There's a Pacifier in My Pocket

I am a professional. People ask me for my professional opinion and advice. And I go to court and talk to judges. I’m kind of a big deal. Or not. I’m humbled frequently, but it seems that since I had R.J., I’m humbled more frequently and in increasingly embarrassing ways.

For instance, I traveled to Dallas for a hearing that involved millions of dollars worth of oil and gas leases. My biggest worry, however, was how to fit the albatross of all nursing mothers into a suitcase that was reasonable enough in size that the four men I was traveling with wouldn’t have any idea that they were traveling with a petite, blond milk machine.

I have stood at the podium, poised, professional, and ready to make my case. I reached into my pocket for a pen, and tada! A pacifier!

I reported to a hospital board on the state of their case. And R.J. sat in the carseat behind me, a happy meal in his lap, mommy’s pleading fresh in his mind: “please, please, please, mommy needs you to be very quiet for 20 minutes so that she can do this meeting.” (He didn’t say a word--I wonder about his future as a lawyer)

I have prepared for out of town meetings. Car washed. Seats buffed with leather cleaner. The boss gets in, and a Huggie falls out. And not a dry, fresh Huggie. One that is rolled into a tight little wet ball (because I’d rather put the wet Huggie back in my car than be a mom who throws it out in the WalMart parking lot).  “Oh, let me just get that out of your way,” I play it off.

Firm recruiting lunch? No problem, I can drive. “Your car smells good,” says a recruit. “Um, thanks,” I reply. It’s melted fruit snacks in the car seat. Smells like Bath & Body Works (kids are full of nifty surprises).  

I carry Hot Wheels in my purse. A fact that has not gone unnoticed by the security guards screening at the federal courthouse. There are Hot Wheels on the bookcase in my office. And, I keep a juice box in my office fridge.  My suits smell like syrup because R.J. clings to my legs when I leave in the morning--he’s always sticky.

But, when I get home at night, he comes running, and I am reminded, I’m kind of a big deal--to one little guy at least.