"Working" from home

When I grudgingly returned to work after my maternity leave, I tried to explore a few options that would provide me with flexibility and keep my kid out of daycare 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. I'm still pursuing one that would let me have summers and school vacations with her, but isn't my first choice of being able to work from home two days a week. My boss thought that despite my best intentions I wouldn't get much done with darling C. around to distract and need me. I disagreed, but he is my boss and is generally understanding about my new mommy needs, so I've tried it his way so far.

This week, however, Clementine's daycare provider is off skiing and speaking in whole sentences with adults (who can blame her for a little escape?), so we're trying it my way. I am officially working from home a few days this week and taking a few off to reconnect with my little sweetie who is getting so damn big and I feel like I'm missing it all. Today was a work day for me, and at noon I was toally dismayed that I may have to admit my boss was right--one cannot work at home with a baby. I had managed a few work phone calls, a half dozen emails and the beginning of a damn good memo, but darling C. was at sixes and sevens through most of it: playing quietly at my feet one minute, ripping paper off my desk and sticking it her her mouth the next, screaming and trying to slam her head on the floor after that. Obviously she needed me, so I gave the rest of the afternoon to her and didn't feel a bit guilty about it. I checked email now and then and answered a quick phone call, but I hardly got 8 hours in and thought how much it was going to suck to tell me boss he was right. I hate when someone else is right. HATE it.

But then a wonderful thing happened: Nate came home. Sure, he was sick as hell and no doubt germy (I'm already feeling a little dizzy and infected), but he could certainly lie on the floor and entertain darling C. while I raced upstairs and got a chunk of work done. Then I made dinner, ran an errand and settled in again to finish my memo, return all my email, update a few projects and even get started on stuff for tomorrow. All while kind of watching the Olympics. Holy multi-tasking! It's not any different than sitting in my office and listening to my office mate drone on and on about quilting as I continue to type, hoping she'll get the hint (she never does). So I didn't work my day in 8 hours in a row, but I sure as hell got that much work done over the 16 hour period. AND I hung out with darling C., made dinner, got an errand done and fed my steadily increasing appetite for the Olympics.

Of course now I'm dragging ass and need to put my tired self to bed. I couldn't do this every day (especially the pumping--oh how much easier it is to do in my office and not with a baby grabbing at the hoses and fussing), but a couple times a week and everyone's happy. Is it too much to ask?