like I've been reduced to a label. Especially since I am much, much more than just a wife. But just using my name is enough for me - Malina. Ask me about my name sometime. It has a special history and I love telling people about it.

So, about now, you're going to say something like, "Have you talked to your husband about all this?" And I'll tell you no. Why? Because whenever I try to imagine that conversation ("Honey, I hate being married, but I think it's the institution, not you") it just doesn't end well. If it has not been made clear, sure, my husband makes me nuts sometimes, he does goofy or stupid things, he screws up. So do I. I forgive him for all that and I don't want to break up with him. I just don't want to be married.

Perhaps you're thinking what a terrible person I am, or you're shaking your head thinking that I'm the next divorce. Maybe both of those are true. But here's the thing: I don't think we'd be having these problems if we hadn't gotten married. And I was the idiot who WANTED to get married. He was perfectly happy before but I thought I was missing out on some amazing experience. My happily married friend keeps telling me that I'm trying to be too independent, that we need to combine our lives more and always think about the other person (so, I should have been thinking of him when I wanted to sell my property, instead of myself). But the truth is that I feel trapped and stifled in a relationship that didn't make me feel that way before.

Of course, I still get the "How's married life?" questions from people I don't know that well. And I tell them (with a great big smile on my face): "GREAT!"

Parents be Good to Your Children

I am in the middle of getting ready for a trial that starts tomorrow. This means that I have been working 14-16 hour days, 7 days a week for the last couple of weeks. So, imagine my surprise and delight when I got an email from my grandmother this morning. But, of course, I have such a wonderfully dysfunctional family. This is what it said:

Malina,

I have found that you love to treat your mother and me very poorly. You seem to prefer your father and his ugly wife. She is not only ugly outside but inside as well. It has been nearly a year and I have yet to get a picture of your wedding. I now know that you do not plan to let me have one. I am tired of playing your ugly games. You send me the cheapest gift you can find at Christmas which is a small box of pears. I don't even like pears and they have spoiled both years you have sent them. You have become a constant liar like your father! That is the thanks we get for being the responsible ones. We were the ones (your mother and I) who stepped up to the plate and raised you. Your father was too busy running around with other women and he was not to be trusted with small children. He was not interested anyway. He grew up in a dysfunctional family. What is your excuse? Your friends in Delaware have noticed your disfunction and mentioned them to us when we were there for your wedding! It must be inherited. Thank God your sister has not been around your father most of her life.

Your Grandmother

Thanks, Grandma. I don't really know much about my parents' dysfunctional marriage and subsequent divorce. But I do know that the bit about my father not being around or being trusted is revisionist history. The most important thing, though, is that the above is the exact reason I prefer not to interact with my mother's side of the family. All they do is complain and criticize me. Talking to my dad and his ugly wife is so much less painful! They don't yell at me or accuse me of having bad genes. They just ask me how my life is going and tell me about theirs.

So I guess the moral of the story is.... do unto others as you would have done unto you.

Amen.

P.S. I don't care what she says, I LOVE Harry & David's Royal Riviera pears. MMMMMM. This year, I'm keeping hers for myself.