Equal Spit-Up for All

A couple of weeks ago, I had a meeting for some freelance work I'm doing. In all fairness, this company sought me out, and I told them that I was unable to work until January when I would have childcare (the Doodlebug is on a waiting list for part-time day care; we've been on the list since last April, and we're currently number 10. I was told, though, that because most parents want full-time, we have a good shot at a part-time slot in January. I'm not positive we'll use it, but if I can kick my writing into gear, then the Doodlebug will enter daycare two days a week. I figure everyone wins if we can manage to swing it. He develops better socialization skills and gets a happier, more focused mother and I might actually get my novel finished. But I'm digressing here). But, somehow, I unthinkingly uttered the words, "Although, if you don't mind me bringing my son to meetings, I could start working in October." They agreed.

So, the Doodlebug and I arrive in Cambridge and I park. All is well because he was silent for the journey, and I know that the Doodlebug has only two modes when driving: screaming or asleep (it's a big fat myth that all babies love car rides. He hates the car). Imagine my surprise when I open the back door, and there's the Doodlebug, wide-eyed and not the least bit sleepy. Right then, I knew I was sunk. Sure enough, we're not in the meeting for five minutes (five minutes of me frantically pushing the stroller back and forth in an attempt to get him to fall asleep) when the screams erupt. I pick him up, and--professional person that I am--held him in my arms while attempting to have a grown-up business meeting. He's still fussy, so I try the pacifier. No luck (he's since completely rejected the pacifier, which is quite distressing as it was a wonderful way of silencing him). Now, not wanting to whip out my breast in the middle of a meeting, I had cleverly thought to pack a bottle of pumped milk. However, I have never given him a bottle before. So, the bottle goes into his mouth and I look up to continue the conversation. I look back down a few minutes later, and there's a huge puddle of milk on his front (um, did I remember a bib? That's a negative). I'm trying to adjust the bottle without interrupting my train of thought and making a bungle of the whole thing. Finally, after what feels an impossibly long time and after having made a gigantic mess, the Doodlebug falls asleep in my arms in his usual, comfortable head-thrown-back body sprawled position (and of course I don't dare to put him down because that only leads to waking up). I finish the meeting fairly upset because I feel like I've done a half-assed job at being a professional and I've done a half-assed job at being a mother. I swear it will never happen again.

Okay, so while in my mind the meeting was a disaster, I know that in reality it went okay. However, for our next meeting, I make sure to arrange it for a time when Adam won't be in class and can take the baby. So, at 1 p.m. last Thursday, I dropped the Doodlebug off at HBS so Adam could take him to his entrepreneurship club meeting and I could go baby-free to my meeting. My meeting went just fine, and I returned home gleefully, excited to hear of the disruption the Doodlebug caused in Adam's meeting.

You know where this is going, right? He was perfectly well behaved. He was quiet and cute and slept almost the entire time. Everyone raved at how adorable he is. There was no spit-up, no screaming, and he didn't even get hungry enough for Adam to give him the bottle. When I expressed my dismay at this, Adam asked, "What, did you want him to completely misbehave and cry during my meeting?" Finally! My husband understands me! Of course I wanted him to disrupt the meeting. It was essential so that Adam could see what it's like for me.

I am a bitter, bitter woman. Plain and simple.